One of my annual highlights for the past several years has been attending the Montana Festival of the Book. I love everything about the Festival: readings and panel discussions; chats about the craft of writing and about the publishing industry; films; vendors and the Festival bookstore; and the opportunity to meet and mingle with authors, agents, editors, publishers, and other Festival attendees. As its website states, “The Humanities Montana Festival of the Book is one of the biggest cultural events in the Northwest.”
I had the honor and pleasure of spending special time with my parents this summer. Before every outing, my father would faithfully don his WW II Veteran cap. When he, Mom and I visited the Montana State Capitol to pay homage to the fallen Marines of Lima Company 3/25, several people shook Dad’s hand and said, “Thank you for your service, Sir.”
The tender moment he and Marine Mike Strahle shared brought tears to my eyes. “Thank you for your service, Sir,” Mike said, echoing those words that made me proud.
“Thank you for yours,” was Dad’s soft reply.
My dad, Dan Antonietti, and Marine Mike Strahle.
Surrounding us were the hauntingly beautiful paintings of The Lima Company Memorial: The Eyes of Freedom. Many of the twenty-three Marines who lost their lives in Iraq in 2005 were younger than my twenty-three- and twenty-six-year-old sons.
Twenty-year-old LCPL Nicholas Bloem from Belgrade, Montana.Admiring Lima Marine Travis William’s handcrafted knife while Dad and Mom rewatched The Eyes of Freedom video.
Two weeks after visiting the memorial, Dad was hospitalized at Fort Harrison VA Medical Center. Over and over again I heard staff say to him and to others, Thank you for yourservice. Mike, an RN and a veteran, wrote those words on the whiteboard in Dad’s room.
Dad’s been home for one week. Following his discharge, we spent time looking through and sorting some of the treasures he’s collected throughout the years. On the title page of one of his books I found this poignant inscription:
The Greatest Generation.
The Greatest Generation indeed.
A few days ago while at dinner with Dad, Mom, a sister and a niece, I noticed a father and son watching as we played musical chairs—not once but twice—in our efforts to avoid an overhead draft. My assumption that the men had found our around-the-table antics humorous was dispelled when they stopped to shake Dad’s hand on their way out.
“Thank you for your service,” the father, who looked to be about my age, said. His voice caught as he added, “My dad was in World War II. We lost him eighteen months ago.”
We said we were sorry to hear about their loss, but our words felt inadequate.
As Mom and I held Dad’s hands in the ER the previous week, I’d wondered how much more time we would have with him. Three hours later, he was sitting up in bed, looking much better. “Can I go home now?” he asked, after finishing his dinner.
My dad is tough. He didn’t go home that night, but he did days later. I was able to stay with him and Mom for five more days. On the morning of my departure, we went out for breakfast. I asked Dad if I could take his picture, this post rolling around inside my head.
The International Choral Festival marked its debut in 1987. That year was memorable on two accounts; it was also the year I became a mother. Following the success of the first Festival, a second followed three years later. So, too, did the arrival of our second son.
Though anticipating the birth of our first child during the inaugural Festival and being sleep deprived during the second, it was welcome respite to listen to choirs in various locations around Missoula. Since then, we have enjoyed the diversity of the choirs and their music in this triennial event.
The Ninth International Choral Festival was held July 17-20. For the first time, Rich and I served as hosts. We didn’t request a specific age group, sex, or country on our volunteer application. Instead, the thrill of the unknown we felt while awaiting the births of our children was magnified fourfold. Will our guests be males or females? Adults or youth? Where will they be from? Will they speak English?
We learned the answers to our first three questions days before the Festival began. We’d be hosting three young women from Taiwan’s Formosa Singers.
Formosa Singers at Southgate Mall
Our fourth question was answered when we met Lin Ying-Jyun, Fan Chih-Jung, and Li Szn Fang—AKA Amy, Tiffany, and Rainbow Amy—at Missoula Children’s Theater. Yes.
Hosting Tiffany, Amy, and Rainbow was a treat beyond measure. Sprinkled between rehearsals and concerts, we prepared and shared meals, sang, laughed, and enjoyed learning about their culture while sharing some of our own.
Rainbow, Karen, Amy and Tiffany at UM
We reveled in seeing Missoula’s beauty through the eyes of our guests…
Tiffany, Amy and Rainbow at Greenough ParkAmy, Susan, Rainbow and Tiffany at Farmer’s Market
…and at times we were guests, both at Festival events and at a fellow host family’s home for an evening filled with food and drink, laughter and song.
The sing-off winners! Cody, Bob, David, Tung Tung, Meko, Hsin-Hsin, Tiffany, Rainbow, Amy and Tyron
In addition, the Formosa Singers prepared a luncheon for their host families, introducing us to some tasty Taiwanese dishes and affording us an opportunity to visit with other choir members and hosts.
Rainbow and Dai Rong serving spicy tofu and rice
The final day of the Festival fell on my birthday. There were so many moments of sweetness throughout the day, highlighted by the card the girls made for me with its inscription, DearMom.
A special birthday cardJu, Amy, Sunny, Alice, Tiffany and Rainbow at the After-Festival Party
“When are you coming to Taiwan?” our girls asked, more than once during our time together.
“Maybe in 2014.”
That hope lessened our sadness—somewhat—as we shared tearful goodbyes when our days together ended much too quickly.
The connectedness of our world was affirmed that day, though. As our girls left Missoula, our son Colin spent four hours in Taiwan enroute to Thailand. And according to a recent article in the Missoula Independent, Whistling Andy Distillery in Bigfork is going to be selling spirits in Taiwan.
If Rich and I are fortunate enough to visit our Taiwanese daughters someday, perhaps one of our toasts will be with a Made in Montana spirit. Full circle, indeed.
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Often, one of the getting-to-know-you questions is, “Where are you from?”
“I’m from Butte.”
I grew up saying this, even though I was born in Missoula, Montana. We moved to Butte when I was eight, as summer vacation was nearing an end. My parents, Dan and Kay Antonietti, were born and raised there, so we weren’t lacking relatives. But being on the cusp of entering third grade, I wondered if it would be hard to make friends.
It wasn’t.
I made a friend before school started, which felt huge. I wasn’t welcomed as in the words of Teddy Roosevelt below, but to my eight-year-old self, the welcome I did receive on the playground of my Nana’s apartment complex was just as memorable.
Butte-Silver Bow Public Archives
For the next ten years, I lived, studied, played and worked in Butte. I went away for college, came back for the summer, and then after two more quarters on Montana State University’s campus in Bozeman, I was back in Butte to do my nursing clinicals.
Butte was the home I loved. After fifteen months back, though, I was a twenty-year-old ready to get out of Dodge for the summer. In June of 1977, I left to be a mother’s helper in New York City. I had no idea my summer would unfold as it did, nor did I have any awareness that years later I’d be compelled to write a novel based on that summer.
A novel, Nanny on theRun, which I recently read excerpts from in Uptown Butte.
My first reading was at the Butte-Silver Bow Public Archives, partially housed in the old fire station. As a young girl, I had the privilege of sliding down the fireman’s pole, courtesy of my Uncle Joe. It was a thrill to read my work near Uncle Joe’s old digs.
Intro by Ellen Crain at the Butte-Silver Bow Public ArchivesQ & A following the reading
Between my two readings, I visited Butte’s indie bookstore, Books & Books. As I relayed the story of my novel’s trajectory to two booksellers, I mentioned that my early working title was Nanny on the Run: a Far Cry from Butte.
“You should’ve called it that,” said one of the women. “We get people asking all the time if we have Butte books.”
Hopefully the book’s description will capture readers who are interested in Butte stories. Though my character Bridget goes to New York City, she’s fromButte, and threads of those deep roots are woven throughout her story.
My second reading was at Headframe Spirits, across the street from the Elks Club. I grew up four blocks away. Bridget didn’t live far from there, either.
Home of Headframe SpiritsHeadframe Spirits under the watchful eye and windowed reflection of Our Lady of the Rockies
Headframe Spirits is a place for tasty drinks and lively conversations. Owner John McKee was gracious when I asked about doing a book signing, and perhaps an accompanying reading, there. It was the most animated reading I’ve done to date, and I’m grateful I had the chance to read some of Bridget’s story in my old neighborhood.
With my parents at Headframe Spirits
I’m grateful, too, that my parents were able to travel to Butte for my readings. They’re still from Butte, even though they moved away nearly thirty-six years ago. I’m from Butte, too, though after having lived in Missoula for the past thirty-five years, I’ve begun to modify my answer.
In the past several months, YouTube has become one of my go-to sources for information. My old website, created more than six years ago, was in desperate need of being updated. YouTube videos, along with books from the Missoula Public Library, schooled me on how to create a website using WordPress.
As you peruse this site, you can judge for yourself the value of my self-taught lessons. I admit, I am pleased with the results.
I also learned how to use Windows Live Movie Maker by watching YouTube videos. Not only did I learn how to make a movie, I learned how to create snapshots from existing footage. Again, after looking at the picture that follows, you can be the judge.
Nanny on the Run reading
Nearly three weeks ago, I was introduced to the Prancercise video on YouTube. Then, it had more than three million views. I later learned that’s not so many, though to me, three million is a lot.
Days later as we joined thousands of Seattle Sounders fans marching into Century Link Field, my goal was to start a prancercising contingent. My accompanying friend and family told me they’d watch, and scooted away as I began my mission. I didn’t think it would be hard to find others who were willing to Prancercise with me.
I was wrong. It wasn’t that the three people I asked were unwilling, it was that none of them had seen the video nor knew what I was talking about. My three strikes reinforced what I’d been told earlier that day. Three million really isn’t that many in the YouTube world.
Perhaps if I had tried to rally some fans to dance Gagnam Style, I would’ve had better luck. The problem was, though I’d watched P S Y’s video, as have—I recently learned—more than 1.6 billion others, I don’t know his dance. I don’t know how to Prancercise, either, but I was willing to give it a try.
Since I’ve learned what I needed to about WordPress and Windows Live Movie Maker, it might be time to resurrect P S Y’s video.
YouTube, thanks for giving me the opportunity to laugh. To learn. And to share.
It’s a thrill to launch a new book into the world. As people gathered at Fact and Fiction prior to my debut reading of Nanny on theRun, I spotted a young boy standing near the back. After chatting with him for a few moments, he asked, “Are you the author?”
“I am,” I said.
The reverence in his voice reminded me of a conversation I had with a long-time friend. Both of us are nurses and avid readers. We both write, too, though my friend hasn’t yet shared her work. We’d asked each other, “Do you think you would’ve considered writing as a career if you would’ve met any authors when you were growing up?”
“I don’t know,” was our echoed reply.
Squeezing in book signings before the reading at Fact and FictionChatting with sisters Teresa and HelenaListening to Barbara Theroux’s introduction“This is nothing like Butte.”A lively Q & A followed the reading
I do know this. I’ve loved my mother’s nursing stories ever since I was a little girl. I’ve loved to read, too. And having become both a nurse and an author, I feel very fortunate. Very, even though I avoid adverbs whenever possible.
Shakespeare & Co. reading
Following the Q & A at my Shakespeare & Company reading, a gentleman said, “You didn’t say anything about your nursing.”
So I obliged. While I was sharing a bit about my nursing career, the rest of the audience remained in their seats to listen. A couple who had wandered into the store during the Q & A stopped and took notice as I began my nurse talk.
I learned afterward that the woman was a nurse. Better yet, she wants to become a nursing instructor.
Signing Nurses on the Run
Nearly two weeks have passed since my second book reading. There are more on the horizon. Last night at a barbeque, I chatted with friends and acquaintances and with people whom I’d never met. More than one said, “You published a novel?”
For those of you who have been waiting, the Kindle version of Nanny on the Run is here. If you are an Amazon Prime Member, you can borrow a copy right now for free. Enjoy!
For the second year running, there aren’t adequate words to describe the thrill I felt when sharing books with students on World Book Night. This year, I strolled through the hallways and courtyard of Hellgate High School, my library cart laden with new books. Since the other “giver” wasn’t able to join me, I had the pleasure of handing out books to forty students.
Outside the library, the first two students I came across chose copies of J. R. Moehringer’s memoir, The Tender Bar. Though I haven’t yet read Moehringer’s book, my pitch was successful and it was easy to find ready recipients.
The Tender Bar.
I was able to give a glowing review for the other title in my cart: Vanessa Diffenbaugh’s The Language of Flowers. The first ones to choose this book were among a handful of students who were enjoying the crisp, spring afternoon in Hellgate’s courtyard. The smiles and thanks I received from beginning to end of my book-giving excursion were heartwarming.
Smiles in the Hellgate courtyard.The Language of Flowers and The Tender Bar.More great smiles from a few who braved the cool spring afternoon.
Some students asked if they could have both books. Had there been extras, that would’ve been okay. Anticipating that wouldn’t be the case, though, I told them they had to pick one. Perhaps those students will trade once they’ve read their chosen books, or maybe they’ll come to the library to borrow our copy of The Language of Flowers or The Tender Bar.
Two great reads made for a tough choice for some students.Smiles in the halls of Hellgate High School.Look what I got!
My addition to each copy of The Language of Flowers was a handmade bookmark, each with the name of a different flower specially chosen from the flower dictionary in the back of Diffenbaugh’s book. I invited the students to embellish their bookmarks, either at home or in the library, and offered to then laminate them with extra pieces of book covers. To date, no one has taken me up on my offer. Whether anyone decides to or not, I hope that the students enjoyed sleuthing through the dictionary to find their flower’s meaning.
Armfuls of Myrtle, Oregano, Peppermint, and Pink Carnations to all who made World Book Night possible.
Today is the official pub date for Nanny on the Run! It’s been an interesting journey to date, and I look forward to the next chapter beginning May 3rd, 5:00 p.m. at Fact and Fiction Downtown for the Book Launch Party.
For those of you who prefer your e-reader to a print copy, the Kindle conversion is underway!
