What is an Opium Den, You Ask....

Opium dens? What the heck is an opium den, you ask? I didn't know either until a recent Google search took me through a historical journey of their epic proportions. I was stunned at the reality of which I read.

Back in the day when the good old USA had virtually no immigration or import/export policies to speak of, clipper ships full of opium began to make their way from the Far East to ports of call all over our East and West Coasts.

San Francisco was one of the hardest hit cities by this new and growing enterprise. In Chinatown alone, there were more opium dens than anyone could count. When the city fathers began to recognize there was a serious problem, the den owners decided to laugh in their faces, and opened a den just two short blocks from City Hall.

The problem grew and grew as there were no laws against it. Young men and women, as well as successful businessmen frequented the dens, only to succumb to opium's stupor-like effects. Eventually, the City of San Francisco fought the industry, taking it all the way to the State of California's Supreme Court, in a valiant fight to make opium illegal unless used under a doctor's care.

Not to be outdone, the owners of these dens spread their product far and wide, many in mining communities, where they popped up in the notorious red-light districts.. It seemed opium and prostitution went hand in hand.

I was so stunned with the history and lure of the opium dens that I knew I had to include a story line about one in this book.  Although the story is fictional, my character follows closely similar stories of addicts who surfaced in opium dens of old.

Augusta Finds a Man

Augusta was a cute little thing. So much so that none of her clients could keep their hands to themselves. Only there was one problem. Augusta lived in Ouray, Colorado in 1890. A time when women were to be soft spoken, demure, ladylike, always looking their best, not showing much cleavage or wearing makeup. Augusta had another problem. She was a single lady desperate for money.

She found a job working in the Red Light District. The men loved Augusta with her long, dark hair, big brown eyes with lashes that swept across her cheekbones when she lowered her gaze,  her petite figure, and silky negligees.

She was young. Her job was to charm the pants off the local men...literally. She was just a child. Sixteen. But who was going to tell? The men adored her and the women chose to believe she didn't exist.

All that changed the day she met Simon Archer....and Reginald O'Keefe. Neither one knew of the other, but both were spellbound by the alluring Augusta, the Belle of the District.

Simon was a married man whose eyes wandered from the woman who married him all those years ago when she was just a girl herself. He was willing to give up everything he had to be with Augusta. His work took him to the ends of the earth and he brought her trinkets from all the ports of call. He bought her silk dressing gowns, ivory combs for her hair, pearl necklaces, teas from China, lace from Scotland. Yes, wherever he went he brought back expensive gifts with which to lavish the exotic Belle of the District.

Reginald was a newcomer to the community, moving to Ouray upon graduation from college to work on Red Mountain in the mines. He was a handsome man, a loner, who did not play or work well with others. He had a plan. A plan for success. To become a wealthy miner and he would see his plan to fruition whether by hook or by crook. And the plan only intensified the day he met Augusta. He fell in love with her, knowing full well that he was not the only man who shared her bed. But despite it all, Reginald vowed to take her away from this place.

Who wins her heart? Will Simon leave his wife and children to begin a life with a woman half his age who was no more than a wandering sheep, lost in the world of prostitution? Or will this fallen woman find warmth and safety in the arms of Reginald O'Keefe and his mysterious ways?

Happy Good Friday! Today I have included the first two paragraphs from the forward of "The Miner's Cut, Part I.....Waiting". Enjoy.

Arizona would have been better. Anything would have been better than this. It was dusk on a cold December day in Colorado's San Juan Mountain Range with blowing snow and driving with that were relentless. Leaving the mountains years ago, he had forgotten what he always thought a strange weather phenomenon: after a storm....a big storm...the clouds would separate revealing a galaxy of stars lighting up the night. Then the temperature would drop...substantially. No gradual decline. Just a nosedive. Those days, another lifetime ago, were clouded by anger and resentment. But for now he had to make his final destination in one piece. Why did I think this was a good idea, he thought as his face became one with the branch of a spruce tree. Moisture trickled down his face and a coppery metallic taste filled his mouth . “Perfect!” he groaned, then he spit the blood from his mouth. Wiping his face with the back of his hand he whispered, “Keep moving! Just keep moving!”

He had been walking for what seemed like years. The only break in his trek was a short stint when he hitched a rail from St. Louis to Denver. Not sure if coming here was a good idea be questioned his rationale. Everything bad in his life began here. But desperate times call for desperate measures. At least he could hide until things blew over. The others had either been arrested or shot during their lame attempt at freedom. He had outsmarted them all. He hid in plain sight. It was true what his mama had said to him when he was little. A baby face would take him far...and get him out of a lot of scrapes. By the time the cops had discovered who had pulled the trigger he was gone. He made his way through land owned by an Amish family who even took him in for a while in trade for a much-needed pair of hands during harvest.

New Happenings with Book

A lot has happened since I last wrote on this blog. I haven't been diligent and for that I am sorry. I actually finished the first book and decided to make a series of it. Lots of writes and rewrites. Have also spoken with a publisher who gave me some critique and suggestions as how to proceed. With that in mind, I am going to begin sharing The Miner's Cut with you, the reader.

The story revolves around a young lady who has moved to Ouray, Colorado from Hot Springs, Arkansas back in the early 1930s. She suffers from rheumatoid arthritis and is living with relatives in the small mountain town and spends a good deal of her time at the hot springs. The springs were healing waters of the Ute Indians back in the day.

As the book opens it is Christmas holiday, 1933, and she is leading a group of carolers through the miner's hospital. They are a motley crew of young and old who like nothing better than spreading a little Christmas cheer to the injured miners who can't be home with their loved ones.

One of the injured miners is her cousin's husband. He barely escaped with his life when a wall collapsed in the mine he was working on Red Mountain between Ouray and Silverton, high in the San Juan Mountains of Southwest Colorado.

Stay tuned next for excerpt. Until then,

Hazel

All in a Day's Work

Yesterday my husband and I drove the 2 plus hours to Denver to my three month visit with my rheumatologist slash pulmonary specialist, Dr. Truong. She takes good care of me and I trust her implicitly.

On the way to the appointment we were listing to KOA out of Denver and heard that there was a snowstorm on A Basin and Love land. Now those two slopes will probably stay open until July 4. Skiing in July? Water skiing maybe....but snow? Only in Colorado, I suppose.

Also on the way to Denver I started thinking about the book. I've been struggling with a name and I really only wanted to use one word titles. It wasn't until we got 3/4 of the way back home last night that the light went on over my head. The first book is all about waiting for results...waiting for the end results. So the title, at least for now, is "Waiting".

So are our lives, I suppose. Always hurrying up to wait, aren't we? Never just going out there and making things happen. For the last 20 years or so I would think and ponder the idea of writing a novel...something fun....even if no one else ever read it. It wasn't until I became physically disabled did I truly start to fulfill this dream. My advice? Don't wait. Live your dream now. Who knows what tomorrow brings!!! Sermon over. Moving on.....

The next entry will be more fun....I promise. I am going to put in a snippet of the book for the readers. Anybody reading?

Happy Father's Day to all the dads out there.

Friday Night and It's Really Dark Outside

It's 10 p.m. on Friday night and it is REALLY dark outside. Well, duh, you say? Let me explain.

My husband, Don and I live just outside of Florissant, Colorado on top of a hill in a rural subdivision called Druid Hills. And when it gets dark here....it gets really dark. Nightfall has been the most interesting time of day here for me. Not only is it dark, but all the four-legged creatures come out after dark. We have five deer, two does, two fawns (one male, one female) and a big strapping buck who call our yard their home. They live somewhere at the bottom of our hill during the day, but at night they grace us with their presence. One of the doe, which I have fondly named Molly, has a huge hole in her left ear. Looks like she was tagged by the Forestry Service or whatever to follow her roaming patterns and the gadget fell out or something. The other doe is WAY too friendly for my own good! She waltzes right up to me everyday wanting something to eat. She wants me to pet her, rub her chin, whatever...but it kind of creeps me out. Every one around here refers to me as the Deer Whisperer, because all the deer just gravitate to me, but this one kind of creeps me out. She's cute! She's funny! But I think she'd come right on in the house, if I let her. Uh....no!

The other visiters we get are the occasional black bear who likes our garbage. But the ones I really don't like and who scare the beegeebers out of me are the 5 or 5 coyotes who visit my front yard about every other night...sometimes twice in one night...and have choir practice. It is the lonesomest, weirdest, disturbing sounds I have ever heard. All of them join in at once. All five or six of them and it is so high-pitched it is truly a sound only dogs should hear.

A few months ago I decided to put some of my imaginings down on paper. I have a vivid imagination, so while I was knitting my eBay orders (I knit special orders for people from all over), I would think up dialogue and what I came up with astounded even me...the one who has lived with this creative mind for 54 years. I started writing. Sometimes I would write for five minutes....other times a couple of hours. Now I'm a couple hundred pages into a story that has morphed into a great story of a nonfictional mining community with fictional characters...all set in 1934, right smack dab in the middle of the Great Depression. We are dealing with rheumatic fever, mining accidents, gossips, mystery and romance. Sounds like a soap opera, doesn't it? I'm very excited. Whether or not someone picks up the book to publish wasn't exactly my goal, but it would be fantastic should that happen.

We call this The Miner's Cut. The term Miner's Cut is an old term having to do with the cut of a diamond in the 1800s, but we are using it as a play on words. My own engagement ring was bought in this Colorado town, Ouray, and is a miner's cut. It is over a hundred years old and we bought it in an antique store and have had it appraised. Don and I wanted to write this story and it is growing into our brainchild.

The main characters are twin sisters, Hattie and Mattie Wright, who live in a beautiful Queen Anne home left to them by their miner father. Their story is one that not too many people talked about in those days. Mr. Wright's mother was Cherokee and walked the Trail of Tears as a child and lived on the reservation in Oklahoma. The girls' father, Mr. Wright became interested in mining when visiting Colorado Springs and befriending some successful miners who helped him get started. He married, moved the family to Ouray and made his fortune there, leaving it all to the girls in his Will. The family was ostracized because of their Native American roots, often being the butt of jokes and what we now call hate crimes. Neither married...and now are living together, wealthy middle-aged women who are seen as gossipers, but are really do-gooders. Except someone is out to get them and sends letters threatening them and signs the letters "The Miner's Cut".

Their faith sustains them; however, there are moments when they are petrified with fear. It will be fun to see how they go about their day-to-day activities all the while believing someone, an anonymous crazy person, if following and watching their every move, just waiting for the opportune moment to strike.

Tooby Magruder Strikes Again

When I was growing up I had this friend named Tooby...Tooby Magruder, to be exact. What a name, huh?

Well, Tooby loved cookies. All kinds, really, but mostly chocolate chips. He decided early on in life that when he grew up he would become a cookie "chef". Time went by and I lost touch with Tooby until just recently when he came to me and asked me to help him get his cookie business going.

So I did.....

Tooby Magruder has started making cookie mixes in decorative packaging and selling them for a steal! I tried one of these mixes and was AMAZED and FERHOODLED at how moist and tasty they were. So we started going to farmer's markets and they sold like hotcakes at IHOP! Then we placed them in our store in Colorado Springs and people come back time after time after time to buy these crazy cookie mixes. I feel like banging myself on the head and saying "You coulda had a cookie mix!"

So we started selling them on our online store www.pikespeakgeneralstore.com and on bonanzle.com and ecrater and, oh, yes, we must never forget etsy and ebay. (As a matter of fact, I do spend all day on the computer!)

As for Tooby? Well it surprises me that some gal has not grabbed him up and claimed him for her own with his incredible culinary skills, but his mission in life is to make people happy, if only for a moment, with his cookies.