I have rotten teeth. Which is nothing new. I remember being about ten-years-old when I returned home from the dentist, who worked out of his home just a few blocks away from my house.

“I have seven cavities,” I told my mom.

“What?” My mother placed both hands on her hips. “That’s from all that candy you eat!”

She was right, at least partially.

The next time I had a checkup, I needed even more fillings, which left my mother exasperated. “Well then, I’m not paying for any more Novocain! It’s seven dollars a shot! If you’re going to keep ruining your teeth, you can have those fillings drilled without it.”

Now you might think my mother was bluffing, but she wasn’t. Never again did she fork over money for anesthesia.

Today, I realize my terrible teeth aren’t all my fault.

“I just lost another tooth,” my 97-year-old mother complained recently. “I only have six left. These damned Irish teeth!”

Yep, it seems my ancestors from the Emerald Isle are noted for their bad teeth, since they are some of the least likely people in Europe to brush and floss and visit the dentist on a regular basis. Whether there’s a genetic component involved, I have no idea. But I feel I can at least partially blame my ancestry for the fact that I’ve put many dentists children through college and probably helped pay for a few vacation homes, as well.

All these years later, my teeth still suck. Just last week, I was sitting in a dentist’s chair, one half of my jaw propped open with a rubber brick while he excavated a 35-year-old root canal that had abscessed and needed to be gouged out of my jaw. Afterward, the dentist smiled and said, “This will hurt more than a regular root canal.”

I assured him that I’d be fine. But then the Novocain wore off and I started howling like a five-year-old with my hair on fire. If you’d walked up to my door and handed me some fentanyl you just bought in the street, I would have taken it instantly.

I stayed in bed, trying not to move, and kept thinking about other times my teeth were problematic. I admitted to myself that I once dated a guy because his brother was a dentist who treated me for free. (Try not to judge.) Another miserable time, I had all four of my wisdom teeth pulled in one sitting. Then there was the time in Rochester, New York where I worked as a sportscaster for WROC-TV. I had just left the dentist’s office where I’d undergone an apico. If you’ve never experienced that sade-esq procedure, let me explain. It’s called a root-end resection, because instead of drilling through the top of one’s tooth, the dentist cuts back the gums, drills a hole in the jaw, and digs out the infection. Trust me, it’s as awful as it sounds.

Afterward, I went to the local pharmacy, mouth all pumped up with Novocain. Back then, dentists doled out pain pills like they were M&Ms, so I was waiting for my prescription when I realized I’d had no breakfast. I purchased a container of yogurt and went out on the grassy hillside next door to wait for my medication.

As I was eating, a woman walked by and did a doubletake. I smiled. She paused and nodded, but quickly departed. Then, it happened again. People would stare at me. Some smiled. Some didn’t. But, as I ate my yogurt, I was surprised that all these folks seemed to recognize me. It’s because I’m famous, I told myself. They see me on the news every night. As you can imagine, I was feeling rather jazzed. I hadn’t been in town that long and already the locals knew who I was.

But, when I approached the drugstore door, I realized I was wrong. I stood there, staring at my reflection in the glass. The lower half of my face was covered with yogurt. It dripped from my numbed-up jaw onto my shirt. I looked like a rabid animal, frothing at the mouth. Later that night, I anchored the news, even though I was on pain pills and appeared to have a golf ball lodged in my cheek.

All my life, perhaps understandably, I’ve been drawn to people who have perfect, straight white teeth, those who don’t need to have a dentist on speed dial or a trust fund to pay the subsequent bills.

Now, if you’re wondering if I still eat sweets, well, of course I do. Every day! All I can say is you pick your poison and I’ll pick mine.

The past and present collide when a tenacious reporter seeks information on an eleventh century magician…and uncovers more than she bargained for.

WOLF CATCHER

Anne Montgomery

Historical Fiction/Suspense

TouchPoint Press

February 2, 2022

In 1939, archeologists uncovered a tomb at the Northern Arizona site called Ridge Ruin. The man, bedecked in fine turquoise jewelry and intricate bead work, was surrounded by wooden swords with handles carved into animal hooves and human hands. The Hopi workers stepped back from the grave, knowing what the Moochiwimi sticks meant. This man, buried nine hundred years earlier, was a magician.

Former television journalist Kate Butler hangs on to her investigative reporting career by writing freelance magazine articles. Her research on The Magician shows he bore some European facial characteristics and physical qualities that made him different from the people who buried him. Her quest to discover The Magician’s origin carries her back to a time when the high desert world was shattered by the birth of a volcano and into the present-day dangers of archeological looting where black market sales of antiquities can lead to murder.

REVIEW COPIES OF WOLF CATCHER AVAILABLE UPON REQUEST

Review/interview requests: media@touchpointpress.com

When I read about the firing of organic chemistry professor Maitland Jones Jr. I was saddened, though not terribly surprised. Jones spent over 40 years teaching at Princeton where, according to his retirement announcement, he garnered outstanding reviews. He then returned to the classroom at New York University. Now, at 84, he’s been forced out because 80 of his 350 students decided his class was too hard.

Note that I am probably completely biased, since I spent 20 years in the classroom, so you may take my comments in that context.

Once upon a time, teachers outlined what students were required to do in order to succeed and held them accountable. For the most part, students realized that teachers were doing their best to help them achieve their dreams. But then something changed. School became a commodity. It started with universities, where education was being doled out as if it were a business where “the customer is always right.” In a state like mine where students may choose where they want to study and where funds follow wherever they go, K12 education also became a service to be sold, which put students and parents in charge.

Don’t get me wrong. Families have every right to decided what institutions they want to patronize. I have no problem there. The issues arise when a student is not doing well and, instead of finding the root of the problem, the parents and administrators instantly blame the teacher. Let me say here that, yes, there are incompetent teachers. It’s a tough job—certainly the hardest I’ve ever had—and not everyone is cut out for it. Still, I have never met a teacher who didn’t have a yearning to help young people, which means with some targeted, extra training, struggling teachers might improve.

Something else to consider is the fact that too many children come from disfunctional homes—certainly the case in my Title I school—and often they can’t remedy the issues that burden them. Teachers then become the next best target. Anger and disappointment in other areas of their lives switch on in the classroom, aimed especially at teachers who are considered “tough.”

Teachers like me.

Sometimes, my students called me harsh. Once, when I was a brand new teacher, an entire class simply walked out one day, leaving me in tears at the front of an empty room. (Not easy for me to mention that, but there you have it.) Why did they leave? I told them deadlines are important and that they must get their work in on time or their grades would suffer. Another time, after months of explaining that students needed to put their names on their work, I warned that if they neglected that requirement again, they’d fail the assignment. Four students ignored my request and, though I gave them extra work to make up for those zeros, they went to my administrator to complain. I was ordered to give them their credit back. What do you think that taught them?

While some students loved the rigor of my journalism classes, others despised me for holding them accountable. When I would try to calmly point out that I was only trying to help them be successful in life, I could see they didn’t believe me, which hurt. Eventually, I realized this attitude didn’t begin with the students. It came from the adults in their world.

In many countries, teaching is looked upon as a noble and respected profession. Here in the U.S., however, many believe the mantra, “Those who can’t do, teach.” (I will now warn you to never utter that expression in my presence, unless you’ve stepped into a classroom and taken charge at least once.) I cringe when I hear grownups, many decades out of school, say, “That teacher hated me!” Teachers don’t hate students. While it’s true some kids are more appealing and easier to work with than others—the same, of course, can be said of teachers—most of the educators I know buckle down and work overtime with kids who are more difficult. And yet this blame-the-teacher attitude trickled down to students and now these kids are out in the workforce.

Today, our businesses are struggling because they can’t hire enough competent workers. Just enter any restaurant, office, or store and you’ll see what I mean. Young people quit jobs in rapid succession, saying the work is too hard and too stressful. Or even worse, they agree to “quiet quitting,” the idea that one should do the least possible amount of work for the most pay. Can you see that the disdain once held for teachers has now shifted to business bosses?

Can we fix this? I don’t know, but getting rid of the anti-teacher rhetoric that’s bouncing around would be a plus. Currently, it’s estimated that over 36,500 teaching positions remain unfilled nationwide. A little respect might go a long way toward bringing that number down.

I don’t know Professor Jones, but my heart breaks for him. He’s given his life to teaching and, I’m sure, was running his classroom the best way he knows how. And, even if you agree with his dismissal, bear in mind that organic chemistry is often a pre-requisite in most medical fields. So ask yourself, the next time you’re preparing to head into surgery, would you want a doctor who failed that course cutting into you?

The past and present collide when a tenacious reporter seeks information on an eleventh century magician…and uncovers more than she bargained for.

WOLF CATCHER

Anne Montgomery

Historical Fiction/Suspense

TouchPoint Press

February 2, 2022

In 1939, archeologists uncovered a tomb at the Northern Arizona site called Ridge Ruin. The man, bedecked in fine turquoise jewelry and intricate bead work, was surrounded by wooden swords with handles carved into animal hooves and human hands. The Hopi workers stepped back from the grave, knowing what the Moochiwimi sticks meant. This man, buried nine hundred years earlier, was a magician.

Former television journalist Kate Butler hangs on to her investigative reporting career by writing freelance magazine articles. Her research on The Magician shows he bore some European facial characteristics and physical qualities that made him different from the people who buried him. Her quest to discover The Magician’s origin carries her back to a time when the high desert world was shattered by the birth of a volcano and into the present-day dangers of archeological looting where black market sales of antiquities can lead to murder.

REVIEW COPIES OF WOLF CATCHER AVAILABLE UPON REQUEST

Review/interview requests: media@touchpointpress.com

Available where you buy books

After much pomp and circumstance, Queen Elizabeth was laid to rest as the world watched. That she’d been up and dressed and looking fine two days prior to succumbing had some folks confused, but there she was, 48-hours earlier, in her cute little kilt, patten-leather pumps, and cardigan, welcoming new British Prime Minister Elizabeth Truss with a smile and a handshake.

That the Queen shuffled off this mortal coil so soon after welcoming the new PM seemed a bit odd. What did she die of, people wondered. It would be a few weeks later that the British coroner confirmed what carried her off. Right there on the death certificate it said “old age.”

But what’s that mean? According to the article “Natural Causes: What does it mean to die of old age” by Jeff Anderson,  “‘Old age’ is not truly a cause of death in and of itself. To ‘die of old age’ means that someone has died naturally from an ailment associated with aging. The same usually goes for ‘dying of natural causes.’”

No one can argue that Queen Elizabeth wasn’t old. Gosh, she was 96 when she died “peacefully.” (One wonders how doctors know someone died without a struggle. Perhaps she raged against the dying of the light. But that’s for another time.)

If you’re wondering, generally speaking one dies of old age following a long life, say anything over 80 years. But that doesn’t mean said elderly person didn’t have medical issues. Often, when someone is old, they suffer from multiple ailments, like cardiovascular disease, diabetes, and pneumonia which leaves the exact cause of death hard to pinpoint, so saying someone died of old age or natural causes clears up the problem of trying to identify which illness caused the fatal blow.

Also, perhaps, there’s the idea of protecting one’s privacy.

“The practice of ascribing a death to ‘natural causes’ lives on in the media and popular parlance,” Anderson wrote. “Because we are not doctors, we don’t necessarily need to know the details of a stranger’s last days. “Natural causes” suffices because clinical accuracy about an older person’s death is usually neither necessary nor desirable. In fact, detail beyond “natural causes” would be considered an undignified invasion of the privacy of the deceased and his or her loved ones.”

Certainly no one could ever accuse the Queen of being undignified. And she was such a private person, I wouldn’t be surprise if, prior to passing on, she issued a royal decree stating that she would die of natural causes.

Whether it’s better to be vague on cause of death or not is up for debate. But maybe, if one has lived a long life, they should be allowed to skip all the medical labels. I for one would love to be able to choose my cause of death. I’m thinking, when I am suitably old and have had enough adventures, that I’d like to meet my end when a big meteor plunges from the sky and hits me directly on the head. I would, hopefully, be vaporized, if only to avoid the subsequent mess.

Yep, death by a falling rock from space would be kind of cool, don’t you think? And, if I were queen, I would decree that my death certificate would say so: Cause of death: crushed by a meteorite.

I wonder if that would be considered natural causes?

The past and present collide when a tenacious reporter seeks information on an eleventh century magician…and uncovers more than she bargained for.

WOLF CATCHER

Anne Montgomery

Historical Fiction/Suspense

TouchPoint Press

February 2, 2022

In 1939, archeologists uncovered a tomb at the Northern Arizona site called Ridge Ruin. The man, bedecked in fine turquoise jewelry and intricate bead work, was surrounded by wooden swords with handles carved into animal hooves and human hands. The Hopi workers stepped back from the grave, knowing what the Moochiwimi sticks meant. This man, buried nine hundred years earlier, was a magician.

Former television journalist Kate Butler hangs on to her investigative reporting career by writing freelance magazine articles. Her research on The Magician shows he bore some European facial characteristics and physical qualities that made him different from the people who buried him. Her quest to discover The Magician’s origin carries her back to a time when the high desert world was shattered by the birth of a volcano and into the present-day dangers of archeological looting where black market sales of antiquities can lead to murder.

REVIEW COPIES OF WOLF CATCHER AVAILABLE UPON REQUEST

Review/interview requests: media@touchpointpress.com

Available where you buy books

Manscaping. It’s been a thing for quite a while, but as is often the case with trends, the idea of smooth, hairless male bodies may be going the way of the wholly mammoth.

Now, for clarification, note that the definition of manscaping has morphed a bit. While the term originally applied to, um…pruning one’s nether regions, today it’s a catchall word for caring for hair wherever it happens to appear on one’s body.

And this idea is far from new. It seems our ancient ancestors, hirsute men who lived around 30,000 BC, scraped themselves with clamshells and flint blades, maybe in an effort to appeal to those comely ladies on the other side of the cave. In ancient Greek and Roman times, both men and women felt the need to remove their hair, so much so they sometimes utilized fire to singe it away.

This obsession in olden times may have had something to do with lice and other crawly creatures, though I have no scientific proof here. It just seems rational, because removing one’s hair would give the little buggers fewer places to hide, which would make our ancient ancestors less likely to be itchy and cranky.

But probably starting around ancient Egyptian times, scalping oneself became all about class and beauty. The upper crust men would scrape or pluck themselves bald, to show they were of high station. Maybe they gleaned the look from those hairless cats they so fancied. In any case, it was all about fashion. Note here that the Egyptians sometimes donned wigs and grew long, thin beards, so clearly their notions about hair are rather perplexing.

Now, if you’re old like me, you realize that the smooth-versus-fuzzy male styles keep changing. Think back to the hirsute Burt Reynolds posing rakishly in Cosmo Magazine in 1972. The layout was considered quite scandalous, at the time, but it had women everywhere searching for a similarly bushy mate. Sean Connery’s James Bond and Tom Selleck as the beach-combing private investigator in the TV series Magnum P.I., both displayed what was considered sexy shagginess.

But then something changed in our tonsorial tastes. By the 90s and early 2000s, male body hair vanished. Hence, we were greeted by the ultra-smooth Daniel Craig emerging from the ocean in Casino Royale and sports stars like David Beckham and Cristiano Ronaldo, who appear to have plucked every single hair below their necks making them smooth and shiny like pre-pubescent boys.

But now, the pendulum has swung back. Beards, that were previously the purview of bikers and backwoodsmen, have in recent years sprang up everywhere. And I don’t mean that five o’clock shadow-look or those carefully sculpted goatees. I’m talking about full-on James Harden beards. Watch just about any sporting event, and you’ll see unshorn athletes rocking massive Viking whiskers. Even movie stars and the guys on the TV news are now flaunting facial hair.

Clearly, shaggy is currently all the rage. Just ask former NFL player Eric Weddle, Philadelphia 76ers star James Harden, and actor Jason Mamoa.

My question is, to whom are they trying to appeal? I’m guessing women don’t necessarily favor giant, food-catching beards. However, it is true that many ladies fancy facial hair and there seems to a valid, evolutionary reason. Studies show that bearded and mustachioed men are considered more masculine, confident, and generous than those who are clean shaven.  Scientists also say that, when given a choice, women believe a man with a beard is more marriageable and that they make better dads.

So, where do we go from here? I’m pretty sure the pendulum will keep on swinging, so if you don’t like today’s styles, hold on. They’ll probably be changing again soon.

The past and present collide when a tenacious reporter seeks information on an eleventh century magician…and uncovers more than she bargained for.

WOLF CATCHER

Anne Montgomery

Historical Fiction/Suspense

TouchPoint Press

February 2, 2022

In 1939, archeologists uncovered a tomb at the Northern Arizona site called Ridge Ruin. The man, bedecked in fine turquoise jewelry and intricate bead work, was surrounded by wooden swords with handles carved into animal hooves and human hands. The Hopi workers stepped back from the grave, knowing what the Moochiwimi sticks meant. This man, buried nine hundred years earlier, was a magician.

Former television journalist Kate Butler hangs on to her investigative reporting career by writing freelance magazine articles. Her research on The Magician shows he bore some European facial characteristics and physical qualities that made him different from the people who buried him. Her quest to discover The Magician’s origin carries her back to a time when the high desert world was shattered by the birth of a volcano and into the present-day dangers of archeological looting where black market sales of antiquities can lead to murder.

REVIEW COPIES OF WOLF CATCHER AVAILABLE UPON REQUEST

Review/interview requests: media@touchpointpress.com

Available where you buy books

Fifty years ago, Title IX was signed into law, legislation that prohibits sex discrimination in any educational program or activity receiving any type of federal financial aid. The idea being that girls should have all the same opportunities as boys. While Title IX is not exclusively about sports, equality in that realm is what most people think about when considering the law.

You may be wondering why Title IX was so important. Up until the law was established, only 300,000 girls participated in high school sports. According to the National Federation of State High School Associations that number jumped to about 3.5 million during the 2018-19 school year, 43% of all high school athletes.

And the reason that leap is so exciting? Young people who participate in sports learn valuable skills that shine in the business world. Ninety-four percent of women in C suite positions—that means executives—played sports, 52% participated in college athletics, so there’s a serious correlation between athletic and business success. And it’s easy to see why. Athletes learn teamwork, punctuality, leadership skills, and the ability to get back up when they’ve been knocked down. Who wouldn’t want to hire them? Until Title IX, only male athletes reaped this benefit.

But before you rejoice over the wonderful success of Title IX, it’s important to take a closer look, especially at the college level, where the law is being manipulated in a rather appalling way. If a school has an equal number of male and female students and there are 600 male athletes, by law there should also be 600 female athletes. But, according to a 2018-19 analysis by USA TODAY, some of the nation’s biggest and most well-known schools—107 institutions in the Division I Football Bowl Subdivision, to be exact—are rigging the count.

For example, twenty-seven schools dumped extra athletes onto women’s teams, players who sometimes had never participated in the sport before and who never competed at the varsity level, all so they wouldn’t have to field women’s teams in other sports. At the same time, ten schools decided not to count 170 male athletes by saying they didn’t “sponsor” men’s indoor track, only because the men didn’t compete in conference or NCAA championships. Hence, they were not required to provide an additional 170 slots to women. Even worse, one-quarter of all women’s basketball players reported to the federal government were…wait for it…men. Yep, it seems it’s quite legal to call some guys in to scrimmage with a women’s team and then declare that those men are actually women. Fifty-two schools reported 601 male practice players as women, so they could comply with Title IX guidelines.

Not surprisingly, when the schools were contacted by USA TODAY reporters and asked about the proper counting of male and female athletes the response was terse. “We follow the guidelines as issued.” Which is true, but completely unfair and not in the spirit of Title IX.

So, 50 years later, have things improved for women in amateur sports? Yes, they have! But have we reached the goal of full Title IX compliance? Nope. The numbers are being fudged and our schools can and should do better.

The past and present collide when a tenacious reporter seeks information on an eleventh century magician…and uncovers more than she bargained for.

WOLF CATCHER

Anne Montgomery

Historical Fiction/Suspense

TouchPoint Press

February 2, 2022

In 1939, archeologists uncovered a tomb at the Northern Arizona site called Ridge Ruin. The man, bedecked in fine turquoise jewelry and intricate bead work, was surrounded by wooden swords with handles carved into animal hooves and human hands. The Hopi workers stepped back from the grave, knowing what the Moochiwimi sticks meant. This man, buried nine hundred years earlier, was a magician.

Former television journalist Kate Butler hangs on to her investigative reporting career by writing freelance magazine articles. Her research on The Magician shows he bore some European facial characteristics and physical qualities that made him different from the people who buried him. Her quest to discover The Magician’s origin carries her back to a time when the high desert world was shattered by the birth of a volcano and into the present-day dangers of archeological looting where black market sales of antiquities can lead to murder.

REVIEW COPIES OF WOLF CATCHER AVAILABLE UPON REQUEST

Review/interview requests: media@touchpointpress.com

Available where you buy books.

Generally, for those of us lucky enough to live in first-world countries, life generally plods along in a rather routine way. We get up, do the stuff we have to, then go to bed. The excitement usually comes from whatever TV show/movie/video game we’re watching.

However, on occasion, life takes a hard turn, slaps us in the face and says, “What are you gonna do now?” One year ago, I had such a moment when I got Covid, passed out, and woke up with a severely broken leg that would require surgery, but which left me untouchable until the virus passed. It would be three weeks before a surgeon would re-break my leg and attach a titanium plate along with eleven screws, which sometimes makes me feel like I might be related to Oz’s Tin Man. Clearly, nothing was the least bit normal. I was in bed for months. I was completely helpless. I couldn’t prepare food or bathe myself. I had to learn to walk again.

When you’re staring at four walls, you tend to think a lot. I kept recalling that old commercial saying: Life comes at you fast! I learned that seemingly insignificant decisions can have a huge impact. Had I not gotten out of bed that night, I would have recovered from Covid and been bouncing around as usual after a few weeks. Instead, I would not feel like myself for almost nine months and I will carry my metal bits as a reminder for the rest of my life.

During my convalescence, I reflected on other moments when a snap decision put me in eminent danger. One time that sticks out happened in my early twenties, when I went skiing in Switzerland. I’d grown up on the slopes in New Jersey and New York, but skiing in the Alps was a whole different sport.

The lift dropped me above the tree line, and I faced a vast, mountaintop field of fresh snow. It was delightful until I saw the trees below. Other skiers funneled into what appeared to be small trails, disappearing into the pines. I followed them, but the tracks were only about ten-feet wide, which might be okay for a leisurely walk in the woods, but not so much for an average skier heading rapidly downhill.

The snow was deep and fresh, powder flying. But then the trail split in two ahead and I had to pick one. I skied to the right and the narrow track quickly disappeared. I hurtled into the woods. Suddenly, I came to a dead stop, up to my chest in snow. I blinked and tried to get out, but couldn’t move. Muted quiet assaulted me. I guessed the rest of the skiers had taken the other route. Irrationally, I attempted to lift my skis, but the snow held them down. I couldn’t turn around. Surrounded by trees and silence and snow, I started to panic. Would someone come my way soon or would they find me the next spring as I thawed from an icy tomb?

Then, I felt one foot slip backwards slightly. It was only an inch or two, but my ski had clearly moved. I took a breath to calm myself, then tried moving my other foot. Again, the ski slid back, but only a little. I found that I could move in only one direction—backward—and only in tiny increments.

I don’t recollect how long it took me to get out or how I made my way back to the correct trail. I do recall not being the least bit cold. No doubt the panic and exertion kept me warm. And, I can still vividly remember the euphoria I felt when the snow finally released me from its grip and I knew I would live.

I have had other close calls over the years. A narrow, underwater lava tube one-hundred feet below the sea’s surface where I found myself scuba diving without a light or the ability to turn around comes to mind, as does a ride over an equestrian show-jumping course—a place I was completely unqualified to be—where the horse magically sprung over rails and water obstacles, while I clung to the poor creature’s mane using a death grip.

Yes, I’ve been a dope a few times in the past, and I realize how fortunate I was not to end up, well…dead. Still, I must confess, I might be apt to do more dumb things in the future.

That which does not kill me and all.

The past and present collide when a tenacious reporter seeks information on an eleventh century magician…and uncovers more than she bargained for.

WOLF CATCHER

Anne Montgomery

Historical Fiction/Suspense

TouchPoint Press

February 2, 2022

In 1939, archeologists uncovered a tomb at the Northern Arizona site called Ridge Ruin. The man, bedecked in fine turquoise jewelry and intricate bead work, was surrounded by wooden swords with handles carved into animal hooves and human hands. The Hopi workers stepped back from the grave, knowing what the Moochiwimi sticks meant. This man, buried nine hundred years earlier, was a magician.

Former television journalist Kate Butler hangs on to her investigative reporting career by writing freelance magazine articles. Her research on The Magician shows he bore some European facial characteristics and physical qualities that made him different from the people who buried him. Her quest to discover The Magician’s origin carries her back to a time when the high desert world was shattered by the birth of a volcano and into the present-day dangers of archeological looting where black market sales of antiquities can lead to murder.

REVIEW COPIES OF WOLF CATCHER AVAILABLE UPON REQUEST

Review/interview requests: media@touchpointpress.com

Available where you buy books.

I’m worried!

There are a lot of things that have me concerned, like the usual ho-hum topics: climate change and politics, pandemics and inflation and war. But what worries me most are young people.

Why, you ask? The vast majority of them seem unable to fully communicate. And yet, studies show strangely different results on this issue.

As I usually do when confronted with a problem, I popped on my reporter’s hat to do some research. The first article that came up was from Psychology Today, a 2020 story by Dr. Marilyn Price Ph.D. who thinks young people are doing just fine, thank you very much. According to her article, a study by Douglas Downey of Ohio State University involving more than 60,000 K-8 kids between 1998 and 2010 showed that “no decline in social skills was noted by teachers or parents during this period of increased internet activity.”

As an educator of over 20 years, all I can say is color me surprised.

A short time later, I came upon a 2021 story by SWNS Media Group: Young Americans lack key social skills, avoid the phone, and fear small talk. The article was based on a survey of millennials by OnePoll, a marketing research company that specializes in online and mobile polling. The survey produced the following results:

• 68 % of millennials admit they actively avoid talking face to face if they can
• 40% confess that they often find themselves awkward or uncomfortable if having to make small talk.
• 62% feel a sense of dread while speaking on the phone to clients and customers at work.
• 80% feel they are often more vocal or able to express themselves in text or online than when they are in person.

Only 7% of millennials say they generally keep in touch with friends by talking on the phone, while just 9% communicate in person. And the vast majority claim their main form of contact with friends is on social media or via text.

While these stats are sad, they sound more realistic. But I know what you’re thinking. Why the disparity between the studies? I mulled this over for a while and then the proverbial light bulb went on. The first study was talking about children. The later discussed the grown-ups they’d become.

Clearly, then, we have a problem. In the interest of full disclosure note that I taught communication skills in high school. Then, along with a host of other classes, my program was cut to make way for all those STEM courses. Don’t get me wrong, science, technology, engineering, and math are fine subjects, but not all children are wired to succeed in STEM. And, even if they were, don’t scientists and engineers and IT people need the ability to work with others? Without solid communications skills, misunderstandings and errors are bound to occur.

Good communication skills can also improve one’s personal life. Being able to listen and respond clearly to another human being builds trust, nurtures mutual respect, and goes a long way toward avoiding confusion that might lead to arguments and stress.

The question is, what do we do now? An entire generation of young people has grown up communicating primarily by screen. And, if that’s not bad enough, consider that they are now raising children. What will become of the offspring of those who have eschewed social skills?

Did I mention I’m worried?

The past and present collide when a tenacious reporter seeks information on an eleventh century magician…and uncovers more than she bargained for.

WOLF CATCHER

Anne Montgomery

Historical Fiction/Suspense

TouchPoint Press

February 2, 2022

In 1939, archeologists uncovered a tomb at the Northern Arizona site called Ridge Ruin. The man, bedecked in fine turquoise jewelry and intricate bead work, was surrounded by wooden swords with handles carved into animal hooves and human hands. The Hopi workers stepped back from the grave, knowing what the Moochiwimi sticks meant. This man, buried nine hundred years earlier, was a magician.

Former television journalist Kate Butler hangs on to her investigative reporting career by writing freelance magazine articles. Her research on The Magician shows he bore some European facial characteristics and physical qualities that made him different from the people who buried him. Her quest to discover The Magician’s origin carries her back to a time when the high desert world was shattered by the birth of a volcano and into the present-day dangers of archeological looting where black market sales of antiquities can lead to murder.

REVIEW COPIES OF WOLF CATCHER AVAILABLE UPON REQUEST

Review/interview requests: media@touchpointpress.com

Available where you buy books

I like wine. And the occasional beer. And sometimes a wee finger of iced dark rum. Now, some might blame this on my Irish ancestry, as my peeps are often associated with the raucous drinking of alcohol. Still the Irish are generally a cheery lot, and we don’t often take offense at our propensity to enjoy a nip now and then.

Here’s the thing. Human beings have been imbibing in some form or another since, well, before we were actually human. Studies show that our primate ancestors managed to metabolize alcohol somewhere between seven and 21 million years ago. Researchers believe our ancient forefathers might have developed their alcohol-metabolizing gene following a major climate change during the Miocene Epoch that shifted African forests into grasslands, forcing them from the trees. They probably climbed down from their branches and started looking around for stuff to eat. So, instead of picking food directly from the trees, they began eating the fruits and berries that had fallen to the ground, which had probably rotted a bit having begun the natural process of fermentation, which converted those fruit sugars into alcohol.

Understand that our furry forebears were not ambling down to the local liquor store, nor were they actively distilling anything. That process didn’t evolve until maybe around 800 B.C., when some enterprising folks in Asia thought distilling rice and sometimes mare’s milk—Yum!— were dandy ways to make alcohol. But these early attempts at creating booze were not undertaken for recreational purposes. The liquor was generally for medicinal or ritual uses. Then, somewhere along the line, some recalcitrant human—after checking around to see if any of the bigwigs were looking—probably snuck a sip. Then he or she smiled. And alcohol as a recreational drink became all the rage.

Later, and perhaps not surprisingly, humans came to believe fermentation was a gift from the gods, which I certainly understand. Booze became so important that the Greeks used wine as currency. The Romans gave their soldiers wine rations to keep them marching throughout the empire. Then, in the 17^th century, clever rum merchants in the Caribbean convinced the British to pass laws requiring that sailors be provided with a daily “tot” and mutinies occurred if the men didn’t get their rum in a timely matter. Note the law didn’t expire until 1970.

A 2021 Gallup poll showed that 60% of U.S. adults admit to drinking alcohol, with almost 40% saying their libation of choice is beer. Thirty-one precent opt for wine, while 27% prefer spirits. As mentioned earlier, I enjoy all three, depending on the setting. And in moderation, of course!

The thing is, for those of us who do imbibe, cocktails bring a bit of civility to the day. That pre-dinner beer—which I split with my sweetie pie and drink from a Champaign flute because I’m not a barbarian— adds a bit of decorum, especially to those days that don’t go quite as planned.

In any case, I’d like to thank our ancient ancestors for swinging out of the trees and gobbling up those alcohol-infused fruits, so that today we can all look forward to cocktail hour.

The past and present collide when a tenacious reporter seeks information on an eleventh century magician…and uncovers more than she bargained for.

WOLF CATCHER

Anne Montgomery

Historical Fiction/Suspense

TouchPoint Press

February 2, 2022

In 1939, archeologists uncovered a tomb at the Northern Arizona site called Ridge Ruin. The man, bedecked in fine turquoise jewelry and intricate bead work, was surrounded by wooden swords with handles carved into animal hooves and human hands. The Hopi workers stepped back from the grave, knowing what the Moochiwimi sticks meant. This man, buried nine hundred years earlier, was a magician.

Former television journalist Kate Butler hangs on to her investigative reporting career by writing freelance magazine articles. Her research on The Magician shows he bore some European facial characteristics and physical qualities that made him different from the people who buried him. Her quest to discover The Magician’s origin carries her back to a time when the high desert world was shattered by the birth of a volcano and into the present-day dangers of archeological looting where black market sales of antiquities can lead to murder.

REVIEW COPIES OF WOLF CATCHER AVAILABLE UPON REQUEST

Review/interview requests: media@touchpointpress.com

Available where you buy books.

Age. It’s a funny thing, especially when you try to pin it down. I’m not talking about chronological age, as that’s pretty much set in stone. The question is how age is perceived.

For example, after asking my high school students what they thought was old age they agreed upon 24. Ugh! Just today, one of my kids said her friends referred to 33 as “fossil age.” Conversely, my 97-year-old mother told me she’d met a new friend who was young: 82.

See why I’m confused?

The perception of age seems to be an individual thing. But is it based on what we look like? How we feel? How we act? It seems the United Nation’s has determined that anyone over 59, no matter where they live or how they look or feel, is considered old. However, Boomers—no doubt a bit biased—say you’re not old until you’re 73.

In recent decades, ideas about age have clearly shifted. Consider the phrase “40 is the new 30”, which morphed into “50 is the new 40”. So, is 70 the new 60? I’d like to think so. Still, not long ago the idea of a woman over 30 gracing a magazine cover was rather rare. The thought being that ladies past that age were no longer attractive or desirable or captivating. Note the same prohibition was not held in regard to men, who could be suave and sexy well into their 50s and 60s. Go figure.

But then something shifted. Not only did a lot of famous women maintain their looks as the decades slipped past, but people found them much more interesting than those 20-something youngsters who still hadn’t acquired much life experience.

I’m thinking age is a combination of factors. Looking good certainly helps, but more important is good health. When we‘re fit, we feel better, which colors the way we act. Like most people, I’ve occasionally been on the opposite end of feeling good, and when I stared into the mirror I saw what old age looked like. While I understand illness, aches, and pains come with advancing years, they don’t have to define us.

There are a lot of ways we can work around the ailments that plague us as we age: eating right, exercise, hobbies, healthy relationships, volunteer work. I’m willing to bet these things will go a long way toward making us healthier and happier, which will, no doubt, show on our faces.

I’m 67. And though I periodically feel ancient—the result of all those sports I was told were good for me—I don’t feel elderly in my head. My kids sometimes say I don’t act old. Perhaps that’s because I’m sometimes silly. Not too long ago, my sweetie pie and I were known to dance in the isles at Home Depot. Why there? I have no idea. Sometimes silly doesn’t make sense. It’s just fun.

So, let’s ditch the numbers and preconceived notions we have about age. Let’s work on our health and let the happiness shine through. And, personally, I recommend some silly now and then. I know many of you have outgrown that behavior, but give it a try.

I think you’ll look and feel younger.

The past and present collide when a tenacious reporter seeks information on an eleventh century magician…and uncovers more than she bargained for.

WOLF CATCHER

Anne Montgomery

Historical Fiction/Suspense

TouchPoint Press

February 2, 2022

In 1939, archeologists uncovered a tomb at the Northern Arizona site called Ridge Ruin. The man, bedecked in fine turquoise jewelry and intricate bead work, was surrounded by wooden swords with handles carved into animal hooves and human hands. The Hopi workers stepped back from the grave, knowing what the Moochiwimi sticks meant. This man, buried nine hundred years earlier, was a magician.

Former television journalist Kate Butler hangs on to her investigative reporting career by writing freelance magazine articles. Her research on The Magician shows he bore some European facial characteristics and physical qualities that made him different from the people who buried him. Her quest to discover The Magician’s origin carries her back to a time when the high desert world was shattered by the birth of a volcano and into the present-day dangers of archeological looting where black market sales of antiquities can lead to murder.

REVIEW COPIES OF WOLF CATCHER AVAILABLE UPON REQUEST

Review/interview requests: media@touchpointpress.com

Available where you buy books.

Once upon a time, back when we lived in caves, people didn’t have much: maybe a basic set of clothes made from animal skins and a sharp tool of some kind. Our ancient ancestors spent much of their time gathering fruits and nuts and other plants to eat. Periodically, someone got lucky and dragged home an animal to roast on the fire. They probably slept on a pile of communal skins in their cavern and, in their free time, gathered a few rocks to make into tools and bits of jewelry.

Now, I’m not saying life was easy for our cave-dwelling ancestors, but it was certainly much simpler. As a student of history, I must admit that I used to think things improved when our ancestors came up with the two big ideas that propelled humans forward: agriculture and pottery. Some enterprising soul no doubt decided that the walk to the far-off place to pluck grains was getting tiresome and, rather brilliantly, decided to plant some near the cave. Since Nikes had yet to be invented, I’m sure the clan members were thrilled. Add pottery into the mix—a place to store and protect all their food and produce—and early humans probably never imagined that life could get any better.

But here’s the thing. Once they had those fields cleared and planted, a problem occurred. Other groups lusted after their fertile crops and might steal them if the people wandered too far away, say for a trip to the seaside to gather some yummy clams and oysters. (As an aside, I do wonder about the first human who decide to slurp down those slimy-looking, gray-shelled creatures, and without any cocktail sauce, to boot! Maybe his name was Mikey. If you don’t know what I mean, ask someone over sixty.)

Suddenly, humans had stuff others might want to steal, so they had to guard their little patch of fertile ground. Later, they started building homes around those cultivated plots and someone—I’m thinking a woman—starting considering what might look nice hanging on the walls. And so…our accumulation of stuff began.

I mention all of this because I’m suddenly feeling swamped by my possessions. Not necessarily the stuff I see every day, it’s those things that have been languishing in closets and drawers and the shed out back. I started considering my stuff when I was cleaning out my dad’s belongings. One item especially stood out. It was a medium-sized cardboard box, carefully taped shut with the following message written in black Sharpie: DO NOT OPEN! I was intrigued and felt a bit guilty when, after apologizing to my deceased father, I ripped it open. I could not have been more surprised. The box was completely empty. Nothing but air between those cardboard panels. I wanted to shout, “What’s up with this, Dad?” But instead, I was left with only questions.

Today, the vast majority of us have hundreds or perhaps thousands of possessions. Most of them are unnecessary for our survival. Many of them we don’t even use or enjoy looking at. With so many other things making life complicated—like all those ever-changing passwords we’re forced to remember—I’m thinking I’d like a simpler life. So, I’m now on a crusade to declutter my world.

But please don’t worry. I’m not advocating ditching everything and moving into a cave. Maybe I’ll just load up the car with some bags for Goodwill. Then I’ll feel better, and relax with a glass of wine and maybe some oysters. Here’s hoping I have some cocktail sauce buried in a cupboard somewhere.

The past and present collide when a tenacious reporter seeks information on an eleventh century magician…and uncovers more than she bargained for.

WOLF CATCHER

Anne Montgomery

Historical Fiction/Suspense

TouchPoint Press

February 2, 2022

In 1939, archeologists uncovered a tomb at the Northern Arizona site called Ridge Ruin. The man, bedecked in fine turquoise jewelry and intricate bead work, was surrounded by wooden swords with handles carved into animal hooves and human hands. The Hopi workers stepped back from the grave, knowing what the Moochiwimi sticks meant. This man, buried nine hundred years earlier, was a magician.

Former television journalist Kate Butler hangs on to her investigative reporting career by writing freelance magazine articles. Her research on The Magician shows he bore some European facial characteristics and physical qualities that made him different from the people who buried him. Her quest to discover The Magician’s origin carries her back to a time when the high desert world was shattered by the birth of a volcano and into the present-day dangers of archeological looting where black market sales of antiquities can lead to murder.

REVIEW COPIES OF WOLF CATCHER AVAILABLE UPON REQUEST

Review/interview requests: media@touchpointpress.com

Available where you buy books.