The mysterious Virgin Islands

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Here’s a look at my backyard on St. Croix in the USVI. Yep, as you can see, I’m a spoiled brat.

I live part time in a place that most people don’t seem to understand. Take Netflix for example, which denied me the opportunity to watch a new TV series by saying, “This title is currently unavailable for viewing in your country.”

Or Phoenix Sky Harbor Airport where the nice people behind the domestic flight counter shake their heads and say, “You have to get into the international flights line.”

Or my gas company in Arizona that refused to let me pay my bill online. “We cannot accept payment from your current location.”

USVI should not be that difficult to explain. It means the United States Virgin Islands. It’s just like living in Pennsylvania, or Colorado, or Montana, just without the flamboyant sea view.

And now I will put on my history teacher cap and explain. The U.S. Virgin Islands include 50 minor islands and cays, as well as St. Thomas, St. John, and St. Croix, where I get to sit on my patio and stare at the ever-changing colors of the Caribbean Sea whenever I want. Doesn’t that sound nice? These islands were purchased from Denmark—one of seven nations to hold sway here—in 1917 for a cool $25 million dollars in gold. That was the year the U.S. entered World War I and the thinking was it would be detrimental if the Germans got a foothold in the Caribbean, especially in the Virgin Island’s where there are several natural deep-water ports, the perfect place to park some of their warships so they could wreak havoc near American shores. In 1927 the islands were deemed an unincorporated territory and their inhabitants were granted U.S. citizenship.

If like the aforementioned entities you’re still skeptical, note that we even have ZIP codes, which are pretty much nonexistent outside of the U.S. Now, it’s true that Virgin Islanders do not get to vote in presidential elections, but we do have one non-voting representative in Congress. We are just like Puerto Rico, Guam, American Samoa, and the other U.S. Territories. When I set foot on my little island, I am on United States soil.

Here’s the thing. The U.S. Virgin Islands are magnificently beautiful with their tropical climate and the mesmerizing Caribbean Sea that surrounds them. And they have fascinating history. Way back in 1493, a landing party of two dozen men was sent ashore  by Christopher Columbus who was on his second voyage to the New World. They were met by a group natives who were surely astonded by the 17 ships they found in the waters off their shores. When the sailors captured women and children to be slaves, the natives fired arrows at them. One native was decapitated by Columbus’ men. It is the first documented instance of resistance by American indigenous peoples against European colonists. St. Croix alone boasts two forts built almost 300 years ago: Fort Chistiansvaern and Fort Fredrik, constructed to protect the island from other nations and the marauding pirates who periodically showed up waving the skull and cross bones. How cool is that? And let’s not forget young Alexander Hamilton who hip-hopped his way around St. Croix, before skipping over to the mainland to do his Founding Father thing.

But I digress.

I’m not sure what else I can say to convince the naysayers that the lovely island I call home is part of the United States. Maybe you can pass the word.

Your Forgotten Sons

Inspired by a true story

Anne Montgomery

Bud Richardville is inducted into the Army as the United States prepares for the invasion of Europe in 1943. A chance comment has Bud assigned to a Graves Registration Company, where his unit is tasked with locating, identifying, and burying the dead. Bud ships out, leaving behind his new wife, Lorraine, a mysterious woman who has stolen his heart but whose secretive nature and shadowy past leave many unanswered questions. When Bud and his men hit the beach at Normandy, they are immediately thrust into the horrors of what working in a graves unit entails. Bud is beaten down by the gruesome demands of his job and losses in his personal life, but then he meets Eva, an optimistic soul who despite the war can see a positive future. Will Eva’s love be enough to save him?

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An author’s dilemma: So many social media sites, so little time

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Authors understand that they need to be on social media if they want to sell books. At least, I hope they do. In fact, anyone with a merchandise to sell needs to be regularly taping away, telling consumers why their product is a must have.

In case you’re skeptical, note that, according to DataReportal,  there are currently 5.31 billion social media users around the world, people who log onto almost seven different social media platforms each month, where they spend over 18 hours weekly visiting various sites.

Despite what youngsters tell you—Kids apparently prefer platforms that cater exclusively to them and don’t like scrolling through postings by old folks.— Facebook is still king in the social media world with over three billion users visiting monthly. I mention this because love it or hate it authors should have a presence on the site.  

But where should authors go from there? Depending on who you ask, Facebook, Instagram, LinkedIn, and TikTok are where they should be. But here’s the thing, when you throw in the effort required to run a website, write regular blogs, participate in podcasts, appear at speaking engagements and book events, as well as posting on myriad social media sites, authors can get overwhelmed. (And I didn’t even mention that they should also find time to write.)

The solution? Think carefully about where you’d like to spread the word about your books. Note which social media sites appeal to you. For example, I struggled with Instagram. The picture/video-dominant platform often confounded me. When TikTok somehow took over my Instagram account and I was unable to retrieve it, I just let it go. Similarly, I’m not a fan of X, still I do share my weekly blogs there.

If you’re looking for a time-saver, I recommend checking the pages where you share your work. Consider that Facebook has dozens of sites for authors, many with thousands of followers. But here’s the problem. There is often virtually no interaction on some of these sites. You can post your blog or ad, and pretty much never get a single like. I have spent time on these sites, but finally, in an effort to streamline, I let them go.

Authors must determine which sites they’re comfortable with, then put their best work into those platforms and build a clientele. If you don’t see results from one site, try another until you’re making progress. Just don’t spread yourself too thin. The hope is that authors will eventually settle in and learn to enjoy the social-media marketing aspect of their job.

Your Forgotten Sons

Inspired by a true story

Anne Montgomery

Bud Richardville is inducted into the Army as the United States prepares for the invasion of Europe in 1943. A chance comment has Bud assigned to a Graves Registration Company, where his unit is tasked with locating, identifying, and burying the dead. Bud ships out, leaving behind his new wife, Lorraine, a mysterious woman who has stolen his heart but whose secretive nature and shadowy past leave many unanswered questions. When Bud and his men hit the beach at Normandy, they are immediately thrust into the horrors of what working in a graves unit entails. Bud is beaten down by the gruesome demands of his job and losses in his personal life, but then he meets Eva, an optimistic soul who despite the war can see a positive future. Will Eva’s love be enough to save him?

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The beauty of the guilt-free nap

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Kitties don’t mind napping, so why do we?

So there I was watching the financial news when my eyelids began to droop. I know. Shocking! You’d think all those colorful flashing numbers, fancy graphs, and scintillating  talking heads would have kept me riveted to the screen.

Then I had a rather naughty thought. “I think I might take a nap,” I said to my sweetie pie. Instantly embarrassed, I amended my comment. “Or I’ll read the paper,” I said with little conviction.

“There’s a third option.” Ryan eyed me. “Do both.”

Since I’m not much for multi-tasking and despite my guilt, I closed the blinds in the bedroom, grabbed a quilt, and passed out.

Before I retired from my full-time job, taking a nap rarely seemed acceptable. Even when I had the time, it just didn’t seem right to curl up in the middle of the day. Still, had I consulted WebMd, I might have reconsidered, because it seems naps are good for us.

Jennifer Soong’s article “The Secret (and Surprising) Power of Naps” pretty much says it all. “Need to recharge? Don’t lean on caffeine—a power nap will boost your memory, cognitive skills, creativity, and energy level.”

For years, the 20-minute power lap was praised for upping our alertness levels and improving our motor learning skills like typing or playing an instrument. But don’t worry if you’re like me and those naps tend to stretch on.

“Research shows longer naps help boost memory and enhance creativity,” Soong said. “Slow-wave sleep—usually 30 to 60 minutes of napping—is good for decision-making skills, such as memorizing vocabulary or recalling directions. Getting rapid movement or REM sleep, usually 60 to 90 minutes of napping, plays a key role in making new connections in the brain and solving creative problems.”

While those lengthier naps sound enticing, experts suggest 30-minute siestas so we don’t wake up groggy. One should also keep a regular nap schedule and recline during the prime napping hours of 1 PM and 3PM, which doesn’t seem horribly practical. Still, a fixed nap time does sound nice and the idea of saying, “I’m sorry. I am unavailable because it’s nap time,”  just seems fun, doesn’t it? Note that a darkened room is a good idea for an afternoon snooze, as is a blanket, since our body temperature drops when we nap.

I woke up an hour and a half later and didn’t feel the least bit groggy. Though the whole thing felt rather sinful. But when you consider that naps can boost memory, ease stress and make you cheerier, well, what’s the harm?

So, fellow nappers, grab your blankies and join me. Let’s get some daytime shuteye whenever we’re in the mood. No guilt required.

Your Forgotten Sons

Inspired by a true story

Anne Montgomery

Bud Richardville is inducted into the Army as the United States prepares for the invasion of Europe in 1943. A chance comment has Bud assigned to a Graves Registration Company, where his unit is tasked with locating, identifying, and burying the dead. Bud ships out, leaving behind his new wife, Lorraine, a mysterious woman who has stolen his heart but whose secretive nature and shadowy past leave many unanswered questions. When Bud and his men hit the beach at Normandy, they are immediately thrust into the horrors of what working in a graves unit entails. Bud is beaten down by the gruesome demands of his job and losses in his personal life, but then he meets Eva, an optimistic soul who despite the war can see a positive future. Will Eva’s love be enough to save him?

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Anne Montgomery’s novels can be found wherever books are sold.

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Sea Turtles: Magical ocean ambassadors

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Any scuba diver will tell you that often the highlight of a dive is meeting up with a sea turtle. These almost magical ambassadors of the ocean rarely seem afraid of humans, even though we might appear scary clad in our diving gear, emitting plums of bubbles that make us appear much larger than we actually are. Yet, sea turtles often swim right up to us, staring as we stare back. Then they gently move their flippers and glide away, seeming to fly more than swim.

I mention sea turtles because last week I had the opportunity to head out to Sandy Point Wildlife Refuge, a wild spot of forest and beach on the west end of St. Croix in the U.S. Virgin Islands where I live part of the time. The refuge was designed with sea turtles in mind.

Since I’ve been diving a couple of decades now, I’ve seen a lot of beaches, but when we emerged from the forest I gasped at the color of the water. It was a creamy turquoise caused by a convergence of currents that splash up onto a white sand beach scattered with long tendrils of green vines. Add in the various blues of the Caribbean Sea farther out and the early evening sky, and, as you can imagine, it was magnificent.

But while the view was exceptional, what was below us was of primary importance. Our guides from the St. Croix Sea Turtle Project explained that there were about 1,500 turtle nests beneath our feet, so the area is closed to the public from April through August. Green turtles, hawksbill turtles, and massive leatherbacks that can reach up to two-thousand pounds come to this beach every year to lay their eggs, a journey that takes them thousands of miles to Canada and back.

The volunteers of the St. Croix Sea Turtle Project were kind enough to escort us through the Sandy Point Wildlife Refuge where we learned all about the sea turtles that nest in the Virgin Islands. (Fun Fact: The final scene of the film Shawshank Redemption was filmed on this beach.)

That trip is fraught with danger. Often turtles come ashore with wounds inflicted by tiger sharks and propellers from boats. Fishermen take their share, as turtles are still harvested legally in some places for food. They also get caught in fishing nets and drown. And the land is not much more hospitable. Nests are ravaged by dogs, as well as mongooses and rats, invasive species brought to the islands by European colonists. Humans, too, take a toll. That’s why rules are in place on all Virgin Islands beaches forbidding chairs and tent poles that sink into the sand, as one never knows exactly where a turtle nest might be.

Sea Turtles today are an endangered species, the result of 200 years of over hunting, as they were valued for their meat, eggs, and shells. Climate change and coastal development have also eroded nesting and foraging habitats. Countries worldwide now protect sea turtles and in the U.S. penalties for harming them can including jail time and fines of up to $15,000 for each offense.

I sat in the sand and stared at the sea. Then I placed my palm on the warm sand. Was there a nest below? Would tiny hatchlings eventually emerge and head for the sea where only one in 1,000 would survive to adulthood?

As our guides herded us off the beach, I was glad these dedicated volunteers were there, focusing on sea turtle research and conservation, because a world without sea turtles would be a world with a little less magic.

Your Forgotten Sons

Inspired by a true story

Anne Montgomery

Bud Richardville is inducted into the Army as the United States prepares for the invasion of Europe in 1943. A chance comment has Bud assigned to a Graves Registration Company, where his unit is tasked with locating, identifying, and burying the dead. Bud ships out, leaving behind his new wife, Lorraine, a mysterious woman who has stolen his heart but whose secretive nature and shadowy past leave many unanswered questions. When Bud and his men hit the beach at Normandy, they are immediately thrust into the horrors of what working in a graves unit entails. Bud is beaten down by the gruesome demands of his job and losses in his personal life, but then he meets Eva, an optimistic soul who despite the war can see a positive future. Will Eva’s love be enough to save him?

Release Date: June 6, 2024

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Talking to myself and feelin’…fine

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The massive station wagon my family traveled in during the 1960s, much like this one, meant we kids could hide in the back and drive our parents crazy. Often, my father was reduced to talking to himself.

I recall traveling in the back of a baby-blue station wagon, a behemoth that I and my two siblings would pile into for what my father once referred to as, “the goddamned family vacation.”

Apparently, we kids squabbled a lot on those trips, and as many of those in my age group know, there was a lot of, “If you don’t stop, I’m turning this car around!” going on.

But there was something else happening, as well. When we kids were worn out from fighting, and all was relatively quiet, we would notice that my father would often mumble to himself. One of us would call out. “Dad! Who are you talking to!” Then we’d all giggle.

I don’t recall him ever telling us who his mystery friend was, but I do remember laughing at him.

Today, I’m reconsidering my behavior.

“Who are you talking to?” my sweetie pie called when I was slicing fruit in the kitchen.

I bit my lower lip. Who indeed?

After locating my reporter’s cap and doing some checking, I determined that muttering and saying random things out loud could be a sign of a mental health issue, like schizophrenia. And while studies show that 96% of people carry on an internal dialogue, just one in four admit to talking out loud. But don’t worry. For most of us, it’s a normal cognitive process, one that can help us reduce stress, improving our problem-solving skills, and help us organize our thoughts and feelings.

We talk to ourselves for a number of reasons. It helps us debate ideas, make decisions, and serve as a pep talk when we need one. Interestingly, talking to ourselves can also curb loneliness.

What is important is what we’re saying in those conversations with ourselves. According to Psychology Today, “The content of your self-talk is important because, believe it or not, you are the most influential person, in your head. Yes, other people can certainly influence the way we feel and think, but at the end of the day, we are the ones who accept or reject the messages received from others.”

The idea is your conversations with you should be the kind that build you up not tear you down.

There can be a certain stigma to talking to yourself, but today, with people everywhere conversing via Bluetooth, I’m guessing few even notice those of us who are chatting with no one nearby. And when you consider that the habit is said to be a healthy problem-solving tactic, I say talk away.

I just wish my father was still around so I could apologize for laughing.

“Sorry, Dad.”

Your Forgotten Sons

Inspired by a true story

Anne Montgomery

Bud Richardville is inducted into the Army as the United States prepares for the invasion of Europe in 1943. A chance comment has Bud assigned to a Graves Registration Company, where his unit is tasked with locating, identifying, and burying the dead. Bud ships out, leaving behind his new wife, Lorraine, a mysterious woman who has stolen his heart but whose secretive nature and shadowy past leave many unanswered questions. When Bud and his men hit the beach at Normandy, they are immediately thrust into the horrors of what working in a graves unit entails. Bud is beaten down by the gruesome demands of his job and losses in his personal life, but then he meets Eva, an optimistic soul who despite the war can see a positive future. Will Eva’s love be enough to save him?

Release Date: June 6, 2024

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Bookstores, libraries, and other booksellers can order copies directly from the Ingram Catalog.

Anne Montgomery’s novels can be found wherever books are sold.

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The youth sports landscape is crumbling

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We have forgotten the point of youth sports, and if we don’t alter our behvior someday there may be no youth sports at all.

Recently, I found out that a long-time sports reporter friend is, for now, hanging up his microphone.

“Lately the landscape has had its share of toxicity, with overzealous parents and poor leadership coupled with unsavory social media standards, which has now led to me taking some time away from broadcasting! My decision,” he said in a Facebook post.

This man spent 45 years covering sports, especially high school sports.

While I am saddened that he’s stepping down, I understand his frustration. Amateur sports, especially youth sports, has become a mess in the last decade or so. Why? There are a number of reasons.

First, I’ll blame parents who have ridiculous expectations. The number of adults who believe their child will earn a DI scholarship and go onto the pros borders on the bizarre. Less than two-percent of high school athletes will play at NCAA Division I schools, and just one percent receive full-ride scholarships, funds that are awarded for just one year, so if a kid breaks a leg or struggles in the classroom, bye-bye sports dreams.

And then what? Parents who put their kids on the year-long, one-sport merry-go-round, spending what could amount to college tuition on personal coaches, deny their children the chance to branch out and grow. Maybe play an instrument, or perform in a play, or even participate in a different sport, things they should be doing throughout high school. This single-mindedness will doom their children when they can no longer participate in the single thing that occupied their lives. Every athlete has to stop playing at some point. Something that tends to happen when we’re young. As I often mentioned to my students who insisted they would one day be professional athletes, “What happens after that? The average professional career lasts between three and six years. What will you do then?”

Before I go on, note that I spent 40 years officiating amateur sports. I called ice hockey, soccer, and basketball games, but spent the vast majority of my time on football and baseball fields. I realize today how lucky I was that much of my career came before the advent of social media, which has made calling games a nightmare. It used to be that when I made a mistake—Yes, all officials do, just like players and coaches.—the hysteria and verbal assaults were pretty much over when I left the field. Today, however, fans splash video and photos of calls they dislike all over the Internet, often implying the official made the errant call intentionally to benefit a team. Trust me. No official wants to make a bad call. We just do. Sometimes we’re tired from working our day jobs, or we’re hungry, or we just blink. Those of us in the amateur ranks only get one look at a play. There aren’t replay officials or nine-camera angles to check. And yet, we are required to be perfect, which is simply impossible.

Recent studies show that approximately 45% of officials say they have feared for their safety because of the behavior of administrators, players, and fans. One in three officials have received threats or felt unsafe at a game, something I understand since I have, on occassion, required a police escort to my car. So, is it any wonder that roughly 50% of new officials quit within their first two years? Myriad games are being cancelled at youth levels because of a dearth of officials. And this trend will get worse.

Here’s what needs to happen, though I won’t hold my breath. We need to remember the real purpose of kids sports. Children learning teamwork and punctuality, how to follow rules, goal-setting, social skills, and resilience. And, perhaps, most importantly, leadership skills. All of which will make them better human beings.

Maybe, if we adults adjust our expectations the miasma surrounding youth sports will clear. And then my friend will once again pick up his microphone and go back to the thing he loves.

Your Forgotten Sons

Inspired by a true story

Anne Montgomery

Bud Richardville is inducted into the Army as the United States prepares for the invasion of Europe in 1943. A chance comment has Bud assigned to a Graves Registration Company, where his unit is tasked with locating, identifying, and burying the dead. Bud ships out, leaving behind his new wife, Lorraine, a mysterious woman who has stolen his heart but whose secretive nature and shadowy past leave many unanswered questions. When Bud and his men hit the beach at Normandy, they are immediately thrust into the horrors of what working in a graves unit entails. Bud is beaten down by the gruesome demands of his job and losses in his personal life, but then he meets Eva, an optimistic soul who despite the war can see a positive future. Will Eva’s love be enough to save him?

Release Date: June 6, 2024

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Review a copy early by going to NetGalley. Sign in here.

Bookstores, libraries, and other booksellers can order copies directly from the Ingram Catalog.

Anne Montgomery’s novels can be found wherever books are sold.

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An adventure with kale

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I plucked a salad from a food bar in the airport, my first adventure with kale.

I don’t know about you, but whenever I get off an airplane, I feel unhealthy. Perhaps it’s because the humidity in the cabin is generally kept between 10-20% so I’m dehydrated. Or I’ve been squished in my seat like a sad little sardine and feel an urgent need to shower. Or maybe it’s because I might have munched on things that really aren’t good for me as I sped along the skyway in that metal can.

In any case, I often feel the need to restart my immune system with something healthy, hence the reason I recently found myself in Miami Airport standing before a shelf filled with plastic-enclosed salads, one of which boasted kale.

I will admit here that I didn’t recall ever tasting kale before. It’s not that I avoid greens. Gosh no! I was a long-time gardener and loved trimming fresh young leaves into yummy salads. And it’s not because I didn’t know kale existed. It’s just that somehow the plant never sang to me, which is strange since people have been chomping on those lumpy leaves for about 4,500 years.

Kale was sort of ignored in recent times, serving mostly as decoration on buffet spreads, but then, in the early 2000s, kale had a resurgence. Rich and famous folks like Dr. Oz and Gwyneth Paltrow began publicly proclaiming the magical benefits of kale. Bon Appétit declared 2010 the year of kale. Time magazine listed kale as one of the top 10 food trends of 2012. Fancy restaurants started showcasing kale recipes. And today you can scarf down kale at fast-food places like McDonalds, Starbucks and Chick-fil-A.

I recall staring at the salad as my sweetie pie waited in line at the airport Subway. I knew what he would order. An Italian sub with spicy pepperoni, cheese, and salami with onions, lettuce, and oil and vinegar.

A short time later, we placed our feast out on a desk in the hotel.

Ryan stared at my salad. “Do you want some of my sandwich?”

“No, I’m good,” I said feeling rather smug as I dug a plastic spoon into my greens.

Kale is said to have a sharp, complex taste, somewhat like arugula or radish but mixed with an earthy, grass-like flavor. I found those fat wrinkled greens quite chewy and similar to spinach that had been picked a bit too late. But I was determined. Kale was good for me! Afterall, it contains big doses of vitamin K, vitamin A, vitamin C, and manganese, fiber, copper, tryptophan, calcium, potassium and a whole bunch of other healthy nutrients.

I tried but could not avoid the pull of an Italian sub.

Still, as I shoveled that miracle food into my mouth and did my best to chew those thick leaves, I couldn’t help staring at Ry’s sub sandwich.

He caught me looking. “Are you sure you don’t want a piece?”

I glanced at my half-eaten kale salad, then back at his Italian sub, filled mostly with things that are bad for me and were unlikely to revive my airplane-stunted immune system. Still, the sandwich smelled like warm bread and vinegar, cheese and onions.

I’m sure you’re thinking, “Don’t do it, Anne! Stick to your guns!”

Please know that I tried.

“Is that wheat bread?”

Ry nodded and I felt a little bit better.

Okay,” I sighed. “Just one small piece.”

Your Forgotten Sons

Inspired by a true story

Anne Montgomery

Bud Richardville is inducted into the Army as the United States prepares for the invasion of Europe in 1943. A chance comment has Bud assigned to a Graves Registration Company, where his unit is tasked with locating, identifying, and burying the dead. Bud ships out, leaving behind his new wife, Lorraine, a mysterious woman who has stolen his heart but whose secretive nature and shadowy past leave many unanswered questions. When Bud and his men hit the beach at Normandy, they are immediately thrust into the horrors of what working in a graves unit entails. Bud is beaten down by the gruesome demands of his job and losses in his personal life, but then he meets Eva, an optimistic soul who despite the war can see a positive future. Will Eva’s love be enough to save him?

Release Date: June 6, 2024

Universal Buy Link

Amazon

Apple Books

Barnes & Nobel

Google Books

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Bookstores, libraries, and other booksellers can order copies directly from the Ingram Catalog.

Anne Montgomery’s novels can be found wherever books are sold.

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Memorial Day: A time for quiet contemplation

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Memorial Day is different from other holidays, though it seems many of us have forgotten the point of the celebration. I ran into this issue back when I was a print reporter when my editor asked me to write a story about Memorial Day.

“Go find out about all the events people can attend,” he said. “Parties, big sales, parades. Things like that.”

I frowned, which caught him off guard. “What?” He held out his hands palms up.

I had never refused an assignment before, still I couldn’t help myself. “Memorial Day isn’t about shopping and drinking beer. It’s about remembering.”

He looked at me for a moment. “Write whatever you want.”

So, I contacted the local Veterans of Foreign Wars post and interviewed a number of aging veterans, men who despite their advanced years, recalled vividly those who were left behind. 

“I was a foot soldier in the 59th Field Hospital. My brother was in the 7th Armored Division. He chased me and I chased him, but he was killed before I got to him.”

“The pilot of the helicopter was going to lower me down into the water and I leaned out and took a look. Here was these huge fishes going around eating pieces of bodies. Sharks. And you know they couldn’t declare that person dead because they didn’t know if it was one person or two. I thought about it ever since.”

“A buddy of mine…we went all the way through the war right to the end. Just outside of Cheb, Czechoslovakia he got captured and they stuck a pistol in his mouth and pulled the trigger. He was…22.”

I have over the years spent Memorial Day thinking about the veterans in my life who are no longer with us. My father who faced kamikazes and rode a destroyer escort into Tokyo Bay at the end of World War II. My dear friend Don Clarkson, a decorated hero of the Vietnam War who spent the rest of his life struggling with the demons he brought home. And now, I also remember Bud.

Sergeant Bud Richardville served in the 606th Graves Registration Service in the European Theatre during World War II. His job? Locate, identify, and bury the dead. Think about that.

With the help of a packet of letters now 80 years old, I tracked Bud through the landing on the beaches of Normandy, the frigid forests of the Battle of the Bulge, and General George Patton’s drive to free Czechoslovakia from the Nazis. All the while soldiers died by the hundreds of thousands on both sides of the conflict and Bud and his men were tasked with recovering whatever was left. Then they buried the remains in the graceful cemeteries they built, hollowed peaceful grounds today, spread across what were once miserable killing fields.

My historical fiction novel Your Forgotten Sons tells not only Bud’s story, but those of the men who labored alongside him. Soldiers who have rarely appeared in books or films, but who toiled to give the fallen the respect and dignity they deserved.

So, on this Memorial Day, I will remember my soft-spoken father, and my dear friend Don. But I will also remember Bud and those who served with him.

Your Forgotten Sons

Inspired by a true story

Anne Montgomery

Bud Richardville is inducted into the Army as the United States prepares for the invasion of Europe in 1943. A chance comment has Bud assigned to a Graves Registration Company, where his unit is tasked with locating, identifying, and burying the dead. Bud ships out, leaving behind his new wife, Lorraine, a mysterious woman who has stolen his heart but whose secretive nature and shadowy past leave many unanswered questions. When Bud and his men hit the beach at Normandy, they are immediately thrust into the horrors of what working in a graves unit entails. Bud is beaten down by the gruesome demands of his job and losses in his personal life, but then he meets Eva, an optimistic soul who despite the war can see a positive future. Will Eva’s love be enough to save him?

Release Date: June 6, 2024

Pre-Order your copy today

Amazon

Apple Books

Barnes & Nobel

Google Books

Kobo

Review a copy early by going to NetGalley. Sign in here.

Bookstores, libraries, and other booksellers can order copies directly from the Ingram Catalog.

Anne Montgomery’s novels can be found wherever books are sold.

Goodreads

Amazon

A teacher’s tale: Foster care gave me a family I never expected

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Thanks to the foster care system, I became a mom at 55. Today my son Brandon has also given me a grandson, Adrian.

Fifteen years ago, a small frightened boy called me. “I’m hungry,” he said.

Now let me backtrack a bit.

I taught in a Title I high school for 20 years, a designation signifying that a large segment of the student population lives below the poverty line. As you might expect, the hardships are many and can have life-long ramifications. Consider substandard housing, lack of child care, homelessness, gangs, hunger, neglect, addiction, unsafe neighborhoods, and underfunded schools.

As a teacher, I learned to consider what might be happening in the lives of the children I served. I and many of my fellow educators understood that a student who hadn’t slept or eaten or bathed might put the idea of completing homework on time way down the list of important things to do. So, we addressed those issues when we could.

Understandably, we worried about our students, especially as summer break approached. Some of our kids had little food at home, which during the school year we supplemented with free breakfast and lunch and a pantry where they could get food boxes, when needed. I also struggled with the idea that ten weeks of unstructured living might lead children to take risky chances. With that in mind, I always put my phone number on the board on the last day of school.

“If you find yourself in a tough situation and don’t know what to do, call me,” I told my students. “I’ll help you if I can.”

When Brandon phoned that day, he started me on a journey I could have never anticipated. He’d been placed in foster care and was living in a group home. Note here that few people want to take in teenagers, especially boys. As you might expect, many are only interested in babies and toddlers, so older kids often languish in the system.

Here is where I’ll mention that I was never able to have biological children, an issue that plagued me for a decade or so, but by my mid-fifties when I got that call I had long given up on ever being a mom. Then, in what felt like an instant, a hungry child had me considering the empty bedrooms in my home. I called foster care, was directed to Foster Mom School—Yep it’s a thing.—and two weeks later that frightened boy was delivered to my doorstep.

The foster care system gave me a family I never expected. Here are my grandson Adrian and my boys Brandon and Troy.

Was it easy? No! The trauma that puts a child into foster care, as well as a system that pushes kids from home-to-home, leave an indelible mark. I often hear people say that if you love a child enough everything will be fine, but that is simply not the case. That said, I am eternally grateful for the the heroes who taught those foster-parent classes, the social workers who kept tabs on me and Brandon, and the psychologists who helped us sort out our differences.

Fifteen years ago a frightened child moved into my home. Now, Brandon will soon be 30 and is a father himself. A grown man who continually makes me proud. I must mention here that Brandon started me on a track that would eventually have seven young people live in my home. Though they were not all legal foster children, every one of them was in need of a spot to tread water, a place to calmly figure out where they were going, and then make that jump into the world.

Today, I am immensely grateful for the opportunity I’ve had to participate in these young lives. Like any parent, I watch them from a front row seat and marvel at their sucesses. And I have assured them that no matter how grown up they become, I’ll be here for them.

I must admit that I never expected to find such joy in being called “Mom”. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

Your Forgotten Sons

Inspired by a true story

Anne Montgomery

Bud Richardville is inducted into the Army as the United States prepares for the invasion of Europe in 1943. A chance comment has Bud assigned to a Graves Registration Company, where his unit is tasked with locating, identifying, and burying the dead. Bud ships out, leaving behind his new wife, Lorraine, a mysterious woman who has stolen his heart but whose secretive nature and shadowy past leave many unanswered questions. When Bud and his men hit the beach at Normandy, they are immediately thrust into the horrors of what working in a graves unit entails. Bud is beaten down by the gruesome demands of his job and losses in his personal life, but then he meets Eva, an optimistic soul who despite the war can see a positive future. Will Eva’s love be enough to save him?

Release Date: June 6, 2024

Universal Buy Link

Amazon

Apple Books

Barnes & Nobel

Google Books

Kobo

Bookstores, libraries, and other booksellers can order copies directly from the Ingram Catalog.

Anne Montgomery’s novels can be found wherever books are sold.

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Amazon

A trip into the Australian Outback and the best bed ever

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Rocks are quite lovely, unless you have to sleep on them.

It’s just about time for those big bed sales, so today we’ll talk about beds. As in the best bed ever! Where I found it just might surprise you.

Here’s my story.

So you know, I’m a life-long rock collector—there are home movies of me in diapers putting rocks in cups—and if you visit my house, the first thing you’ll see is a huge, glass case with about 400 specimens dominating my living room. If I’ve had enough wine, I’ll tell you where each and every one of them came from, whether you want to know or not, so frequent visitors make sure to steer clear of my collection if they want to avoid an earful.

A number of years ago, my sweetie pie and I traveled half way around the world to Perth, Australia, where we participated in the Australian Mineral Symposium. There we met about 40 enthusiasts—geology professors, miners, and hobbyists—who, like me, are fascinated by the rock world.

The Aussie rockers immediately took us under their wings. After a few days of speakers discussing gold—the featured mineral of the year, talks punctuated by periodic tea breaks, which for an avid tea drinker like me seemed almost heavenly—we formed a caravan and set off for the wilds of Western Australia.

Our trek took us through the towns of Coolgardie and Kalgoorlie, both centered in the area where the great gold rush of 1892 began, and another called Widgiemooltha. No, the names don’t roll easily off an American tongue, but they were fascinating places nonetheless.

While we stayed in small hotels early on, eventually we made camp under the stars. Since Ryan and I live in Arizona’s Sonoran Desert, the landscape seemed familiar, though the kangaroos and emus bouncing about made it clear we were far from home. Following dinner, we sat around a beautiful campfire that sent sparkling embers into the star-splashed night sky.

My love of rocks sent me and my sweetie pie half way around the world to Australia.

Later that night, Ryan wrestled my air mattresses from the car, an embarrassing accommodation for me as I’d spent quite a bit of time camping in my youth when sleeping directly on the ground posed no adverse reactions. But—in a concession to age and myriad broken body parts—we had both brought along air mattresses, even though the 90-something man who’d joined us seemed just fine sleeping on the ground.

Finally, we adjusted ourselves in our little tent and snuggled down in our sleeping bags, but a few hours later I awoke. Something wasn’t right. A rock was sticking in my back. My air mattress had failed.

“Ry,” I whispered, even though the other campers were too far away to hear.

He lifted his head, groggy with sleep and blinked. “What?”

“There’s no air in my air mattress.”

He huffed and sat up, then squinted at me. “Okay, take mine.”

Wasn’t that sweet? There was a time in my life when I would have never admitted weakness, but I was cold and tired and didn’t miss a beat. “Thank you!”

I couldn’t bring myself to say that even with the air mattress, I was uncomfortable, especially with Ryan tossing and turning, trying to find some modicum of comfort on the cold, rocky ground.

We emerged from our tent blurry-eyed and cranky the next morning, though all the other members of our group were extraordinarily chipper, so we kept our misery to ourselves. Ryan and I did our best to buck up, and while a visit to a fantastic chrysoprase mine did the trick for a while, by dusk we were exhausted.

“Now, you two be careful,” one of our leaders said as we prepared to hit the road. “The roos are out. Keep a watch.”

We’d seen the iconic Australian animals hopping about in the distance every day, but had viewed none up close.

“You scan the road while I drive,” Ryan said.

We’d been warned that the kangaroos were out, still we couldn’t avoid hitting one with our rental car.

I nodded and focused on the blacktop ahead.

A short time later, a red-eyed head appeared in the roadway. “Kanga…” But it was too late. We slammed into Skippy and the big marsupial went flying off into the brush. Ry got out to inspect the damage and I peered around the roadside, hoping I didn’t see the poor kangaroo lying in anguish, but he’d disappeared.

“Do you think he’s okay?” I asked hopefully.

“Not a chance,” Ry said as he inspected the front end of the rental car.

“Can we drive?” I looked up and down the empty road as dusk settled. Our friends had gone ahead, unaware that we’d had an accident. By this time we were so tired we could barely see. Luckily, the damage appeared to be mostly cosmetic. (Later, when we tried to explain to our insurance agent that we’d hit a kangaroo with a rental car, he didn’t seem to believe us. Go figure.)

When we finally arrived at our destination we were ushered across a small, rickety walkway that boasted numerous holes. The room was constructed of bare boards and held a small bed and not much else. We were to share a bathroom with another couple. The accommodations could be gently described as spartan. And yet, after a communal meal that warmed our bellies and a few rounds of wine and beer, we fell into that unassuming, lumpy-looking bed only to discover that it was the most comfortable bed we’d ever been in.

How is that possible? I guess we could only compare it to the previous evening when we’d slept on rocks in the cold.

“Ain’t this grand?” I said as I snuggled under the covers.

But Ry was already fast asleep.

Your Forgotten Sons

Inspired by a true story

Anne Montgomery

Bud Richardville is inducted into the Army as the United States prepares for the invasion of Europe in 1943. A chance comment has Bud assigned to a Graves Registration Company, where his unit is tasked with locating, identifying, and burying the dead. Bud ships out, leaving behind his new wife, Lorraine, a mysterious woman who has stolen his heart but whose secretive nature and shadowy past leave many unanswered questions. When Bud and his men hit the beach at Normandy, they are immediately thrust into the horrors of what working in a graves unit entails. Bud is beaten down by the gruesome demands of his job and losses in his personal life, but then he meets Eva, an optimistic soul who despite the war can see a positive future. Will Eva’s love be enough to save him?

Release Date: June 6, 2024

Universal Buy Link

Amazon

Apple Books

Barnes & Nobel

Google Books

Kobo

Bookstores, libraries, and other booksellers can order copies directly from the Ingram Catalog.

Anne Montgomery’s novels can be found wherever books are sold.

Goodreads

Amazon