HAPPY NEW YEAR 2014

The Nut House, Reservoir Hill

Impressions

 Do not lament a moment past,

A fleeting moment made to share.

Do not feel it lost in passing,

For to be past, it need be there.

And in existing, only seconds,

Its donation subtly paid,

Enriches life and heart and soul,

With vast impressions it has made.

Foolish is the heart that lives one moment,

And its passing grieves,

For in the volume of our lives,

Each page must turn to reveal new leaves.

Each second gives us priceless life;

It also gives us age.

Take care my friend, as chapters end,

Don’t stop to mourn the page.

Read on and on; each second counts;

Each chapter grows more fine,

And often as not, what we fear is lost,

Is ahead just one more line.

STC

HAPPY NEW YEAR

2014

I continue to search for a publisher for my historical novel, OBIE'S QUEST

Another festive shindig at The Bell Tower

Hangtown, California

This blog contains an introduction to, and the first 18 chapters of, 

Obie's Quest.

If you're on Facebook, there's an easy link to take you there,

or you can go to my website for directions.

http://www.shannoncasebeer.com/

stcasebeer@gmail.com
See OBIE'S QUEST on Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/obiesquest


Or, 
Use the following link to go directly to 
OBIE'S QUEST

http://shannoncasebeer.blogspot.com/2012/02/
by-shannon-thomas-casebeer-heartfelt.html

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

See ya in Cyberspace

Where are the time machines when you need one?

Placerville, California 

Main Street, circa 1930

This one feels like Placerville.  I can hear the little Ford purring softly from the curb, while the familiar fragrances of fresh donuts, hot pavement, and evergreen shaded ravines wafts down the sidewalk on a gentle summer breeze. Somewhere, ever-present in the back of my mind, is the realization that just a few hours away are the city, the ocean, the Sacramento valley’s metropolitan and horticultural treasures, and, stretching seductively from our beloved Hangtown, historic highway 50 herself, linking the old stage stops like a glistening chain of pearls, and climbing ever upward, toward the Sierras, the majestic summit, and Tahoe’s incomparable shores. Is there any wonder we all call Placerville home?       

Приветствия и наилучшие пожелания

I’m always intrigued when I check my blog’s statistics on Google and find I’ve received visitors from all around the world. Today’s visitors include, besides the US, page views from Russia and Malaysia, Germany, France, Poland and Estonia. I rarely receive comments on my blog, and despite my repeated encouragement to email me, I seldom hear from anyone. I occasionally test my skills with the dictionary.com translator, but the results can be uncertain at best, and the last thing I want to do is offend anyone. Suffice it to say, I wish you all well, and I continue to be pleased, gratified, and fascinated by your visits.  I’d love to hear from you.  Best Wishes,

Shannon

stcasebeer@gmail.com

Blue Bell Coffee Shop & old city clock. Circa 1940 I can almost hear the clanking of utensils and smell the coffee, as the little bell over the door announces my arrival. Pie alamode please!

Placerville, California

A melancholy rendition of “Little Annie Laurie” scratched out hesitantly on a pair of slightly flat fiddles

There below, basking in the last red rays of the rapidly setting sun lay the storied metropolis of Hangtown. A small tormented creek meandered through a series of deep, pine-lined ravines, and clinging tenaciously to each bank, at close intervals and in no apparent order, squatted several dozen shake roofed structures reminiscent of the clapboard shanties that graced the Irish community back home. Smoke boiled and billowed from a forest of stovepipes, and the sound of kindling being chopped, rang at intervals from a series of locations and echoed from the ravine beyond. In addition to the rustic, wooden framed structures were numerous log cabins, and on the periphery of the settlement and lining Main Street on either side, an endless sea of tents glowed hospitably from the lamplight within.  The oak scented smoke of countless campfires hung thick in the motionless evening air, and the entire hollow twinkled in the light of countless lamps and flickering candles.  Laughter and jocularity rose spasmodically from a number of well lit gatherings down below, and a melancholy rendition of “Little Annie Laurie” scratched out hesitantly on a pair of slightly flat fiddles, rose plaintively from a massive canvas covered structure in the center of the scene. This was evidently the heart of downtown. Main Street, lined on each side with false storefronts, dropped in a gentle grade from the east; widening and splitting as it approached a long row of canvas covered shops.  At the east end of this row of shops stood a bell tower as high as any building in town.  Main Street proceeded west, past a number of dimly lit, but well patronized saloons and Center Street led quickly toward a row of barns and stables, which faced the rear of the shops to their south and hung precariously over the banks of scenic Hangtown Creek to the north. It all brings to mind the old poem: “Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam, be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home”.  SC

Merry Christmas, Hangtown

HANGTOWN, CALIFORNIA CIRCA 1900