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Book Dealers-Stores
Brighter Life Bookshoppe. Ltd
344-3987
1055 N Henderson
Brighter Life Bookshoppe, Ltd
Inner Wisdom
343-8806
31 N Kellogg St
Stone Alley Books & Collectibles
351-7344
53 South Seminary St
Update on author Sandra McCone!
Sandra has released her newest book, "The Magical Tea Party" on June 1st, 2009. This book is the second in her series from "The Little Lasses Series".
Both books May Be Purchased At The Following Stores:
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Tom Wilson, Local Historian Publishes Book!
by Carin Franey
We would like to congratulate Tom Wilson for his recent publication. Tom, who has contributed stories to our history page at iShopGalesburg.com, has recently published a book called “Remembering Galesburg”. His book is derived of chosen articles from his weekly columns called “Tracking History” through the Galesburg Register Mail.
Tom Wilson getting ready to sign his book at Galesburg's Welcome Center.
After reading his book, I was delighted by the information of some obscure events that happened in the Knox County Area, tickled by his style of writing and intrigued when he did one article on a survey of how many people run stop signs – both in 1931 and today. You will be fascinated at the results!
It was a book I didn’t want to put down. I couldn’t wait for the next tale of the past of Galesburg. I didn’t know that dandelions where brought to Galesburg to cultivate, did you? Anyway, you will have to get his book “Remembering Galesburg” and find out the rest.
Tom Wilson signing his book for a fan at Galesburg's Welcome Center.
The images in this book are also interesting. The one that brought the most memories back for me was the photo of Kiddieland amusement park. The swings were my favorite ride. I remember thinking as a young girl that I could stay on this ride all night long. The feeling of freedom took over as the swings moved faster in the air. The wind catching my hair and blowing it every which way while trying to hold on for safety was one of my biggest thrills as a child.
I later remember the same sort of sensation, but not as spectacular, at Lake Storey on the swing sets and merry go round. You can also learn when Lake Storey became a lake and do you know what Lincoln Park was originally known for? Well, grab his book, so you too can reminisce about the old days or learn about Galesburg along with information on Knoxville, Abingdon, Monmouth and Oneida.
Tom’s book “Remembering Galesburg” is available locally at:
- The Register Mail, 140 S Prairie St.
- Burgland Drug Store, 1440 N Henderson St
- Innkeepers, 80 North Seminary Street
- The Civic Art Center, - 114 E Main St
- Cottage Hospital Gift Shop, 695 N Kellogg St,
- Inner Wisdom Bookshop, 31 N Kellogg St,
- Brighter Life Bookstore, 1055 N Henderson St,
- Knox College Book Store, 2 East South Street
- Dovetail Arts, 61 S Seminary Street
You can email Tom at wilsont29@comcast.net if you have any further question or want his autograph!
If you prefer to purchase this online, his book is available through Amazon:
• Please click below for online purchase
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Interview with Author Sandra McCone
by Carin Franey
It was a pleasure to interview native born children’s author Sandra McCone. She has recently published a children’s book called “The Secret in Nana’s Garden”, which is the first in ‘The Little Lasses Series’. Her inspiration is her four grandchildren and the love of storytelling. When her grandchildren come to visit her, they have tea parties and they beg her to tell stories to them. Sandra’s home has an enchanted backyard with woods, animals and a pond. Her grandchildren would spend hours outside exploring nature around their land.
Here is a preview of this delightful story: Three little girls, a brother, and story-weaving Nana make for an adventure of dazzling enchantment. Join author and Nana Sandra McCone in the delightful escapade of her beloved grandchildren: the delightful "three little lasses" and their fun-loving brother. Feel the touch of Ireland and the breeze rushing past Nana's country home as the three little lasses find in their own backyard what could only be dreamed of in fairytales.
Sandra’s roots, which originated from Ireland, have given her the ability to embellish a story for all ages to enjoy. She created this whimsical story in 2007. Sandra has a natural gift for writing stories since she has been handed the gift of storytelling down from her family, mainly her grandfather, James MacComhdhain (later changed to McCone after coming to America), whose storytelling consisted of adventures with Jesse James and many others. Also, her story was accepted for publication the first time she sent it in – the very first time! She was overjoyed when she received notice from Tate Publishing stating her book was accepted. She has also received the similar acceptance from our local community. She is keeping busy with readings at local schools and book signings throughout the Knox and Peoria County.
Author Sandra McCone
Sandra has already written the rest of the series for the ‘The Little Lasses Series’. She said, ‘the stories just come to me’. One of her stories came to her while she and her husband were on their way to Chicago. She broke out her pad of paper and began writing. She said, “Once I have it in my head, then the writing begins.”
Her goal for writing these books is to have every grandchild be able to re-unite with their grandparents by remembering how important it is to listen to the stories our grandparents have for us. The art of storytelling allows us to learn some history about older generations in which we can carry on to our descendants.
Retiring from interior decorating after 20 years of a fulfilling career, Sandra tells us “God has put certain things in my path for a certain time.” She goes on to tell us she has many inspirational friends and family around her for positive support and encouragement. Of course, her family is always cheering her on, but she has also found support in several friends like Mary Jo Ostrom, local artist, who keeps Sandra focused and has taken her under her wings. Mary Jo really believes in Sandra and her goal to reach children with her stories. Robert and Mona Wallace, from Ireland, have also been inspirational in directing Sandra by guiding her through her adventure.
Her book is available now through her website at www.threelittlelasses.com where you can also purchase the CD that goes with the story “The Secret in Nana’s Garden”, or go to one of these local stores: Inner Wisdom, Brighter Life, Cottage Gift Shop at Cottage Hospital, or the Galesburg Civic Center. Otherwise, you can purchase this book through Tate Publishing at tatepublishing.com/ where you can purchase the book only, but there is also the option of purchasing an eBook.
Make sure you find the time to visit author, Sandra McCone, at one of the following book signings where you will be able to receive her CD that goes along with “The Secret in Nana’s Garden”:
Stuffing
By Carin Franey 11/2008 ©
The day finally arrived. My mother was taking me to get my very own teddy bear. I was so excited; it seemed like months ago when she promised this to me, although it was probably only weeks ago. She said I not only could pick out my own bear, but name it and stuff it too! They would even give us a birth certificate to go with it.
We arrived in the special store my mom told me about. At first, I was confused. There were oodles of bears to choose from, but they were all unstuffed. This is not exactly what I was looking for in bear. I mean I wanted to cuddle with it, sleep with it, let it sit down and have a tea party with me too. How could I do this when the bear was flat as a pancake? I was beginning to tear up when I saw another girl near the counter. They took the bear she had chosen and put in this machine. This machine looked like a big popcorn machine, but it was cotton instead of popcorn. I watched as her bear slowly started growing. They stopped the machine and had her check it to see if it is the size she wanted. She held it, squeezed it then asked if they could add some more stuffing to her nice size bear. Some more cotton filled her bear, and then it is handed to her for inspection. She once again held it and squeezed it, looking totally delighted this time. She turned to her dad and pointing to her bear claimed, “This is it! My Daniel is happy with this size”.
Now I understood what my mom meant when she said “you can pick your bear, name it and stuff it.” I thought she meant stuff it into the gym bag I brought. My excitement grew even stronger than before, and I was in search for the perfect bear. There were brown ones, black ones, big ones and small ones. I found one that looked just the right size for me. You know a bear I could get my arms all the way around his body so I could give him big bear hugs. Then my mom said I could pick out two outfits. Well, since I decided to name him Charles, the girls clothing was out of the question. They had sports outfits, casual wear, three-piece suits, pajamas, hats, socks and shoes, and more. I decided to get him a three-piece suit with matching socks and shoes and some pajamas. Then he could have an outfit to wear to our tea parties and one to change into before he went to bed at night. Besides, with a name like Charles, he should have a fancy outfit. Now it was time for the magic machine that stuffed my bear to my likings. I brought the bear to the lady working the machine. She gave me an official looking birth certificate and a pen. “First, you can fill the information out about your bear, “she said to me after looking at my sweet stuffed animal I had picked out. I carefully entered Charles Dickens Franey for the name and then entered 11/18/08 for his date of birth (the day Charles became alive by the magical cotton machine).
Then the sales lady took Charles and attached him to the stuffing machine. I watched, as Charles seemed to come to life. Slowly his feet began to kick, his chest began to rise and his head started forming into a nice round shape. She asked if I would like to check Charles to see if he was the perfect size for me. I said yes, and she carefully took him off the machine and told me “just be careful because he is not sewn together yet.” I held him, squeezed him softly as to not squeeze the stuffing out of him and then I sat him down on the table to see if he could sit for a tea party. He wobbled a little and almost fell over. I told the lady to please add some more because Charles was not quite ready for tea parties yet. The lady laughed and said “sure” as she proceeded to the machine, hooking Charles back up. Once I gave the sales lady the OK, they sewed Charles up and put him in a special box so he could see out. I carefully packed Charles in my gym bag, making sure he could see out when we left the store.
As we left, I thanked my mom. “Mom, this is the best present I have ever gotten. Thank you! Oh, and Charles thanks you too!” My mom giggled and told me I was welcome. On the way home, I held Charles up so he could look outside the window to see the way to his new home. Now I understood why my mom said I would get my very own bear because for the first time, this feels like my very own, personalized bear made for me and only me. What else could a girl ask for?
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Lethal Present
By Bob Franey © 2007
CChristmas had arrived, I sat in the family room as my children opened their presents with a smile on their faces. We had once again out done ourselves from the previous year. It seemed more difficult to find things that would pacify the girl’s wishes for a merry Christmas. With wrapping paper and boxes scattered across the room, the girls gathered their bounty of goods and carted them off to their rooms. My wife smiled and headed back to the bedroom to finish up on her sleep. My mind drifted back to my youth.
I recalled the Christmas that my brother and I both so badly wanted the latest and best thing on the market, a hot wheel track with the loop that the cars would zip up, come back down, and then fly into the banked curves. Some of the curves were 45 and 90 degrees, which made it possible to create the most interesting of racetracks. We connected the long straight aways with small yellow plastic clips. They were made of a flexible yet firm orange plastic with raise sides to keep the cars from jumping off the track. As the small metal cars raced around the track, they would enter into the accelerator, a neat devise that propel the cars in a constant race round and round. The best part of all was that we did not just get one set of racetracks, my brother and I both got one. This made it possible to make an even larger racetrack that our friends admired.
Looking back, I now understand why we always got two of everything. It was to keep us from fighting over toys and so we could not say that the other one had gotten a better present. The wisdom of my parents as I look back, was the principal of keep it simple and keep it the same. It also helped with the symmetry of presents under the tree.
By lunchtime, all the kids in the neighborhood would be over at our house, with each of us showing off the awesome toys that we had received for Christmas. We soon learned that the long orange tracks made great weapons. The whistling sound that they made as they sliced through the air before impact was so cool. However, there was a certain unspoken code, which we would not inflict to much pain upon one another. My mother had seen us sword fighting with the tracks and must have had ideas of her own as she told us to put them down.
With both of us being pre teenagers it did not take us long to annoy her or get into some form of trouble, by our parents standards. My mother would pin us to the floor with her knees on our shoulders and slap us in the face or even worse, she would grab the nearest item and punish us with it. That winter she turned our greatest present of all times into a nightmare we still talk about. That was the year where she did not threaten us with our father when he came home. Instead, she would produce one of those long orange tracks welding it as a samurai warrior handles his sword.
Over the next several months those long orange tracks whistled letting us know that impact upon our bare flesh was imminent and it left nasty red welts, with its stinging bites. Mom was one that believed like lays potato chips one was not enough, when it came to punishment. I’m not saying we did not deserve it, we did have a way of pushing her buttons. When spring arrived, it brought the freedom of the great out of doors and moms annual garage sale. This was a time for us to unload all of those unwanted articles clothing that we did not wear or toys that we had out grown. It was also a time of great disappointment for my mother when she saw the two sets of hot wheel tracks for sale.
Before the day was over both sets had found new homes. We now found a release from the horror of those orange tracks. Over the summer months whenever we managed to get into trouble, one of those orange monsters would reappear. As it created a fear unlike anything mom could yield. The afternoon I remembered the most that summer was when I had the honor of burning trash in the barrel of our back yard. My brother came walking out hiding something under his shirt. It was the orange monster. He had an almost evil smile as he tossed it into the barrel and the flames quickly melted it into a small puddle. We looked at one another, smiled, for the orange monster was dead and we were free from its stinging bite.
Weeks later when we had pushed moms button one too many times. We discovered that she had saved more than one of those orange tracks. We killed several of them over the following years, as another one would rear its ugly head to replace the one killed. To this day, I believe that my mother still has one hidden in a closet just waiting for my brother and me.
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The Sport of Special Orders
by Allison Bates
Just as I did the second week of every month, I stood in front of the cashier's counter at Birchwood Ponds Music and Video, filling out a special order slip. There wasn't a single place in town where I could buy an album imported from the UK, and I suppose that I was all right with that fact. As a consumer with very limited disposable income and the unfortunate lack of political power that came with being a female high school senior, I knew that there wasn't a lot I could do about it. Despite the relative hopelessness of my shopping situation, however, I did have the owner of the aforementioned record store convinced that she could profit from helping me out. I felt sort of bad about using her as my British pop courier, but since she didn't get a lot of business, unless a local band had a new album or something, it was probably beneficial to her, too.
“So, Leslie, what are we ordering for you today?” Violet, the store's owner, asked, leaning so far forward to see what I was writing that her face was almost totally covered in her stringy dark brown hair. Even though I knew I'd be giving her the entire slip eventually, so that she could write down the ISBN numbers and stuff like that for her personal records, I moved my arm to hide the paper, somewhat intimidated by her spying on me.
“Nothing that exciting. There's just a new greatest hits album from this girl group I like, and since none of their album-albums have come out in this country, I'm not guessing that their compilation album will, so I'm getting it imported,” I answered with a smile, pulling an ad for the album that I'd printed off of Google image search out of my purse so that she could see it. I was sure that someone like Violet, devoted enough to the strict ideals of indie culture to open her own record store, wasn't going to be impressed by my devotion to New Facility, which was perhaps the most insipid of all British girl groups. My enthusiasm couldn't do either of us any damage, though.
“Well, I'm sure there's no reason at all why a band this good hasn't managed to get a US record contract, is there?” Violet said as she examined the advertisement, much to my irritation , though not to my surprise, then placed it on the counter and laughed. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't be such a snot about things. You're one of my best customers, and I guess it's bad for business to say horrible things about the bands you like,” she added, turning towards her computer screen and beginning to type.
“That's okay! I know they suck, so it's not a big deal. They're just sort of fun to listen to,” I replied. Once I'd finished filling out the required information, I slid the slip towards her and waited for her to enter it into the computer.
“I guess,” Violet nodded, sounding somewhat distracted. She clicked away at her keyboard intently for a minute or two, then turned to look at me, frowning. “I probably shouldn't be telling you this, but you know that you'd be able to get this album five dollars cheaper at any online store, right?” she questioned, stepping away from the computer entirely.
“I don't want to buy it online. That would be really boring,” I responded with an aggressive shake of my head. I was shocked, but not at the idea that Violet would suggest I shop elsewhere. As a record store owner, the very purveyor of my point, she should have had a perfect understanding of why I didn't want to order my albums from the internet.
“Boring? How is your enjoyment of the album affected by the place it's coming from?” Violet argued, though not in a disagreeable way. She was still smiling, her teeth looking even bigger than usual, which made me feel a little better. I would have been even more distressed if I'd managed to make her angry.
“Well, it's not really the album that's affected, I guess, but it's just better to find something in a store. When you order a CD off of the internet, you still get it, and it's still a perfectly good album, but it's almost too easy. There's no sport to typing the band name into a search engine and seeing what shopping results come out,” I explained. I wasn't sure Violet would agree with me, so I put my hands behind my back and made my very best show of being sincere, though I was sure I came off like an overeager character on a sitcom once I'd finished.
“But shopping's not a sport. It's just a way of acquiring more stuff. The only reason that you take any pleasure in shopping is because corporations have conditioned you to feel that way, and all I'm doing here is taking advantage of that. I should probably feel a little guiltier,” Violet came back just as brightly. It was obvious that in getting to complain about corporations, she was in her element, as I'd seen so many times before, but she still sounded a bit demented.
“Yeah, but even if we are conditioned to feel that way, isn't it cool to walk out of a store with the item you wanted right in your hand? It's so much better than pulling a package out of your mailbox and having the CD in there. It makes you feel like you hunted the album down; like some actual work went into your receiving it, even if it is just a special order,” I went on, knowing that once Violet got going on any sort of diatribe, I'd have to work much harder to convince her of anything. Because of that, I threw all of the passion I had for the subject into my argument.
I expected Violet to come back with some sort of screaming anti-corporate rhetoric, but instead, she laughed again, going back to her computer. “As long as you're going to give in to society's pressure to make buying needless garbage a ritual, I should at least be glad that you're doing it at my store instead of someone else's. Will it be okay if your CD gets here in about five days? I'll call when it comes in,” she completed and closed the argument, going back to her usual customer service tone.
“Oh, of course it will be! I'll be back when you get it,” I nodded, taking my printed advertisement back and exiting the store. Surprised as I was that someone like Violet would argue in favor of online shopping, I was glad that I was able to get my point across to her. After all, I just couldn't bear to have to go record shopping without the familiar experience of having to take crap from snotty record store owners.
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Guest of Honor
By Bob Franey © 2006
Upon entering his apartment, Rusty dropped his belongings as he always did and headed to the kitchen to grab something to eat. Opening the fridge, he pulled out a half-eaten sandwich from the night before and a cold can of Pepsi. On his way into the living room, he passed past the answering machine, the red button was flashing indicating that he had a message. Grumbling to himself that it was probably another window / siding sales person wanting to sell him improvements to his home. Where do these people get his name from, since he lived in a small rundown apartment building? Don’t they have some sort of list of homeowners that they could use? Leaning over the machine, he slowing reached down and pressed the play button. The voice from the machine was one that he did not recognize; it was clearly a wrong number since they wanted Amy. As he dropped down into the old worn out chair that had came with the apartment, he thumbed through the mail that he had received. Among the normal bills and junk mail was a letter that looked important. He popped open the can of pop and ripped off a large bite from his sandwich. Carefully he opened the letter, much to his surprise it was an invitation to a social gathering. He looked the letter over several times to see if it was really meant for him.
Rusty had moved to the city four years ago and still had not made any friends. Yes, there were those that worked with him, yet no one ever invite him over to their place for cocktails. Living in the big city was not what he had imagined. He was a social pariah in his small hometown and this was why he moved. The letter stated that the gathering was set for later that evening. As he pushed the remainder of the sandwich into his mouth, he debated if he would attend the gathering. With a large gulp from his Pepsi he washed down the sandwich followed by a large belch. The thought of someone inviting him was puzzling; no one had ever given him the time of day before. Now here was this letter inviting him to what seemed to be a special honor. Reaching down to his crouch he scratched himself and thought what the hell, he would go. He didn’t know anyone that lived in manor oaks. The people that lived there made more money in one year, than he would ever make in a life time. This had to be some sort of joke he thought to himself, but no matter what it was, he was going to attend. The letter did not state what the gathering was celebrating or how to dress. Since it was in the ritzy part of the city, he decided to take a shower and wear his best suit. The drive to the gathering took an hour, even though it seemed longer. He had no idea what was in store for him or why he was invited.
The road to the address was lined with large brick homes that must of cost hundred of thousands of dollars, no millions. His car puffed out smoke as he pulled into the driveway. Driving up to the front door, a young man wearing a gold colored vest asked if he could park the car for him. The valet directed him to the front door where the gathering was taking place. Before he could ring the doorbell, the door opened and a beautiful looking blonde-haired woman in a long flowing red dress greeted him..
“You must be Rusty Stover.” Inquired the blonde.
“Yes I am and your name is?”
“You can call me Rose.”
“Well Rose, I hope that I’m not late for the party.” Rose giggled and directed him into the great room where several other people were nicely dressed. Everyone came up to him and introduced themselves. They must have mistaken him for someone else, he thought. Rose walked up to him with two glasses of champagne.
“Let me show you around.” Rose said as she handed him one of the glasses. Rusty thought to himself, if everyone from his hometown could see him now. How they would be envious. About an hour later, an older gentleman came over to him.
“I am Henry Thomas the owner of this home and host of this gathering. I would like to thank you for attending.”
“No, it is my pleasure,” answered Rusty. Henry Thomas smiled as he opened a large wooden door that exposed the dinning room.
“Rusty would you like to take part in the dinner with us?” asked Rose.
“Sounds good to me.” replied Rusty. Rusty had noticed that there was no wedding ring on her finger. He thought that his luck had begun to change. Rose took Rusty by the hand and led him into the dining hall. The smile on her face made Rusty forget about his crummy little apartment and lonely life. Henry Thomas announced that the meal would soon begin and directed the other guest into the dinning room. Rose walked Rusty over to the head of the table and seated him. The sound of the large wooden door echoed as it closed and Henry locked the door.
“Rose what are we having for dinner?”
“It’s not what, it’s who we are having.” As she drove a knife into his hand that rested on the table.
