Seasoned Lightly is on hiatus until after the first of the year when Anne Michael, who is taking a break, will return to BiblioBuffet. In the meantime, we invite you to revisit some of her early pieces.

The world is alive with the sound of music (and not just at Julie Andrews’ home). Christmas carols play over the sound system at my office, and there is a radio station devoted to playing only holiday tunes till the fat man in the red suit and white beard makes his appointed rounds. To my husband’s dismay—he likes to keep the “Bah” in Humbug—every radio we own is tuned to it. I even reset the radio in his car, using not just one but all those cool little buttons that hold favorite stations. He wasn’t happy when, on his errands run yesterday, he discovered it. I came home and found the shoelaces out of all of my shoes and tied in a big knot as payback, and was promised that if I messed with his radio again (which I would happily do) he would take the book in which I am thoroughly engrossed and hide it.  He delivered said message with an evil grin as he gripped the book and my box of mango tea bags. Drats! I guess the Queen of Mischief has been dethroned at this address. Had my Consort In Tomfoolery just nabbed the tea, as he has in the past, I would have escalated the hijinks to greater heights. But I am only twenty pages from the end of Light on Snow by Anita Shreve, and I have to know how this story ends. A truce reigns, albeit temporarily, for now.

It’s been a long two weeks, beginning with training classes. By midweek, I was on a flight to Wisconsin for meetings and the departmental tradition of Christmas Breakfast & Gift Swap at a place called the Machine Shed in the suburbs of Milwaukee. I enjoyed the time with the other members of my far-flung group, catching up on all the news. My flight there had a layover in Cincinnati lasting a few hours, which left me plenty of time to roam the concourse bookstores, newsstands and gift stores. I had spotted Light on Snow, but decided not to buy it since I had brought Dean Koontz’s From the Corner of His Eye with me and had stashed Summer at Willow Lake by Susan Wiggs in my suitcase. I figured I had plenty of reading material, and my burgeoning bookshelves did not need one more book. 

The work week over, I flew, on Friday afternoon, to Virginia to see my daughter and her family. It’s been more than two years since we’ve seen one another and I’d not yet met my new granddaughter, Elly, now six months old. Once more, I found myself in Cincinnati on an unexpectedly long layover due to a stopped up toilet on the small plane that was to take me and my fellow passengers to Dulles. Since my seat was in the row next to the tiny restroom, it was my fervent hope that the situation and its attendant olfactory discord would be brought to a sweet-smelling conclusion before I boarded. (Fortunately, it was.) But the delay gave me extra time to read From the Corner of His Eye, an intense and interesting book.

I had a great time visiting my family. I was treated to lots of hugs and kisses and regaled with tales of school and friends and life in general from the wonderful perspective of the almost ten-year-old eye of my granddaughter, Sam. My new granddaughter, looking just like her daddy with her mama’s green eyes is a charmer and just gorgeous. I found her inquisitiveness enchanting. And she is already interested in books, although her favorite part is the way they crinkle and how good they feel on the little buds of her sore teething gums. Sam was my official tour guide for their new house. She proudly showed me the bookshelves, announcing, “We are a reading family.” It was a fact that gave this reader joy. Alas, my time there ended far too swiftly. A day and a half later, I was back on a plane heading once again to Cincinnati and my connecting flight home to Florida. 

Since I finished the Koontz book before I got into Cincinnati and realized when I reached into my carry-on that I’d left the Susan Wiggs book in my checked bag. I was obliged, I tell you, to go to the bookstore on the concourse and get Light on Snow. It has proven to be one of the best stories told in the first person I’ve ever read. The perspective is that of a 12-year-old girl, struggling to grow up in the aftermath of the death of her mother and baby sister with a father who is endeavoring to survive his grief. The story is compelling. The truths that ring through are loud and crystal clear. It made me laugh and cry and feel. I’ve never before read anything by Anita Shreve, but her writing makes me want more, a lot more.

It was a thrill, then, to find out she has written eleven other books. So if you’ll pardon me I’m off to find my Christmas list and add those titles, after which I will dig out the rubber roaches I hid earlier and put them where Steve will be surprised, and dismayed, to find them. (The Queen of Mischief rises again!)

I hope you enjoy all the sounds and scents of this holiday season. Be sure to take time from the shopping, wrapping, trimming and baking, and give yourself the gift of a good book along with some time to read it. 


At age 10, Anne realized she was never going to get to be Miss America since reading a book was not an acceptable talent. So she went on to get a job and raise a family. Along the way, she fixed meals, picked up toys, helped with homework, and collected a drawer full of rejection slips for her “great American novel.” It was not all bad, however, since she ended up wallpapering a closet with them. She currently designs and creates greeting cards for her tiny company, The Frog Prints, LLC, and also works full-time as a Training Specialist. Anne is currently tethered to reality by a loving spouse, two dogs and the occasional hurricane that blows through Florida, although falling headlong and happily into a book is still her favorite “talent.” Contact Anne.