New bookings for Geronimo, Life on the Reservation

1-2-15 Geronimo 1 First ActNew bookings for Geronimo!

Note: This is an old post. Since I wrote this, Rudy has taken his Geronimo show to  many theatres, including The Joel & Frances McCrea Ranch in Thousand Oaks, CA and two shows during The Western legends Roundup and Film Festival.

Currently, he’s working on Kevin Costner’s Yellowstone that will premiere during Summer, 2018 on Paramount Cable.

2015

The Whitefire Theatre– Sheman Oaks, CA, every Sat. night from Jan. 3rd-Feb. 7th,

The High Chaparral Reunion, Casino del Sol, Tucson, AZ , March 21

Alburquerque, NM, March 28, 2015

Muskogee, OK, April 4th

Winnsboro, TX, April 11th & 12th

The Memphis Film Festival, June11-13

GERONIMO,
Life on the Reservation
Starring Rudy Ramos
Directed by Steve Railsback
Written by Janelle Meraz Hooper (Visit her website)

This is a story about the last 23 years of Geronimo’s life as a prisoner of war. It starts with his final surrender in 1886.  After stops in Florida and Alabama prisons he was sent to his final stop at Ft. Sill Oklahoma where he spent the last 15 years of his life.  It focuses on the resiliency, humor and genius of the great Apache warrior.

In this presentation, Geronimo cleverly evolves from a surrendered Indian leader into a celebrity and entrepreneur.  Keenly aware of how to work the political system he joins the same church that Theodore Roosevelt belongs to and rides in his Inaugural Parade.  Although he isn’t successful in getting everything he wants he certainly succeeds in making the best of his situation.

Geronimo was never beaten.  He simply adapted to his present circumstances.

“To my knowledge no one in the history of American stage has ever played him or told his side of the story at this stage of his life.  I am honored to play him and give him the voice he deserves… the voice he never had.”  – Rudy Ramos
Tickets are now available through Brown Paper Tickets at www.brownpapertickets.com or call (800) 838-3006.
The show will play on Saturdays at 8:00 pm January 03, 10, 17, 24, 31 and February 07 at the Whitefire Theatre 13500 Ventura Boulevard  Sherman Oaks,  CA  91423   www.whitefiretheatre.com
Valet Parking is at the Boneyard Bistro  13539 Ventura Boulevard  Sherman Oaks,  CA  91423.  It is 1/2 block west of the theatre.

 Don’t miss this one-man show! Rudy does a wonderful job of portraying this multi-faced Native American. I thank Rudy from the bottom of my heart for the opportunity to work with him and Steve Railsback (Director) on this well-received performance! More information can be found on www.GeronimoLifeontheReservation.com/

Christmas in the Antique District

 

7-01-09Kindle pie coverFree Pecan Pie on Amazon

From the Book Free Pecan Pie and Other Chick Stories Amazon-Paperback and Kindle. Published by iUniverse.

Christmas in the Antique District

Janelle Meraz Hooper

    Sandie opened the door to the basement closet of the antique store to get the artificial tree her boss had sent her after—and quickly shut it again. The tree was covered with rat droppings and, although the closet was dark at the back, she could hear movement that she was pretty sure wasn’t reindeer.
Oh, Lordy! What am I going to do?  Sandie thought. She needed her job, but her mind and body both rebelled at going anywhere near that disease-infested tree.
Looking for a way out, she ran over in her mind what her boss, Rodney, had said that morning as he descended the stairs from his apartment: “Today, we decorate for Christmas! When you get a chance, go down to the basement closet and get the tree!”
Well. There wasn’t much wiggle-room there, unless she got so busy that she couldn’t leave the shop floor to go downstairs. She knew that wasn’t likely.
“Where’s the tree?” Her boss asked when she came up empty-handed.
“I thought I heard customers up here,” she lied.
“Yeah, some coffee-sippers came in, but they left,” he said, as he took a big gulp of his rum and Coke.
“About the tree,” Sandie said hesitantly, “when I was taking it out, I saw it had rat droppings all over it, so I left it there.”
“Oh, just take the tree out and beat it on the sidewalk—they’ll come right off. It’ll look great when the lights are on it. It always does.”
What she had to do, Sandie decided, was distract her boss until the assistant manager, Laurie, came in. She was a friend and would be a lot more sympathetic to her qualms about getting rabies from a Christmas tree than Rodney was—she was sober. Sandi hoped Laurie came in soon; if she didn’t, it was going to be a long day. Luckily, Rodney discovered that his glass was empty, and he went back upstairs to his apartment to fill it.
For the rest of the day, Sandie sat on a platform at her hostess desk and watched the Christmas tapestry of the rich, poor, and homeless run up and down the Seattle sidewalks. The windows in the store ran from floor to ceiling, so she had a panoramic view of the trendy area filled with antique shops.

There was a cold wind, and the street people leaned over their shopping carts that held all of their possessions to keep the sharp wind from biting their faces. One man had tied a rumpled Christmas ribbon to his cart. As a homeless woman hurried by with her basket piled so high with black plastic sacks that she couldn’t see over it, the wind blew open her scarf that was wrapped around her face, and exposed a black eye. One of the street people was in the middle of the street, poised as if to run a race. Puzzled, Sandie didn’t realize until the last second that he intended to ram, headfirst, into her store’s large window. It happened so fast; within seconds, he charged the shop window, and left Sandie with nothing to do but scream. The man’s head hit the glass full force, but the glass didn’t break. The impact shook the whole building, and Rodney leaned out of his apartment door to see what had happened.
“What was that noise?” he asked.
Just then, the man hit the window again. Didn’t he know how dangerous glass was? Chances were that he wouldn’t just cut his head, he could decapitate himself!
“Oh, that happens a lot this time of year,” Rodney nonchalantly said when he looked at the dazed man. As he turned to go back to his kitchen, he said, “It’s cold out. He’s trying to get arrested so he’ll have a warm place to sleep tonight. Don’t worry; he won’t break the window. It’s a special glass that wouldn’t break if he had a hammer. And don’t worry about him coming in here to keep warm while you’re alone. They all know they can’t come in here. I’ve taught them that much.”
Sandie’s heart was still thumping violently as the dazed man stumbled down the sidewalk in search of an easier window to break. All day she spent anxiously watching windows and doors: the window in case the street person returned, the front door so she could catch the assistant manager as soon as she got back from her furniture set-up, and the door to Rodney’s apartment. It had gotten very quiet upstairs. Apparently, he’d passed out for the afternoon.
There were few customers, so she had lots of time to think. What would she do if she had to go get that tree and beat it on the sidewalk in front of half of Seattle? She decided she had no options. She’d do it, if she had to; she needed the minimum-pay job. She wouldn’t be happy about it though. Once, she’d had a good middle-class life, but now she was on a long financial slide after a lengthy illness, and she dreaded the extra humiliation of having to beat that turd-infested tree on the sidewalk.
A few minutes before closing, Sandie gathered her things. The assistant manager came through the door just as she was putting on her coat.
“Laurie—we need to talk. Rodney wants me to put up the Christmas tree and it’s full of rat droppings.”
“Oh,” Laurie laughed, “he says that every year, and every year I go out and buy a tree out of petty cash and put it up. He never even notices that the tree is real. Don’t worry about it; I’ll pick one up tomorrow.”
On her way to her car, Sandie walked alongside some homeless people pushing their carts. She had a couple of bucks in her pocket, so she looked for the man who had tried to break the shop window, but she didn’t see him. Maybe he had succeeded in getting arrested. She hoped so. It was sure to get down to the twenties before the night was through.

She felt guilty that she’d been so upset over a silly tree. But who could say? Every homeless person started from some point in his life. Maybe that Christmas tree in the basement closet would have been her first step.

 This story and other holiday short stories can be found in my mixed media book, Free Pecan Pie and Other Chick Stories, paperback and Kindle. Suitable for YA and up, clean. Popular with teachers.  Published by iUniverse.

Merry Christmas! Janelle

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A New-fangled Thanksgiving Tradition, a short story

Note: this is one of the stories about my family that led up to The Turtle Trilogy, a series I wrote about sisters: A Three-Turtle Summer (the ladies as young wives), As Brown As I Want: The Indianhead Diaries (the ladies as mothers), Custer & His Naked Ladies (the ladies as senior citizens). This is the complete version of this story. Happy Thanksgiving!

See my other books and short stories: Janelle Meraz Hooper
A New-Fangled Thanksgiving Tradition
Janelle Meraz Hooper

Thanksgiving dinner was always the same at Mom’s, and that was how we liked it. In a changing world that created new stress by the minute, we could always depend on Mom’s turkey to be perfectly browned, and her cornbread dressing nicely laced with celery, wild pecans, and raisins. Giblet gravy, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, and peas filled in every spare spot on our plate. There were no tortillas on this day—I suspect because there just wasn’t enough free counter space in the kitchen to roll them out. The rolls we ate were the packaged kind that came in a paper tray and were already partially cooked. The cranberry sauce that replaced the normal salsa was canned and always served on our fancy glass tray that had been around since Roosevelt put a turkey in every pot (or was that a chicken?).

Okay, so it wasn’t a gourmet meal, but it was good—and the large family that came to share it thought it was perfect. Almost every time.

But one year, when my mom and her sister were both close to eighty, my aunt arrived from California and brought her new-fangled ideas about tradition with her. Thanksgiving morning, my Aunt Pat got up early and beat my mom to the kitchen, determined to “California-ize” our turkey dinner. The first item on the menu that she changed was the cranberries―she used real ones. Mom was suspicious when she looked at the marble-sized fruit bubbling on the stove with bits of fresh orange peel. She didn’t like the looks of those orange shavings. To her, they looked like something that slipped past the food inspectors. Mom believed cranberry sauce should be pushed out of a can with those little ridges that showed her where to cut the slices. “No one will know what this stuff is,” she worried. “This isn’t what they’re used to. And it smells funny.”

My aunt stood her ground. Resigned to a cranberry failure, Mom went to the living room to relax and read the paper. She didn’t see my aunt pull my mom’s traditional cornbread dressing out of the oven and stir in a bag of fresh spinach. The last thing my aunt did before she left the kitchen was replace the table butter with an unidentified soy product she’d brought in her handbag from Santa Barbara that didn’t look, taste, or smell like butter.

The family was sitting down at the table when Mom pulled the dressing out of the oven and discovered that it’d turned green. Her sister told her it was the latest thing in California, and much healthier. Mom was appalled and predicted, “No one will eat it.”

And they didn’t. That bowl was passed around the table so often it looked like it was in its own special green orbit, and no one would touch it. On one of its last flights around the table, my cousin reluctantly put a spoonful on her toddler’s plate, but the kid broke out in tears, so my cousin took it off and hid it in her napkin. Finally, my aunt mumbled something about taking the dressing to the kitchen to heat it up. It never returned.

The fancy cranberry sauce met much the same fate. When it was passed around the table, everyone would try to get a portion that was not laced with orange peel. No one succeeded. Soon it entered its own orbit, crisscrossing the orbit of the green cornbread dressing. Around and around the table it flew until the contents of the bowl were just a fragrant red blur circling the Planet Table, not unlike the rings around Saturn.

Mom and her sister are both gone now, and I think of them often, especially around the holidays. Looking back, maybe green dressing and orange cranberries wouldn’t have been that awful. I should have at least tasted them. Although, sister rivalry being what it was, I’m sure Mom would have never forgiven me if I had.
It has been years since that dinner, but the saga of the New-Fangled Thanksgiving

Tradition lives on to this day. No one in our family will accept an invitation for Thanksgiving dinner without first inquiring, “What’s in your cranberries—and what color is your cornbread dressing?”

This story was originally published in Free Pecan Pie and Other chick Stories. Available in paperback & ebook. Published by iUniverse.

More good stuff: www.JanelleMerazHooper.com

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Chapter 5, Boogie, Boots, & Cherry Pie, sample chapter

Comment from a reader on Amazon

5.0 out of 5 stars-Best Yet!
September 16, 2011
Format: Kindle Edition
A romantic ribbon weaves its way through a latticework of exotic pets, jewelry, and Northwest cuisine including cherry pie! All of this against the backdrop of urban Seattle. Janelle Meraz Hooper’s sense of humor and descriptive dialogue keeps you smiling. Reggae describes what happens to snakes in Jamaica. ” …but whenever anyone finds one over deh, dem beat it until it’s so flat it’s halfway to being a belt.” The author also adds drama based on a Washington State natural disaster, making this love story her best yet!

.9-9-14 Boogie front cover

Lily lives on the third floor of The Zoo–an apartment building catering to tenants who have exotic pets. Lily doesn’t have a turtle or iguana, but she has Mike, her new boyfriend, who may be the most exotic pet of all! Humor, romance.  

Paperback & Kindle! Suitable for NA (New Adult) and up.

YouTube: Book trailer for Boogie, Boots, & Cherry Pie

To see the book on Amazon

Chapter 5. Goodnight, Princess Lily

 They ate at a restaurant on the waterfront that had served Northwest seafood since Bill Boeing launched his first airplane from Lake Union. Mike ordered a bucket of steamed clams, and Lily ordered crab cakes. It was late, so the dinner rush was over. Their main entrée arrived before they’d finished their appetizer of fried calamari.

Over dinner, Mike raised concerns over Lily’s bathroom guest. “That’s an awfully big snake. Big enough to be dangerous. What was his name?”

“Boogie. Velma likes to dance.”

“Where does he live?”

“On my floor, just around the corner.”

“Why do you think he went to your apartment?” he asked as he worked his way to the bottom of his bucket of clams. “You don’t have anything he could make a lunch out of—except you.”

“Very funny.”

“I’m serious,” Mike persisted. “I saw a television documentary on anacondas in the Amazon, and a huge snake watched a group of scientists walk through a shallow marsh and waited for several men to pass until a female scientist went by small enough for him to handle. When the woman passed him, it came up out of the water and grabbed her.” Mike pulled away from the table and gave Lily an appraising look. “What are you? About a size two?”

“Mike! You don’t seriously think Boogie is stalking me? Maybe he was really after my big green elephant, or the rabbit from next door.”

“I know it’s pretty far-fetched. But what else could be drawing him to your apartment?” he drummed his fingers on the tablecloth as he thought. “Tell me about that rabbit. Does he ever come over to your place?”

“Bomber?”

Mike interrupted her, “Are you kidding me? Boogie and Bomber?”

“Well, he leaves bunny bombs sometimes.”

“Okay. Go on,” Mike grinned.

“Well, Bomber visits frequently. He’s a sweet little creature. Other people have dust bunnies under their bed. I have the real thing. I buy those little peeled carrots for him at the grocery store.”

“Bingo! That rabbit’s scent must be all over your apartment. Boogie is using your flat as a hunting ground. Maybe he can’t get into the apartment where Bomber actually lives.”

“Probably not. There’s no cat flap at Barbara’s.”

“Cat flap?!” Mike almost screamed. “There’s a cat flap on your front door? Funny, I didn’t notice it.”

“Well, it’s been painted white to match the door. And it is blocked. At least it’s blocked enough so a cat can’t get in.”

“I bet a snake wouldn’t need as much room as a cat. I’d better look at it tonight. I don’t think your snake’s owner can be trusted to control her pet. It’s lucky for me Boogie doesn’t eat cherry pie.”

“You’re going to eat more pie?!”

“It’s okay,” Mike said with a devilish grin, “sooner or later I’ll work it off.”

Lily caught her breath, but said nothing. She wasn’t willing to open herself up to ridicule over her virginity in a conversation over an empty clam bucket. She had a late start getting into the dating scene to begin with, and just when she’d started college, she’d lost her mother, and then, her aunt. When most girls were sneaking boys into their dormitory rooms, Lily was struggling with the loss of her family and being homeless. For now, she’d keep her family history to herself.

When they got to the door of Lily’s apartment, the missing snake sign was off the door and a shaky Boots was standing guard.

“Good evening, Boots,” Lily said.

Mike stopped in place and waited expectantly for an explanation of the lizard’s name.

“The landlady is Jamaican and she says she’s just keeping him around until he’s big enough for her to make a pair of boots.” While she spoke, she picked a couple of hibiscus blooms from the plant by the door and tossed them to the big lizard as they passed by. Boots pounced on the blossoms like they were live prey.

“What else does he eat?” Mike wanted to know as he gave the creature a wide berth.

“Oh, he’s strictly a vegetarian. But he can get cranky and bite. He’s been more agitated than usual lately. I think Boogie has him spooked. He used to be the toughest kid on the block. Now, he’s got competition and I think he might feel threatened.”

“In a fight with a constrictor, which one would win?” Mike wondered.

Lily shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. Boots might be the loser strictly because of his gentle personality. I don’t think he has the killer instinct of a snake. One of the tenants upstairs has a friend at the Woodland Park Zoo. He’s going to take him to lunch and see what he can find out.”

Mike looked at the cat flap and Lily put on tea and served the last of the pie. “What do you think, am I snake meat?” she asked Mike when he came into the kitchen.

“Lily, there’s no wooden frame on that flap. It’s closed on the top and bottom, but it’s loose around the sides. It looks like a homemade job, or else it’s very old.” Then, he asked, “Do you have any duct tape?” When Lily produced a roll from a kitchen drawer, he said, “I’m impressed. I never would have guessed someone as dainty as you would have duct tape in her kitchen drawer.”

Lily whispered, “I even have a hammer.” She heard a low, appreciative whistle in response.

Mike wrapped the silver tape around the cat flap opening several times. “It’s not pretty, but it’ll do until we come up with another solution.”

He started to sit down at the table, but he was still uneasy. He got up and started walking around the apartment. He looked in the closet, bathroom, and under the bed. “I don’t know how you can be so calm. I’m six feet, and a hundred and sixty pounds, and I’d be afraid to sleep here.”

“I think you’ve solved my problem, I’ll be okay now,” Lily said with false bravado.

“Maybe we should hang a Boogie bell over the flap, to announce the snake if he manages to wiggle in again,” he said with a laugh. “Have you got one in that drawer?” he asked, with a nod toward the drawer the duct tape was in.

“Fresh out,” Lily admitted.

There was one piece of pie left. When Lily offered it to Mike, he studied it carefully. He picked it up, turned it slowly around, and seemed to calculate its size. Then he looked up and asked, “Are you still a good girl?” When Lily nodded yes, he said with a laugh, “Then I’d better pass.”

When he left that night, he kissed Lily warmly and whispered in her ear, “Lily, I’m not a lech, but I’m not a monk, either.” Then, he winked and said, “Call me if you run out of duct tape.”

“I don’t have your number,” Lily said weakly.

“I left my card under your phone,” he said with a grin.

Lily abandoned her brave front once Mike was gone. Before she climbed into her bed, she searched the apartment again to double check for Boogie. He couldn’t be loose again already, she told herself. Velma wouldn’t be so careless when she knew she and the snake were so close to being evicted. Surely, she knew finding another snake-friendly apartment wouldn’t be easy. Still, she opened cupboard doors and rechecked her closets.

When she locked her patio doors, she heard some rustling in the big tree that grew alongside her building; she had an uneasy feeling, and scolded herself for becoming afraid of everything, even the killer squirrels in the trees.

She had crawled into bed and shut off the lights when suddenly she remembered Mike said he’d left his business card underneath her phone. She turned on her bedroom lamp and went into the living room.

When she picked up the phone, there was nothing there. She must have misunderstood him.

Disappointed, she crawled back into bed and turned off the lamp. Seconds later, she switched the lamp back on and looked under her bedroom phone. There it was. He must have put it there when he was checking to make sure Boogie hadn’t gotten back in. On the front of the card, he’d circled his home and mobile phone number. On the back, he’d written, “Call me anytime. Day or night. I mean it, Lily.”

She turned out the lamp and tried to go to sleep, but she couldn’t get comfortable. Her pillow was lumpy. She turned on her lamp one last time and lifted it up to see what was there. She found a bracelet box with another silk sack. Inside this one was a black-enameled silver-toned snake bracelet with red rhinestone eyes.

He might still be on the road. She dialed his mobile number. When he answered, he laughed.

“You found it.”

“I did. It’s wonderful. Thank you so much.”

“It’s not one of my pieces; it’s one of my competitor’s designs, but we’re friends. I thought you’d get a laugh out of it. You don’t have to wear it, it was just for fun.”

“I will wear it. It’s so cute,” then she shyly added, “and it’s from you.”

“I don’t suppose I can come back?” Mike teased.

“Sorry. I’m all out of cherry pie, anyway.”

“Next, I’m getting you a rhinestone chicken,” he said as he made playful chicken noises.

“Very funny. Good night, and thank you again.”

“Good night, Princess Lily.”

Oh! Never in her whole life had a man called her princess. Lily snuggled down deep in her blankets. She didn’t hear the surprised cry of a squirrel in the tree outside her window.

Honorable mention, 2014 Animals, Animals, Animals Book Contest, Wild Card category, NA (New Adult) & up. See more: www.JanelleMerazHooper.com


 Dear reader, I hope you enjoyed this chapter from Boogie, Boots, & Cherry Pie. If so, please consider tweeting it! Many thanks, Janelle


Paperback and Kindle. Published by CreateSpace. Suitable for New Adult and up. New Adult is the reader designation that comes after Young Adult; it’s fairly new.

I met one of my readers at Campbell Resort in
Washington State on Lake Chelan. 

Thanks for stopping by! Janelle