Author Archives: Deb Tadema

About Deb Tadema


Abandoned Honor

Mark Wilder is Mitch’s only legitimate son.  After his mother’s second husband dies, Mark begins to hope that his parents will re-unite.  If they do, then maybe his father will stick around more.  But the only re-uniting they are doing is in the bedroom.  Neither one seems to want anything more than that.

Mark worries about what his parents will do when they discover his own secret.  That him dating Naomi Palmer is a ruse.  And that all he wants to do is run around naked…with her brother. Abandoned Honor front cover 022117 (3),,,

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First Scene in No Honor Between Brothers


He had only gone to the funeral for one reason, to make sure his father was dead. Mitch Wilder waited in his rented Mercedes across the street from Wharton’s Funeral Home and watched the people fight the blustery wind to go inside. What a hell of a day for a funeral. He took stock of who showed up for his old man’s service. He certainly didn’t want to be there, didn’t want to be…home.

It had taken him twice as long to drive from Hamilton than usual. Wind blowing snow across the highway slowed traffic significantly. But by the time he’d gotten to Highway 15 and driven into Port Shetland the wind had eased somewhat.

Mitch picked up the single red rose on the seat beside him and held it up to his nose. With eyes closed he inhaled the sweet fragrance and brought the image of his mother to his mind. Her arthritic hands was what he saw first, disjointed fingers curving over her thumbs. He could hear her labored breathing as she pushed her heavy body out of a chair. Her knees would crack.

A tear dampened his cheek. He wiped it away with the back of his hand. Mitch remembered the last time he was inside this funeral home. It had been fifteen years ago when his mother died. Then: a week after his mother’s funeral, he’d been drinking—which gave him courage—and walked up to his old man. “So, you going to move in with Stella?”

Len had taken a step back. “How do you know about Stella?”

Mitch glowered. “I’ve known about your mistress for years, Dad.”

Len eyed Mitch for a few heartbeats before he said, “I hope you don’t hate me, son. I’m going to move in with her.”

Mitch’s eyes were cold as he raised his chin…then hit his father. It had taken his old man by surprise. After he staggered backward Len wiped the blood from his nose. “That’s the last time you hit me, Mitch. The next time you’ll be written out of my will for good.”

“I don’t want your damn money.” Mitch held his clenched hands at his sides.

“Watch your step, Mitch.” His father glared at him. “I can take the company away from you.”

“You were the one who kept begging me to work for you.”

Len nodded. “And I’ll make sure you don’t inherit it too. Maybe…”

“Maybe what?” Mitch finished his whiskey and set the glass down.

Len took several breaths then said, “Maybe I’ll leave it to your brother.”

“What?” Mitch blinked several times. “What brother?”

“You have a brother, Mitch. His name is Tom.”

Mitch clenched his hands again, then thinking better of it, he let them hang loose at his sides. “Well, I don’t want anything to do with your bastard.”

Len held onto Mitch’s sleeve, his eyes glistening. “I’m sorry, son. But your mother couldn’t… I needed…”

Mitch had stormed out of the house and despite his father’s attempts to reconcile throughout the years Mitch kept them from getting close. Even as they worked together. After that day, every time Mitch had a few drinks they’d end up in an intense argument. More than once Nora’s husband, Joe, stepped in between them. Then Mitch and Len would come to an uneasy truce until the next time Mitch had a few too many.

Mitch sighed as he opened his eyes. The rose in his hand didn’t seem to be as bright as it was when he bought it that morning. He twirled it back and forth between his thumb and forefinger. The idea was to place it on his mother’s grave after the service. But as a gust of wind shook the car and made him shiver he decided not to go out to the cemetery. “This stupid little flower would just blow away, anyway.” Scowling, Mitch whipped the rose against the back of the seat beside him. Three petals flew off. “Sorry, Mom.”

Mitch set the rose back on the seat. A quick glance at his watch told him he couldn’t delay this any longer. He checked his image in the rear-view mirror and straightened his tie. After a deep sigh Mitch forced himself to open the car door.

He stepped into the lobby of the funeral home. JT Wharton, the owner’s son directed him to the room on the left. To get his bearings, and to delay this for as long as possible, Mitch picked up one of the announcements and read it. In Loving Memory, it said. He scoffed. Maybe in Nora’s loving memory but not his. Leonard J. Wilder passed away March 25, 1967. Mitch stuffed it into his pocket before he took off his coat, hanging it up on the rack where dozens of others mingled with his tailored one. It surprised Mitch to see so many people there, he didn’t think his father was very well liked. He had to force himself to walk through the double doors and down the aisle, between the two rows of seats, toward the front.


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I Don’t Mind

I don’t mind the blowing snow

If it’s not biting cold

I don’t mind the slippery ice

If it’s not on my road

I don’t mind the driving rain

As long as I can see

I don’t mind the lightning strike

If it’s far away from me

I do’t mind a little breeze

And won’t fear the swaying trees

I don’t mind when it’s too hot

If I can find just one cool spot

I don’t mind the big ice berg

I will watch them float on by

I don’t mind the drifting sand

That disappears with the tide

I don’t mind the sudden storms

As long as it’s not harming

I don’t mind the upset seasons

But I do mind this global warming


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Thanks Giving Thoughts

You would think that as a writer I’d have lots to say.  I never know what to write in my blog.  Sometimes it feels overwhelming.  But, as the trooper that I am I will put down my thoughts that are running through my mind at the moment.

My family is getting together later today to celebrate Thanks Giving here in Canada.  Which is on Monday.   We are going to have ham and scalloped potatoes.

This morning, however, I’m reminded of Matthew.  I can’t imagine what it is like having a hurricane bear down on me.  I’m more used to blizzards.  What devastation this storm is causing.  Deaths, ruined property and lives lost.

This make feel extra thankful for the family and friends that I have.  I pray for the people along the eastern seaboard of North America.  May their lost be limited to material things and not loved ones.

Thank you Lord for keeping us safe.

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My Angel

by Deborah Tadema

Do you see the angel, do you
Do you see my angel, I do

Do you hear the angel, do you
Do you hear my angel, I do

He really did not understand the night I would not take his hand
And I watched him cry
He begged me not to send him away but I did not want him to stay
I remember that awful night
I did not want to break his heart but I had found a brand new start
With another guy
And then I watched him walk away and did not ask him to stay
It was our first fight
He only wanted to be my man and he really did not understand
And that was the reason why

He aimed his car down a old dark road and turned off the lights
He pushed his foot to the floor and went faster than the speed of light
And oh the feeling the beautiful feeling when the car took flight
It went up into the night, through the heavens and out of sight
And now I want to tell him, and now I want to tell him
I just want to make things right

Do you listen to the angel, do you
Do you listen to my angel, I do

Do you talk to the angel, do you
Do you talk to my angel, I do

Then the guy would not take my hand and I really did not understand
And he watched me cry
I begged him not to send me away he did not want me to stay
Does he remember that awful night
Said he did not want to break my heart and he wanted a brand new start
But he did not tell me why
And then he watched me walk away and did not ask me to stay
That was not right
I wanted him to be my man and I really did not understand
And that was the reason why

I aimed my car down an old dark road and turned off the lights
I pushed my foot to the floor and went faster than the speed of light
And oh the feeling the beautiful feeling when the car took flight
It went up and to the night, through the heavens and out of sight
And now we are together and now we are together
Me and my Mr Right

And do you tell your angel, do you
Do you tell your angel, I do

Good night angel good night
Good night angel, good night


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Weathermen Lie

This picture was taken in the spring.  See how green and lush the grass looks.  Now it’s brown with lots of bare spots.  The weathermen and women keep telling us to expect severe thunderstorms.  Or there is a 40% or 60% chance of rain.  We do hear thunder in the distance, see the dark clouds to the south of us.  Or see lighting to the north of us.  But ultimately, it keeps missing us.  I bet we’ve only had an inch of rain in the last month.  Everything is so dry—and dying.  Can’t water too much as we were asked to preserve water.  I pride myself in my garden.  Love digging in it and moving things around.  I fear that if this weather keeps up I’ll have to get rid of some of my plants.  Condense my gardens.  But grass is dead and hard to grow here, especially under the trees.  So in second thought, I might just carpet the whole lawn and say the hell with it.



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The Nest

This nest suddenly appeared in our Rose of Sharron.  If you look very carefully you can see two babies in it.  I didn’t want to get any closer to them because the mother robin wasn’t too far away.  I didn’t want to get dive-bombed.  But she just watched as if knowing that I wouldn’t hurt her babies.  This bush happens to be right outside our sun room window.  It’s neat watching the mother feed them.  They are very quiet, not like wrens who are noisy when being fed.  I try not to disturb this nest and will walk all the way around the house when I water my garden.  I hope to see them when they fly for the first time.  I will feel sad to see them go, unlike when your own children leave the nest.  Ha. Ha.Pictures from phone 033.jpg

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Raising The Roof

137My husband raised the roof.  Or should I say he raised the roof of his shed/workshop.  He took a saw and cut the walls all the way around.  With the help of my brother, they used two jacks and slowly lifted the roof another 19 in.  I was at work at the time but they told me that they almost lost the roof.  I can picture them both being squished under the beams.  But they managed to save themselves and hurriedly nailed  2x4s  in place.  Now the shed has new shingles and is painted red (which looks pink sometimes, depending on the sunlight).  My husband made new doors for it and put in two tinted windows which makes it look like a horse barn.  Next, my husband plans on adding a lean-to on the back to store garden tools and flower pots.

The wiring is up to date.  More lighting was put in.  All the important saws are plugged in.  Now my husband can putter out there to his heart’s content.  He is proud of his workshop, and he should be.  He rebuilt it all by himself, except when my brother helped him with the roof.  I look forward for all the birdhouses, carts and wagons he plans on building.


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Dance To The Aurora Borealis

I want to dance

to the Aurora Borealis

I want to sing

the sad song of the loon

I want to twirl

on the tops of the white pine

and skim the air over frozen rivers

I want to touch

the blue-green sky

and feel the rhythm

of a soundless beat

I want to blindly float

over the hard rocks

on the soles of my bare feet

I want to ride

on the back of a polar bear

and steal a kiss from a seal

I want to fly with the biting wind

and swim with the biggest whale

I want to run free

with the wolves at my heel

If I could do these

how happy I’d feel


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First Robin

I saw a robin yesterday, the first one this spring.  Spring?  It’s still winter, isn’t it?  Anyway, the robin was searching around on a patch of grass.  There is still snow but it’s melting fairly fast.  I watched the robin with a smile on my face, glad to see this indicator that winter will soon be a memory.  The robin flew up and landed on one of my three arbors.  As I look around at the snow covered gardens, I began to anticipate the new growth of plants that I moved or new ones that I planted last fall.  Every spring is like Christmas, with plants that survived that I didn’t think would.  Or some that don’t make it, usually ones I nurtured last year.

The robin tells me that daffodils, crocuses and hyacinths will soon be in full bloom.  The forsythia will pop out in bright yellow and the lilac bushes will send out their sweet fragrant flowers.

The robin flew down to a different patch of brown grass and started pecking at the ground.  Then, to my surprise and horror, a hawk (at least I think it was a hawk) swooped down, picked up the robin and flew away.  Just like that, I lost my friend.

Now, it seems to me that the colors of spring will be a little less vibrant.


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