When September Comes

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AuthorHouse, May 1, 2002 - Fiction - 488 pages
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    A fiercely competitive world of publishing forces some authors to sell their souls by following a prescribed story themes. Usually a touchy-feely tale about a wench who in search of true love, finds it, only to discover she has a rare disease and only months to live.

    As a survivor of a terrible war and one of lost love, Andrew Salat writes about real people growing up, the mysterious stirring s of first love and the inevitable heartache that touches some of us. 

    When September Comes is about three generations of spirited women, whose lives are overshadowed by a generic flaw. Valiant ladies who find amusing ways to surmounts life's obstacles to eke out happines. They do this by beguiling those they love, and play the roll as well, they believe it themselves.

    Yet, their story is more about living life, then the inevitable. How these valiant ladies and the men they love, confront their problems could make this an epic long remembered.

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About the author (2002)

Andrew Salat was born in the tiny country of Slovakia. At age eleven, his vagabond father had his family join him in Western Pennsylvania. For young Andrew, life in America seemed a continuous festival. If having been educated on both sides of the Atlantic was a plus, growing up amongst the diverse cultures of a small steel town helped him become a better American.

World War II put his American dream on hold. Wounded, he was sent home, and married his fiancée, Anne Kandrick. Like many veterans, their smoky steel town however, forced them to fulfill their post-war dreams in Southern California.

Two years at the prestigious Los Angeles Art Center helped Andrew to broaden his perspective. The coming of their firstborn, however, forced him to seek a more secure position with the Postal Service. Evening classes in real estate investment taught him to take advantage of a booming economy.

With his full-time job, plus managing properties, Andrew’s never-ending search for fascinating hobbies kept him busy: art collecting, astronomy and electronics, to name a few. To house their classic art collection, the couple chose to build a Mediterranean-style mini-villa on a California mountaintop. Their ballroom-sized living room delighted the fun-loving Anne, while Andrew’s dream of an observatory with a research-grade telescope became a reality.

Tragedy struck when Anne was diagnosed with cancer. Forced to rethink the very meaning of life, Andrew retired early so they could tour Europe. On their return, they found others dwelling under the same ominous cloud. Frequent parties at their spacious home became a way to compress a lifetime into the years remaining.

Anne’s passing did not go unnoticed on their enchanted knoll of pink granite boulders, accented by rare Mnzanita trees. The irises and daffodils Anne had planted on the pathways missed her girlish voice, as she had once coddled them. The towering cedar, put in as a seedling, reaffirmed her courage in facing those last poignant years. The weeping willow by the colonnaded porch has a different message: its languid branches wave in the gentle breeze, as if in a prayer for a gracious lady’s brief but exemplary life.

Alone at his mountaintop retreat, Andrew worked through his grief by writing. Though war and personal tragedy may have tempered his philosophy, his writing reflects an easy pace, with light touches of humor.

Asked by a friend why at age ninety-three he still writes, he replied, “I strongly believe, at the moment of our creation, God wants us to lead happy lives. We can achieve happiness by mixing a little fantasy into a sometimes stark reality.”

Asked about his exemplary life, he replied, “To me, human emotions are a paradox. As a soldier, I once ran through ankle-grazing machine-gun fire while sidestepping fallen buddies. More than twenty men were lost that morning, and yet none of us shed a tear. Sixty years later, I see a young mother usher her three children into a van, and reminded of my young family, I found myself holding back tears.”

The next had to do with being a romance novelist: “Humans’ need for love is essential. I was heartbroken to learn that Emily Bronte, who wrote the love story of the century, died at age thirty without ever experiencing true love.”

The author has since remarried. His need to be closer to health-care facilities. , Andrew and Ruth left their dream home, and moved to noryh San Diego county.

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