What carries us through the hard times…

I have just come off both a Super Book Blast as well as several days of participating in The Romance Studio’s Christmas blog party.  I have done a lot of talking about my new book, The Christmas Dare.  In this book, the hero has suffered the sudden loss of loved ones, and the heroine helps pull him through the darkest days that followed.  She was also crucial in helping keep memories alive for his younger brother, who was too young to remember very much himself.

Memories of happier days can sustain us when we face difficult times.  When circumstances separate us from those we love, whether temporarily or permanently, those remembrances can make us smile, even through the sadness.

This year marked the first Christmas I have not spent following the same traditions I’ve known my entire life.  Even though my parents live apart, they have remained true friends.  And they always come together for holiday celebrations throughout the year, so the entire extended family can be in one place.  It is a privilege I know, and I have always been grateful for it.  I know many others who have to alternate holidays, or just live too far away to always get home.  But this year, my father’s health was not good, and he was just too weak to leave the home.  So for the first time in nearly fifty years, I had to go to his house to visit him, then went to my mom’s house to be with her (where we were joined by the other siblings, in-laws and neices/nephews).

Then on Christmas day, the weather turned wicked and a tornado cut through our town.  As sirens wailed in the distance, we watched the news and as they showed footage from a camera mounted on the roof of a downtown hotel, we literally watched as the cloud swirled itself into a tornado and touched down in the middle of Mobile.  As it cut a path along the ground, you could see the explosions as transformers and substations blew, and the debris cloud was even visible in some shots.  It was really scary, and the fact the weatherman said there would be several more bands behind it that would also be capable of spawning tornados caused us to choose to stay in the house rather than travel the roads for the planned evening holiday meal with all the relatives.  It was the right decision, and we came through it safely (my 9-year-old even thought it was fun to be homesteading in the bathtub!).  But it was the final nail in my Christmas 2012 traditions…not only had Christmas Eve been a departure from the norm, but now Mother Nature had robbed me of the traditional sit-down feast of turkey and dressing and all the trimmings as all the family members complimented each other on the fine cooking, and discussed what everyone had gotten from Santa that morning, and funny stories were exchanged and eventually talk wound up on Alabama football and how the team looked as it prepares to face Notre Dame.  It was sad, as I’d thought we’d have one last final one together.  I’ve been spoiled all these years, but I liked our routine.  It was comfortable and comforting.  It was something we could always rely on to be the same.  But this year it threw us a curveball.  It was different.

But in the light of today, the sun is shining. Very brightly, actually.  It’s crisp and cool outside.  My daughter is having a blast riding her new electric moped, and my son has been channeling Ralphie from The Christmas Story with his “oh ffuuddgggeee!” comments as he has been determined to make one of his new gifts work (and sadly, I think it is defective so no amount of his engineering skills will make it a success – I’m pretty sure it’s headed for the customer service desk and a gift exchange!).  And I know that I’m so blessed to have had almost half a century of perfect Christmases, with my parents looking on lovingly at their own children as they opened gifts, and now as their grandchildren do.  It ended this year, but I’m so appreciative of all the years up until 2012 that were idyllic and picture postcard perfect.

Just as in my new book, Gia, Ethan and Griffin sit and reminisce about happier days when everyone was together, my family wound up doing that too.  And it keeps the memory alive.  And it’s still special, and in its own way, it is still very real.  I’m also quick to remind myself that at least I still have both of my parents, even though our routine has now clearly changed for good.

So to those of you who are missing loved ones this year – whether through death or distance – comfort yourself with the memories of times spent together, and see if it doesn’t put a smile on your face.  Sometimes we smile through our tears, but it’s still a smile.  And those are always welcomed.

 

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Fairy Tale Friday…Poppa’s Story

If you’re unfamiliar with the title of today’s featured story, it’s because this week’s Fairy Tale Friday is dedicated to a real person…my dad (better known as Poppa since the arrival of the first grandchild 21 years ago!).  Just like the heroes in many bedtime stories, my father has always been larger than life.  But how does that make his life a fairy tale?  There are definitely several similarities.

HE IS VERY WISE.  He always knows the answers when we come to him for advice, no matter what the issue at hand.  Not only is he smart about life circumstances and in a “common sense” sort of way, but he’s a certified genius when it comes to book smarts.  Dad knows a lot about many things, and he knows at least a little about anything else out there.  Throw any topic at him and he can start a conversation of substance about it.

HE IS MAGICAL.  Or at least as kids we all thought our childhood was magical.  From finding special prize eggs at the annual easter egg hunt (courtesy of Dad’s sister-in-law who always had a convenient eye twitch when we got near one of the hidden, glittery ones), to the Japanese song he’d learned while stationed in the Far East while in the Navy (and the lyrics magically changed every time he sang it to us!), to the ultimate trick which I can only refer to cryptically as ”Going on a Boulie Ride”.  It was the ultimate disappearing act and to this day his children don’t know exactly how he pulled it off (and prefer it that way).

HE IS MUSICAL.  Show me a fairy tale that doesn’t have a traveling minstrel, a singing animal or bird, or some other character who breaks into song at random moments.  Yeah, my dad does that too.  Whether singing from the pew in church, gathered by the piano at home while Mom plays, while playing a friendly game of pool with his grandkids, or even on the job, Dad is never without a song in his heart – and usually it’s on his lips and out of his mouth.  Anyone who knows him will tell you he loves to sing.  Even better, he has a beautiful voice.  Elvis had nothing on Dad (and my aunt actually knew Elvis, so how’s that for a random fact?).

But before you begin to think our lives have been too perfect, let me point out yet another similarity between my father and a fairy tale.

HE’S STRUGGLING AGAINST A VILLAIN.  In fairy tales, it is often a wicked witch, a troll or giant, or some other foe.  In my dad’s case, it is cancer.  His recent diagnosis has been so hard to accept, in large part because he seemed invincible (also like the heroes in fairy tales).  But this is a struggle many face, and while the outcome is often sad, there are also some amazing tales of recovery.  As my sister pointed out this week, any time you read about the percentage of survivors, even if it is a very small number, it still represents someone who beat the odds and lived.  And there is no reason Dad can’t stay focused and wake up every day with the attitude that he will be one of those good statistics.  We have already seen that humor will be a big part of every day from here on out.  Whether it’s laughing as we reminisce about the “old days”, or Dad – being so typically Dad - making his “dead man walking” jokes (or “gallows humor” as my brother calls it), a laugh is still a laugh.  And the Bible says a merry heart does good like a medicine.  We can use all the medicine we can get now.

Finally, HE’S MY HERO.   All fairy tales need a hero.  And all daughters love their daddies.  He might not be perfect, but he’s always thought I was.  He might have made mistakes, but he has always tried to help me avoid them.  He respects my desire to make my own decisions, but all I’ve ever had to do was ask and he would share his wisdom with me when I faced my toughest ones.

I love you Dad, and I’m there for you every step of the way.  And you are surrounded by all of those who love you most, and we’re in this together.

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Fait Accompli

My son’s nineteenth birthday is tomorrow.  I guess it is fitting that as of five minutes ago, I finished the book I began to write while I was pregnant with him.  Restless nights are no stranger to many expectant moms, and I definitely had my share.  After reading a lot of Harlequin Romance novels, I decided I would try my hand at writing a romance novel.  I’d been writing as a hobby for years, but always poetry or short stories, with a little bit of fan fic thrown in for good measure too.

The Dom in Bremen

But I set out to write a novel, and chose Germany for the setting.  I did painstaking research about the country, but also gained valuable knowlege from people I worked for who had come to the US from Germany.

Rathaus

I made fast progress with my new novel, but then something happened that stopped me in my tracks…birth.  Once my baby boy was born, I was so consumed with him that I no longer had the urge to write.  I was busy taking care of him.  Busy figuring out all the things first time parents have to learn.  And mostly, I just wanted to hold him and stare at him all the time.  My hands were always occupied with much more valuable cargo, so there was simply no way I could finish the book.  And after he was a few years old, he wanted me to make up my own bedtime stories to tell him, so all my creativity went toward writing children’s stories for him.

Statue in Bremen_Grimm tales

After he was in high school, my family encouraged me to dig out the diskette (yes, it was so long ago that there was no such thing as a USB flash drive…I stored it on a 3 1/2″ floppy!) and finish the story.  I did.  But once I started writing romance again, the words came flooding, and I not only completed the first draft of that manuscript, but cranked out three more full stories as well.

One of the other three novels wound up being my debut novel, Perfectly Imperfect.  But on the eve of my son’s birthday, I’m happy to report that the story that was birthed at the same time I prepared for my precious son’s birth can now be told.  I have spent the last several weeks doing edits on it, and I am finally satisfied that it is good enough to publish.  I think it has grown into its full potential.

Interesting that it coincides with my son’s emergence into adulthood.  I realize that at eighteen, they’re considered adults.  But somehow adding one more year to that sounds so much older.  Nineteen years old!  How have the years gone by that quickly?  But most amazing of all is everything that he’s accomplished in those same 19 years.  He is wise beyond his years.  I mean seriously, I go to HIM for advice sometimes.  He worked his tail off in high school and earned a scholarship to the school of his choice.  He is in not one but two bands on the side, yet still makes President’s List in college.  And he still makes time to be involved in community service in the town where he attends university.  And yes, he finds time to go out and have fun with his buddies too.  But he also makes a point to stay in touch with me.  Who knew that text messaging would become my favorite pasttime once my child left home?  We don’t get to talk on the phone much, but he’s great about sending me unexpected and frequent texts.

Oh, and Words With Friends is also a treat.  I recommend it to any moms whose kids are leaving in the fall.  It’s such an ordinary and old-fashioned game, but goes a long way toward making things still seem “normal” once your little darling is out on his/her own.  G and I keep a running game going at almost all times.  He also destroys my scores most of the time.

Hard to believe it will soon be graduation time again, and parents all over will be saying goodbye to their college bound kids soon thereafter. I feel your pain.  Even a year later, I cried like a baby the other night when I watched The Kids Are All Right, and saw the scene where the moms have to leave their daughter at her dorm on move-in day!

Thankfully, all our productions aren’t so hard to let go of.  I am super excited to send No Regrets off to the publisher.

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Fairy Tale Friday

Welcome to my new feature, Fairy Tale Friday.  I love fairy tales, whether we’re talking about children’s stories or much more adult tales.  Tell me there’s a happily ever after and I’m there!

Today, I am featuring Snow White and Rose Red, by the Brothers Grimm.  Most people think of Snow White as the Disney movie with the raven haired beauty, evil queen and seven dwarves.  But actually, the original version featured two young sisters (and believe it or not, Snow White was a blonde), their kind mother, a talking bear, and one really foul-tempered dwarf.

This was my favorite book when I was a little girl, and I would stare at the pictures over and over again, always imagining that my own Prince Charming would one day come along.  There are many versions of the book, but the one I have is shown below.

If you’ve never read the Grimm version, you should go to the library and check it out and read it.  If you have little girls, you REALLY need to read it with them.  I will share one more photo of two of the pages inside the book, so you can see how pretty the illustrations are.  But no need for spoiler alerts!  I’m not giving away the ending here! 

With Mirror, Mirror already out, and Snow White and the Huntsman (which looks totally awesome, by the way) due this summer, you owe it to yourself to read the REAL story, before you go see the Hollywood versions.

If you have one, take your daughter with you.  If you don’t, take your best friend.  We’re never too old to believe in happily ever after, are we?

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Gratitude and Regret…

My family, on my father’s side, has always been extremely close.  Dad was one of only two children, and the bond between that family of four was incredibly tight.  Because of this, my siblings and I were able to make some of our most cherished childhood memories.  Even though my family moved around alot, from Florida to South Carolina, to Georgia and back to SC, then back to GA and then to Alabama, it was a given that we would always make time to reconnect at my grandparents’ house.  Every Christmas was spent around Granny’s tree, with all of us in attendance – aunt, uncle, cousins, grandmother (my granddad had already passed away before my birth), my immediate family, and even one or two great-aunts. 

Just as we always knew where we’d spend Christmas, every summer my sisters and I could count on spending at least a sizeable chunk of time on those beautiful, white-sandy Florida beaches.  We were allowed to spend a few weeks with Granny each year after school was dismissed, and at least part of it was without our own parents being there.  Mom and/or Dad would drive us there, stay a few days and then leave.  Then they’d come back to pick us up a few weeks later.  The list of things to look forward to was very long:  Granny’s homemade fried chicken and veggies right out of the garden;  the huge watermelon patch next to the house with such an abundant crop that we’d split the melon, eat the heart of it, and then pitch the rest; picking blackberries so Granny could make homemade blackberry jam;  getting paid to go to our aunt’s insurance office to file records for her, and then getting a donut mid-morning at the bakery just around the corner; going to bed at night and having Lallie scratch our backs until we fell asleep (but our great-aunt was very smart…she always asked us to scratch her back FIRST so she could ensure she got a turn!);  swimming out in the Gulf to, not the first sandbar, but all the way beyond it to the second one (that’s where the biggest shells were)!  The list is endless.  THere were only a few things I did NOT look forward to:  shelling butterbeans (and the inevitable sore thumbs the next day!);   those infernal military helicopters that would fly overhead and I was convinced if they saw me in the yard they’d kill me (it’s a long and wierd story, and thankfully I grew out of it…suffice it to say I was very young and it was during the latter years of the Vietnam war…I didn’t understand that it was all happening on the other side of the globe); Granny’s lack of central air conditioning (but she did have a lot of oscillating fans and two window units, although she didn’t like to turn those on); and….well, what do you know – I can only think of three things.

The point is, it was the stuff that makes a childhood magical. 

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