06/13/13

The Joy of Daughters

“A son is a son until he takes a wife, a daughter’s a daughter the rest of her life.” – Old Saying – Anonymous

I am old enough to watch what I say, or in this case, what I write. When I started blogging again, I promised without fail to blog twice a week. I really should have put some conditions on that promise. As I didn’t, you would have been justified in wondering where I have been the last ten days. And also being annoyed. Once again, I have broken the first rule of blogging: Show up when you say you will. I am offering this explanation on a day I normally would NOT be posting a blog in an effort to make it up to you.

My birthday is June 4^th. My husband insisted he wanted to have a party for me. We don’t usually go in for birthday parties for adults and I was less than enthusiastic but he persisted. The day before the planned gala there was a lot of “toing” and “froing” that should have alerted me to the fact that something unusual was about to happen. In my defense, the first weekend in June was hotter than the hinges of hell here in New Hampshire. Running around getting ready in my non-air conditioned house, my brain was hovering on the edge of damage from the heat, so I missed most of the signs.

Mid-afternoon the day before the party, my husband disappeared on a mission to find me the perfect gift. He returned around 7:30 to a less than enthusiastic welcome. I had evacuated to the bliss of a neighbor’s central air. Five minutes after my husband’s arrival, the doorbell rang again. I looked up to see my daughter striding down the hall toward me. It may sound strange but I had a flashback to the first time I saw her take a step. She was ten months old, dressed in a pale yellow smocked Polly Flinders dress with a white collar embroidered with rosebuds. One minute she was sitting on the grass and the next she was walking determinedly across the lawn without a backward glance.

Her name begins with the letter A. I have blogged before about how I use the first letter of a character’s name to come up with the attributes that define the person I am creating. My daughter is: assured, awesome, amazing, audacious, and assertive. A true Leo, she has the heart of a lion.

Four years ago, she left New Hampshire to build a new life with her husband in Dublin, Ireland. We live in a global world. I know I am not the only mother whose child lives far away. I am also reminded of my great-grandmother who more than a hundred years ago sent four of her children from Ireland to Boston never to see them again. Today with Skype, Facebook, and big silver Aer Lingus planes with names like Siobhan painted on their noses, mothers can keep their children much closer.

I wanted a daughter. As all mothers know, I would have loved and cherished a son but the truth is that summer that I waited for her birth, long enough ago that there was no option of knowing if the baby I carried was a boy or a girl, I wanted a daughter.

Her visit was a whirlwind of parties, shopping, and talking late into the night or in one case early into the morning. Blogging and writing were far from my mind. We had a wonderful visit and my husband did in fact bring me back the perfect gift for my birthday.

She has gone back home to Ireland and I miss her. I have turned once again to my other babies: Brid, Franny, Sofia, and Lilah for distraction.

This visit reminded me of what I have known since the day she was born. I am so lucky to have a daughter.

The Perfect Gift

05/24/13

What I am Reading – Tapestry of Fortunes

“You must remember, family is often born of blood, but it doesn’t depend on blood. Nor is it exclusive of friendship. Family members can be your best friends, you know. And best friends, whether or not they are related to you, can be your family.” ― Trenton Lee Stewart, The Mysterious Benedict Society

My recommendation for you today is a radical change from last week. I am recommending Tapestry of Fortunes. I have always loved Elizabeth Berg’s books. I think it is because she is writer who brings the bits and pieces of her own life experiences into her writing. A nurse before she became a writer, her background informs and influences many of her books, perhaps most notably Talk Before Sleep, her poignant novel about a woman dying of breast cancer. You see it here in this latest book as she describes her main character’s work as a Hospice volunteer. Her books are about women facing issues most women can relate to. Her plots are not complicated but her characters are always layered and never boring. It doesn’t hurt that we are the same age, which places us well beyond cute and perky and encourages me in my own efforts to write books women will enjoy reading.

Tapestry of Fortunes addresses issues most women will deal with at some point in their lives: the need to downsize and let go of possessions that no longer make sense, to let go of people we love, try something new, forge new relationships and look back to where we have come from perhaps to return there.

Cecilia Ross, the main character, decides after the death of her best friend to sell her home, downsize her life and move into old Victorian in St. Paul with three strangers. Each of these four women is attempting to understand the personal tapestry she has woven with her life. Each is trying to make sense of where she is now while at the same time to rectify a mistake from the past. Lise wants to figure out where she went wrong as a mother. Joni is searching for a career that will make her happy. Renie desperately desires a “do-over” from a mistake she made in her teens. Cecilia needs to find out if she can rekindle an old love.

This is a happy book. It will make you smile. It is not literary fiction which I rarely read anymore but rather the kind of book it’s okay to get sand in when you fall asleep on the beach. What shines through, is the inherent generosity of women toward one another despite differences in social class or age.

If you missed Talk Before Sleep (1994), I urge you to read it. A funny and at the same time sad book about how the strength of a circle of women guides a friend through the ravages of breast cancer.

I hope you enjoy it.

05/13/13

I’m Back

You need three things to become a successful novelist: talent, luck and discipline. Discipline is the one element of those three things that you can control, and so that is the one that you have to focus on controlling, and you just have to hope and trust in the other two.” ― Michael Chabon

I have decided — I admit with some trepidation — to start blogging again. Blogging is one of those things that you often hear people say brightly at social events, “I think I might like to do that.” I know I have said it before in this blog, but it’s worth repeating. Blogging is not for the faint of heart.

You would think that writers would excel at blogging, wouldn’t you? I mean what is it but writing? It turns out as a general rule writers approach blogging with reluctance and a certain amount of resentment. How do I know this, you ask? I have spent the last five months reading blogs in an effort to crack the secret of being a successful blogger. I focused on writers whose books I like to read. One of the new rules of being a writer is we are all supposed to have blogs. We are also supposed to be thin, young and very photogenic which is even harder to pull off then writing a consistently good blog.

I discovered that with few exceptions, writers have a tendency to break the first rule of blogging — they blog whimsically rather than on a set schedule. Some (like me, I am sorry to say) can go months without a new post appearing. This is very bad blogging behavior. Every course/book on blogging tells you so because it annoys your readers. Guess what? Take it from me, it does.

Why don’t writers follow the rule? I have read this in numerous places while doing my research. Writers very often resent having to take the time to blog because they would much rather spend their time writing their books.

I may be especially stubborn but I don’t drift away from the offender like the blogging police say I should. I keep checking, often to be disappointed. Fortunately, those writers can’t hear what I say when I discover yet another day has passed without a new post. On days there actually is a new post and I am delighted because when writers do write a blog post, it’s almost always good.

There are exceptions — writers who blog without fail on the schedule they told you they would.There are writers who manage to produce an excellent blog post every day. I think those writers might have “people” who write their blogs. Some writers can afford to employ “people” who manage their social medial commitments.

Unfortunately, I am the only person in this office. I do have a dog, a cat, a goat, a mouthy mandrill named Simon the Snark (who has appeared in this blog before) and a fairy whose name is Kren who also hang out here with me. None of them ever produces a blog post or much else.

Sullivan the Goat – One of my “people”

My plan is to start with a post on Monday that covers topics such as: my novel in progress, my characters, my writing practice, what’s going on in the world of publishing and whatever else presents itself. There might even be a good recipe or two thrown in. On Fridays, I will recommend a book. I prefer the verb recommend because I don’t really do book reviews. I read a lot of books and I only recommend a small subset of them. I don’t like to condemn the ones I don’t like because I know what it takes to write a book. It’s like telling someone their baby is ugly. You are smart enough to figure out what’s wrong with a book without my help. I enjoy sharing with you the books I have found to be worth reading.

Please feel free to comment. See you on Friday.

12/3/12

Spend This December Wisely

“I think our duty as writers begins not with our feelings, but with the powers of observing.” — Mary Oliver

How will you spend your time this year?

I suppose I am showing my age when I tell you I can remember when the holiday season began slowly in December the giddy sense of excitement mounting as Christmas Day approached.

Decorations in homes and stores appeared in December and not before. Today there is a sense of frenzy that can be felt almost everywhere, beginning as early as Halloween. We drive from one mall to another and then rush from store to store in search of the best deals on this season’s “must have it”. A sense of always being behind, and never quite catching up, causes people to feel anxious and surly and manifests itself as rudeness and sometimes out and out unkindness, the opposite of what this time of year is supposed to be.

December should be a time to observe what is happening to the people around you, to stop and take a close look at those you love. If you take the time to pay attention, and stop worrying about finding and then somehow paying for material things, I think that you will discover that December can be a magical month. The world outside is slowing down and taking a breath. We should take a lesson and follow suit.

If you are lucky enough to have children in your life, I think you will see that even more than that perfect toy, what they crave is your attention. This is your opportunity to make memories they will cherish forever, like creating snow angels or snow people or reading a holiday story in front of the fire. You might think about that the next time you buckle them into a car seat to haul them off to the mall one more time.

It is also a time to stop and remember that the elders in your life will not always be with you. Rather than one more pair of gloves or a scarf, take the time to sit and talk with them over a cup of tea or a glass of wine. Allow them the opportunity to recall with you past holidays they have enjoyed and the people they love who are no longer here. Become a keen observer. Study the faces of those around you. It is easy in December to overlook loneliness or anxiety in others because we are too busy shopping or doing to take the time to see it.

December is also the perfect time to take a few moments to cherish you. Find a moment to reconnect with your own favorite memories of the holiday season. Take a walk in the park or the woods with your dog rather than run through a parking lot. Read to a child. Laugh over a cup of tea with your mother or your brother and sister. Go sledding or skiing with your best friend or your cousin. Hug the person in your life you love best. Enjoy your cat being dazzled by the Christmas tree. Rather than reaching for your credit card, spend your time not your money and spend it wisely. You won’t be sorry you did. Instead of beginning the New Year dreading the arrival of the mailman, you will be able to embrace the excitement and unlimited opportunities unfolding before you.

What is your favorite holiday memory?

08/13/12

Summer of the Turkeys

I have been taking a blogging break for the last seven weeks. I gave myself permission to do this based on reading the blogs of some of my favorite authors. Apparently, writers sometimes just wander off and write. Of course, this goes against all the rules in the blogging books. You will lose all your followers, they warn you. Writers are by nature a little odd, (I should know) and they are usually forgiven especially if they produce a great new book. I am trying…

I have been writing these last few weeks, but my characters have been misbehaving lately, twisting the plot to their own ends, so this weekend I put them all on a thumb drive and took myself off to Bailey Island, Maine to think about how much of this mutiny I intend to let them get away with.

This is the thirty-second summer that I have spent on Bailey Island. Unlike the rest of the landscape of my life, not much changes from year to year. Bailey Island still boasts only four restaurants, a general store and one much visited gift shop, aptly called Land’s End. These summers have blended together in a mist of lobsters, melted butter, laziness, glorious sunsets, frigid water, beloved dogs, too much reading and long conversations with friends. There have been a few that have stood out.

There was the “Summer of the Canasta Game”. That was the year, now long ago, that my daughter, aged six, learn to play this endless game with too many cards. At the end of the summer she had won $712. Fortunately, we were able to buy her off with two stuffed animals and a monkey (also not real) on a stick purchased at the wonderful gift shop down the road.

We also had the “Summer of the Kayaks”. After much research, and, in my case, purchasing of appropriate gear and hat, my husband and I each bought a kayak. My husband actually did kayak around the island numerous times. I, on the other hand, did not. The last few years, every Memorial Day, we talk about getting the boats out, and then the thought of hauling them down and over the rocky coast of Maine in front of the house seems to put the project off for another day which has then proved to be another year.

This is the “Summer of the Turkey” or unfortunately, turkeys. One, or even two, picturesque turkeys I was able to live with. They made for interesting party conversation. “Oh yes, we have two turkeys at our house in Maine…” Three years ago, we had two turkeys. Two turkeys that apparently knew each other very well – in the biblical sense, I mean. There are now nine, three enormous, nasty toms and six nervous hens. My neighbor keeps scaring me with tales of numerous chicks but they stay hidden. I pretend they don’t exist and I am sure you can see why. This herd (really, they are too loud to be called a flock) of turkeys was around last year but they were not as big as they are this summer. “Been a mild winter,” is what the islanders told me in the way of explanation. It certainly must have been absolutely balmy based on how big these birds are.

One turkey is quaint.

These nine turkeys live at my house. Fortunately, they do not live IN it, yet. I have nightmares about that because the two trees they roost in are approximately six feet from my bedroom window. Watching them get into those trees every night is truly something. It gives new meaning to the saying, “like a big-ass bird”. The turkey powder room also doubles as my lawn. They talk to each other when they are not thundering through the woods. That cute “gobble-gobble” that you entertain your children with in November is less charming every morning at dawn.

More than two are too many!

Last weekend while the rest of the world watched the remaining events taking place in London, the Bailey Island Turkeys lined up to watch the two fools who clean their bathroom sneak around in the rain. What were we doing, you ask? We were skulking about trying to snap the best turkey picture of the summer, a competition we started in May to distract ourselves. Here are some of the results:

The Toms - Arrogant, aren't they?

Two of the girls

I have not told the turkeys that my brother-in-law, the Great White Hunter, has offered to swing by on his way back from fighting bears this fall to dispatch them. I don’t have the heart to say yes. People ask me all the time, “Where do you get the ideas for your books?” The answer is: outside my bedroom window.

On the lookout for trouble

05/25/12

What I am Reading – I Couldn’t Love You More

To be sure a stepmother to a girl is a different thing to a second wife to a man!” – Elizabeth Gaskell

What would you do if your daughter and her half-sister, your stepdaughter, were in danger and you could only save one of them? This is the question that Eliot Gorden must answer in I Couldn’t Love You More.

This is a timely story recommended by Jodi Picoult about what it means to be a stepmother, a role in which many women find themselves today. Eliot, unlike the stereotype made infamous in fairy tales, is a great mother to the three Delaney sisters, Charlotte, Gail, and Hailey. Her instincts are those of a mother and she treats them all as if they are her own. What remains true is that she is not the two older girls’ mother. Beth, the ex-wife of Eliot’s partner, is.

Any women who has ever been a stepmother, no matter how well-loved, has been told, “You’re not my mother.” This is brought home to Eliot in a devastating way as she attempts to deal with the sudden reappearance of her first love, Fin Montgomery and what this means to her life.

The relationship Eliot has with her mother, Dolores, and with her two sisters, Sylvia and Maggie, forms the background of this book. Jillian Medoff makes these relationships, messy, volatile and very real. The three adult Gordon sisters provide the perfect balance for the three young Delaney girls and serve to remind us of the almost unbreakable bond that exists between sisters regardless of how different they are or how well they get along.

I admire Medoff’s courage as she plotted this story through several unexpected twists and turns not all of them happy ones. In the “Interview with the Author” at the end of the book, she tells the reader that she has one daughter and two stepdaughters. It was clear to me early in the story a stepmother wrote this book.

This is a book that will make you question what you think you know about being a stepmother. I think you will come to agree with me that it’s not for the faint of heart.

A Great Beach Read

04/11/12

And so the Writer Decides to go on a Diet

“Every author, however modest, keeps a most outrageous vanity chained like a madman in the padded cell of his breast.”– Logan P. Smith

Once it was a lot easier to be a writer. It was a hunched over your typewriter in the garret (or the basement or the garage) kind of job. Who cared about what the writer looked like anyway? Most writers had a formal black and white portrait, printed fairly small, taken for the bottom of the back flap of the book jacket. I am pretty sure nobody but the writer’s mother even looked at it. And they used that picture until they died. Okay, maybe I am exaggerating but I can assure you not by much.

Writing is a solitary “holed up somewhere” job. A job that begs for comfortable clothes and plenty of food close at hand. Writers love food that is not usually green and often has a last name of chip. Candy works well, too. The more frustrated the writer is, the more the writer eats or at least this one does. I have never heard of a writer who can’t eat because they are stuck over what to do with an uncooperative character or a scene that refuses to work. The default definitely is to eat.

Writers did not go on book tours. Some did not attend their own book launch parties. Some writers didn’t even venture out to meet their editors being as they say reclusive. They “corresponded” about the book using the United States Mail Service. The manuscript in its various stages was sent in special boxes called manuscript boxes back and forth until everyone agreed it was finished. This allowed the writer to look exactly as they pleased and not have to worry about their image. It was about the book not the writer.

Today the writer is everywhere. If you read my last post you know what I am talking about. Facebook, blogs, videos (I shudder at the thought!). It all translates into pictures. Way too many pictures of the writer. This may be why a lot of writers are showing you cute pictures of their dogs and cats.

I have an author photo. I actually like it. Trust me, it took a village to produce this carefully staged version of me.

My official author photo

The problem is, as you have most likely noticed, I have to post lots of other pictures. Pictures where I am out in the world, shall we say, unenhanced. Of course, certain things are what they are. But, I have noticed lately from some of these pictures that I could stand to lose a few pounds.

The writer looking a little overfed.

Twenty-three pounds to be exact. This is how many pounds over my official Weight Watcher lifetime member goal that I am. I have decided that if I am going to be in everyone’s face or Facebook, the least I can do is look my best.

My plan is to be back at my goal weight by November first. This may seem like a long time but it translates to losing about a pound each week. As a veteran of the Weight Loss War, I know that this is realistic. I should be at goal about the time I will need a new author photo for my next book.

I will keep you posted.

On a path...

“Every author, however modest, keeps a most outrageous vanity chained like a madman in the padded cell of his breast.”– Logan P. Smith

Once it was a lot easier to be a writer. It was a hunched over your typewriter in the garret (or the basement or the garage) kind of job. Who cared about the writer anyway? Most writers had a small, formal black and white portrait taken for the bottom of the back flap of the book. I am pretty sure nobody but the writer’s mother even looked at it. And they used that picture until they died. Okay, maybe I am exaggerating but I can assure you not by much.

Writers did not go on book tours. Some did not attend their own launch parties. It was about the book. Some writers didn’t venture out to meet their editors. They “corresponded” about the book using the United States Mail Service. The manuscript in its various stages was sent in special boxes called manuscript boxes back and forth until everyone agreed it was finished. This allowed the writer to look exactly as they pleased and not have to worry about their image. It was about the book.

Writing is a solitary “hold up somewhere” job. A job that begs for comfortable clothes and plenty of food close at hand. Writers love food that is not usually green and often has a last name of chip. Candy works well, too. The more frustrated the writer is, the more the writer eats or at least this one does. I have never heard of a writer who can’t eat because they are stuck over what to do with an uncooperative character or a scene that refuses to work. The default definitely is to eat.

Today the writer is everywhere. If you read my last post you know what I am talking about it. Facebook, blogs, videos (I shudder at the thought!). It all translates into pictures. Way too many pictures of the writer. This may be why a lot of writers are showing you cute pictures of their dogs and cats.

I have an author photo. I actually like it. Trust me, it took a village to produce this carefully staged vision of me.

The problem is as you have most likely noticed I have to post lots of other pictures. Pictures where I am out in the world, shall we say, unenhanced. Of course, certain things are what they are. But, I have noticed lately from some of these pictures that I could stand to lose a few pounds.

My plan is to be back at my goal weight by November first. This may seem like a long time but it translates to about a pound loss each week. As a veteran of the Weight Loss War, this is realistic. This time frame should be about the time I will need a new author photo for my next book.

I will keep you posted.

04/9/12

RU a Luddite?

“The proper artistic response to digital technology is to embrace it as a new window on everything that’s eternally human, and to use it with passion, wisdom, fearlessness and joy.”- Ralph Lombreglia

I learned a new word: Luddite.

I had to check two dictionaries to find the definition but here it is:

One who opposes technical or technological change.

As a writer trying to connect with my audience, stay on top of what’s happening in the fast-paced and constantly changing world of publishing and publicize my book, I was told you HAVE TO use Social Media. HAVE TO.

So what does this mean for me? I have an author Fan Page on Facebook. I am supposed to be tweeting at least 10 tweets a day. I am on Pinterest. I have email for my job, email for writing and email for my personal stuff. I have a website for my book. And I just started texting on my phone. Phew!

I also have this blog. I have committed to writing three times each week and barring catastrophe I intend to do so.

My Writing World

I have numerous friends who think I am nuts. I am constantly warned about the dangers of doing “that stuff.” At the heart of the matter they are right. Social Media definitely should be marked with a “Proceed with caution” sign. Because accounts do get hacked, identities and vital information can and do get stolen, people do post stupid, controversial or hurtful things, and people you don’t want to be in touch with can surface. But…

Before you completely refuse to even consider using Social Media of any kind, take a step back, put your doubts on hold for fifteen minutes and think about how you can customize using some of these things in a way that works for you. My advice is to move slowly, follow other people on whatever site you decide is for you and decide who the people are that you think are using it well. And then start to do the same things.

I joined Facebook before I published MacCullough’s Women. The reason was because my daughter was moving to Dublin, Ireland. Facebook has been such a gift to me in terms of me keeping up with what’s happening in her life. More than a hundred years ago, my great grandmother had three children who made that trip going the other way. I can only imagine how her heart most have broken knowing that in a very real sense she was losing them forever.

If you are reading, this then you do have a computer and you do read things online. I urge you to continue to keep an open mind and embrace the technology that allows you to bring more joy into your life.

Of course, I can always still resort to this.

What Social Media do you use and enjoy?

04/4/12

Using the Write Word

“It’s always a bit of a struggle to get the words right, whether we’re a Hemingway or a few fathoms below his level.” - Rene J. Cappon

Never underestimate the power of a word

I used to play a game that went like this. Take a person’s first name and find all the words beginning with the same first letter that describes them. Here is what I am talking about.

Brid: brave, bold, bitchy, beautiful, bull-headed, blunt, bossy and bewitching

Franny: fragile, forthright, fearful, forlorn, fair, faithful, fraught and frustrated

My desire to be a writer probably started with my love of words. I began to walk late but that should come as no surprise to you as I have already told you I was a failure at jump rope. I mentioned this once to a friend who said, “I bet you TALKED early.” I probably did. I love to read and began collecting and storing words early, too.

I have always liked odd words; words like eschew and inchoate. At the age of four, my daughter once brought the waiting room at the local vet’s office to a stunned silence by telling our cat that his behavior was appalling. Guess where she learned that word?

This “wordiness” has been a handicap to me as a writer. Think about it. People don’t talk like that. They use simple words. Most four-year olds would tell the cat he was being bad. People often don’t follow the rules of grammar in their speech, either. How many times has someone leaned over to you and said, “Just between you and I…”

Writing dialogue is hard. Notice that I could have used: difficult, arduous, onerous, grueling, complicated, etc. But hard works fine. You understand what I mean. You have to make your characters sound like real people. The people you meet in Dunkin Donuts.

I found when I did create a character that spoke differently; I had to fight for her voice. Brid rarely uses contractions. The reason is because she learned to speak English as a child on the west coast of Ireland. As a result, she speaks more formally than some of the other characters in the story.

The issue of vulgar language also has to be handled carefully. Certain words have slithered their way into everyday speech. Read your Facebook newsfeed if you don’t believe me. I cringed when putting some of those words into the mouths of my characters in MacCullough’s Women. Of course, I have been known to use them, especially when I’m annoyed. Somehow it feels different when you see them written (by you!) on the page. They appear cruder and they are fixed as opposed to fleeting.

I agonized over using what my mother called when forced to address seeing or hearing it (usually as graffiti), “that F-Word” in MacCullough’s Women. Unfortunately, that word is here to stay and you hear it a lot. The characters that use it in my book do so because I feel they would. In an earlier draft of the book, I had Neil Malone use it. And then I removed it because I decided that no matter what the circumstances, he would not.

How do you feel about the use of profanity or coarse language in today’s books? I would love to know what you think.

03/28/12

Enjoy the Unexpected

“Indoors or out, no one relaxes in March, that month of wind and taxes, the wind will presently disappear, the taxes last us all the year.” – Ogden Nash

March is almost over. This year the month, named for Mars, the Roman god of war, has proved to be even more disquieting than it usually is. Record temperatures were noted in several places. They have ranged from a low of 14° to a high of 84° here in Nashua, New Hampshire leaving me madly scrambling for something to wear. (Need I mention that most things seemed to have shrunk in the attic where I store them?)

Despite the heat (and the grumbling about the heat heard in this house – “too soon, too hot, too much!”) there was a dissenter in my living room apparently more in touch with what the god was up to than the rest of us. Basking in the sunshine, my little white Christmas cactus decided to bloom again. I know this can happen but it is the first time it has here. And I am enjoying it, viewing it as a sort of floral “Ha, ha!”

Surprise!

Watching the cactus flower and then open, resonated with me as I am in the middle of writing my second book, Francesca’s Foundlings. I am often asked if I know what it going to happen. Of course I do. I am the writer, after all. I work from an outline. But sometimes my characters laugh at both the outline and me, basically saying to me, “Watch this.” If you have read MacCullough’s Women, you know that they are a stubborn bunch. This week when a scene took a turn leaving them in a place it was not supposed to, the cactus reminded me to go with the flow and see where we all end up. And enjoy it. So that’s what I did. Good advice for us all.

The last few days have been cold reminding us all that March does what it wants to. Taxes are done, sent off to the man who will wave his magic wand over them and tell us the good news or bad. It is supposed to snow today. Fortunately, my boots did not make it all the way to the attic when I traded them for flip-flops.

Walking by my surprise cactus, I am reminded to go with the flow and accept that some things are beyond my control.

Beautiful no matter when it appears.

The great news is that April, the month that brings the flowers, is just around the corner.

As promised with more to come

Kathleen Ferrari

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