Even before Thanksgiving many are already decking the halls and getting gussied up for Christmas, but now that our annual turkey feast is over the rush is really on. Black Friday begins the night before Friday actually arrives in some stores, Saturday is more of the same and then there’s Cyber Monday – every vendor and store out there is urging you to buy something or better yet, everything. Santa parades get the kids in the spirit and tree lightings are in style from Rockefeller Center to every small town common across America. But I’m not ready yet.

Admittedly, the secular world has done a very effective job of high-jacking a Christian holiday, and lots of people who have never heard of the Christ Child and many more who have heard but don’t believe in Him are happy to jump on the Holiday bandwagon of spending, parades, lights, decorations and gifts. But our family is Christian and while the most holy of our holidays is not Christmas, December 25^th has been chosen to mark Christ’s birth, and it is still an important day of reflection and prayer. So, back when my children were small I started three family traditions to help them understand what the holiday is all about.

The first was the lighting of the Advent wreath.  

On the first Sunday in Advent (which happens to be November 29^th this year) our four weeks of getting ready to celebrate our Lord’s birth begins. We light our Advent wreath – in our family it is always 3 purple candles and one pink, but some have all purple or blue and even red. When we sit down to dinner that first night a single candle in the wreath of 4 is lit, and a special prayer is said and the same on each night of the week. On the second Sunday two candles are lit, then three and finally all four until Christmas Eve.

After dinner the second tradition began with the drawing of names for our Kris Kindle. It’s an old custom and celebrated in many countries. Most people in the United States call it Secret Santa, but they often don’t connect the gifting with the coming of the Christ Child. For us it was not about giving gifts, but rather doing something nice for someone else in the family every day from that day until Christmas Eve. When the kids were small the tasks were simple, sometimes making the bed of the person whose name you drew, or helping a parent with a chore without being asked. Sometimes we did leave little surprises on each other’s pillows. But the point was to take the time to do something thoughtful for someone else in the spirit of a holy Christmas.

Finally we set up our crèche – or manger scene. Our crèche was a little different because it was empty except for a single cow. Mary and Joseph were placed on a windowsill as far away as possible in our house. Then, each night the children would get to move Mary and Joseph a little further along on their journey to “Bethlehem.” On Christmas Eve, just before we left for church, Mary and Joseph would finally reach the stable and be placed inside, and then we all piled into the car. I was always the last one out of the house because it was my job was to place the Baby Jesus and the angel into the crèche when no one was looking. When we returned home the kids would rush inside to see if the Baby Jesus had arrived. They got to put the shepherds in the stable before hanging stockings. And later, on the 6^th of January, the Kings completed the tableau. I knew I’d scored points keeping Christ in Christmas for my children when my youngest daughter was two. We were standing in line at the grocery store when a grandmotherly woman asked my little girl if she knew who was coming to her house soon. She proudly replied, “Yes! The Baby Jesus is coming!”

So for me, this next four weeks will be hectic with preparations for the big day, but in a few quiet moments each day, I will take time to celebrate the anticipation of the day and the magnitude of the gift that Christ is for Christians everywhere. I will hang greenery and lights outside, but I’ll be putting a candle in my window to let the Christ Child know He is welcome in my house. I will shop and wrap and ship gifts to family scattered far and near, but I’ll also send gifts to soldiers, Marines and sailors stationed far from home who won’t be with their families over the holidays. I’ll bake cookies for neighbors and friends, but I’ll also take the time to think of those less fortunate and try in some small way to be Christ’s hands on earth and do something nice for shut-ins and the homeless. Advent is all about the waiting – the becoming  prepared to welcome my Savior. It is all about the anticipation for the biggest gift God could give me and Christians everywhere. In the words of Robert Brooks:

“How silently, how silently,
The wondrous Gift is giv'n!
So God imparts to human hearts
The blessings of His heaven.
No ear may hear His coming,
But in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive Him still,
The dear Christ enters in.”                                    

                                       Wishing you a blessed Advent...
 

Thanksgiving is soon upon us. Many of us, myself included, will be traveling to be with family. Some are hosting family or friends for the big feast, some will be standing in steamy kitchens preparing and then serving meals to those who have no home, some will be those people coming in out of the cold for a hot meal and a full stomach, perhaps the first in weeks. But all of us, in one way or another will be marking our American Thanksgiving Day.

Children in schools across the country will be learning of the Pilgrims of Massachusetts, but did you know there was a day of Thanksgiving celebrated more than 55 years before the Pilgrims ever set foot in America? Pedro Menendez established the first permanent European settlement in what we now call America in 1565, and that settlement is what we know as St Augustine, Florida today. Menendez and his followers celebrated a mass of thanksgiving for their safe arrival. This event is re-enacted each year on the 8^th of September. But whether you celebrate your Thanksgiving with Pilgrim hats and Massachusetts Native Americans or with the Spanish settlers of St Augustine in mind, thanking God for the blessings in your lives, the food on your table, the football game on television, a job, a home, family and friends, it might also be good to remember who else you need to be thankful for.

Just two weeks ago, we stopped to pay tribute to the men and women of our military, past and present, for their sacrifices in the name of freedom and the ideal of America. Remember them again on this day of Thanksgiving. If your elderly aunt collapses with a stroke and is rushed to the hospital or you choke on a turkey bone, remember to be thankful for the hospital and the men and women who will be there to administer the kind of medical care you have come to expect in America. Be thankful for the men and women who are eating their turkey at the firehouse, just in case someone needs them at a moment’s notice to put out a house fire, or the EMTs who are ready to rush to the site of traffic accident. Be thankful for all the doctors and nurses in hospitals and nursing homes who are working on this day, caring for those who are not able to care for themselves. Be thankful for the priest or minister who is sitting at the bedside of someone who is close to leaving this world, or who is offering what solace he or she can to someone who is grieving the loss of a loved one. Be thankful for the law enforcement individuals who give up this time with their families to protect you and yours. Be thankful for the airline, train, bus and local public transportation people who worked today to help you get to your destination on time for dinner. Be thankful for the clerk at the local convenience store who rang up your purchase of something you forget to get earlier or the person who served up a cup of hot coffee for a policeman on his beat. Everywhere around you, on this day of celebration and feasting, there are people working to keep your world running, to protect you, and to serve you.

I will be eating way more than I should, watching football on television most likely, and enjoying having all my family around me, but in the midst of that, I can never forget that the God who gave me life, also gave me all these other people to make my life worth living. Years ago, my youngest daughter was born on Thanksgiving. When I arrived at the hospital there were nurses and clerks who welcomed me, processed my arrival and made me comfortable. My doctor had to leave his family and his dinner to deliver my baby and later, when I hemorrhaged, he had to come back to save my life. I was fortunate in the days that followed to meet the orderly who wheeled me to surgery and have a chance to thank him. I also met the nurse who was called over from a different floor who sat with my husband while I was in surgery, but how many others were there that day who had a part in my care? Even the ordinary people who had donated the blood I so urgently needed will remain forever unknown. But every Thanksgiving I remember how fortunate I was to be living where I do, to have had the care I received and I thank each and every one of those who God sent my way that day.

So, enjoy this holiday. Say thank you to your God for your life and your blessings, say thank you to your families and friends for being part of your life, and if you have a chance, say thank you to all those unknown individuals who make your life possible.

At my age, there have been so too many times to count. I know I have been blessed over and over again with acts of kindness both big and small, from friends and perfect strangers: the neighbor who filled my kitchen with food when my husband died, the man who buried my pet with as much care as he would his own when she was hit by a car with no collar to identify her, the hotel courtesy van driver who picked me up in New Zealand walking from the train station to my hostel and not only gave me a ride, but took the time to drive past a memorial in the center of Christchurch built around a piece of the NY World Trade Center, and the lady I’d just met who invited me to share dinner with she and her husband when I was traveling alone in Vietnam. All these and more flickered through my mind as I considered this question. My neighbor bringing over bags of food she'd just bought for her own family was just the first of so many acts of kindness both large and small during that difficult time that let me know I didn't have to cope with my loss alone. The man who buried my pet took away some of the sadness I felt at losing her. The van driver and the couple I met on my travels through New Zealand and Vietnam were just two of the many people who made that solo trip memorable and filled with wonderful experiences I'd never expected. That van driver and even the couple I had dinner with probably don't recall me all these years later, but I will always remember them.

One major random act of kindness that stands out in my memory was the night my youngest daughter was born. In spite of having four kids, I was in labor for almost 24 hours and within an hour of Lori’s birth, my uterus gave up doing its job and I began hemorrhaging. It being after midnight, my doctor and my husband had already gone home and both were called back. A D&C was done in hopes that would fix the problem and once again I was back in my room and my husband had gone home when the bleeding began again. Now I was really in trouble and my husband returned a second time, was handed a clipboard full of permission forms to sign even though he had no idea what was going to happen. A nurse discovered him alone and afraid in the waiting room after I was wheeled to the OR so she sat down with him and explained what the doctor was going to do and gave him encouragement and hope. I was in the OR for almost four hours and this woman came back to check on Cal many times during that long vigil, sitting silent and sometimes praying with him. Afterward Cal told me how much her being there had meant to him and asked me to thank her if I saw her. He described her to me so I had my eye out for her as I began to recover and take walks in the hallway and beyond, but for three days I didn’t see her. Then, on the fourth day, she stepped into my room to say hi and see how I was doing. Turns out, she didn’t work on that floor at all. She’d come over only to help out during a busy spell, and when things quieted down, she’d been on her way back to her own floor when she came upon Cal and stopped to keep him company. She stayed long after her shift was over until they knew I was out of danger. Then she’d had the long weekend off, but on her first day back, she’d come to work early so she had time to peek in and check on me. A woman I would never see again went out of her way to bring comfort to a husband who was desperately afraid he was going to lose his wife, and then followed that up by coming all the way over from another floor to see how I was doing four days later. Another time I was facing a mountain and there were helpers all along the way. I was no more special than any other patient in that hospital, and yet, a young man poked his head around my door to say hi – and it turned out he was the orderly who’d taken me down to surgery in the wee hours before dawn. And another unexpected visitor was a part time nursery nurse who’d been in charge of Lori in those first six hours of her life who stopped in to tell me what a beautiful baby I had.

But what about the random acts of kindness I've done over all those same years? I think I may never know just how much they meant to those I did them to. When I was in training for the Peace Corps we were told not to be discouraged as more often than not, we would never know if we had made a difference. I think Paying it Forward, with random acts of kindness is like that. If I take the time to smile at a stranger and say hello, it might mean little and be quickly forgotten, but perhaps that person had just lost someone dear and my smile was the only one they saw all day.  If I notice a baby toy fall from a stroller and hurry to catch up and return it, the toy might have been just any old toy, but what if it was the most important possession that small person owned and they would have been lost without it? I can think of dozens of times I’ve taken a moment to do something for someone that meant only a moment of my time, but I will never know how that might have made a difference in their day. And perhaps that’s the way it should be. A random act of kindness does not need a reward or even acknowledgement. It’s a gift you give to someone else.

      
Hop on over to check out these other authors and their experiences with random acts of kindness.
Diane Bator http://dbator.blogspot.ca/
Fiona McGier http://www.fionamcgier.com/
Bob Rich      http://wp.me/p3Xihq-z4
Marci Baun  http://www.marcibaun.com/blog/
Connie Vines  http://connievines.blogspot.com/
Rachael Kosinski  http://rachaelkosinski.weebly.com/
Hollie Glover  http://www.hollieglover.co.uk
Rhobin Courtright  http://www.rhobinleecourtright.com/ 

In May we celebrate all those who have served and died for our country, for it’s values, promises and beliefs. But on November 11^th it’s time to remember ALL the men and women who have served and are serving in the armed forces of this country, in the Army, Navy, Marine Corps, Air Force and Coast Guard. Without these dedicated men and women, the precious freedoms and the ideal we think of as America would not be possible.

As holidays go, we don’t do enough to honor these men and women. But we should. July 4^th celebrates the beginning of this country and Memorial Day commemorates those who have died defending it. But America and all it stands for would not be possible without the every day presence of the greatest armed forces in the world. Every day, from the cooks and clerks to the generals at the Pentagon and especially to those with boots on the ground in dangerous places, in airplanes flying dangerous missions, on battle groups projecting our values on the sea far from home, and in boats protecting our coasts, we owe this day in their honor. If you have a flag, fly it. If you know a serviceman or woman, take the time to tell them THANK YOU. And if you believe in a higher power, spend some time in prayer asking for protection and guidance for the men and women still in uniform everywhere. 

I know many of you have veterans in your families and I’m sure you are proud of them and the sacrifices they have made. I’m proud of my father and three uncles who all served in WWII, my brother Scotty who served in Vietnam and ten years more, my late husband, Cal, my step-son Jeff and my brother-in law George who both served in the US Coast Guard. My nephew John was first a Marine and later a reservist and Corbin, my Godson spent several years in the Army, and now a grandson-in-law Chris who is a medic in the Army. I also had the privilege to work for Doug Curtis who served in the Army for thirty years. There are many more veterans on my family tree, all the way back to the Revolutionary War and on this day, I honor all of them.

And I think, while we’re at it, we should spare a thought for the families who stand behind our veterans. It takes a special kind of courage to offer up a man or woman’s life for an ideal, but it’s got to be just as hard for the ones they love, to love them and still let them go, knowing they might not come home. It’s impossible for me to imagine waking up every morning wondering if the man I love is safe, or if he’s stepped into harm’s way a long way from home. Every morning for weeks and months, or a year and longer. What kind of strength it must take to love such a man or woman? It’s easier to imagine being a parent, because I am one and while my children didn’t deliberately go into harm’s way, every parent goes through agony when their teenager is late coming home. So imagine that 1,000 times worse. And what about the children who don’t even really understand the magnitude of what their parent is doing or why, but just knowing they aren’t there for birthdays and holidays and soccer games and to tuck them into bed at night.

Today’s blog is actually a contest. I have a goodie-bag filled with fun stuff and books for a random answer drawn from a hat. More about that at the end of this blog.

I’ve never met anyone, even those who don’t read much, who haven’t heard the quote: “Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn.” Gone With the Wind and most folk have heard, but perhaps don’t know the origin of the line: “Nowadays people know the price of everything, but the value of nothing.” The Picture of Dorian Gray.

For movie goers, there are great lines like, “You had me at Hello.” From Jerry McGuire, and “Live for nothing or die for something. Your call.” from Rambo.

Every now and then, we all hear a line in a TV show or a movie that catches our attention, either by its pithiness or the depth of the emotion behind it. And the same goes for books. As an author, I am always hoping I’ll write just such a line. I guess we all do. Screen writers and book authors. We want to leave an impression. To touch someone, perhaps in places they’ve not been touched in a long time, if ever.

If you are into romance, you sigh when the hero says something truly sweet or loving. But even outside of the romance genre, there are moments when our heroes show a softer side of themselves. Like this quote from The History of Love by Nicole Krauss: “Once upon a time there was a boy who loved a girl, and her laughter was a question he wanted to spend his whole life answering.” And while anyone who has seen the movie When Harry Met Sally clearly remembers the diner scene where Sally goes out of her way to prove that men can’t tell when a woman is faking an orgasm and can quote the other diner’s line, “I’ll have what she’s having.” The most touching quote from the movie is Harry’s declaration of love:

"I love that you get cold when it's 71 degrees out. I love that it takes you an hour and a half to order a sandwich. I love that you get a little crinkle above your nose when you're looking at me like I'm nuts. I love that after I spend the day with you, I can still smell your perfume on my clothes. And I love that you are the last person I want to talk to before I go to sleep at night. And it's not because I'm lonely, and it's not because it's New Year's Eve. I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible."
                              

So here’s the question I mentioned above: What is the most loving, the sweetest, or most unforgettable thing your hero/husband/sweetheart has ever said to you? I'll put all the names into that hat I mentioned - probably a Stetson considering cowboys make great heroes and some of them are pretty sweet talkers - and draw one to win the goodie bag.

The topic of this month's Blog Hop, very appropriately considering how close Halloween is: Do you believe in angels, spirits, ghosts, demons or other ethereal beings or locations? Have you used them in your own stories. 

Some years ago I was sitting in a college library scouring a number of promising books for an illusive detail I needed for a story I was writing and not finding it. As I sat there daydreaming or maybe brainstorming an entirely different plot came into my head. I jotted down a few notes, but then went back to work on the current project. The idea featured a writer, like me, sitting in a similar library when a book was placed on the desk in front of her and a man said, “Maybe this is what you’re looking for.” The writer looked up into the face of a man who looked like he might be a professor, dressed in jeans and a sport jacket over a turtleneck jersey. She looked back at the book he’d offered her and began to thumb through it, then realized it was the personal journal of the very man she had been researching. But when she looked back up to thank the man and ask him where the journal had come from, he had disappeared. As I fleshed out this plot later, I saw scenes in my head of this same man, sometimes in jeans, but more often in a kilt and occasionally in an old fashioned army uniform. Since that time, I’ve written four, almost five contemporary romances, two historicals and one mainstream, but you might say that this piper, for that’s what I’ve determined him to be, has haunted me and one day soon, I’m going to write his story.

    It's a Wonderful Life                         Ghost               Somewhere in Time             Brigadoon

In the meantime, I love stories that encourage a leap of the imagination. Stories that include ghosts or spirits and angels, or time travel, especially into the past. Who doesn’t love the movie It’s a Wonderful Life with Jimmy Stewart, featuring Clarence the angel desperate to keep a disillusioned and discouraged man from taking his own life and thereby earning his wings? Or Ghost with Patrick Swayze with the haunting music and love that doesn’t die? Another movie that I have always loved was Somewhere in Time with Jane Seymour and Christopher Reeve. When an elderly woman presses an old pocket watch into a young man’s hand, then disappears, that sends him on a journey of discovery, first to the hotel lobby where he finds a portrait of a young woman and eventually back in time to meet the woman in the flesh and fall in love with her. And my favorite stage play was Brigadoon with Gene Kelley. The mythical town that woke up for only one day every hundred  years, but came to life just at the right time for Kelly’s character to fall in love with a local lass.

I’ve read a lot of books featuring spirits that meddle in the lives of the living. Some folks enjoy the more macabre, but I like stories like Vickie Hinze's Seascape series set in a bed and breakfast on the coast of Maine. The inn was run by a widow, but the spirit of her dead husband lurks about determined to be a matchmaker for lonely hearts who come to the inn, sometimes to forget, sometimes to heal, and sometimes just to be vacationing in a picturesque old bed and breakfast at the beach.

But of all the ghosts I’ve met in books, the one that haunts me the most is the one that appears in the very first chapter of Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander. The ghost of Jamie Fraser, who stands in the dark, in the rain, gazing up at Claire Randall illuminated in the window of the bed and breakfast where she is staying. At that point in the story, you don’t realize it’s a ghost, or who it is. It’s only as you near the end of the story that you realize that it was Jamie come from the past to see, if only briefly, the woman he loved with all his heart. It’s a time travel novel of course, but the image of that lonely man pining for the woman he loved across time was an image I have never been able to get out of my head or my heart. And I wasn’t disappointed when that scene was included in the series made for TV on Starz and it was exactly as I’d pictured it all these years since the book first came out.

Now that I've shared some of my favorite tiime travel and ghost stories, why not visit some of these other authors and see what kind of spirits appeal to them and what or who they've put into their own stories.

Marci Baun  http://www.marcibaun.com/blog/
Margaret Fieland  http://www.margaretfieland.com/blog1/
Diane Bator http://dbator.blogspot.ca/
Beverley Bateman  http://beverleybateman.blogspot.ca/
A.J. Maguire  http://ajmaguire.wordpress.com/
Fiona McGier http://www.fionamcgier.com/
Heather Haven http://www.heatherhavenstories.com
Bob Rich      http://wp.me/p3Xihq-wU
Anne Stenhouse  http://annestenhousenovelist.wordpress.com/
Helena Fairfax  http://helenafairfax.com/
Hollie Glover  http://www.hollieglover.co.uk
Rachael Kosinski  http://rachaelkosinski.weebly.com/
Connie Vines  http://connievines.blogspot.com/
Rhobin Courtright  http://www.rhobinleecourtright.com/                                  

Last Sunday, I was parked in front of my television watching my favorite team come back from a deficit score to win against the Colts. It was great game with a lot of great plays and Tom Brady was in top form. But the play that I will remember most from that game was made by a lesser known player, Jamie Collins, a 6 foot, 3 inch, 250 pound linebacker. As the Colts lined up to kick the point after, Collins timed his leap perfectly to clear the entire front line of men and block the kick while still in the air. Not the sort of spectacular play one sees very often. But then, neither was the interception by Malcolm Butler to clinch this year’s Super Bowl win for the Pats. Or Brady’s lateral hand off to Julian Edelman who then executed a 51-yard pass to Amendola for a Touchdown. I love the Pats and Tom Brady, but believe me, those spectacular, unexpected plays are what I remember best.

But the real heroes in our sports crazy world are the ones you rarely hear about except in occasional local news coverage. Like a young woman named Meghan Vogel who modestly claims others would have done the same for her. When she saw a competitor collapse near the finish line in the state championships, instead of glancing at her fallen opponent as she passed by, she stopped to help the other girl to her feet and guided her toward the finish line, making sure the other girl crossed the line first.

Just recently on the evening news there was a heartwarming clip about 7 Olivet Middle School football players who decided that one of their teammates, who had a learning disability, should have his chance to make a touchdown. Without their coach’s knowledge, they put together a play to make that happen and Keith Orr carried the ball across the goal line to a standing, cheering crowd. Keith’s mother was asked how she felt about her son’s touchdown and she answered that she was excited, of course, but more than that, she was touched to know that his team mates had his back and he knew it. Where are stories like this when we keep hearing about bullying?

These stories are more numerous than you might think. Kevin Grow, who has Down’s Syndrome was allowed to play in the last two minutes of his fourth year with Bensalem High School after four years of faithfully serving as team manager. He was given the ball for a free shot and missed the hoop, but then in the remaining minutes of the game, managed to score 4 3-point baskets in less than two minutes.  Cornhuskers Rex Burkhead befriended 7-year-old Jack Hoffman who was diagnosed with a brain tumor. Burkhead wears a bracelet with Team Jack on it when he plays and he checks on his small fan regularly saying he wishes he could do more. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CRHRvMlFWdk) 

The Cincinnati Reds auctioned off a one-day position as Bat Boy and then stretched their age limits to allow 29-year old Ted Kramer to have the position. He did so well, he was invited back and the joy on his face says it all. WWE star Daniel Bryan invited 9-year-old Bryan Connor into the ring to fulfill the dying child’s last wish and after winning his own bout, stepped out of the ring to go to Connor and tell him that he was his inspiration.

So, the next time you watch your favorite team play and cheer when they win, think of the hundreds of truly decent sportsmen and women with hearts of gold who make time in their busy star-level schedules to bring joy and inspiration into the lives of others. That’s who you should be admiring. It’s easy to be great when you are blessed with abundant talent, it takes heart and commitment to make the time to be great for someone else. 

Brianna Reagan married her high school sweetheart, and she was proud of him and his decision to fight for his country, but as the years and deployments went on, she realized that he enjoyed the life of a soldier living on the edge in a war zone more than he loved her. Then he was killed, and she was heartbroken.

But she’s put her life back together again. She’s happy and busy, she has friends and a great job, and she’s sure her eight-year-old son Sam is all the man she needs in her life. 

Then Sam joins Cub Scouts and Brianna meets his new den father.

   A tall, blue-eyed hottie full of charisma and swagger.

Excerpt:

  Brianna Reagan stood beside her car with her cell phone to her ear, surveying a very flat tire.

 Come on, Sam. Answer the phone. Where are you?  Her son should have been in the apartment by now. The bus would have dropped him off ten minutes ago.

If she hadn’t tried to squeeze in a trip to the grocery store before heading home to meet Sam’s bus, she wouldn’t be where she was now. And just maybe she wouldn’t have had a flat tire at all. Sam. Where are you?

“Hello?”

Relief washed through her. “Sam. It’s Mom. I got a flat tire and that’s why I didn’t get there in time for your bus. I just wanted to make sure you got home okay.”

“I came straight home, just like you told me to if you weren’t at the bus stop.”

“And you’re alone?”

“Yes, Mom. I’m alone.” Condescension and sarcasm dripped from his young voice.

“And you locked the door behind you?”

Sam sighed loudly.

“Okay, I’m sorry. I just want to make sure you’re safe. I’ll be home as soon as someone comes to change my tire.”

“How come you can’t change your own tire?” Eight years old and already Sam sounds like his father.

“I know how to change a tire, but I’ve got my work clothes on.” Why am I defending myself? “Never mind. Just stay inside until I get there and don’t let anyone in. Got it?”

Sam groaned “Got it.”

“There are fudge pops in the freezer. Why don’t you have one and get started on your homework?”

“Can I go upstairs and see if Mr. Cameron is home? I want to show him the new signs I learned.”

“Mr. Cameron is probably at work. But,” she added hastily to ward off another round of dramatic sighing. “You can go up and see if he’s there as soon as I get home. Okay?”

“Kay! Bye.” Sam disconnected leaving Brianna feeling oddly alone on the only deserted stretch of roadway between the grocery store and home.

She began hunting through her contacts for C.J.’s Auto Shop. The sound of a motorcycle pierced the late afternoon quiet. The rumbling grew, still out of sight around the corner, but loud enough to be either a big machine or more than one.

A nervous fluttering began in her stomach. Not all bikers were a threat. But still.

Then the motorcycle rounded the bend and began to slow. She relaxed. It was a North Carolina State Trooper. She shoved her phone back into her pocket and waited for him to reach her.

The big silver and gray bike pulled up behind her car and rumbled to a stop. The trooper swung his high-booted leg over the back of the bike and flicked the kickstand down. Then he unsnapped his chinstrap and removed his helmet.

Will Cameron!

Brianna swallowed hard.

That was something that had been glaringly missing from the list of things she thought she knew about Sam’s new idol.

He grinned as he approached. “Not your lucky day, I guess. Or maybe it is your lucky day considering I’m standing here.” Everything about him was overpoweringly masculine. Even the slightly overgrown hair that had been mussed by the helmet.

“I was just about to call C.J.,” Bree said, trying to ignore the effect Will had on her libido.

“Pop the trunk. I assume you’ve got a spare?” This manifestation of Will Cameron was definitely larger-than-life. He seemed taller than usual. And broader. Maybe it was the uniform. Or the bike. Or the fact that he was a trooper, and he was in rescuer mode.

“Of course, I’ve got a spare.” She pressed the trunk button on her key fob and the lid clicked open.

“Then I’ll have you back on the road in no time.”

He reached into the trunk, spun the big nut that kept the spare in place, then hoisted it out as if it weighed nothing. Which it didn’t. A fact she knew because she almost hadn’t been able to lift it enough to retrieve an important slip of paper that had managed to slide down underneath a week earlier.

The play of muscles rippling beneath the crisp fabric of his uniform shirt evoked the same breathless fascination she’d felt while watching him disassemble cardboard boxes wearing no shirt at all on the day he’d moved into her building. She wanted to look away, but couldn’t bring herself to do so. She wanted not to be impressed, but couldn’t manage that either.

This was not a man it was safe to fall for. He was a cop. And cops led lives almost as dangerous as soldiers. He might be an easy-going Cub Scout den father, but there was no denying the pure animal magnetism he exuded. That confident grin of his with a deep dimple in one cheek and an extra lift to one corner of his sensuous, kissable looking lips would charm any woman with a pulse. But she didn’t want to be charmed. Not now that she knew who he really was.

Available at:  Amazon,  Barnes & Noble, iBooks,  Kobo and Google Play

A long time ago, I was part of a prayer chain at my church. Whenever someone in the parish needed prayer the telephone tree went into action. Whether our prayers were answered as we hoped or in ways we never understood, we always did hear sooner or later. Although I did have one friend named Carole who said she felt a calling to pray at times for people or even outcomes she didn’t know. Driving down the road, she’s suddenly get a feeling that she needed to pull over and pray. She always answered that call and rarely ever knew who she was praying for or what.

In today’s world of interconnectedness, it often seems very much like that, except in a far larger way. In a brief Tweet or a status posting on Facebook prayers are solicited for everything from a missing child, to a shooting, to the loss of a soldier or the illness of a parent. More often than not, even when I do take a moment to answer that request, I will never know the outcome. This past weekend was rife with requests. A ship lost at sea with 38 souls on board, flooding in South Carolina, survivors of the shooting in Oregon and the families of those killed. And closer to home, a neighbor told me she’d just been diagnosed with an aggressive form of breast cancer. Some of those prayers already have answers. The ship sank and people died in South Carolina, but many more were rescued even though they may have lost their homes and livelihoods.

I know that some of you will read this post and scoff. You don’t believe in God at all, or you don’t believe in prayer. Some of you once did believe, but when you needed God most, He seemed far away and not interested in your problems. I’ve been there. I know. I prayed for my husband’s cancer to be vanquished. I prayed for my mother when her mind was slipping away. I prayed harder than I’d ever prayed in my life when my grandsons were fighting for their lives. I even tried to bargain with God – offering my life in lieu of theirs. But that’s not how prayers work.

My husband died at peace, at home where he wanted to be with all his family about him, even his son who had been half a world away serving in the military just a few days before. My mother found unexpected enjoyment in the social life of the assisted living home where she spent the last two years of her life. There were blessings in both those events, but I am still struggling with why the innocent lives of two precious little boys were not spared, and I have to have faith that one day I will understand.

So, today I light my prayer candle and I ask God to bring peace and solace to the families of those who have lost someone they love, in Oregon, at sea in a hurricane, in the fighting in the Middle East, or anywhere else in the world. For the parents of babies and children fighting for their lives in hospitals everywhere, for those who feel so overwhelmed and sad that they are considering suicide, for healing for soldiers who have been wounded in mind or body, for law enforcement officers everywhere who put on their badges this morning and went to work in spite of the vendetta being waged against them, for refugees, the homeless, addicts and the ill and those who care for them. I will never know, nor do I need to know if or how my prayers are answered. It is enough to talk to God and leave my burdens and those of everyone who struggles in his hands. I don’t need to understand the answers – I need only have faith. God does not bring evil into the world, but he does grant us the strength to cope with whatever mountains we face.

So, to those of you who do believe in prayer – take a moment right now to thank God for the blessings in your life and ask Him to comfort those who need Him most.

There were a lot of things I expected to happen in retirement. Fun things I was looking forward to, like traveling and more time to write. And not having to dance to someone else’s piping or get up to an alarm clock. And, honest to God, it started out that way. My first move was to downsize my home which was a herculean effort and often a big nostalgic, but I did it with enthusiasm because I was headed off on another great new adventure. I moved to a fantastic little neighborhood in the oldest city in the US – which provided a whole new venue for my interest in history. I have a cozy little bungalow by the sea and I get to go for a walk on the beach any time I like, which is often and a whole raft of new friends, neighbors, fellow history enthusiasts and authors.

My bungalow isn’t new and there were lots of things to paint, repair, replace and fix up when I got here, and I got right into doing it. In between writing and visiting the beach. I got involved with the living history museum downtown and sewed myself several colonial outfits, learned how to do leatherwork as it was done in the colonial period, played a tavern wench at the fantastic little taberna that felt like you were literally stepping back in time and several other activities connected to historical reenactment. But then the Spanish Quarter was turned over to new management and volunteers, living history docents and any real feeling of being in another era was lost. I still love the downtown, but feel disenfranchised.

I still have a ton of neat things I want to try. I have lots of projects I want to get accomplished and, of course, I’m still writing books – especially now that four of them have been published and a fifth is on the way. I don’t know if it’s because I finally figured out that retirement is supposed to be leisurely, or, God forbid – I’m getting old. I still have places I want to visit, but lately I seem to do more talking about going than actually packing the suitcase and getting on the road. I have a huge tub of old photographs that need to be sorted and organized and Michael’s had a sale on photo files so I bought several. And there the project sits, right were I see it every day, but it’s not getting done. I promised my daughter-in-law I’d finish embroidering her Christmas tablecloth and it’s not done yet either. It’s a good thing I respond well to deadlines because she’s going to need it come December. I have another grandchild on the way and that means creating another teddy bear, but what do you want to bet, I’ll get to it two weeks before the new grandbaby is due?

I have become so proficient at procrastination if there were trophies for it, I’d have one. Not that I’ve been completely without achievement. I did publish four books since I retired. At the beginning of the year, I bought a FitBit and since have traveled over 2 and a half million steps since then - that's over 1,000 miles. In the six years since I retired, I've been to Ireland, France, New Zealand, San Francisco, San Antonio and Tonga, and that’s not counting my annual trips to New England in the summer and about three dozen jet-setting trips for family events. But there are still so many places on my bucket list to see. I want to go, really I do, but it seems harder and harder to get my butt in gear? Is this normal? Not that I’ve ever been what you would call normal, but still. It would be nice to know if there’s a club for procrastinators out there I can join. Somewhere, in a box of odds and ends somewhere, I have a Genuine Round Tu-It. Now if only I could find that box I might get around to all the things I want to get done.