Tag: love

Heard it in a Love Song

Yesterday, on my Facebook author page, I solicited love songs to be included in my current work in progress, Greed at the Happy Valley Motor Inn and Resort. Since copyright laws prevent me from using much more than just the title, I suggested that the song be easily recognizable and might be enough to bring out all sorts of lovey dovey emotions.

I gave participants a lot of leeway when it came to the era in which the song was released. I’ve kept the timeline for the Happy Valley series fairly vague so as not to have to deal with politics or COVID or any other unpleasant topics. These are primarily feel good books. With occasional crimes. Maybe a murder in the one I’m working on. 😳

When suggestions began pouring in, I was delighted. So many great song titles! And a few odd ones—Mama, Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to be Cowboys, for one. Spoiler: It didn’t win.

In the end, I picked two song titles because I couldn’t decide on just one: Amazed by LoneStar and I Love How You Love Me by Bobby Darrin. The names of those who submitted these suggestions will be featured in the Acknowledgements section of Greed and I’ll send them a signed copy of the book.

I’ve held similar contests for my previous books, and never been disappointed in the results. Thank goodness for my little army of devoted readers.

Peace, people!

We’re Still Here

Happy birthday, Mom. We’re still here, living our lives as best we can. Hoping you’d be proud.

We’re still here, missing you. Remembering the Christmases you made special. The way you always overstressed just so everything would be perfect. And it seemed to somehow work.

And we’re still here, still wishing you were, too. No matter how many years you’ve been gone it still feels like yesterday. Like you might walk in the house any minute wearing that mile-wide smile of yours.

Like you might dance to whatever song came on the radio, not caring how goofy you looked. And we’re still here. Wishing you were, too.

Who Will I Call?

I just saw this television commercial. Can’t even remember what they were advertising, but it featured a daughter calling her mom (or mother-in-law) to help her with the ingredients for the stuffing she was making for Thanksgiving dinner.

When the call ended, the father said to the mother something like, “She’s made that stuffing for years.” And the mother just smiled and took his hand in hers. It’s not that the daughter NEEDED to call, but that she WANTED to call.

And I thought, “Who will I call this year?” All the women I called while cooking my holiday meals are gone now. Their breadth and depth of knowledge gone with them. The smiles in their voices when I asked some dumb question about deviled eggs or giblet gravy, even though I knew the answers by heart. I just wanted to feel closer to them even though we were hundreds of miles apart. To let them know I still needed them, I called.

Again I thought, “Who will I call this year?” Then I cried.

Peace, people.

It’s Like This, Cat

Gracie and I had a heart-to-heart talk this morning about Daylight Savings Time.

Starting at 4:30 a.m.

Gracie: (poking on Studly Doright’s nose) “Meow?”

Me: “Gracie, shh! It’s not time to get up yet.“

Gracie: (rubbing her head against the alarm clock) “Meow.”

Me: “The humans have messed with time. It makes no sense to us either, but we’ll acclimate.”

Gracie: (striding across Studly’s body and plopping onto my chest.) “Meow!!!”

Me: (pushing myself out of bed) “But until we acclimate I’ll bow to your wishes. As usual.”

Gracie: (supervising the food delivery system, aka, me) “Purrrrrrrr.”

She’s now sleeping soundly on my feet. Little tyrant.

Peace, people.

Love is a Warm Cat

Our cat, Gracie, loves me. She loves me with her whole heart. If my WordPress account allowed, I’d post a picture of her, and you’d be able to see the love light shining in her eyes. Or the mischief. It’s hard to tell.

She’s beautiful—A muted calico with a white strip from the top of her head to the tip of her cute little nose. Sometimes I catch her admiring herself in the mirror.

And she’s so smart. She can open the cabinet in which her treats are stored, and without fail, brings us a bag of treats every night after the lights are out. It’s the equivalent of a toddler’s “just one more drink, Mommy” or “read me one more story.”

If I go to bed before Studly Doright does, Gracie will pester him until he joins me. But if I stay up a little later, she curls up in my lap until I indicate that I’m ready for bed. Like I say, she loves me.

I’m sitting here watching her attack her scratching post, shredding the fibers with a vengeance. The post has seen better days, but it’s her favorite toy. Even so, I’ve begun to think of it as a piece of modern sculpture. Maybe we could sell it for a small fortune and Gracie could create a new one. Maybe she could reimburse us for all those treats. Maybe I need to get some sleep tonight. I’m rambling.

Peace, people.

Do You Believe in Magic?

That first touch, first kiss

First I love you

Still exist

Somewhere in the archives

Of my soul.

And surely that was magic

Just as the weight of a

Newborn baby in my arms

Is magic.

And sometimes I think

To myself, nobody else,

But you, I suppose

That it’d be a real shame

If all my magic has played out,

Gone to someone younger;

Someone who won’t realize what was afoot

Until wrinkles line their face and

Maybe then it’s too late.

But I tell myself, and you,

That is, those of you who understand,

Our days of magic are now

In the sunsets and warm embraces

Of a gentle love with whom

We’ve grown old.

Pictures from Las Vegas

I spent several days in the city known for showgirls, casinos, and over the top productions. But, lest you think I was in Las Vegas, Nevada, purely for pleasure, think again. Oh, I had plenty of fun, but not the kind you might be imagining.

Sometime last year I applied to attend a writer’s workshop hosted by author Craig Martelle. Knowing that my acceptance was a long shot, I quickly stored the thought of it in a deep, dark recess of my mind and got on with my life. Then, miracle of miracles, I received an invitation to attend and my mind was blown.

Those of you who know me can probably imagine the anxiety I felt. I began making excuses to myself so I could back out of the event. Then, I visited with my brother, Kelly. When I told him about the workshop, he offered to come to Vegas and hang out with me for a few days prior to the retreat weekend. That was all the encouragement I needed.

After spending six days in Sin City, I’m exhausted, but I wanted to share a few photos of what turned out to be an epic experience.

From the Las Vegas Meow Wolf art installation:

Just one of the many products on display at the Omega Mart—a clever façade for a fantastic world of imaginative art.
Personalized bleach.
Have you tried the Implied Chicken?
Or Emergency Clams.
The labels are worth a read.
Muscle Fresh Toothpaste. Yum.
Sparkling waters in interesting flavors.
Brother Kelly found something he really needed.

But behind the scenes, if one is fortunate enough to find it, lies the most incredible adventure.

That’s me talking to myself in a mirror. Yes, it took me a few seconds to recognize myself.
Kelly and Susan pose in a multi-dimensional work of art.
That’s a mop and bucket.

One evening we had dinner at Gordon Ramsay’s Hell’s Kitchen. I really should have taken photos of my beautiful food, but in the heat of the moment I forgot. Let me tell you, the meal was incredible. I had salmon and green beans cooked to perfection. And the sticky toffee pudding was the bomb.

I did take a wonderful photo of Kelly and Susan though.

Enjoying a pre-dinner cocktail. So good.

After dinner we strolled through a casino or two and Susan took this of my “little” brother and me.

One to cherish.

Part of one day I hung out at Kelly and Susan’s travel trailer and visited with their dog, Gus.

Handsome boy.

So glad I had the chance to enjoy this time with Kelly and Susan. The older I get the more I appreciate these moments. And Kelly is barely even annoying anymore.

I’ll write a bit about the workshop in a day or so. It deserves it’s own post, but for now, I’m going to bed.

Until we meet again, peace, people.

Losing It

See the small gold ring on the pinky finger of my dear mother-in-law, Saint Helen, in the picture below? You can’t tell from this angle, but there is an H inscribed on the top of the ring.

I was pleased and honored to be given the ring after her death. Depending on the time of day, the small ring either fit me snugly or a bit loosely. And since I wasn’t yet accustomed to wearing it, I had to make a conscious effort to make sure it was either on my finger or in the small bowl in which I keep my jewelry when I’m not wearing it.

Everything was going swimmingly until one afternoon I realized the ring was neither on my finger nor in the bowl. I lost it, both literally and figuratively.

Tearing through the house like a madwoman, I looked everywhere I thought the ring might be: the pockets of my blue jeans, inside my sock drawer, underneath every piece of furniture, within my bedsheets. And when I didn’t find it, I indulged in a major crying jag. That’s what poor Studly Doright came home to on Saturday afternoon. He patted me on the back and commiserated with me, saying “It’ll turn up.”

I wasn’t all that confident.

Then yesterday morning I decided to put on some makeup, even though I had no intention of leaving the house, and there, at the bottom of my makeup bag, I spotted a little circle of gold. It must’ve slipped off the previous morning.

I solemnly swear I will not wear this ring again until I’ve had it sized. My heart can’t take losing it again.

Peace, people.

Beautiful Tributes

My daughter is a fine writer. I expect one day she’ll write a bestseller and everyone will be singing her praises. Right now, though, she is tied up with raising a beautiful family and working full time as the office manager of a busy veterinary hospital. She’s a pretty amazing human being and I love her so much it hurts sometimes.

Today she posted tributes to the two ladies our family lost to COVID this past week. I had planned on writing down my own memories, but honestly, Ashley’s tributes are so beautiful I could never have matched them. With her permission here’s her post from Facebook:

“My family suffered two great losses this past week. We gathered in Texas to remember, mourn, honor, and celebrate the lives of my Greatest Aunt Lyn and my Mema Helen. There are now two giant holes in my heart, and our family will never be the same without them.

Aunt Lynnie was full of life. She lived and loved with her entire heart, and with purpose. She was protective of everyone she loved, caring, hilarious, strong, adventurous, and a force to be reckoned with. If you ever had a chance to talk to her, you would almost immediately get a sense of who she was. She loved to talk about her family, her passions, and her pride and joy – the Hereford Senior Center and the thrift store that she made her baby. I can hear her laughter, and see her smile…the ones that lit up every room and made everyone feel welcomed and loved. She was always the one to suggest a “girl’s trip” to get a drink and lottery tickets.

Lyn Noyes Rayburn (aka Greatest Aunt Lyn)

Mema’s legacy will live on through our entire family. She was one of the most amazing people this world will ever know. The stories from her childhood in Pie Town, New Mexico. Her famous biscuits & gravy. Her laughter, especially when one of us said something slightly inappropriate that she thought she probably shouldn’t have been laughing at (and then the subsequent use of that person’s first AND middle names). Her love for her family. Her sense of adventure and the way her eyes lit up when she talked about trips to the casino, or her grandkids, or the cruises she enjoyed taking. She loved her church, her friends, and traveling. I can only hope I live my life with as much gusto and passion as my Mema did.”

Our Mema, Helen Parker Noyes

My words—when folks die we tend to exaggerate their sweetness or say they were loved by all, even if they weren’t, but I can honestly say that these two women were admired by all who knew them. Gone from this world much too soon, but never forgotten. We will always love them.

Peace, people.