Monday, February 29, 2016

Baking, reading, remembering.

At all my book events, I have been bringing along mini pies and thumbprint cookies with jam.

The baking figures prominently in my book trailer and in my book, because In ONE MORE DAY, the main character, Carrie Morgan, bakes with her grandmother, as she did when she was a little girl. However, it's not clear whether her grandmother is dead or alive. :)
As she says in the book, "How is it possible that someone dead smells so much like cookies?"

Many of my grandmother's and mother's recipes have been lost. But in their place, I have Ina Garten.

Sunday, February 21, 2016

Fab February Fiction Giveaway.


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Wednesday, December 30, 2015

Empty Nest: New things vs. Old things.


When scheduling gets tight, and favorite things go undone, new things get crowded out. "Hey, let's do Pilates together!" becomes "Hey, let's do the dishes together!"

Also, it struck me on vacation that even the things we do the same, we do differently. Like hiking. Since I love scenery yet fear heights, I sometimes have to cover my eyes on the drive leading to the hike. He does not do this (which is a good thing, since he is driving.) And he does not slow down, until I yell, "Hey! slow down!"

We have hiked all over the world together, over many years, through various levels of fitness, pregnancy, and state of mind. My friends have all witnessed my breakdowns around the 5-mile mark. I have screamed a lot more than "Hey slow down!" over the years. I have screamed, "I'm hungry! I'm going back down to the cafe!" I have screamed, "I can't do it! Go get a ranger to carry me down!" And other times, I have simply said, "You climb hand over hand to the top. I'll wait here and you can tell me about it." And then, after watching elderly handicapped people pull themselves to the top, I followed, surprising him, shocking him, that I got over my fear.

But sometimes, going at my own pace, hanging back, affords me the opportunity to see something beautiful. Like my family, my gaggle of sprites, running through the dappled light.

Sometimes, there is a wonderful reason I am lagging behind.

Wednesday, December 9, 2015

Sofa dreams

My home is filled with my husband's parents' furniture. It's not difficult to imagine how this has happened. Things are inherited. Things are difficult to part with. Three children are in college and who has money for furniture?

But last night I dreamed of my childhood living room sofa. We had a family room with a TV and cozy seating and a basement/playroom and no one claimed the emptier, more formal living room. No one except me, who used it as a reading spot. I read a lot, so I was there a lot. Laying down and looking out the bank of windows in between chapters. I remember that sofa so well. Dark turquoise. A slightly nubby silk shantung, a word my grandmother, who had bought the sofa, told me. It itched slightly against my legs but I didn't care. It was easily the most expensive thing in the house, and my parents never said don't sit there, don't lay there, go read somewhere else. Never. It's something I'm thankful for. For what would I have become if someone had told me to leave my reading spot?

And I wonder what that sofa would look like in my house now. If I would find comfort in it, if I would find peace. And I wonder if its the reason I love the color turquoise, I crave the color turquoise, so much.