Nan Reinhardt, Author

Grown-up love stories, because we're never too old for a little sexy romance…
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40 Days…

February11

keep-calm-and-live-lent-2I always give up something for Lent–well, I have for the last twenty or twenty-five years anyway. It’s my little stab at doing something and sticking to it for a specified time. I can honestly say that I’ve always succeeded at it, too. If I vowed to give up chocolate or wine or sweets or . . . whatever for forty days, I did it. I think there was a little part of me that worried God would strike me with lightning if I backslid or cheated. I don’t know, but I’ve always been very faithful to my Lenten sacrifice.

However, this year, I wondered what would truly be a sacrifice–I’m already working very hard at eating well, so giving up something like chocolate or wine wouldn’t be all that much of a sacrifice. I make my living on the Internet, so I can’t give that up or social media which, although I wouldn’t mind a break, is also vital to my life as an author. I need to stay connected if I want to stay in front of people as a writer.

I thought and thought about how I’ve spent my energy and where my head has been and what I’ve done in last year and a half, and I realized that a real sacrifice for me would be to give up the knot in my stomach. Crazy? I don’t think so. That knot has been there for months . . . over a year and a half of almost continuous worry.

Worry over son, concern for Grandboy and DIL, grief over sister Kate, and worry about how sister PJ will ever get along without her and whether I can ever be the sister to her that Kate was. Worry over my career, as publishing is going through a sea change and editing gigs have ebbed and flowed. Fear that I’ll never be a decent enough writer to warrant attention from a publisher, and a huge fear that I won’t be able to earn enough as an editor/writer to pay my own health insurance costs. Worry over Husband as he retired and started a new phase of his life–our lives–and wondering how me continuing to work would affect his retirement.

Worry over my friends and the fact that they’re losing their parents and ones who are dear to them. I really want people to quit dying. Worry over my health, worry over Husband’s–we’re fine, but getting older and stuff is starting to creak now and again. Worry over my Dee and her fight with a wicked cancer, Connie and her fight with breast cancer, Di and her fight with breast cancer, and Sheila and her fight with lung cancer (which sadly, she lost last month). Why is there so much cancer and illness in the world? Worry that I’m probably going to have to have knee replacement and what if I have a heart attack or what if Husband does or what if Son’s asthma kicks up again? What if I can’t stop crying if I really let myself wail and howl over Kate dying . . . What if God is disappointed in me because I worry so much and never really let go and let Him handle the worries?

The list is endless and the knot is ever-present–it’s a part of me, always reminding me to worry about . . . something. But this Lenten season, I’m going to make every effort to give up that knot, banish it, dissolve it, make a conscious choice to stop worrying about all these things over which I have no control. To truly let go and let God.

I’m not certain, but I think there’s a chance this might be harder than giving up chocolate . . . however, I’m vowing to try.

Welcome, Liz Flaherty!

January28

IMG_0750   Hey, Nan! Whose turn to drive is it? Mine? But it’s your car, right? Oh, we’re blogging, not doing a girlfriends trip. Okay, here we go. Thanks for having me here, by the way. I brought wine…

Hi! My name’s Liz Flaherty. Nan and I are friends, good ones. We write together, travel together, moan to each other in long poor-me texts we’d never let anyone else see, and travel all over Indiana to have lunch together sometimes when it’s been a while. We are, we say, sisters from different fathers—and mothers. We are kindred spirits.

We sound like the oldest of friends, don’t we?

But we’re not.

I’m not exactly sure how long we’ve been friends—several years now—but in the short list of my BFFs, her name was added last. Doesn’t make its spot any less firm, but the ink is darker.

Which brings me to telling you about Summer in Stringtown Proper, the love story of Molly Linden and Joe Rahilly—the banker from New York City and the carpenter from Stringtown Proper, Kentucky. She’s divorced, he’s widowed, and neither of them is in the market for a relationship. Of any kind. They’re done. They’re fifty and not the least bit interested in starting over again.

But then they meet.

It’s fun to have made such a good friend at Nan’s and my…er…experienced ages. Part of that fun is the unexpectedness of it that comes with differences; the laughter-laced meshing of city and country, my bigger family and her smaller one, and her ability to work at night while my brain says buh-bye after noon.

This is also the fun of writing about protagonists who are grown-up…and then some. Who aren’t in their first rodeo—they’ve loved before and chances are good they’ve loved well. They have kids and grandkids and retirement accounts. They’re probably not all that career-minded anymore and if they are it may very well not be their first career.

They don’t expect to meet anyone who makes them feel “it” again, who they lie in bed and think about, and who gets their blood moving in all kinds of delicious ways. They don’t want to be in love again because they know no matter it comes to an end, it’s going to hurt. It’s going to leave a mark, a big one.

But, like a friendship that happens unexpectedly, falling in love when you’re not looking for it is wonderful. It’s the kind of story I love to tell.

SummerinStringtownProper_Liz FlahertyBlurb:

Banker Molly Linden never expected to be alone and unemployed at fifty. Buying hunky carpenter Joe Rahilly’s saloon takes care of the employment situation, but she’s still alone. Or is she?

Excerpt:

They finished the dishes in silence. When she let the water out of the sink and turned her head to meet his gaze, he was waiting. His hands grasped her forearms gently, pulling her to him. Fitting her into the lines of his body in a way that made her knees shake and the saltines in her stomach swell and flutter.

“You, too,” he said. “You laughed about martinis—you wouldn’t have done that a month ago.”

She wouldn’t have. She’d have resented being teased about what he perceived as snobbery.

“A month?” She looked at the clock on the wall as though it would tell her how long she’d been on the Ridge. “Have I really been here a month?”

“No, actually you’ve been here six weeks. Not that I’m keeping track of you, but Dad said this morning he and Sadie were going out to celebrate their six-weeks anniversary tonight.” He held her closer, and she felt his heartbeat. Strong and steady. “Makes it our anniversary, too, doesn’t it? I held you that day, too. When we danced three times. Remember?”

“I do.” She shrugged, just a little lift of her shoulder. “Sort of. I wasn’t remembering things too well by the time the reception was over.”

He snickered. “Wine from the Ridge got you.”

“It did,” she admitted. “But I remember that I liked dancing with you.” This was flirting. It was fun. In younger days, she’d have thought it was a little dangerous, something that might get in the way of whatever goal she’d set for that particular time. But now, today, it was delicious.

“Me, too. With you, I mean.” He dipped his head to hers, taking her mouth. And keeping it. Teasing at first, then not so much.

He touched her, his hands first on her back, then on her hips. He held her ever closer, but didn’t push. Didn’t demand. Didn’t…oh, God, his mouth was wonderful. Had she ever in her life been kissed like this?

“I don’t remember,” he murmured against her lips. “Are we to second base yet?”

Laughter rippled between them like a musical balm, and she rested her forehead against his shoulder. She had thought she would never trust anyone with her heart again, yet here she was getting ready to…oh, hell, steal second base and hurtle on to third if he was asking.

“Can I take you home?”

She didn’t want to go home, even to the safe haven that was Sadie’s house. She wanted to stay here in his arms, where she felt more alive than she’d felt in…years. God, yes, years.

But life wasn’t that way. Not real life. In real life, her cellphone rang from the table before her, its dirge-like ringtone the one she’d assigned to her mother’s number in a what-the-hell moment.

Buy links:

Kobo: https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/summer-in-stringtown-proper

ARe: https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-summerinstringtownproper-1964626-177.html

KDP: http://amzn.to/1RTyqSe

B&N: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/summer-in-stringtown-proper-liz-flaherty/1123269652?ean=2940157937881

And while you’re out, stop by Word Wranglers and say hello or drop me a line at lizkflaherty@gmail.com

 

Guns . . . Really?

December29

peanuts christmasI’m freaked out. Someone behind us is shooting something huge–like a cannon or an anti-tank weapon or something! At first, it sounded like a dump truck dropping its bed too fast, but we’re convinced it’s a weapon of some kind. Ack! I’m so not a gun person and for some reason, guns have become a big thing for people around me.

A lot of people I know–people I wouldn’t have expected–have gotten into having guns lately. One person in my family is going to the shooting range (Ack! The cannon just went off again!) to learn to shoot the new pistol that her husband got her for Christmas. Points for learning gun safety, but yikes, I don’t want to be around folks carrying concealed weapons. I realize that silliness of that statement because “concealed” obviously means I won’t know if they’re carrying . . . don’t expect this to make sense. It’s an unreasonable fear.

I know that my fear of guns stems from my own bad experience of being held at gunpoint when I was taken hostage in a bank robbery forty (yes, forty!) years ago. I pretty much got over the trauma of that experience, but I still hate guns and I still am not crazy about being inside a bank. I do the drive-up when I go to the bank unless I absolutely have to go inside. So, no guns for Nan–don’t ask me to see them, don’t tell me you have them, please, please don’t let me know you’re carrying one.

Our neighbors to the north are big shooters and we hear their various and sundry weapons going off pretty frequently, but this is the loudest one yet. Headphones work if it’s clearly going to be an all-day event, but I wish like anything that shooting wasn’t their sport of choice. (Cannon fire again.) Not sure what the point of this blog is, except that I needed to post and this is what is on my mind. That said, I’m going to put on my headphones, turn up Rod Stewart, and get back to my editing gig.

cam at disneyOh, and I truly did look at images of guns, but I just couldn’t do it–too creepy, so my pictures are of some things that makes me happy…unlike guns…which do not make me happy. ;-(

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Don’t Be Skeered…It’s Just Me

August21

Not long ago, I had Son update my website and put my blog back on the Home page, so it’s the first thing anyone who visits sees. I did this on purpose because I need writing motivation and I’m hope that knowing how tacky an out-of-date blog is will make me write at least something each day. My thirty days of blogging in April was good for me, but as soon as that challenge ended, I slid back into letting life take precedence over writing—any kind of writing.

Here’s the thing. I want to write. I want to finish novels 4 and 5 of the Women of Willow Bay and start Annabelle’s story because it’s a wonderful kind of time-travel thing that’s been in the back of my head and for which I have tons of little notes here and there.

I have a new laptop, I have a good amount of editing work to do, but I can still write. I can still be creative and let the people in my head tell their stories through me. To that end, hello–I’m here. I’m back. I make no promises about how much I’ll be here, I’m going to make an effort to be here as regularly as I can, even if all I do is post a lake life picture or one of my darling Grandboy. But, I’m here . . .

So, I’m not really a writer who finds character inspiration in actors. I don’t go looking for pictures of actors to play the roles in my novels. However, I was watching a movie the other night (absorbing narrative–it’s a good thing!), and one of the actors was my Tony McAdams–the hero of Book 4 of the Women of Willow Bay series. Book 4 is currently under construction . . . it’s Sarah Everett’s story. Remember Sarah from Sex and the Widow Miles? She ran the consignment shop La Belle Femme at the Chicago women’s shelter where Julie volunteered. Well, for reasons you’ll soon learn, Sarah’s moving to Willow Bay. And Tony–the captain of Liam’s yacht, who moved to Willow Bay after Liam and Carrie got married–well, he’s a deputy sheriff now and he’s painting houses . . . and  he and Sarah are about to meet . . . Yeah, it’s Jeffery Dean Morgan . . . stay tuned!

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Happy Birthday, Mom

May13

May 13 Nan_Momis my mother’s birthday. If she’d lived, she’d be 88 years old today, but she died when she was only 60. I can’t even imagine Mom at 88 years old, although I can promise you, she’d be a totally unique 88-year-old. Picture dangly earrings, a long gypsy skirt, and a full-sleeved, colorful gauzy top. You see, Mom was born about 25 years too early. She should have been a hippie–she would’ve been great at it. I can so imagine her in Haight-Ashbury in the late ’60s, weaving daisies into her hair, dancing with bracelets and anklets jingling, and wishing peace and love to tourists and passersby–the ultimate flower child.

But she was born in 1927–a lost soul in her late teens in post-WWII America, when soldiers were coming home to their GI housing and women were expected to be housewives and mothers. She did that life because it was what was expected of her, but she never really fit in. Her ideas were too liberal, she could be outrageous, and she loved shocking people. She was a free spirit who didn’t fit the mold that had been made for her and that disappointed hell out of my grandmother and my father. I remember my dad telling the story of coming home from work one day, expecting dinner to be on the table, the house to be neat and tidy, and us kids all scrubbed and ready for Daddy. Instead, the house was in disarray and supper wasn’t even started. Mom had pulled out the sofa bed and had all four us snuggled together while she read aloud to us. Dad was furious and Mom truly couldn’t understand what his problem was. He stormed out, and although I don’t personally remember the incident, I’m guessing Mom gave us kids a shrug and that inimitable grin and continued reading.

Not long after that, my dad left us, mostly, I think, because Mom just couldn’t be the woman he wanted her to be and he couldn’t accept who she actually was. Once he was gone, she began working full time and going to nursing school full time–God only knows when the woman slept. I kinda think maybe she didn’t sleep for over two years. Money was scarce and I know now how worried she always was about keeping a roof over our heads and food in our bellies. My grandparents helped out as they could, but Mother shouldered the biggest part of the burden of four young children and a husband who’d gone AWOL.

Yet, I don’t remember ever being afraid or worried–life was safe and secure. I thought everyone had pancakes or eggs for supper a couple of nights a week. Sunday night suppers were always grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup–I thought it was tradition. It never occurred to me it was economy. I wore my sisters’ hand-me-downs that my Aunt Alice carefully altered to fit, and I felt very grown-up. And didn’t everyone’s Grandpa show up a couple of times a week with a bag of groceries? Housecleaning fell to us kids, and we did chores while Mom was at work or school. It was simply our life, nothing out of the ordinary.

Mom studied on weekends–I have a vivid memory of PJ quizzing her on anatomy while I read, curled up next to my mother on the sofa, squeezing close to her to avoid the place with the broken spring. I was amazed that she got almost every answer right. Today, I’m even more amazed–how did she do it? Study, work full time, take care of four children, and attend classes to get her nursing degree in just two years. I’m an empty-Nester, and yet as I try to fit editing gigs, caring for two houses, helping with yard work, the gym, meal planning, and writing into one week, I’m in awe of Mom’s drive and determination.

We never went hungry, we were dressed in clean clothes, homework got checked, and she always made time if one of us needed to talk. What she didn’t make time for was arguing among ourselves–“Ten minutes to pout and then you work it out” was her rule. I realize now that she didn’t have time or energy for kid drama and temper tantrums. Can we blame her?

charlie's b-day 057I miss my mom. To me, she’ll always be that zany, slightly off-center lady who was up for any new adventure. Perhaps that would have changed about her had she had the opportunity to grow older. But I like to believe she’d have been the 88-year-old woman who danced on a beach in the moonlight. I hope I’m becoming more like her in that way—freer of spirit… bolder. Happy Birthday, Mom. I love you so much. I hope you and Kate are up there in heaven, dancing together in the moonlight.

 

It’s Real…

May11

So many times since December 19, I’ve thought, okay, now it’s real. Kate is dead. Seeing her just moments after she passed—my precious sister so peaceful and beautiful—was one of those moments obviously. Talking to my brother that same day and feeling the pain of his grief over losing our sister—that surely made it real. Not spending Christmas Eve with her was another. Her memorial service was a real big one—yeah, that was “it’s real” time, absolutely.

But in between those kinds of moments are the ones where I can pretend that none of this ever happened. Kate never got sick, cancer didn’t destroy her. She’s at work, keeping Dr. Matt in line, and I can text her or fly by her office for a quick hug and hello when I go up to see Dr. Abby on Thursday. PJ and I can meet her for lunch at Bravo’s next week, where Kate and I will order that wonderful Riesling they have and eat too much bread. She’ll get the chicken and pasta she loves and I’ll have a chopped salad and probably some more bread. She’ll call me on her way home from work and bitch about the traffic and we’ll share news while she goes five miles per hour on the highway.

Then yesterday, there was this. kathisgrave1It showed up on Facebook  as I was cruising through my news feed on the drive home from the lake. I must have gasped or something because Husband asked, “What?” and for a couple of minutes, I couldn’t even breathe. The words, “Kate’s gravestone is set” stuck in my throat and a heavy weight settled onto my heart.

kathisgrave2Holy shit–my sister’s got a gravestone… in a cemetery. And here’s the weirdest part, that grave is right next to my father’s grave. Now, somewhere in the back of my mind, I had that knowledge tucked away—that Kate and Ev had purchased plots in the same cemetery where our dad was buried. But, it was very… I don’t know, disconcerting? To see them side-by-side because Dad’s dead and has been for over fifteen years. Kate’s not in the same category in my brain. Does that even make sense?

We haven’t had the committal ceremony yet where we bury Kate’s ashes next to our dad’s and say our final and forever goodbyes. We were waiting on the marker and on warmer spring weather. Well, the marker’s here and so is spring, so I guess we have that service coming along soon. There were other pictures in my niece’s Facebook album—Kate’s kids and grandkids and Ev all surrounding the new grave site, the sun shining, the grass lush and verdant, the yellow flowers that were just what Kate would love. Under no circumstances am I disrespecting my niece for putting the pictures up—they’re beautiful and they record the day for her and her kids and grandkids, who were all there to see their Nana’s final resting place. She had no way of knowing that seeing the pictures would blindside me, and I would never have expected her to know. She’s precious and is working through her grief in her own way, as I am in mine. I pray for her peace every single day.

KathiBut here’s the thing… and then I’ll stop, I promise (well, at least for this post); I’m not ready for that to be the picture in my head of Kate because this is still the picture in my head when I think of my sister. Right now, I can’t make both of them fit in my brain… in my heart. I don’t want to…

Still Here…

May3

…and I think what I learned from the 30 Days of Blogging is that I’m not really in search of clarity at all–I’m looking for relief from the sorrow, respite from the often-overwhelming sad of losing Kate. I’m wishing that writing might make the tears less imminent and the lump in my throat easier to swallow.

I guess that has happened to some small extent, but I’m still teary when I speak of her or when I see something that makes me think of her or when people ask me how I’m coping. The good news is I am coping. Life is going on. I’m working, I’m writing, I’m lunching with friends, I’m going to the gym with PJ, I’m doing yard work and housework and laundry, and going to the lake. Life is going on. I can’t decide what surprises me more–that life does indeed go on much as before–the bills still have to paid, the bathrooms still need scrubbing, and the dishes won’t magically do themselves just because I’ve endured a tragedy. Or how very much losing Kate has affected me.

IM001910Why am I surprised by the level of sadness that I feel at Kate’s death? Because it was so fast and unexpected? Because Kate and I didn’t live in each other pockets when she was alive and well? Because frequently, we went for a week or longer without even talking on the phone? All those things, I guess, but I think the biggest reason is that Kate is my sister, and I feel like a piece of me went with her. Kate is one of a few people in the world who knew my history, who shared my childhood intimately, who could say, “Oh yeah, I remember that!” when I’d bring up some long-ago memory. There are very few people left in my life that I shared my childhood with–PJ, Bud… well, PJ and Bud.

Even Husband, with whom I’ve shared over 43 years doesn’t have that connection to my past. He doesn’t remember Mom gathering us all on her bed to read Anne of Green Gables to us. He wasn’t there when Nana and Gacky arrived on Christmas mornings with their arms full of gifts for four squirmy excited kids. He’s never tasted Mom’s amazing crumb coffeecake or her homemade pork and beans or her mashed potato doughnuts. He didn’t get to share beach campfires in Michigan and s’mores in the sand and Mom, again, reading to us by firelight.

I don’t want those reminiscences to ever dissolve and I’m afraid they might, because Kate was one of the keepers of the family memories and she’s not here anymore. So, it’s important for me to talk about and write about those old days–now I get why older people do that so much. If we don’t talk, if we don’t remember and share, then those times will be lost forever.

Nan In Search of Clarity–Day 30

May1

IM000883Well, how typical! My last blog in this adventure and I’m 42 minutes late with it. Are we even surprised? Although, I actually have a good reason for not getting here until 12:42–I was writing. A scene for the new WOWB book has been nudging me and I just needed to get it down, so I started writing right after I talked to Husband around ten p.m. or so and just closed the file on 3,769 words. It felt good–damn good!

Today’s picture is from 2005, when Son got his Master’s degree. We had a party for him and Kate was there–this is her with our niece’s little boy. Isn’t that a great smile? Kate sure loved babies… they always made her smile.

I saw my gorgeous cousin, Kay, for lunch today and what a treat! It was emotional and weepy, but Kay and I are Meehans and Irish, so we cry a lot anyway. She is beautiful–her heart just shines out of her face. She told me how much she loved my books and how she’s telling all her friends about them. Isn’t that just the best? She came into my life just a few years ago–we didn’t grow up together, but how I wish we had! I think Kay would have been an excellent childhood playmate, although frankly, she’s a darn good friend to do things with now! She’s been a blessing. We talked about Kate–Kay had been to visit about a week before Kate died, but had to miss the memorial service because she was having knee surgery. So with a lot of tears, I told her all about it and about how I got to be with Kate right before she died. It was good to talk about it, and I know that one day, I might be able to do it without crying. But you know, even if I never can, who cares?

I think maybe the blogging has helped me–not fixed the sad or the weepiness, but helped me to see that this is just the natural order of things. Crying and missing Kate so bad I ache are simply part of the grieving process–something I was kicking and screaming against since December 19. I realize now I need to let myself feel all the stuff I’m feeling. I need to cry and howl like a baby if I want to because that’s what Kate would be doing if she the one left here on Earth. So get ready–I’m probably not done blogging or crying or howling… or being grateful… thanks to all of you who took time out of your day to read this. I’ll be here… maybe not every day, but more regularly, I think… I hope to see you as I continue this journey.

Five Things I’m Grateful For Today:

  1. I actually managed to blog for 30 days in a row.
  2. I have good supportive friends and family.
  3. Grandboy took Poppy to school today for show-and-tell. (“Look! I have Poppy!” he announced, upon entering the classroom with Poppy in tow. Lord, that kid’s cute!)
  4. Husband and Son are getting things done and enjoying one another.
  5. I’m writing!

Nan In Search of Clarity–Day 28

April29

IMG_0188Another good day–how lovely that they’re more frequent and I kinda think that writing is helping that happen. Another thing that’s happening is that the people in my head are talking to me again. Ideas are spinning round and I’m plotting and dialoguing and building characters. I’m in Discovery–which, according to my wondrous editor Lani involves not just thinking about my book, but also absorbing narrative with books and movies and TV.

I didn’t do a soundtrack for my last book, but this one, I think, needs a soundtrack, so I’ve started listening to music on my iPod and figuring out which songs will work for this story. And I’m going to do something I’ve never done for a book before–I’m going to find pictures of people who fit the characters in my head. Usually, I have a face in my head and rarely do they look like an actor or a person who’s famous. Sometimes they are people I know or amalgamations of people I know, but mostly they’re just characters from my imagination. This will be different for me.

It’s been good for me to be outside and working in the yard–very satisfying to see the results of our hard work and it made me anxious to go to the nursery and start buying herbs and plants. Yard work is a good time to write in my mind–I can do the work with my hands but be elsewhere in my head… not at all a bad thing…

Five Things I’m Grateful for Today:

  1. A sweet text from PJ–she read yesterday’s blog and needed to remind me that I’m a good sister. Thanks, PJ! I love you!
  2. Love working on a test for a new client.
  3. The backyard is cleaned up and ready for spring planting!
  4. Got to see Grandboy and Son tonight on Skype!
  5. Watched the new episode of Outlander this afternoon after yard work–what an amazing series!

 

Nan In Search of Clarity–Day 27

April27

I woke up this morning very early and watched the sun rise from my bed. I was thinking about what a good time PJ and I had yesterday sharing church and lunch and then attending the Stuart McLean show together. It was a good sister day.

I want so much to be the sister that PJ deserves because PJ is a good woman who should always have people in her life who love her and take care of her. She’s had some tragedy in her life with the loss of her precious boy and now, our Kate. She and Kate shared an especially close relationship–they were “the big kids” and Bud, my brother and I were “the little kids.” I don’t think Mom meant to divide us that way, it just sorta happened like that by virtue of our birth order, I guess.

sistersBut the division occurred nonetheless, and although I loved my sisters and still love them dearly, I always felt on the outside of their relationship–like a child outside in the cold with her nose pressed against the window of a warm house. They both would be so sad to know that I felt that way and most likely Kate would be the first to give me a tap on the back of the head and tell me to “snap out of it!” So this isn’t their problem at all, it’s mine. They never excluded me. They were simply a unit–“the big kids”–“PJ and Kate,” like salt and pepper. I regret not spending more time with Kate, but our lives were so different for such a long time, and now…well… now all I can do is be a better sister for PJ.

mowerFive Things I’m Grateful for Today:

  1. Gardens in front are ready for spring.
  2. I got a call from a new client today–so excited to test for them!
  3. Trip to Costco meant a new coffeemaker.
  4. Talked to Grandboy, who told me he sang a song and jumped on the carpet at school.
  5. Husband is really getting a kick out his new mower. Fun!
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