Grandma's Slippers by Cathy Shouse

During the holidays when I think about gift-giving, I remember Grandma’s slippers. Grandma lived past 101. Until her last few years, she gave all the women and girls in the family hand knitted or crocheted slippers at Christmas every year.

Having such a long life, I was in awe of her anyway. But as I grew up, I continued to be inspired by how productive she was. One of my aunts has been posting Grandma’s diary entries on Facebook for our family. We are all amazed at what Grandma accomplished in her daily activities. She’d write down when she baked cookies, quilted, and all kinds of activities.

You might think receiving the gift of handmade slippers every year would get old. And the way our current culture seems to thrive on the stimulation of new, fancier things, is something I’ll save for a post for another day. But my experience of getting the slippers never wore thin. I would open mine with anticipation, wondering what colors my slippers would be made of that year. If memory serves me correctly, they came in a shoebox. At least once, Grandma tucked in a pamphlet on positive thinking or a little calendar with faith messages, and her beliefs have stayed with me as well.

I think the reason the slippers were always welcome is partly because those gifts were made with so much love. I liked to think she thought about each one of us as she created them. Just the quantity alone that she produced amazed me. Those slippers were like getting a hug wrapped up in a Christmas gift. And I wore them all the time.

Just thinking of Grandma’s twinkling eyes and sweet smile as we opened our presents is such a strong memory that my eyes cloud over a bit with tears. She looked like a Mrs. Santa Claus, only tiny and more fragile as the years went on. I’m reminded that the wonderful people in our lives, both in the present and in the past, are the true gifts at Christmas.

What is also sweet to me today is that I’m close to all of my cousins. They received those slippers as gifts, too. I’d estimate at one time, 14 females in the family received them each year. While preparing this essay, I reached out to my cousins by email and asked if those slippers were special to them as well.

Judy said, “I have no slippers left but great memories of wearing them to shreds, then trying to darn them! O, Grandma’s treasures!”

Several sent photos of their slippers and so did my sister and my aunt. It was as though we all had a moment to cherish what was and what we had, so very long ago.

Grandma’s been gone since 1999. As I think of what gifts I’m giving this year, I wonder how I could put more of myself into them, not just go to the store or get online. I’m thinking of maybe doing some writings of memories my kids may want to read from me some day.

No matter what we’re giving this year, maybe the way we live our lives is also a gift to others. I know that was the case with Grandma. Her lifestyle gave me something to aspire to. She did a lot more than needlework, too. She went to Hawaii when she was 80! Maybe I’ll even get there one day.

What is a memorable gift you’ve received? Why was it special? 

 Cathy Shouse

He’s an international journalist back home because of his father’s will. She’s returned home to run her family’s struggling history museum. When Gage and Bree cross paths at the small-town diner, he’s struck by her son’s resemblance to him.

Gage Galloway never fit in with the farm community he grew up in or his brothers who all wanted families. When he returns home to Fair Creek, he’s already itching to get back to his thrilling career.

Single mom Bree Murphy is back in Fair Creek to save her family’s history museum. After having her baby five years ago, she was forced to give up on reaching the baby’s dad to tell him.

Gage and Bree were best friends and his secret crush on her made for unexpected circumstances when they said goodbye years ago.

So when Gage strolls in unannounced and runs into Bree and her son, she’s scrambling for what to say to explain things.

Before she does, her former best friend studies Trey and asks, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Can Gage and Bree renew their friendship and work through what’s happened? Can Gage change his mind about having a family, and embrace fatherhood and be with Bree? Or will their philosophies that kept them in the friend zone break his heart if he wants more from her?

~*~

Cathy Shouse writes inspirational cowboy romances. Her Fair Creek series, set in Indiana, features the Galloway brothers of Galloway Farms. Much like the characters in her stories, Cathy once lived on a farm in “small town” Indiana, where she first fell in love with cowboys while visiting the rodeo every summer. Please visit cathyshouse.com for more information on discounts and new releases or to sign up for her newsletter.

Getting into the Christmas Spirit by Cathy Shouse

My mother always made Christmas time feel special. When she hosted extended family gatherings, she would get out her festive tablecloths and use patterned china. Her big, plastic, lit-up Santa on the porch managed to look classy, and she placed her Christmas tree skirt so it caught your eye. Plus, she perfectly pressed dozens of those little green wreath cookies every year. Yet there was a light-hearted way she did things, so you never felt she was pressured about any of it.

Mom would get together with one of my aunts and make peanut brittle, and they’d laugh and chat as they worked. She seemed to enjoy it all and I try to follow her example. Although she’s gone now, if I want to get into the Christmas mood, I can simply channel Mom’s Christmas spirit.

Mom was always learning, and a true homemaker. If she took a ceramics class, she’d bring home a tree she’d made, to add to her Christmas décor. And probably four more so my sister and I had one, and mom’s sisters did too. Her knitted afghans were sturdy and warm to wrap in, but she also knitted little snowmen that stretched around Styrofoam balls and wore jaunty scarves and hats in bright red and green.

When I was first married and setting up housekeeping, Mom and I would go on shopping trips to find things for the newlywed apartment I had with my husband. Always pinching pennies, I looked for “designer” items at Kmart. One year, I bought a Martha Stewart comforter and matching bedding.

Martha Stewart intrigued me and I think Mom was one reason why. Martha was all about making a house a home. Sure, she might overdo it sometimes, with desserts that had ingredient lists longer than a shopping list for a state dinner. But I couldn’t wait to check out Martha Stewart Living magazine at the library and study every page. She might put a string of twinkle lights into a glass bowl, or position a candle a certain way, providing ideas for my own holiday touches.

One year, Martha designed a Christmas wreath for Kmart that I couldn’t resist, and still pull out every year. Her lacey curtain panels hung all around my house, and although my tastes have changed, I couldn’t part with them.

Martha might have had more money, and gone overboard on occasion, but her heart was in the right place, just as Mom’s was. I liked to think so, anyway. Martha loved her cake plates and so did Mom. When bringing snickerdoodles to a family gathering, I’d arrange them on a vintage glass cake plate my mom had given me.

Recently, while in Las Vegas for a conference, Martha’s image on a digital sign in the hotel brought her to mind. Three months earlier, she had opened her first restaurant, The Bedford, named after her farm located in Bedford, in upstate New York. (Supposedly, she’s near the fictional location where the movie, It’s a Wonderful Life, was set.)

I felt as though I won the homemakers’ lottery when there was an opening for two reservations at 6:30 p.m. that night. The restaurant offered four kinds of pasta, starting at $28 a plate, about what I paid for that comforter all those years ago.

When a friend and I were seated in Martha’s restaurant within view of shiny copper pots hanging from the ceiling--like they do in Martha’s own kitchen--I felt a thrill. Gone was the memory of acorn squashes that I scraped out for candle molds, inspired by Martha Stewart Living--the only real craft of hers I ever made. (Once was enough.) In her dining room, I splurged on the salmon en croûte for $35. We discarded the idea of sharing the whole roast chicken for $89, rated the best ever by reviewers. It was pricey and we couldn’t bring home a doggie bag due to our early flights out.

Martha did not walk in at any point, as I had secretly hoped. But she was there in the pine tree decorations with the flocking that were everywhere. And then there were the wreaths, all the wreaths everywhere that resembled mine, at least a little bit. I saw her in the cabinets with their glass doors so we could view all of those cake plates.

The shiny rows of cake plates reminded me of when Martha went on Oprah’s show and brought her a piece of chocolate cake--on a fancy glass plate, of course. Martha claimed she had made the cake herself, and Oprah ate it on-air. Watching Oprah savor the sweet goodness was almost as satisfying as tasting it myself, or so I thought at the time.

We skipped the Upside-Down Lemon Meringue pie with whipped cream. The woman at a table next to ours pointed hers out to us, saying it was wonderful ($15.95 per slice). Don’t you love an upscale restaurant where the other diners talk to you? The Bedford was the furthest thing from stuffy, and downright cozy. That’s what I treasured most about the experience, the surprisingly down-to-earth elegance.

In the end, I had to agree with this excerpt from a review in the New York Times. “As one Twitter user wrote, ‘If you’re not trying to go to The Bedford by Martha Stewart with me don’t even talk to me.’”

Those were my thoughts exactly. Somehow, I think Mom would have approved.

All she’s ever wanted was another baby and he’s got two that landed unexpectedly in his life. He’s wounded by a bad break-up with someone only interested in his money.

Single Mom Annie York and eight-year-old Chloe live above the diner, where she works for her cousin. She’s given up on finding love and is hiding a secret. She’s a subpar housekeeper, in the extreme. When Annie has a surprise reunion with Caleb Galloway from high school, they must join forces to care for his sister’s twin babies.

He’s a guy with everything in its place. She has no idea where anything is. But seeing Annie with his niece and nephew has him wondering whether he belongs right next to her.

Excerpt:

Annie held her breath, turned the knob to let them in, and swung the door open. “Ta-da,” was all she could think to say.

Caleb’s eyes widened. His jaw dropped. She’d seen that reaction before and it was the reason she didn’t have people over. He appeared to arrange his face into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Maybe a dump truck to go along with that shovel?”

She let out a shaky breath. Two bowls with dribbles of milk and the cereal box sat on the large kitchen table, among papers strewn all over its surface. Chloe’s pajama bottoms were on the back of one chair and Annie’s T-shirt and jeans from last night’s practice were draped on the sofa.

Annie sprinted in, grabbed her sports bra that was snagged over a lampshade, and tucked it under a sofa seat cushion. More discarded clothes covered her one upholstered, yard-sale chair.

“To be honest, I used to kind of beat myself up about this…I mean, sure, I really wish things were neater right now. Who wouldn’t? But part of me sees some advantages to being impulsive. Spontaneity is good sometimes. She looked at Drew and then Ella, who wouldn’t be here with two adults caring for them if Annie hadn’t acted on impulse. “So I’ve gotta take the good with the bad. And sometimes I can’t tell the difference myself. I’ve accepted that I’d rather be flexible and messy than rigid and neat.”

She did a one-arm sweep with the papers layering the table, sliding them into a nearby chair. Then she gestured for Caleb to set the babies in their car seats down on the cleared table.

“So that’s what people mean by ‘there’s a fine line between a weakness and a strength,’ huh?” he asked

He had listened to her, really heard her. There was something really attractive about a man who paid attention.

“That’s exactly my point.” She was talking too much but couldn’t stop, like her life depended on him understanding.

~*~

Cathy Shouse writes inspirational cowboy romances. Her Fair Creek series, set in Indiana, features the Galloway brothers of Galloway Farms. Much like the characters in her stories, Cathy once lived on a farm in “small town” Indiana, where she first fell in love with cowboys while visiting the rodeo every summer. Please visit cathyshouse.com for more information on discounts and new releases or to sign up for her newsletter.

"Maybe I can Learn..." by Cathy Shouse

When people talk about gardening, I have a feeling of envy. It seems I’ve nurtured my brown thumb my whole life. To be fair, working with the soil never held any positive impression for me from the beginning. I grew up on a small farm and my mom had a large garden. My main memory of being in it is standing there with a hoe when I was in elementary school, hitting the metal hoe blade against the rock-hard soil to keep the weeds out from between the plants. I’m not sure if it never rained in my childhood but the ground always seemed hard.

My paternal grandmother had a passion for plants, especially African violets. She had them everywhere, on racks with multiple shelves in front of her windows. On window sills. On her coffee tables. And they multiplied. All it took was one leaf plucked from an existing flower and placed into a small dish for her to start another violet, and she always had a leaf—or five-- starting to grow.

When I got my first apartment, which was in another city, she gave me violets, more than one, she had so many. She planted them in those small plastic butter tubs. They held on for a while. I did what she instructed as far as watering them. They came with pretty purple flowers but, before long, the leaves would be brown and it was downhill from there. I guess I just didn’t have a knack for it. When I would go home, I might bring one I had about given up for dead. She could nurse that thing back to health. She encouraged me, always giving me more violets to try. Eventually, I must have told her I would simply like to enjoy them at her house. I had given up. But, I had a good life, and it wasn’t the end of the world. I always enjoyed seeing hers, and my relationship with her was my favorite thing about discussing her plants.

I didn’t really think about my “relationship” with plants until my daughter was in the third grade. I had volunteered regularly and read to her class. At the end of the year, the teacher gave me a gift. It was a plant. In the hallway of the school, as we were walking out after the last class, my daughter looked at me without any intention to be mean and said, “She doesn’t know you very well, does she?” She had spoken the truth.

Year after year, I would hear people excited about what they were growing, though. I have aunts and cousins in the local garden club. Secretly, I felt I was missing out on something.

Fast forward to a few years ago, when I saw a poster at my library for a class that would be taught by a Master Gardener and attendees would go home with seeds they had planted. I thought, “Maybe I can learn.” The informal approach might not work for me but getting educated by an expert seemed to hold potential. I went to the talk, which I enjoyed very much, and felt as though I was part of something bigger. I was joining a club I had never quite belonged in and was excited. We went to different stations and were give the correct types of soil, and pebbles to put in the bottom of little pots, and told how to keep the seeds warm so they would sprout.

I brought mine home and used an oblong piano light to keep my pot warm. I watered as I was told. When my piano light’s bulb went out, I invested in another one. (This wasn’t cheap). I kept the lightweight plastic pot on the dresser in my bedroom, which was crowded a bit by the TV on it. After weeks of this, looking for that sprout that didn’t appear, I went in and the pot was on the floor, the dirt spilled out onto the carpet. It had accidentally been knocked off, not even realizing. I knelt down to put the dirt back in. There was absolutely nothing growing and I sifted through it all. My seed had apparently not grown and gone back to dust? I wasn’t exactly upset, but mystified. I might have even seen the humor in it.

In 2019 during the pandemic, I learned that a friend from years ago was married to a man who grows vegetables from seeds and sells the plants. I love tomatoes. I love her. It had been too much isolation. My daughter and I would visit her an hour away and I would have plants that were specially tended. What could go wrong? I bought some tomato plants (a plant of kale and pesto too.) Lo and behold, the tomato plants grew! To be fair, it was my husband who watered them daily. I had a tendency to forget. (Maybe this was the problem all along?) They produced wonderful, healthy tomatoes. At the peak time, I made instapot salsa from scratch, there were so many, some of them very large, weighing more than a pound!

In 2021, I bought tomato plants from my friend’s husband, and the result was pretty meh, (as my daughter, who was in college by then, might say). Bursting with confidence, I had changed strategies, putting the plants near the house so they would stand straighter. But there must have been too much shade, and the plants grew quite large, but didn’t produce many tomatoes.

This year in 2022 will be my third season of growing tomatoes. I got a late start and ended up having to buy plants from Costco. I know it’s a long shot, given my history. But I have high hopes! And my husband is watering them faithfully every morning. 

How do you feel about gardening and/or planting flowers? I’d love to know your experience. Just hearing from other gardeners makes me feel as though I’m in the club.

~*~

Cathy Shouse writes inspirational cowboy romances. Her Fair Creek series, set in Indiana, features the four Galloway Sons of Galloway Farm. Much like the characters in her stories, Cathy once lived on a farm in "small town" Indiana where she first fell in love with cowboys while visiting the rodeo every summer. Please visit cathyshouse.com for more information on discounts and new releases and to receive a free copy of the prequel, Her Billionaire Cowboy's Twin Heirs: Christmas in Fair Creek, in exchange for signing up for her newsletter.

A Fair Creek Romance

They were best friends in high school just beginning to date when he abruptly left. Now Wyatt Galloway is home to help on the farm and raise his toddler son, since his wife died in childbirth.

The last person Wyatt wants to see after sixteen years is Sierra Delaney. He hurt her once and never wants to again. But Sierra has returned home to save Delaney’s diner, which she inherited. She’s catering at the farm when she unexpectedly meets up with Wyatt.

In addition to struggling to keep the diner, Sierra faces a recent health issue that makes everyday life more challenging, and has her questioning her purpose. When Wyatt shares his reasons for leaving, and she sees a little boy in need of a mother, her attitude softens. Besides, he's also helping her to accept and even embrace her new normal.

As Wyatt and Sierra lean on each other and look toward the future, can they find their way back to one another?

PRE-ORDER NOW FOR 99 CENTS

Together in Spirit by Cathy Shouse

Cathy and Liz Isaacson

I definitely am a reader as well as a writer. When I created my debut short novel, I intentionally chose to put in what I love in a story. Cowboys. Babies. Diners. Christmas. 

In November, I went to a writers’ conference in Las Vegas. Liz Isaacson, one of my favorite authors, challenged us to publish a book by Christmas. She said lots of readers get gift money at Christmas and they buy books.

 I didn’t really have any book ready. In fact, I had been writing for years but had never published a novel. But a seed was planted. I decided to revise an unfinished cowboy novella. And why not turn it into a Christmas romance?  

It sounded simple enough.  

It turned out the manuscript was full of highlighted passages in different colors, all comments made by my mentor in 2018 when I’d started writing the story. I thought I’d deleted them after I read them. Sadly, my mentor had died unexpectedly in late 2019, and reading her words was bittersweet.

So I began to revise, following her advice, and it felt like she was cheering me on. She’d written “Good,” and “This is a very nice section,” and “cut this.” 

During one late night session, I reached this comment: “Cathy, hang on to this moment a little longer,

Cathy's mentor

with the right emotion, it could be pivotal.” I let that sink in and kept going, inspired by what she was telling me. I was still at the computer when the sun filtered in through the windows. After catching a few winks, I hadn’t been up long when there was a knock on the front door. This was weird. It turned out to be my mail person and she handed me a box addressed to me. 

My late mentor’s niece had sent a photo of her aunt, mounted on a heart- shaped piece of wood that read, “Friends are always together in spirit.”  

I finished the short book and hired an editor to go through it with me to help polish and make it better. I had a friend who had designed a cover and she agreed to add Christmas touches. On Christmas Eve, I published Her Billionaire Cowboy’s Twin Heirs: Christmas in Fair Creek.

If you’d like to read the book, or if you know someone who might enjoy it, I’m offering it for free over the next week or so. There’s a website that offers all books for free and mine will be on there for three days starting July 8th. The link is here https://hellobooks.com/  It’s currently free at all online bookstores.

What are some of your favorite things to read about in books? I’d love to know. I also really enjoy knowing what people are tired of reading about! ☺

All she’s ever wanted was another baby and he’s got two that landed unexpectedly in his life. He’s wounded by a bad break-up with someone only interested in his money.

Single Mom Annie York and eight-year-old Chloe live above the diner, where she works for her cousin. She’s given up on finding love and is hiding a secret. She’s a subpar housekeeper, in the extreme. When Annie has a surprise reunion with Caleb Galloway from high school, they must join forces to care for his sister’s twin babies.

He’s a guy with everything in its place. She has no idea where anything is. But seeing Annie with his niece and nephew has him wondering whether he belongs right next to her.

Excerpt:

Annie held her breath, turned the knob to let them in, and swung the door open. “Ta-da,” was all she could think to say.

Caleb’s eyes widened. His jaw dropped. She’d seen that reaction before and it was the reason she didn’t have people over. He appeared to arrange his face into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Maybe a dump truck to go along with that shovel?”

She let out a shaky breath. Two bowls with dribbles of milk and the cereal box sat on the large kitchen table, among papers strewn all over its surface. Chloe’s pajama bottoms were on the back of one chair and Annie’s T-shirt and jeans from last night’s practice were draped on the sofa.

Annie sprinted in, grabbed her sports bra that was snagged over a lampshade, and tucked it under a sofa seat cushion. More discarded clothes covered her one upholstered, yard-sale chair.

“To be honest, I used to kind of beat myself up about this…I mean, sure, I really wish things were neater right now. Who wouldn’t? But part of me sees some advantages to being impulsive. Spontaneity is good sometimes. She looked at Drew and then Ella, who wouldn’t be here with two adults caring for them if Annie hadn’t acted on impulse. “So I’ve gotta take the good with the bad. And sometimes I can’t tell the difference myself. I’ve accepted that I’d rather be flexible and messy than rigid and neat.”

She did a one-arm sweep with the papers layering the table, sliding them into a nearby chair. Then she gestured for Caleb to set the babies in their car seats down on the cleared table.

“So that’s what people mean by ‘there’s a fine line between a weakness and a strength,’ huh?” he asked

He had listened to her, really heard her. There was something really attractive about a man who paid attention.

“That’s exactly my point.” She was talking too much but couldn’t stop, like her life depended on him understanding.

~*~

Cathy Shouse writes inspirational cowboy romances. Her Fair Creek series, set in Indiana, features the Galloway brothers of Galloway Farms. Much like the characters in her stories, Cathy once lived on a farm in “small town” Indiana, where she first fell in love with cowboys while visiting the rodeo every summer. Please visit cathyshouse.com for more information on discounts and new releases or to sign up for her newsletter.

On Gift-giving and Wedding Registries by Cathy Shouse

Weddings are one of my favorite events to attend, and I’ve had the good fortune of going to some spectacular ones. They were extra pretty to observe, with flowers that took my breath away, wonderful food, and venues that come to mind when I think of the most lovely places I’ve been. I like to see the bride’s dress and what vows the couple chooses.

Weddings have actually become more enjoyable for me over the years. There’s something about a couple joining their lives that is thrilling and brave. Sweet and heartwarming. I’ve been touched by personalized vows when I used to be steadfast in supporting the more traditional.

Over the past several years, it’s the wedding registry that has fascinated me. Partly due to the internet, the listings have become much more detailed. I find myself looking at fancy dog bowls and kitchen appliances I’ll never own nor would I know how to use. I’ve decided that there’s a philosophy attached to the process of choosing a wedding gift, and that really hasn’t changed all that much.

When my husband and I got married, there seemed to be three strategies from those bearing gifts.

Some meticulously followed the registry. Others ignored it entirely. Then there was my mother, who forcibly pushed her gift on me, with Dad a clueless participant.

I still have a rose-covered bathroom hand towel one of my friends

gave me, and have saved it for special occasions. Then there’s the tiny, four-inch tall cut glass vase my husband’s distant cousin gave, which is not often used, since I usually get bouquets and not just one flower bud. Yet I keep the vase in a prominent place and admire its beauty every time I see it. I believe it may have been from her own glass collection because it didn’t come in a box and is heavy like lead crystal. I make up stories in my head about its origins and it’s a treasure that has given me years of pleasure.

One sister-in-law gave me a very large glass bowl with an easy, delicious fruit salad recipe that I’ve made countless times, good for checking off that we’ve eaten all the food groups at home, and nice to bring to gatherings, too. She paired it with a set of three fingertip towels, each one labelled as given by one of her kids, who were young at the time.

One of my work colleagues created his own category, the after-wedding question: What didn’t you get? He asked if we’d gotten a toaster, and when I answered “no,” he gave us one.

But it’s my mother’s gift-giving style that stands out among them all. She wanted to give me “good” dishes and I couldn’t imagine why I would want that. I politely declined. That wasn’t sufficient for her. We had “discussions.” Saying no was never something my mother accepted well. One day I unexpectedly found myself with Mom at the downtown Indianapolis L.S. Ayers store (which I’m sure was not a surprise to her). Much of one entire level of the store, that looked as big as a car dealership showroom, was devoted to dishes--and knew I wasn’t getting out of there without choosing a pattern. Unexpectedly, I fell in love with a Lenox model that was fairly sturdy, not as expensive as buying a car, and practical. The pattern: Poppies on Blue. My mother marched me to the counter and involved the employee in recording the information into my registry.

The reception came, and my mother (and Dad) gave me several dish settings from my registry, the only ones of those I received. After the wedding, she then proceeded to give me a setting at every possible occasion, like my birthday and even Valentine’s (her favorite holiday) and in my Easter basket. At Christmas, the heavy box for “Jim and Cathy” was dishes. This went on for years. She presented me with a cute matching Lenox bunny cookie jar and a spoon rest, too. It wasn’t long until I had many settings and was seeing just how useful they were when we “had company.”

Those dishes are one of my favorite, most-used wedding gifts and I bring them out often. I find more and more reasons to consider family gatherings a special occasion and over Christmas, we used them several days in a row. Since losing Mom in April of 2020, getting out the dishes is always a bittersweet moment, a reminder of my mother’s indomitable spirit.

I feel a bit sad for people who only get gifts listed on their wedding registry. After all, sometimes when you’re starting married life, you don’t know what you need, until someone gives it to you.

I will sometimes pair a gift from the registry with a recipe, and once gave the measuring cups on the registry with my favorite brownie recipe.

What’s your take on wedding gifts? In the comments, I’d love to know your thoughts about what you give or something you’ve gotten.

****

Cathy Shouse writes inspirational cowboy romances. Her Fair Creek series, set in Indiana, features the Galloway brothers of Galloway Farms. Much like the characters in her stories, Cathy once lived on a farm in “small town” Indiana, where she first fell in love with cowboys while visiting the rodeo every summer. Please visit cathyshouse.com for more information on discounts and new releases or to sign up for her newsletter.