Applesauce Pie and Philodendrons by Liz Flaherty #WindowOverthe Sink

“I honestly think it is better to be a failure at something you love than to be a success at something you hate” – George Burns

Roberta Struck

Roberta Struck makes the best pies I've ever eaten. In non-pandemic times, when classes in creative arts are given at the fairgrounds, her pie-making class always fills up right away. When pies are discussed anywhere, all eyes turn to her in expectation, because we know whatever she says is going to be good. When our extension homemakers club has carry-in dinners, I look around furtively for Roberta's pies to make sure I get a piece before they're gone. 

She made an applesauce pie. It was, I swear, one of the best desserts I'd ever had. I can do this. The thought was in my head, feeling like it always looks in cartoons when someone gets a fabulous idea. I could buy the crust, of course, because...well, if I'm making the pie, you want the crust to be store-bought, but I could put together those other ingredients. I have them all. 

So I did. 

It was awful. Actually probably worse than awful. I couldn't eat it and even the cats gave me shriveling looks before walking away. (I made that up, by the way--I don't feed them sweet things.)

When I first decided I would write a book, sometime way back in the last century, I did what you have to do in order to complete a manuscript. I sat down and started to write. I wrote on bleachers, in the car, while my family watched TV, while I was at lunch at work. It was my heart in ink. I was actually going to BE the writer I always knew I was meant to be. 

The book didn't sell. Neither did the next one. Or maybe the next one--I don't really remember how many I wrote before the Kensington editor called me and said she'd buy Always Annie.

Since those first ones were written in the days of electric typewriters and, eventually, floppy discs, I don't have any of them anymore. What a loss--to exactly no one.

I once had orange hair for a while--no matter what color I tried to hide it with, the orange came back up like highlights on a chia pet. While I love to sew, I've made more than one project that never saw the light of day. I plant flowerbeds even fully knowing there's never been a flower or a plant yet that liked me. (My mother and mother-in-law insisted you couldn't kill philodendrons. Lynn, my sister-in-law, said you couldn't kill cacti. Sure you can.)

The road of my life, which is pleasingly long, is paved with loving people, getting to be a mom, a nana, half of an equation called marriage, and a writer. There are lots of friendships there, and hard divots where some of those relationships have been lost. Other losses are so intense they're speed bumps that go all the way across the road and are nearly impossible to cross. 

There are also a whole bunch of patches where the failures were. I suppose if I really gave them more time than it's taken me to write this column, I'd be cringing over them, but they were lessons. I sew better now. Write better. I don't bake better pies or grow better flowers, but I keep trying because it's fun. It makes me laugh. 

The only real failure, a lot of people have said, is in not trying. The rest of the oopses are just practice, and if you learn from them or get to laugh at them, the road is smoother and the ride sweeter for the effort. And there it is. The whole reason for writing about failure. And the reason for keeping on trying.

Have a good week. Fail at something. Be nice to somebody. 

~*~

Since I didn't talk to anyone before doing this, I don't have any statistics or interviews to go with it. However, this week's business is Hairtique & Fountain Blues, a hair salon at 24 South Broadway. Owned by Pam Poff, the five-station salon is also the work home of Denee, Cindy, Abby, and Megan. 

Prices are competitive and coffee and conversation are on the house. The shop is appointment-only during Covid, and masks are required. The phone number is (765) 473-6350. 

Pearls and Blue by Liz Flaherty #WindowOvertheSink

I don't usually blog on Wednesday, but today's a different Wednesday for many of us. It's a bright, hopeful day. I also try to mostly stay away from politics, whereas today I'm delving right in. The Window will be itself again Saturday, and I invite you back then if you'd rather give this one a skip. 

My daughter's a teacher. Sometimes we talk in the morning before school. This morning, Inauguration Day, she asked me if women could vote when my mother was born.

No, they couldn't.

By the time she reached majority, they could and she did, but it's still hard for me to grasp that I'm only one generation in my family away from being considered the lesser gender not only by way too many people but legally as well.

It has been an emotional week. I guess they're all emotional these days. The pandemic has taken its toll. The political divide has, too. 

For those of us with pearls at our necks and blue as our signature color, the past four years have been difficult. We struggled with an administration that a plurality of the voters did not want and could not respect. We saw name-calling become the American way of communication, demonizing those who disagree with you its national language, and a return to the if-you-don't-like-it-you-can-leave mentality of the Vietnam era. 

We saw "alternative facts" become acceptable. In the eyes and hearts of we pearl-clutchers in blue, we were no longer the good neighbors we'd taken such pride in being. 

It was an administration that left many Christians struggling because we knew, we knew this was not what Jesus would do. And yet so very many of us still know that it was.

I felt, for those four years, that here we were only one generation away from women getting the vote, and we were losing what got us there. Where was the empathy, the love and caring for others, the respect for each other's beliefs? 

Was it all one-sided? Oh, no. There were politicians, journalists, and clergy who all fed our fears--whichever fears those were. There were hate groups who hated for the sake of hating and liars who lied for the sake of lying. On both sides of the divide. 

But today was the inauguration of a new president and  vice-president. Many of us  are happy. Relieved. Delivered. There are also those who still believe 82 million of us cheated. Who believe the attack on the Capitol two weeks ago was just a small blip in the scheme of things, undoubtedly orchestrated by liberals. 

I'm sorry for that. Because we are all still Americans. I do not want them to feel, as those of us in blue have felt these past four years, as if it's not their country anymore. It still is, but they're going to have to make room. Just as 100 years ago, the men had to make room for the woman's vote. Her voice. 

Speaking for me, and I'm sure for some of the others in blue and pearls, this is my best day in a very long time. I hope the ensuing days are good for the red side, too.

Do I think we can all join together? No. Not for a while anyway. Too much hate and hurt have damaged the bridge to the point that repair will take a while. 

Until then, though... Hello. My name is Liz. I'm a good neighbor and I hope you are, too. Maybe we can work together. 

Have a good week. Be nice to somebody.

Special Gifts by Liz Flaherty

I asked to hear about special gifts this week, and I admit to being surprised not to have heard about many. There is the possibility that people might think I need to write my own column instead of expecting them to do it 😃, or maybe I just didn't make it clear what I was looking for. Either way, I loved hearing about these gifts and a few more I'll add onto the end. - Liz

6th Street Coffee Company

WE HAVE THE BEST CUSTOMERS EVER! Yesterday I had a customer come in and order a drink and said she would like to buy my customers' drinks. The smiles on my customers' faces when I told them that another customer had taken care of their drinks was awesome. Your kind act touched a lot of people yesterday, a young girl surprising grandma with coffee and a visit, a married couple enjoy afternoon coffee together, a daughter going to spend the afternoon with her mother, just to name a few. All of my customers wanted to thank you for your kind offer and I would like to thank you for spreading Christmas Cheer at 6th Street Coffee Company, Merry Christmas. - Kreig Adkins. 

Brick Walk - Sarah Luginbill

I am overwhelmed. For two years, I have hung this painting in the gallery off and on as I change out my artwork. Many have admired it, but one lady in particular, Denise, has loved it! On more than one occasion, she said, “Someday I’m going to buy this painting!” 

Saturday, I pulled the painting out of storage again to place it in an empty space in the gallery. I thought of Denise as I hung up the painting. Two hours later—ten minutes before closing time, Denise, whom I had not seen for almost a year, walked in. She had been out walking and “randomly” stopped in the gallery to look at artwork. “I thought about you today,” I told her. We had a wonderful visit, exchanging stories of our daughters and artwork. As she left exchanging contact information, she promised to be back to buy her favorite painting! “Brick Walk” was destined to hang in her home. She walked on that walk when she attended South Peru Elementary. 

But...someone beat her to it! Early Sunday morning, I received a text from her husband. He'd listened to her story when she came home from her walk. “Denise is never going to buy that painting for herself. She is much too frugal," he said with a smile. when he met me at the Gallery. "I have been struggling with what to buy her for Christmas. May I take it with me?” 

He took "Brick Walk" to its rightful home. It’s stories like this that make me love what I do! Thank you Bob and Denise! - Sarah Luginbill

Doud's Orchard

On December 14, from Doud's Orchard: We know that there are many FAMILIES struggling this time of year, especially with the world events. One of our WONDERFUL CUSTOMERS bought a Christmas trees to donate to a family in need. So to contribute to this beautiful gesture, Our family has decided to donate the rest of our Christmas trees to FAMILIES IN NEED of one this holiday season!!! Please contact me here and we will arrange pickup!! We have probably 6-7 left!! Merry Christmas!!! - Judi Behny shared this.

I love Christmas cookies and everything to do with them. One of my favorite holiday parties was a Christmas Cookie Exchange Linda Turner had one year. Jim Reinhardt and his grandson Cam have their own party each year. Grandkids, some of you know, are among the greatest gifts. And cookies aren't bad, either. - Liz 

Special thanks to the person who sent me this one. I'm withholding the writer's name by request.

I saw your request for stories, and it brought to mind a brief incident that continues to make me smile Perhaps 10 years ago, I was standing at the entrance of a now-vacant grocery store on South Broadway ringing the bell for the Salvation Army. It was a bitterly cold Saturday morning with heavy snow coming down and, at least six inches on the ground blown by a persistent wind. I was appropriately dressed for the weather, and except for chilly fingers, I was enjoying the snowy holiday scenery. There was not much foot traffic coming into the store, and I had to entertain myself by playing the bell to the beat of various Christmas songs in my head, and occasionally taking off my gloves and breathing warm(er) air on my fingers. I noticed a solitary person braving the weather and riding a bicycle with a banana seat and high handle bars through the snow north on Broadway with effort. I smiled and rang the person a bell-coded “Good Effort” in my mind. About 15 minutes later, I saw the same person chugging south and wrestling the bike into the store parking lot. The rider peddled through the drifted lot with great effort up to my exposed position under the awning. The biker abruptly stopped in front of me, dressed from head to toe for the weather. There was an opening in the sock hat exposing eyed that were covered by thick glasses. I could not tell if the biker was young or old, male or female, thick or thin. Wordlessly, the right hand shot toward me, holding a covered Styrofoam cup with a couple of drops of hot chocolate on the lid. The silent biker nodded the cup to me. I took it gently into my hands, and immediately the biker peddled away. My muffled “Thank you, Merry Christmas” never made it to the biker’s ears, I’m sure. But my gratitude and wonderment at the unspoken gift brought warmth to my heart and a tear to my eye. Thank you. Merry Christmas. Whoever you are. - Anonymous

I have to admit, without making it a commercial, that a special gift for me this year was the publication of the Window Over the Sink book. It's available at Amazon in both ebook and print and other online bookstores in ebook only. I can honestly say that I couldn't have done it without you, so thank you for the help with columns, for reading the ones that maybe weren't the greatest, and for being friends.

The greatest and most special gift of Christmas is that it celebrates the birth of Christ. I am grateful. Merry Christmas to you all--thanks for giving the Window another year. Have a great week. Stay safe. Be nice to somebody.

Facebook, Connection, and the Truth

I spend too much time on Facebook. I know I'm not alone in this. I like it a lot...I may be alone in that...and I like keeping up with people I might not see or hear from otherwise. I love videos of cats and babies and wonderful music. I went to church on Facebook Live for weeks and belong to groups who are interested in the same things I am. I have a personal page and an author page of my own. I don't get my news from there, but I get a lot of how people feel about--and interpret--the news.

I don't know if it's the last days, do you? I've been reading it a lot, but I don't think it's up to Mark Zuckerberg, especially since he's already proclaimed that Facebook "shouldn't be the arbiter of truth." If it really is the encroaching end of time, what should we do? Personally, I think we should make the most of every day we have. Love each other. Listen. Practice kindness at every opportunity. Give. Seek understanding. Listen a lot and maybe don't talk as much. Be a helper. Laugh every chance we get. Did I mention listen? I think we should do all that even if it's not the last days.

A few friends from high school have posted requests for civil discussion concerning politics. They have invited people who don't agree to join in and say how they feel. These requests haven't included name-calling, untruths, or anything else our mothers would have washed our mouths out for, but time has taught me to keep scrolling if I know we're politically divergent. Because hardly anyone wants to hear opinions that don't mirror their own. (I include myself in that. Sigh.)

I worked the polls on June 2. I'd like to say for the record that many people wore masks, virtually all people were polite, and that there was absolutely no fraud or suppression involved. Also, the food served to poll-workers was excellent. I suggest you volunteer if you don't mind working a really long day for not a lot of money. It also gives you the opportunity to say, "No, they don't" when people post idiotic unfounded criticisms about voting.

I know it's not that way everywhere. Lines are hours long in some places. The numbers of polling places are strategically reduced in some places. Voting is made as difficult as possible in some places and impossible in others. The rest of the country could take a lesson from Macy, Indiana.

Facebook posts remind us of things. They sometimes raise important questions. But not everyone cares if what they post is true or not. If it's hurtful or not. They don't care about the ripple effect. So it's up to us to look things up. And then it's up to us to tell the truth.

Writer Jane Porter says, "...I can't unsee what I've seen...can't forget what I've read." She's right, and it gets harder every day. And yet. One of my favorite and most overused words is connection, and Facebook is still that to me. I still see pictures of nieces and nephews and 2020 graduates, of friends' new grandbabies, of teachers and librarians reading books aloud to children. I see other writers' book covers and reviews and post my own. So I'll stay on Facebook. I'll still spend too much time there--at least until social distancing becomes less...distant. If you're there, I hope you say hello.

Have a great week. Stay safe. Be nice to somebody.

Seeds of Age by Liz Flaherty

I changed the bottle in my water cooler the other day and reflected a little grumpily that it won't be long before I'll have to start using three-gallon bottles instead of five-gallon ones because the weight and awkwardness are getting hard to handle.

I've been wearing the same necklace ever since the beginning of sheltering in place because neither Duane nor I can consistently manage to fasten or unfasten jewelry clasps.

When we watch Grace and Frankie, I nod my head the whole time--not just because it's funny but because even at its most unbelievable, it's shockingly accurate.

This morning I needed something from the shed. No, not that shed--the other one, which meant I had to look in both of them. I found the item I was looking for, used it, and went into the house to ask Duane to go out and latch the doors on the sheds because even though I got them open, I couldn't get them closed.

Walking is the only form of exercise I like, and I like to walk two miles; however, I'm tired enough after a mile and a half that I usually just do that. I might add that the mile and a half takes me as long as the two used to take. Or I might not. I might just say that I choose to take more than 20 minutes to walk a mile. What's the hurry, after all?

Our 49th anniversary was yesterday. We talked the night before about the things long-marrieds often talk about. (Actually, I did most of the talking--he nodded sometimes.) Would you do it again? Has it been worth it? What would you change? What if we'd done this instead? The truth is, any change at all--including the times of pain, sadness, and anger that create pock marks on any enduring relationship--would alter the path of our lives together. It might be straighter, but it might not be, too. It would make the climate of the marriage different and put us in a place we might like less instead of more. It's not a chance I'd be willing to take. He wouldn't, either.

All of these things are seeds planted by time. By age. Some of them were surprising--who knew I wouldn't be able to put my own necklace on? Some were expected--walking slower--but not expected already. Later, maybe, but not now.

But I've noticed...

That the water in the three-gallon bottles tastes and costs the same as the water in the five-gallon bottles.

That whatever necklace I have on has memories and love attached to it--doesn't matter what one I wear or for how long I wear it.

That the women who play Grace and Frankie make no pretense at not being the age they are, nor do the characters they play, and when I'm laughing I don't give any thought at all to how old they are.

People, even ones you aren't married to, will help you with things like door latches. Partly because they feel sorry for you because you're old, partly out of respect for said oldness, and partly because people are generally nice.

That when you walk slow, you see more wildlife and plant life. You smell the flowers. You hear the birds--although I have to admit I still don't usually know one from another.

That scar tissue, some of the fabric that holds 49-year marriages and other long friendships together, is strong stuff. Made to last if that's what both halves want to happen.

The seeds of age are hard-won and we earn them whether we want to or not. How and where we plant them and what we do with whatever grows from them...well, that's up to us.

Have a great week. Stay safe. Be nice to somebody.

A MOMENT OF PERFECT by Liz Flaherty

I was standing in the middle of my office, with the mess of office stuff on my left and the even bigger mess of sewing stuff on my right. The windows and door were open. The fifth episode of the second season of The West Wing was on television. The orioles were talking outside and our cat, Gabe, was just sitting there. He may have been a little cranky about the orioles, but he’s old and he’s a guy—maybe he was just cranky for general principles. I had coffee in my hand, fresh from the Keurig, sweetened and creamed to just the taste and color I liked. My husband wasn’t here, but he’d kissed me goodbye when he left. We’d laughed about something and we’d danced in the hallway in the house before I came out.

I laughed out loud, in here with no one to hear me, and I can see my smile in the screen of the computer even now. The orioles in the yard are even more orange than they usually are. Birdsong is sweeter and flowers gorgeouser.

And there, just for a couple of minutes in my morning, life was perfect.

Joe DeRozier

My friend Joe makes doughnuts. During the coronavirus quarantine, he’s been delivering pastries to surrounding towns on certain days of the week. One town in particular was happy for his deliveries since their own long-time bakery was closed. The other bakery has opened back up now, so Joe stopped delivering to that town. He didn’t have to. They didn’t ask him to. But he wasn’t interested in taking over someone else’s playground.

For a moment in time, there was perfection in the world of local small business.

I like color. I like birds. I like rabbits and squirrels and deer in the yard. This morning, the cardinals, orioles, goldfinches, and blue jays—not to mention what I think was a bluebird but I’m not positive—are all over the place. I can see the rabbits down where they live and the squirrels scaling the cottonwood. No deer today, which is fine.

The scene out my office window is perfect. Just now.

Terri Hall

My friend Terri gave me ten bags of fabric. Yes, ten. Since I already have…much fabric, I don’t need to get into those ten bags all at once. They’re sitting over there on the sewing side of the room. And it’s like having a Christmas tree in May. Each of those bags is a gift and I don’t know the contents. When I need something new, something uplifting, I open a bag. I make plans for the pieces of fabric in the bag. Masks, or one beautiful piece I’m going to be wearing as a summer top—if we ever actually get summer—or the center of a quilt block.

There is nothing except the fabric and the plans for it and who can be made happy by what is done with it. Happy’s good. Passing it on is even better. Opening that bag makes for several perfect moments.

There are drive-bys going on for high school graduates. This morning I watched a video of North Miami staff sending their students off for the summer with signs and waving. Dry eyes weren’t an option if you were watching.

It was perfection in a time of pain and loss.

As part of a lifestyle, a vocation, or an avocation, I think perfection is overrated—possibly because I’ve always known I had neither the patience or the necessary skills to achieve it. I’m a great fan of pretty good, good enough, and okay. If something was fun, productive, and no one was hurt, that’s as close to perfect as I need.

I remember a customer showing me a bubblegum card with a a young Mickey Mantle on it. I was so impressed because it was really old and it was…you know…Mickey Mantle. But he said it was worthless because it was so imperfect. The corners were crumpled and it was faded and it looked…old. All I could think was, Yeah, but it’s Mickey Mantle.

And yet. And yet I can still appreciate those moments of perfection. And talk about them, remember them, and be glad they happened. So, once again in my best Pollyanna Whittier voice, I’m asking you to look for the perfect, enjoy it, and store it up so that when 2020 is in the past, you will remember more than darkness. More than division. More than haters hating and people dying and high school seniors having to grow up at least a semester before their time.

I hope you’ll remember that while churches were silent, the people who attend them still worshiped. That while school buildings were closed, teachers (and parents!) still taught and students still learned. Don't forget bright orange birds, graduates not in the least lessened by not being able to march with their classmates to “Pomp and Circumstance,” and health care and other essential workers who stepped up Every Single Day of the quarantine. Remember always that in the midst of all that was bad, there were also moments of perfect in every day.

Have a great week. Stay safe. Be nice to somebody.

Moving forward... by Liz Flaherty #WindowOvertheSink

I think about retiring from writing. I talk about it. I muse to friends about it and look with no small amount of envy at people who are 20 years younger than I am. Not because I want to be 20 years younger--I like where I am--but because I'd like to keep writing for another 20 years. Not that 20 would be enough.

I had a houseful of kids for 200 years. My house was loud and messy and so full of angst it rolled over the edges of the windowsills and splashed into the flower beds. I was exhausted all the time, and so overwhelmed I didn't know what to do with myself, and such a failure in so many ways as a parent that I'm amazed my kids still talk to me. Somewhere deep in my heart, I couldn't wait for it to be over.

And then it was. Oh, my God, it was. They were all grown up. And I wasn't ready--I wasn't ready at all. I loved chaos! I loved angst! I wanted the noise back.

For 30 years, I worked for the USPS. There was not much middle ground there; when I didn't love my job, I hated it. The public was 95 percent wonderful and five percent the dregs of the earth, kind of like the job itself. A carrier bag of mail that wasn't supposed to weigh more than 35 pounds often did. Full-route pieces of mail that went out like clockwork every month suddenly didn't show up when mail count rolled around. Like any other workplace that has both laborors and managers, there were abject failures and glorious successes on both sides. When I retired, though, I suddenly wasn't sure I wanted to. I stood at the time clock for a full five minutes on my last day, not wanting to take that final step.

I have loved every day of retirement from that job. I don't in truth miss it, but I still remember how I felt that day.

Sometimes there are just too many endings, aren't there? Too many losses. Too many life changes that leave you stuttering-- "Wait, wait, I'm not ready."

What to do? Well, it's pretty easy. Of course, I had to write it all out before I got it.

The truth is, you're never going to be ready. But wait, there's more. With endings come beginnings. With loss comes memories. With life changes come new friends, new experiences, good times.

I thought for a long time that in order for my work to be credible, someone needed to be reading it. Someone needed to be paying me for it. Those are things I would always prefer, but credibility comes from within, doesn't it? Do I write better when I have an audience? Yeah, I think so. Do I write better if there's a paycheck attached? Not always. So, no, I won't retire until I can't operate a keyboard anymore.

You don't "get over" losing people, do you? I think it gets better, but the getting better takes effort. It doesn't mean you don't talk about the ones you loved or that you don't remember things. It doesn't even mean you remember only the good things. What it means is, if they had a place in your heart while they were living, they still have it.

Having an empty nest means your life is, for the most part, your own again, and it's up to you what you make of it. For us, live music, coffee shops, and writers' groups have been new and exciting beginnings, including the friends, experiences and good times I mentioned above.

Not being ready doesn't stop things from happening. Life doesn't go on hold until you're ready to start living it again. It stops briefly, breathlessly, and waits for you to catch up. Do that. Don't let it go on without you.

Have a great week. Stay safe. Be nice to somebody.

Class of 2020 – Two bits, four bits, six bits, a dollar--

I’m listening to the Dave Clark Five. There, in case you didn’t know (or care) how old I am, is irrefutable evidence. 

As I listen, and maybe sing along, I remember. I remember going to movies at the Roxy and at the Times in Rochester and the State in Logansport. I saw A Hard Day’s Night seven times—at least once in each of those theaters. I saw Woodstock at the Roxy, Bonnie and Clyde at the State. I remember Shindig and Hullabaloo and American Bandstand and Where the Action Is on TV.

I remember Friday night basketball games and football games and convocations at school. Painting mailboxes (and ourselves) to earn money in 4-H, when we rode from house to house in the back of a pickup. Once, when we were playing outside at school, some of us sixth-grade girls asked if we could take a walk. The teacher—I think maybe he was playing baseball with the boys—must have given some absentminded approval, thinking we meant we were going to walk on the school grounds. Instead, we took off down the road. A mile later, someone came along and gave us a ride back to school. In the back of his pickup.

It was a more innocent time, of course, but it was neither as good or as bad as most of us who were around then remember it. Our music was the best that ever was—argue that if you will, but we know. We know. We remember the Beatles on Ed Sullivan and Elvis and Chubby Checker and…oh, we remember.

It’s kind of unusual for me to look back so dreamily on those days, although I tend to wax sentimental on many of the ones that came along later. I’ve always liked being an adult a lot better than I did being a kid. I liked being a mom and a wife and a postal worker and a writer better than I liked being a teenager. Those are the times I cherish most in my memories.

Except, of course, for senior year.

I remember that there were only two seniors who had to ride my bus in the 1967-68 school year and I was one of them. Janie was the other one and I am so glad she was there. Jim Shambarger, for six years straight, had the locker beside mine.

It was the year our school’s basketball team fought and scrapped their way to the semi-state. When none of us could talk because we just stayed hoarse from week to week from yelling. When Logansport’s Berry Bowl—the old one—was stuffed with supporters. Whenever our cheerleaders did the old “Two Bits” yell, everyone in the gym stood and “hollered” except the supporters of the school our team was playing against. Even now, I remember how much fun it was. How exciting. It defined the year for North Miami’s Class of ’68.

Although I’d never want to go back, I still get a little ache when I think about it. When I listen to some of the songs from those days, tears push against the back of my eyes and it’s a good thing I’m alone in here because I couldn’t talk if my life depended on it.

Listening to “Glad All Over,” I find myself thinking of Connor, my fifth grandchild, who will graduate from North Miami this year. He’s done what grandkids do, gone from being a toddler to being six-foot-three in the blink of an eye. He’s big. Hairy. Funny. He works and drives and knows what he wants to do. Like the rest of his grandfather’s and my Magnificent Seven, he is our hearts.

Covid-19 came along and his friends and he and all the other 2020 kids missed their senior trip, their spring break trips, and getting away with the kind of stuff you get away with your last semester of your last year in school.

It shouldn’t be a big thing in the scheme of things, in the overall big picture of life. But it is. It is. That ache again, for him. For his classmates. For all of the class of 2020.

They came in, this senior class, with Nine Eleven, when the nation’s hearts all broke in unison. The unison didn’t last long. We were back to being controversial and confrontational in no time at all. Quarreling and blaming, cheating and lying, hating and…oh, loving, too. Learning and laughing. Growing in spite of ourselves. Going on.

You, the class of ’20 and the ones before you and after you—you’re the best of us. You’re our chance to get it right. The generation that follows you won’t think you did—you’ll screw up as many things as you fix. Most of us don’t make the mistakes of the ones who went before us; we think up new ones of our own to make. You will, too.

But you’ll still be the best of us. The brightest light in this year of dimness and pain and sorrow. The loudest laughter. The sweetest music. When anyone does the “Two Bits” cheer, we’re all going to stand and holler for you because you’re so good. So smart. So precious to us all.

I’m so sorry for the damage that’s been done to your senior year. I know it’s time that you’ll never get back. But it’s not the best time of your lives—it’s just one time. There are so many better times ahead for you. Because you can do anything. Be anything. Go everywhere. Have good times and bad and survive them all.

Do you remember in the movie Hoosiers, when Norman Dale looked around at his team in their gold satin warmups as their hands met in the middle of their circle? Do you remember what he said?

He said, “I love you guys.”

You are the circle, class of 2020. You’ll make us laugh. Make us weep. Make us proud. Whether you’re in gold satin, denim, or leggings, I know I’m speaking for everyone who knows you when I swipe that line and change it up a little.

We love you guys. 

Be My Heartwarming Valentine by Liz Flaherty #WindowOvertheSink

It’s a magical place, is Christmas Town, Maine, and the writers of its stories can’t wait to go back each year. They start planning the next roster of stories as soon as the current one is finished. They exchange names of characters and businesses and keep a bible of what’s been done so far. Even the writers change from year to year. No one leaves Christmas Town because she wants to, but sometimes other responsibilities require a trip out of town.

Every now and then, we change things up. One year, we covered Thanksgiving and New Year’s as well as Christmas. For Christmas of 2019, we released our 2018 stories as an anthology. And now, as the new roaring 20s are putting on their fresh clothes, we have eight new stories in the Be My Heartwarming Valentine: A Heartwarming Christmas Town Box Set.

Stop by and sign up for our newsletter. You’ll find free reads and other fun stuff there. http://heartwarmingchristmastown.com/join-our-mailing-list/ New information will be showing up as we wind down to release day on February 11.

Here to give you the Cliff’s Notes synopses of our stories are this year’s authors. Click on their links to find out more about us—we love visitors!—or to sign up for our newsletters.

Table for Six by Anna J. Stewart

When overwhelmed widowed single mother of three Cora Leonidis's mother-in-law "buys" her a personal chef at Christmas Town's bachelor auction, she doesn't know whether to be relieved or horrified. But from the moment Giovanni Renzo appears on her doorstep, Cora feels an immediate connection to this wanderer. She's not the only one who's loved and lost. While Giovanni is there to make her life easier, Cora hopes to heal his heart...and prove it's okay to love again. 

Sign up for Anna's newsletter at www.AuthorAnnaStewart.com 

A Tale of Two Rings by Beth Carpenter

Two years ago, Alden Moretti ended his engagement with Mindy Rose and left Christmas Town. Now his grandmother has volunteered him to participate in the Christmas Town bachelor auction as an excuse to return. His assignment: convince Mindy to give back his grandmother’s diamond engagement ring. But after a few trips down memory lane with Mindy, Alden is having second thoughts. Can he leave Mindy behind once again?

Beth’s newsletter link is https://bethcarpenterbooks.blogspot.com/p/home.html

The Apple of My Eye by Melinda Curtis

Young Lizzie Lincoln buys Steve Haepner at the auction for one hundred schmeckels and wants to keep him, much to single mom Abigail’s horror. Apple farmer Abigail doesn’t date. However, she needs an electrician and since Steve claims he’s not interested in dating her, it’s too good of a deal to pass up. But soon, Abigail is thinking she may have spoken too soon…

Sign up for Melinda’s newsletter at https://www.melindacurtis.net/signup

Romancing her Valentine by Cari Lynn Webb

When Tessa Collier places the highest bid on the last bachelor at Christmas Town's Valentine's Day auction, she only wants one thing - a fake date to accompany her to her ex-husband’s gender reveal baby shower. But there's nothing pretend about Tessa's reaction to her bachelor - professional skier, Ryan Reeves. When Ryan offers his terms for their arrangement, Tessa must decide if one impulsive decision might lead to heartache worse than attending that baby shower alone or to her forever Valentine.   

Find Cari Lynn at https://carilynnwebb.com/

A Place to Hang Her Heart by Liz Flaherty

Although he was the instigator to the end of their long marriage, Rob Rahilly still needs to know Christy is happy after her solo move to Christmas Town, Maine. When his job ends in early retirement, he goes to New England to see how she’s doing, and ends up in a bachelor auction. Will the only woman he’s ever really loved take another chance on him, or do some hurts go too deep for the wounds to heal?

Find Liz’s Facebook author page at https://www.facebook.com/authorlizflaherty/

Knock Down My Heart by Anna Adams

Georgia Bardill's daughters decide Sven Dante, their mom's handyman, is the perfect prince for her. Naturally, they volunteer him for the town's bachelor auction on the condition he takes out their mom and then makes them a snowman. A single mom, a slightly reluctant do-gooding "prince" bachelor, and sweetly manipulative little girls make Knock Down My Heart a heartwarming Christmas Town romance!

You can get in touch with Anna at https://www.facebook.com/AnnaAdamsAuthor/

Love Fixes Everything by Claire McEwen

When Carrie Porter’s friends bid on handyman Gage Flanagan in the Christmas Town bachelor auction, and then gift his services to her, the single mom is embarrassed to accept their charity. But Carrie sets her pride aside to learn all she can about home repair from the surly bachelor. Only Gage isn’t quite as grumpy as he seems. As they work together to repair her historic home, Carrie and Gage realize that the love they feel might just repair their hearts as well. 

Connect with Claire at http://www.clairemcewen.com/contact---newsletter-1.html

Head Over Heels by LeAnne Bristow

High school English teacher and former college gymnast, Karen McFadden, wants nothing more than to open her own gymnastics facility, but a math learning disability makes completing the paperwork for a business loan almost impossible. The last thing Daniel Lassiter wants to do is get stuck with an attention-seeking diva who wants to relive her college glory days, but when his accounting services put him in the library's bachelor auction, he has little choice but to help her. He doesn't believe that she wants to open the gym so she can help underprivileged teens. She doesn't think he'll stick around long enough to find out. Will they realize what's right in front of them before it's too late?

Find LeAnne at http://www.leannebristow.com/

Buy Links

https://www.amazon.com/Be-My-Heartwarming-Valentine-Christmas-ebook/dp/B07Z8CXBWP

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/be-my-heartwarming-valentine-anna-adams/1134146353?ean=2940163127962

Out of step by Liz Flaherty #WindowOvertheSink

I'm a pleaser. I never, ever want to be the catalyst for anyone being unhappy or uncomfortable or sad. I never want to be rude (although I accomplish it fairly often--sorry!) If there is an odd number and you need an even one, I'll always be the one to opt out and go watch TV even though I hate TV. I suffer tremendous guilt over hurting someone's feelings even if--wait for it--I didn't do anything. And, no, it's not always a good thing to be.

Because pleasers get hurt way too easily. They take everything personally. They dwell on things until they drive not only themselves crazy but everyone around them, too. They can be decisive but usually aren't because, after all, what if their decision affects someone else in a negative way? They are forgiving, sometimes to the point of thinking they're probably imagining the insult they're forgiving. They can literally believe they need to be forgiven for taking something wrong.

They always say, "I don't care. Where would you like to go?" or "Where would you like to eat?" or "Whatever you want to watch." When they do make a choice, they worry incessantly that it is the wrong one. Not for themselves--they truly don't care--but for everyone else.

A pleaser will remember that in the third grade, she hurt someone's feelings for no good reason other than that she was eight years old. She will regret it for the rest of her life, even after she's apologized to the person who doesn't even remember the incident.

Pleasers can't say No. Even when they should. Even when they intend to. Even when the approval they want--and yes, we do want it, much as I hate to admit it--isn't forthcoming, they say Yes all the time because the truth of that particular matter is, they want to. They want to help, to experience, to always, always be one of the Good Guys. They want to be liked, even by people they aren't that fond of. (This whole paragraph makes me wish I knew more about psychology than I do.)

They are confused by rancor, by lies that are hurtful to people, that empathy and niceness and tolerance are seen as bad things. They don't understand bullying but don't always recognize it, either--what if someone just took it wrong? They never see situations in black-and-white--there are always shades of gray in there.

Chances are good that if you're a pleaser, you're not much of a leader. You're probably more of a follower, somewhere near the back, not quite keeping up. That's part of the problem, too, when there is a problem. Pleasers hate conflict, yet they never really fit into either side of an altercation, either, so they're constantly out of step.

I think a lot about changing myself. Everyone does, don't they? The political climate has made being a pleaser even more painful than it might be otherwise. But it's also made me realize a few things. 

There's nothing wrong with being a pleaser. It doesn't mean you're weak, or not intelligent, or in any way pathetic. It doesn't mean you can't stand your ground if you need to or that your opinion is less important than anyone else's. A pleaser isn't necessarily a doormat. As far as not being a leader--I'm pretty sure I'll get some disagreement on this one--a good follower is just as important as a good leader. 

So maybe I won't change that about myself. Even if I could, I'm not so sure I'd want to. I'm glad and grateful for those who aren't pleasers--they accomplish things that people like me never will. But I think I'm happy to be in the back and out of step. All that really means is that you're dancing to your own tune--played quietly so that it doesn't bother anybody. 

Both sides of the counter by Liz Flaherty #WindowOvertheSink

I wrote this a long time ago, while I was still working at the post office. While this was my favorite time of year to be a window clerk, it was also the hardest. I doubt that's changed since I retired. Merry Christmas!

It is December, the time of retail dreams. Or nightmares. It can go either way. Although my job is not precisely retail, I do spend many hours each day working with the public. December’s our busiest time, and I come home at night with both my feet and my smiler worn out. On the way home today, when I was congratulating myself for not screaming, “HURRY UP!” to a customer who wouldn’t move, I thought a behavior list would be a good idea. You know, from the point of view of the person behind the counter who has sore feet and a smile that’s fraying around the edges.

Then I thought—it’s a long drive home; lots of time for thinking—I should also make a list for folks on the other side of the counter. I was a consumer before I was a public servant. Sitting here hungry and half asleep, I’ve tried to decide which list to start with. In the interest of being fair, I flipped a coin.

The person behind the counter won the toss—winning depending on how you look at it. Therefore, if you are the clerk/cashier/whoever-else-is-serving the public, here are a few basic rules.

• Say please and thank you and smile. While you’re meeting the customer’s eyes. If you look over his right shoulder, all bets are off.
• Stay off the phone unless being on it is your job.
• If the bill ends is $5.23 and the customer gives you $20.25, know how to count the change back. Don’t wad it up and put it in her hand.
• If someone jumps the line and you catch him, tell him kindly he’ll have to take his turn. You can grind your teeth, but smile while you’re doing it.
• If your friends stop by to visit, tell them to go home.
• If you’re bored, don’t look it. Stay busy.
• If you don’t know the answer to a question, find someone who does.
• Use lots of hand sanitizer.
• If you haven’t had a complete 10-minute break since the second week of August, well, sorry. That’s just the way it goes. It’s not the fault of the customer in front of you.
• If a customer gives you a hard time, call him names in your head and hope he walks out in the rain to a flat tire, but don’t take it out on the next customer. He’s innocent.
• If you’re required by management so far up the corporate ladder they have nosebleed to ask stupid questions of the clientele, just ask them. You can’t get out of it and everybody knows you didn’t make them up.
• Don’t make fun of anybody in front of a customer. Even if you’re funny, chances are good someone will hear you who’s either hurt or offended by your attempt at humor.

And now, if you are a customer, here’s a list for you.

• Leave your cell phone in the car.
• If you’re writing a check, have it made out as far as the amount. Don’t fill out your check register while people behind you are waiting.
• Leave your cell phone in the car.
• If you have a complaint, be civil about it. Ask to speak to a manager. Chances are good the person waiting on you can’t help you, but they can help the people behind you.
• If you think you know their job, forget it. Unless you’re doing it on that particular day in that particular place, you don’t.
• Leave your cell phone in the car.
• Don’t hand over a fifty to pay for a candy bar. The cashier’s change is limited.
• If you can’t speak English, bring along someone who can. The person behind the counter can’t help you if she can’t understand you, and being multilingual isn’t on most people’s job descriptions.
• Don’t complain about the prices. The person taking your money doesn’t set them.
• The service person is not your babysitter. Don’t expect them to do everything for you.
• If you need to blow your nose, do so. Bum a tissue if you need to.
• Leave your cell phone in the car.

I’m sure I’ve left things off these lists, but they’re a good place for all of us to start. I hope you have a good week, whether you’re shopping or selling or both. Till next time.

Introducing Christmas With You by Nan Reinhardt

I'm so happy to welcome my friend Nan Reinhardt here today. Don't forget to enter to win a fun prize!

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Nan Reinhardt will be awarding a set of six handmade wine charms and a $10 Starbucks gift card (US ONLY) to 5 randomly drawn winners via Rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

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She’s loved him all her life… but will he be there when she needs him the most?

Disheartened and adrift after being written out of a hit TV show, actor Aidan Flaherty returns to his family’s historic winery, where he’s invested some of the fortune he’s made. As the holidays approach, Aidan becomes intrigued with the old showboat that’s dry-docked just east of town… and even more intrigued with the daughter of his former mentor, who now owns it. He decides to buy the boat and restore it to its former glory.

Single mom Holly Santos is back in River’s Edge after her divorce and she is over men in general and actors in particular. If she could only get rid of her father’s old showboat, a source of fascination for her son, Mateo. She never expects her old crush to walk into her tea shop or the fireworks that happen every time they’re in the same room. Can Aidan convince her that he is determined to restore their shared heritage on the showboat and that he’s home to stay?

Read an Excerpt

“Are you done?” He choked out, also not moving back.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, decide, because I’m going to kiss you.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I’m pretty sure I am.” Aidan took a step closer, pressing her against the railing with his body and set his hands on the rail on either side of her.

Her eyes closed and he felt her trembling. Or he was. He couldn’t tell anymore. He was confused and aching. He lifted his hands and took one step back. “Leave, Holly, because I really, really want to kiss you, but I can’t if you’re not all in.”

Holly eyed him with suspicion. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be all in with you, Aidan Flaherty.” With that she reached up and put one small hand behind his head, tugging his face down to hers. Her lips touched his, gently at first, just a whisper of a kiss. When she increased the pressure, the kiss building in urgency, Aidan wasn’t confused anymore. He knew exactly what he wanted.

He pulled her into his arms, thrusting his fingers into the soft hair on the back of her head, holding her still for his mouth while she wrapped her arms around his neck. The flicker of desire that had started when she’d walked onto the deck began to burn inside him, and he slid one hand down her spine to her hip. She was so incredibly tiny, he was almost afraid to hold her.

Almost. But when she touched her seeking tongue to the seam of his lips, he opened for her, tasting coffee and butterscotch and some unique flavor that was intoxicatingly Holly.

My review: I can't say enough about this book! I love all of Ms. Reinhardt's books, especially the Flaherty Brothers series, and I'm not about to pick a favorite, but the setting of this one--a riverboat in a small Southern Indiana river town--captured both my heart and my imagination. The cast of characters is wonderful, especially the hero with the fedora and the heroine's delightful son Mateo. Seeing Holly, the heroine, grow as a human being, a mother, a daughter, and a woman in love is pure delight. I was lucky enough to get an early read of this book, and have been thinking about it ever since.

About the Author:

Nan Reinhardt is a USA Today-bestselling author of romantic fiction for women in their prime. Yeah, women still fall in love and have sex, even after 45! Imagine! She is a wife, a mom, a mother-in-law, and a grandmother. Nan has been a copyeditor and proofreader for over 25 years, and currently works on romantic fiction titles for a variety of clients, including Avon Books, St. Martin’s Press, Kensington Books, and Entangled Publishing, as well as for many indie authors.

Although she loves her life as an editor, writing is Nan’s first and most enduring passion. Her latest series, Four Irish Brothers Winery, includes A Small Town Christmas, Meant to Be, and the newly released, Christmas with You, all from Tule Publishing. Nan is busy at work on Book 4 of the series, as well as brewing a cozy mystery idea.

Visit Nan’s website at www.nanreinhardt.com, where you’ll find links to all her books as well as blogs about writing, being a Baby Boomer, and aging gracefully…mostly. Nan also blogs every sixth Wednesday at Word Wranglers, sharing the spotlight with five other romance authors and is a frequent contributor the RWA Contemporary Romance blog, and she contributes to the Romance University blog where she writes as Editor Nan.

Word Wranglers: http://www.wordwranglers.blogspot.com/
RWA Contemporary Romance blog: http://contemporaryromance.org/2018/03/awesome/
Romance University blog: http://romanceuniversity.org/ru-contributors/
Website: http://www.nanreinhardt.com/
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5758438.Nan_Reinhardt
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authornanreinhardt
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Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/Nan-Reinhardt/e/B007OYDC6O?ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_5&qid=1570744315&sr=8-5

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07YNZQCWX/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i0
A Small Town Christmas: https://www.amazon.com/Small-Christmas-Irish-Brothers-Winery-ebook/dp/B07HBZPKDH/
Meant to Be: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07S7FW8BR/
Christmas With You: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07YNZQCWX/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i7

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