HANDS

 what story do yours tell?

Our hands work for us in many ways. Sometimes they're our voice. Sometimes they express more emotion than we can say aloud. Sometimes they share through touch. I notice people's hands. I love how they are decorated, how they're unique, but especially what they do. More than anything, I hope others find mine as helpful and friendly. What story do your hands tell? Is it a story you're satisfied with, or remembering, or are you in the middle of creating something new?

Angi

My husband and I travel and always stop for sunsets. We've got thousands of pictures of them and still aren't tired of seeing another. In fact, we have an entire wall (during the fall) of sunset pictures we've taken. My hands have shared a beer with the ones I love in many places. I hope the story they tell is that I stopped and appreciated the things and people around me.

Jacqui

Coffee gets me moving and makes me stop as well. Get out of bed, make coffee—then settle down at my desk and write. Visit family or friends—and sit with a cup of coffee to talk. Walk to a coffee shop to meet an author friend—and then (with the buzz of the other coffee lovers around us) sit down with our coffees to write and talk about what we wrote or planned to write next. Since the COVID-19 pandemic started, I haven't been to a coffee shop to write with a friend, but I'm hoping to get back to doing this in 2022. Fingers crossed :) The world’s pace seems so hectic that the opportunity to have a getaway where I stop and hold a cup of coffee—and focus on someone’s words or my own—is an opportunity I love seizing. ~ Jacqui 

C.H.

 

The moment I saw the above picture, I thought of my Heavenly Hubby! DJ and I were always digging in our yard to build things: flower gardens, veggie gardens, playhouse for the kids, motorcycle shed (for the 5 motorcycles the men in my life have,) the wisteria arbor, drainage, a patio...the list is huge since we bought our home in 1982. DJ and I never minded getting our hands dirty. We always had the same reaction driving past a field that had just been plowed--we'd take a deep breath loving the smell of the fresh-turned earth. One of the first things I noticed about DJ the day we met--aside from his broad shoulders, bright green eyes, and crooked smile, was his hands. 

            

I sketched DJ's hands for art homework back in '75, and he patiently sat at my folks' kitchen table while I concentrated and tried to do justice to the beauty I saw there. Even at 17 years old, I sensed the strength in them. During our lives together, our children and I depended upon that strength, and he gave it lovingly without question until eleven months ago, when the good Lord called him home. He's waiting for me, and I look forward to grabbing hold of his hands and never letting go.

Amanda

Hands express so much of who we are. In pre-covid days a handshake was a sign of an agreement, integrity. Whether a friendly welcome, a kind pat on the hand, perhaps a grip of courage or joy. Hands tell a story and that has never been more real to me than recently as my family and I walked my husband/their father/his mother’s son home to his eternal life with Jesus.

My husband and I took each other’s hands many times during the years we dated in our last years of high school, clasped in prayer asking for Gods help, Joyfully clasped as we were married, gripping hands-white-knuckled as our kids were born, comforting one another as we said goodbye to parents and finally holding tight, praying for strength after receiving the news of a cancer that gave him only days to live.

I took this picture during one of the last lucid moments during his week-long home hospice stay. To me, it’s a symbol of our wedding vows of “til death do us part”- a few days later, I held his hand and walked him to be home with our Lord. While I miss him terribly, I give praise and thanksgiving that I will see him again down the road. Until then-- as we adopted the psalm verse that began our friendship which turned into 43 years of blessings & love- so will it always stay rooted in my heart. “O magnify the Lord with me. Let us exalt His name together.” (Psalm 34:3)  

Lizbeth

Last month I wrote about my dad who passed away four years ago after battling dementia for ten years. I'm using my memories of Dad one more time here to talk about hands. One thing that is special and a comfort to me is remembering how often I went with my mom to visit, to sit with Dad, and talk to him, to help feed him and hold his hands. But the most special thing from those last years is that, because I am very lucky to babysit my grandchildren once a week, I more often than not spent part of each of our days together bringing them to visit Great-Grandpa. Dad lost his ability to speak during his last three years, but his eyes spoke volumes whenever his greats came to visit. And his hands played such an important part of our visits. We would set baby Riley in Great-Grandpa's lap and push them in the wheelchair together. Dad would not want to let him go and his hands, no matter how frail otherwise, would hold Riley securely. Riley would NEVER cry and would hold Great-Grandpa's thumbs in his tiny fists. Dad would rest his whole hand on Riley's head like a blessing, and I think old and young together would feel peace. We all held hands a lot during those times. Because we didn't have all the words, our hands were our instruments of love and communication. I am blessed to have this picture of Dad's hand topped by Riley's. The old bequeathing life to the young. The young giving comfort to the old. God was so good, holding us in His loving hands, and giving Riley and my dad this first and last year together.

What story do your hands tell? Is it a story you're satisfied with, or remembering, or are you in the middle of creating something new?

STORIES OF THE HEART

We wanted to share some feel-good moments from our life. Stories from our Hearts was originally conceived by Amanda McIntyre. If you get a chance read more by clicking the link in the right sidebar. I know the authors at GLIAS are all grateful to the healthcare professionals this past year. I am super proud of my daughter for not only following her heart but for also receiving her registered nurse diploma. That would be hard enough. And yet, she did it during a pandemic. She didn't shy away from helping those in need. I admire all the healthcare profession especially those who have gone above and beyond with sacrifices of time and separations from their families. Another shout out to my cousin who is also a nurse in Oklahoma City, working the front lines of the Co-Vid 19 floor. Prayers to you all.

My life has been so blessed with "heart" stories, I barely know how to pick one. I have an incredible mama who is 92 and still very active. I also have an amazing supportive husband and two grown children and their perfect spouses along with three grandchildren who make my life complete. But my true heart story belongs to my dad. It will be four years this October since we lost him to dementia. I'm pretty sure everyone reading this has dealt with this terrible disease in some way, so my story isn't about how awful it is--mine is about how wonderful the memories of helping care for a loved one who is slowly changing. 

In 2009, after returning from living away from my parents for three years, I started taking my dad on monthly dates. He was already showing signs of his losses to come--having trouble finding words, forgetting a few things. But we did all kinds of cool activities--visiting museums, our state's Governor's mansion at Christmas, going to movies, to local landmarks, miniature golf. And we always went somewhere fun for lunch. Over the next five years he grew less and less able to do physically demanding things like walking far--but we still managed to enjoy our dates. Finally, when he was no longer able to speak or walk well, we limited our time together to lunches out. He loved Indian food and IHOP, so we frequented two of our local pancake and curry establishments a lot the year before he had to move to a nursing facility. He spilled on his clothes, he sometimes couldn't find his mouth. But I helped him as he'd allow and, as long as he could make it into the restaurant, took him no matter what anyone might have thought . 

When he was no longer at home, my amazing mother drove every single day to see him, rain or shine. I went usually once a week, sometimes twice. And because he was lucky enough to know two of his great-grandchildren, I brought them to visit regularly as well. No matter where he was in his mind, he always seemed to know Mom and the babies. He held them tenderly, hated for them to be taken away, and they brightened his day. Also, whenever I was with him at mealtime, it was an honor to help feed him -- a continuation of our wonderful years of lunch dates. 

I was not special. My whole family treated Daddy this way. I'm proud of how we tried to help maintain his dignity to the end. When he passed away, we were glad he no longer had to be trapped in his silent body, but I feared that maybe the last years would be painful to remember. It turned out they absolutely are not. They are some of my greatest heart treasures. I learned to be patient, to be somewhat accepting of what I couldn't change, and how to honor someone wherever they are at. So--I thank my dad for the lessons of love he taught me, even when he had no idea how much I was learning!

For as long as I can remember, I've had poor eyesight. It’s made me extremely appreciative of any day I've been able to see. I'm very nearsighted and have astigmatism. I've worn glasses since I was around 7. When I was 22, I had a detached retina (that didn't get fixed in time to save all of the sight in that eye) and doctors have told me I'm legally blind in that eye. 

The other week I went to a specialist eye doctor to have an assortment of extra eye exams. The good news is there’s nothing new happening with my eyes. They are just their usual bad, which isn’t great but at least nothing hugely new and hugely concerning is happening. 

So far I don't have glaucoma, but the pressure on my eyes is on the edge of acceptable, so that's something to still have monitored regularly. 

I was told I have a cataract in the eye that had the detached retina. The doctor said it has been there for some time (but this was the first time I was hearing about it) and it may have resulted from the detached retina. He said he wouldn't recommend doing anything with the cataract unless a cataract developed in my other eye. Apparently, cataract surgery should happen on both eyes to...something about keeping them in sync. But he also said cataract surgery would put me at more risk of another retinal detachment, so I'm definitely putting off any cataract surgery for as long as possible. 

This specialist eye doctor also told me that he’d lived in the city (778 miles away from where we were now) where I had my detached retina surgery. He talked like a detective in a mystery novel trying to figure out if he (or one of his colleagues) had done my retina surgery 30 years ago. It's a small world. And I'm very appreciative that he is my doctor now and he (or one of his colleagues) was my doctor back then as well. Thank the heavens for good doctors! 

The year 2020 was a tough one for all of us, but our family also experienced one of the most joyful moments in our lives--the birth of our grandson. Henry has been such a blessing in so many ways. 

He's now 18-months-old, and is the smartest, sweetest little guy. And he LOVES books...just like his mommy and his Nana! Here's a picture from his first day in his new "big boy" classroom. He's found a book and is engrossed. 

I never imagined myself as one of those doting grandmas, but, boy, am I ever! I'm so glad we live within driving distance so I can get my "Henry fix" at least once a week. Yet another blessing, living close to my kids. More than ever, I am thankful for family and for the gift of life.

They say that hindsight is 20/20…perhaps that’s true. When something so traumatic occurs in your life that you haven’t a moment to process the news, you pray while you hold your tears inside, keep your head down, focus on the situation, and do your utmost to do whatever is required to carry on for the good of all. 

There have been many times in the last 45 years when the traumatic has occurred, but the keeper of my heart and I had our faith to carry us through as we did what was needed until we’d made it through to the other side of the trauma, whole as a family, whole as a couple, saying grateful prayers of thanks.

When my darling was diagnosed with Pancreatic Cancer on January 21, 2020--four days after his 65^th birthday, we prayed and never gave up hope that he would pull through. His surgeon was confident, and after 8 hours of a successful surgery, he was effusive in telling us he’d removed all of the cancer—no further treatment would be necessary.

A few months later we received the call from his oncologist; the results from Sloan Kettering had been delayed because of the pandemic, but their second opinion was clear--chemo would be necessary. DJ took it in stride as he planned to fight this disease. He went through two rounds of chemo before the side affects had him on his knees in pain unable to walk. Still he soldiered on, confident that he would arise the victor. We never stopped praying, never gave up hope.

While there is far more to DJ’s heroic battle, and the on-going struggle to accept the hole in our lives where he once stood, our family is slowly mending nine months after we said goodbye to the rock that we depended upon. Each of us in turn has said that we were carrying on because we knew that is what “Dad” (in our children’s case) or “DJ” (in my case,) would have wanted and expected us to do. Remembered conversations and favorite sayings are part of our everyday lives now, slowly filling a bit of that hole with the essence of the man who once stood beside us, loving us, cheering us on—or telling us to accept what is and keep moving forward. I see bits and pieces of DJ in our sons, our daughter, our son-in-law, and our grandsons—and everywhere in our home and gardens…where we worked side-by-side to make it truly ours.

Life is a precious gift that I give thanks for every day. In my daily prayers, I thank God for the gifts in my life: life, another day, family, hearth, home, love, health, hope, and words. Whatever higher power you believe in, and I truly believe there are far more things in Heaven and on earth that we have yet to understand, do take a moment to say thank you for the gift of life and please do not ever take it for granted. 

I need to remember a story from my heart. Something that inspired me. So I'm not going to chat about the current world or things that I've been battling this year. Travel with me to a time in my life where I was single with two kids. Back to the time I held eleven jobs in one year (many simultaneously). Back when asking for help just wasn't in my vocabulary. Back to when my current life philosophy of paying it forward was created...

My car broke down all the time. Sometimes when my dad was out of town (he drove a big rig), in order to get to my second job (cleaning a small office building at night), I pulled my two small children in a wagon over two miles three nights a week. We ate a lot of spaghetti and green beans back then. Please don't misunderstand my story. I never went hungry. My parents were present and I could eat at their house anytime I wanted (or needed). It was my pride that prevented asking more often. This went on for a while. And then one evening, several bags of groceries were waiting at my apartment door. I had friends from church, from college, and from old jobs and no one ever admitted to the generous gift. I never found out who.

And during the same year, I received three different envelopes through the mail with cash. Totally anonymously again. And the person or persons never said anything. You might assume, like I did that the donation was from my parents--believe me when I say that wasn't in their wheelhouse. They paid for the kids' shoes, bicycles, and constantly found reasons to send them home with new clothes. So I knew the person giving to me so generously was for real. They didn't embarrass me by handing it to me face-to-face. The experience changed my life...along with meeting my mentor and friend a few months later.

I had taken a job which required me commuting to Dallas. A friend mentioned a job at the university and I didn't really give it a thought. But that week, my car was hit in traffic three times. I took that as a sign and interviewed. Meeting Raedean changed me forever. Me took me under her wing (she took all her employees) and had a different supervising attitude that I wish I could have duplicated. One thing I'll never forget is going on break with her once a week. Sure we covered office improvements, but she always, always asked if there was anything she could help with--professionally or personally. Shoot, you could do that in the 80s. Those little caring conversations changed how I spoke to people. Those weekly fifteen-minute breaks showed me how important it is to remember just to ask people how they're doing and really listen to their answer. 

After I married Tim. I stayed home with the kids and volunteered. I hope I helped a little a long the way by picking kids up for a practice, or reading in a classroom, or finding softball gloves so girls could be on a team, or chatting with high school kids about their lives. Tiny things that I hope made life easier on parents or let kids know they mattered. I never forgot the anonymous donations and how they made me feel. I try to Pay It Forward as often as I can. Just last year, I was writing a note to a missionary family that due to the Co-Vid shutdowns I wouldn't be able to send my yearly donation. I didn't have to send it, Tim's job came back full-time.

God showed me how to love. My mom showed me how to be kind. Raedean taught me how to listen. And an anonymous donator taught me to share my blessings.

Gratitude is always the center of any heart story. I’m trying to be more mindful of being grateful, seeing my blessings around me, and because I’m blessed, being a blessing to others. Here is my prayer of gratitude—my hope that more people would appreciate the teachers that everyday face uncertainty in their classrooms during these tumultuous times. I implore you to support them however possible, work as a team for the betterment of your child and ALL the children in the schools.

 Be mindful of the incredible pressures these teachers are getting from all sides and how they are doing their best to simply be good teachers and help their students to view themselves as productive, special people. Teachers--the good ones, and there are many-- are doing their best incredible odds-much of which they have no control over directly. While it’s a stressful time for us all during this pandemic, let us stop and be grateful that we have public schools and many, many good teachers out there who wanted to teach because they’d been taught by good teachers. Thank you, Sam, Kate, Andrea, Shannon, Dave, Melissa, and so many more, past & present, that honor the profession of teaching with their integrity, determination, and kindness. We could ALL learn a lesson from them!

Hope you'll share your heart stories with us.

THE GOOD OLD DAYS

How long ago were the Good Old Days anyway? My days  meant I could walk home from school. or to a friend's house without an adult. All my mom had to do was call my name from the kitchen door and I knew I needed to get home. Yes, it was before cell phones and  social media, but a man had walked on the moon. Gasoline costs around .30 cents per gallon (yeah...not a type-o). I watched Lee Harvey Oswald get assassinated on live black & white television. The first time I heard the Jackson 5 the Osmonds or the Archies it was on a cereal box record. I didn't have my toys other than Barbies, a sand box, a doll with a giant teardrop on her face (Lil' Miss No Name--had to look that one up). But I had my bike, the library and a huge imagination. Who needed more? When were the 'good old days' for you? Let us know in the comments to be eligible for the drawing.

ANGI

One thing I did was ride my bicycle EVERYwhere. As long as I was home for lunch and dinner...I was golden. I lived in the middle of the block and our yard literally had a white fence in front. My mom and dad worked hard to keep the St. Augustine grass very lush under a huge huge shade tree. And that's why when we played space ship we played it at my house. We'd turn our bicycles upside down and set them end-to-end in a circle. Then we'd spin the peddles for energy and take off. Someone would always use their front tire like a steering wheel. Man...those were fun days.

AMANDA

My grandmother’s house was a wonderland of treasures. When I was young, its old three-story splendor, its lush green yard surrounded entirely by a five-foot hedge seemed like a fortress to my young imagination. Its Victorian beauty sprawled from front to back, top to bottom with many rooms, closets, as well as THE special drawer in the kitchen that housed the devil’s food cookies grandma stocked when we came to visit. It is here, on the grand woven tapestry rug in the living room that I first was introduced to the game of Chinese Checkers by my aunt. The board itself was handmade my grandfather and the marbles had been collected over time. While I love the game of checkers (yes, I’ll challenge any old man sitting in front of a checkerboard—that’s another story all together!) But something about the strategy of Chinese Checkers resonated—perhaps a cherished memory of my grandmother’s home-and ever since, it has been a focal point in our home. I have been known to buy Chinese Checker Boards as wedding gifts. (I’ve read a friendly board or card game with your spouse can be healthy!)

It’s one of the first games I taught each of my children and I’ve made sure that each of their homes also has a Chinese Checker board and there is never a family gathering that goes by without the gauntlet being dropped to play a round or two. Most recently, my oldest grandson (3.5 years) sat astutely watching his mother and I play the game with its shiny marbles I keep in a blue mason jar. I got him a checkerboard this year for Christmas, which means that not too far down the road, I’ll have another generation to teach and perhaps beat this savvy Gigi!

E.E. Burke

Dominoes. I love to play a very simple game of Mexican Train Dominoes. We didn't start out doing this when I was a child, although I wish we had. I LOVE playing this game because anyone can play--even when you're tired, have to do wash in between, want to drink some wine without bombing the game, etc. It's a blast. We play it with the grandkids and the grandparents. Anyone up for a game?

JACQUI

Memories of childhood puppets have a special place in my heart. I can remember being very young and very brave and putting on a puppet play for a Christmas community event. I'm not one who even slightly enjoys being on stage, so this memory is quite remarkable for me!

These days I have one Little Red Riding Hood puppet that I like to put on the bookshelf that holds my how-to-write books or sometimes (as in the picture below) I arrange her with my other treasures for a photoshoot. I bought Little Red during a trip to the Czech Republic over 15 years ago. I'm continually happy that I chose to bring her home because she's a classic who never fails to make me smile. 

WHEN WERE THE 'GOOD OLD DAYS' FOR YOU? Leave a comment to be eligible for (it's a secret!)

JULY 4TH RECIPE SHARE

 

C.H.'s Family Favorite ~ Layered Fresh Fruit Salad

Guaranteed to cool you off on even the hottest Independence Day! It's as easy as you want it to be. Simply pick out your favorite fresh fruit (pictured: blueberries, sliced kiwi, sliced strawberries and raspberries) wash them gently so as not to bruise them and let them drain in a colander. Carefully scoop out into a clear glass bowl--looks so festive when you do! Optional topping: Whipped cream - fresh of course using heavy cream and if you like a teaspoon of vanilla extract or if you absolutely need the sugary pick-me-up sift a kitchen tablespoon of confectioner's sugar over the cream you've just whipped and fold it in. Dollop on top, of serve on the side. Enjoy!

Amanda

The fourth, when last we celebrated with family and friends, is usually spent at a dear friend’s house watching the fireworks from their deck. Before that, for many years we would take a picnic supper and blanket and sit in the lawn of the State capitol and watch the Symphony Pops Concert. So, recipes have been quite varied over the years. One of my favorites is a simple summer salad given to me by my aunt in Chicago. It has become a family favorite and is included in A Taste of Gratitude & Joy, put out in 2020 by C.H. Admirand and myself. (shameless plug!)

Taffy Apple Salad

Ingredients:

Amazon

1 can (16-20 ounce) drained, crushed pineapple

3 large Granny Smith Apples (cored and cut into bite-size chunks)

2-3 handfuls of Spanish peanuts

3- King-size Snicker candy bars (cut into bite size pieces)

1 medium container of Cool Whip

Directions:

Mix and serve. Doubtful there will be leftovers! Keep refrigerated until served!

WHAT'S ON YOUR MUG?

 

I totally stole this idea from our own Regan Black. Follow her on Instagram and you'll get mug after mug of inspiration!!  BEGIN is a great mug for writers. Maybe for coffee drinkers everywhere. We're sharing pictures of a favorite mug we own today. You can share yours on the Get Lost in a Story Facebook page or on the Reader's Spot group page.  Extra prizes will be awarded. Come and visit us.

I think I have a theme. Three mugs were given to me and I bought the fourth. I AM a very proud Dog Mom who doesn't drink coffee. And I adore Hallmark Christmas movies, I keep them on my DVR all year. I am always smiling after I watch one. And oh my goodness if you add a dog to the story I'm good for a week !! 

I’ve always been obsessed with flowers and in the last few years I’ve become obsessed with Corgis (and hope to one day share my home with a couple), so these mugs are some of my favorites. I bought the “Sploot Happens,” “Got Corgi?” and “Fluffy Butt” mugs from “My Dog is My Copilot” (aka Tracy) on Etsy. And I received the Corgi/Sushi mug this Christmas from my nephew. A brilliant addition because sushi is a favorite as well! 

Over the years we’ve amassed a great many mugs from friends and family-holidays, birthdays, anniversaries, trips, and more. In this picture is a sampling of each of those moments, those memories. From left to right—the snowman mug, lots of hot chocolate and coffee during holidays and winter nights. They match the snowman dinnerware that we’ve used for countless Christmas dinners. The ironstone mug from Betty’s Pies is some of the sweetest memories of lake shore trips to Grand Superior Lodge. If you’re up that way, stop in at Betty’s and try the many fabulous homemade pies with a generous mug of fresh coffee! Next is the mug I received this Christmas from my grandsons, ‘nuf said, other than what the cup states, “Blessed!” The brown mug is special as it was made for me by my artist/teacher daughter-in-law. It sits on my office desk, reminding me of how a lump of clay can be molded with patience and tenacity into something exquisitely beautiful! And the ornate china cup and saucer is one of many given to various grandchildren and great-grandchildren when my grandmother passed. Her example of humility, kindness, and resilience peppered with a wicked humor has been my inspiration and model as long as I can remember. In fact, my pen name of McIntyre is derived grandmother’s maiden name.

My favorite mugs are mugs...sort of <g> L to R: one of my great grandmother's demitasse cups (without the saucer), mini green and white cup and saucer, a mini demitasse cup (not sure who it belonged to as a little girl...probably my grandmother who loved her "coffee-tea.", in the back L to R my favorite holly Christmas mug (which has been cracked for 10 years...sadness) and a new favorite a pretty sweet pea mug from one of my dear friends. 

My husband and I have a problem collecting T-shirts. In fact, we have so many they don't fit in our drawers and live in piles on a dresser. The only thing that has to do with mugs, is that I have a problem collecting them as well. I've given more mugs and cups to Goodwill than I can count. I don't even buy most of them for myself--people love to give mugs! So, the ones I've kept are ones that really mean something fun to me. The ones here span a lot of history. Eeyore came from a reader and is perfect for THOSE days. Nanosaurus in the back was given to me by my granddaughter who will, I  have no doubt, always be a dinosaur expert! "I AM smiling," came from Alaska, where we lived for three years and fell in love with all things 49th State. The Yellow Submarine mug is essential to this Beatles freak -- and has window circles that clear up and reveal John, Paul, George and Ringo when the mug is filled with hot water. The blue and white mug reads "Moin moin," which is they way people say "good morning" and "hi" in far northern Germany--another place we lived two different times for a year each time. Finally, the funny little teacup is from my wonderful spunky grandmother whom I idolized. The woman is "Little Nell" and the funky man's face is a complete mystery. I'm thinking he's an author -- but I really have no idea, but Grandma thought things like this were funny, so I love this quirky cup! So--this is a smattering of my mug and cup collection. They're random choices (I adore random) and each brings up a wonderful memory or time in my life!

WIN AN INSPIRATIONAL MUG !!

Leave a comment here and on our Facebook or Readers' Spot to be entered to win an inspirational mug. 

Don't forget to share your mug on the Get Lost in a Story Facebook page or on the Reader's Spot group page.  Extra prizes will be awarded. Come and visit us.

I HATE MONDAYS

. . . AND OTHER WORK DAYS

Monday, Monday

LIZBETH 

Oddly enough, I don't actually hate Mondays! Mondays are the day I try to keep free of obligation other than my own work. I have a job I love (writing romance novels) and Monday is the day I get to pretend I'm going to get finished or up-to-date on All The Things. Of course, being a procrastinator of the highest caliber I rarely am up-to-date. And Mondays are also when I catch up on Facebook, my reader group, and all the other shiny object thingies I love to use as avoidance. But at least I don't usually have outside appointments or engagements and my day is mine to use or waste as I want.

There are other days of the week I enjoy far less because they don't belong to me. Tuesdays, for example, is my day to help out at my daughter's horse farm by cleaning stalls. I don't even hate the job--it's cathartic, I can get a lot of an e-book "read" while picking horsey poo, and there are horses around. But I have to be gone from my house for three-to-four hours and I do come home smelling like a barn. Wednesdays I babysit two of my grandchildren, which is a joy but it does take up an entire day. Thursdays are errand-running days. I take my mama grocery shopping and to any appointments she has (planned for Thursdays whenever possible). Again, enjoyable tasks but taking me away from my writing. Fridays--well, my hubby has a work schedule that allows him to have every other Friday off. Delightful, but that makes for a long weekend of plans where I don't get much work done either. Frankly, aside from having most Mondays free, I'm not sure how I ever wrote twelve books. (But you can see why I haven't written twenty-five!)

So--Mondays aren't my "manic" days. They are my only "my" days! So, keep 'em coming, at least on my calendar. I'll give you my Tuesdays!

AMANDA

I think my disdain for Mondays came about when I worked full-time at the various jobs I had in my youth. Society inundates us with the whole “TGIF” philosophy and it creates a mindset of Monday through Friday being a grind, the “thing” you want to leave behind at 5 PM on Friday and not think about until that alarm goes off again on Monday morning! And who can forget, such great tunes as “Monday, Monday” (Mamas& the Papas) or “Just another Manic Monday” (The Bangles) or even “Rainy Days & Mondays” (The Carpenters)

Ah, Monday, Monday.  

The thing is, during this time of COVID-19, I’m lucky some days to remember what day it is! Since the onset of COVID-19, we have chosen to watch our two grandsons (ages 3 and 18 mo.) each week, Monday-Friday(7-4pm) Though we’re blessed beyond measure, the fact is that it’s a bit more of a challenge for a woman of a “certain age”” than when I was younger! Hence, it’s no great wonder that I awoke last Saturday morning convinced it was Sunday and thinking how fast the weekend just flew by! Thank you, CBS Saturday morning for setting me straight.

Truth is, they say with age comes wisdom. I believe with COVID, there comes wisdom as well. I no longer “hate” Mondays. Each day is a precious gift. 

I have come to realize 1) how short & precious life is and 2) how to live in the moment, because you can never get it back once it’s gone. To that end, my new “Monday” song pick might just be “Amazing Grace.” (Best version, Pentatonix 2020)

Manic Monday  https://youtu.be/NVGOyYyWxiA

Monday, Monday  https://youtu.be/h81Ojd3d2rY

Rainy Days & Mondays  https://youtu.be/PjFoQxjgbrs

Amazing Grace  https://youtu.be/Obp-9BEZe1c

MY SCRABBLE TITLE

I gave the Get Lost in a Story hosts a title and asked them to begin a story. Which title would you choose? How would your story begin? Make sure you let us know in the comments so you'll be entered in this month's hostee drawing.

No regrets. No second thoughts. The fork loaded with a thousand calories passed through her lips and onto her tastebuds. Yes, the other seven people sitting at her banquet table stared at her, but she deserved dessert first. She'd just been best "man" for the love of her life. Witnessing him marry another woman deserved a reward. Especially meringue.

"Excuse me." She held up her hand to wave down one of the waiters serving the salads. "Can you bring me another one of these? Wait. Make it two."

JACQUI: I'm Still Learning

In the gloom shrouding the caboose that Wren’s friends had hauled from the tracks and transformed into a home just for her, a ghostly figure crouched by her bed. A man’s silhouette. Broad-shouldered. Big. Not big enough. Her excitement turned to alarm. He wasn’t Griffin. 

She bolted upright and aimed for his nose. Too late. Or too slow. Her punch fell short. Or swung wide. All impossible to tell with a target dodging so fast, but utterly predictable after being denied a sparring partner for two years. 

Strength was earned not given. Or so life had taught her. And kept teaching her. 

Angharad, the fiery haired, blue-eyed seventh daughter of a seventh daughter, dreamed of a powerful warrior. She witnessed every failure with acceptance, knowing he was destined to bring peace and prosperity to their land. She'd had a vision of her love raising his broadsword high in the air, his battle cry ringing across the misty glen only to echo back again. ...it was time...

Finbarr, the black haired, green-eyed seventh son of a seventh son, was destined to know defeat. But he would never give up! Seven times he answered the call to battle, and seven times he failed. Fall seven times...the prophecy decreed... Stand up eight...and be victorious.

“Leave some to perform the incantation.”

“Can’t we just open another bottle? Riesling is Riesling.” Abby shrugged.

Evie snatched the glass from her friend since forever. “You know as well as I do that this is from the special stock. The first grapes of the first crop. It is not just any Riesling. And further,” she sniffed, her aging voice cracking as it did when she got agitated, “if you don’t believe in this, then we might as well drink the whole bottle and forget it.”

Abby looked at Iris, the only other founding member of the Fine as Wine Club and met her expectant gaze. Decades together had offered them many challenges, from births to funerals; they’d shared most every form of life experience together. “What do you think?” Iris was the most intellectual of the three.

She shrugged, her lavender cashmere sweater draping loose over her slender shoulders. “The book seems fairly clear on what transpires if all are of one mind.” Iris’s soft, brown eyes held Abby’s. “How badly do you want your grandson, Reise, to take over the family vineyard?”

Abby sighed. Bad enough to write and tell him that I plan to give it away to the first person I feel is worthy. Still, a little earth magic couldn’t hurt. “Go ahead Evie. We’re together on this.” Trusting her friends, trusting in the wine, she picked up her glass of white Riesling and wondered how her hot shot California lawyer grandson would respond to the news. “In Vino Veritas—in wine there is truth!”

“Go for it.”

That’s what they’d all said, throughout Cassidy’s entire life. Her mother when Cass had been reluctant to stay overnight at her friend’s the first time. Her music teacher when she’d been afraid to take the stage at the first recital. Her gym teacher when she hadn’t wanted to try pitching in softball. Her best friend when Cass had refused to go on a double date with two guys from frat house down the block from their dorm.

She had them all fooled. No, she wasn’t the bravest soul on the planet, but she’d gone for plenty of things others hadn’t suggested. Like writing a book. Like changing her major from business to philosophy. Like getting not one dog but two.

Like going out on that first date with Jonas two years ago—the one who drove an old Indian motorcycle and who liked leather jackets and art museums. And old Beatle songs. He made her mother’s eyebrows pucker in concern and her father sigh in envy over the bike.

He had them all fooled, too. The bad boy who wasn’t. And now he knelt in front of her with the open velvet box—and in front of her family who knew she’d never go for it. She grinned at him—the man who made her feel braver than anyone she’d ever known.

“Let’s go for it, Cassidy,” he whispered.

“We don’t need to go for it,” she replied. “We’ve already got it!”

And when she launched herself into his arms and he stood to swirled her in circle, she kissed him to prove it.

Which title would you choose? How would your story begin? Make sure you let us know in the comments so you'll be entered in this month's hostee drawing.