Only in Key West by Roberta Isleib aka Lucy Burdette

 

Only in Key West 

by Roberta Isleib, 
aka Lucy Burdette

 
When my husband and I visited Florida six years ago, we never imagined we'd end up spending so much time in Key West. It has a lot going for it, but for an animal lover, the place is irresistible.

Roosters are protected by law. That means no matter what hour the banty next door wakes up crowing (think five am), you'll find yourself in the clinker if you wring his neck. And if you eat in an outdoor restaurant--like the well-known Blue Heaven--the chickens may be pecking around your feet in the dust from appetizer to dessert.

Cats are popular in the city too. The Cat Man of Key West is probably the biggest draw at the Sunset Celebration on  Mallory Square.

 

Most nights he arrives at the harbor with eight or ten cages of cats, and sets up his show. Once the crowd gathers, he puts the cats through their paces: walking on tightropes, jumping through hoops of fire, hopscotching over each other--all while keeping up a loony travelogue in a French accent. (The man, not the cats.) Ernest Hemingway was probably the most famous writer to live on the island and he also was very fond of cats--big furry specimens with an above-average number of toes. Fifty or sixty descendants of the original denizens still lounge on the antique furniture as tourists troop through Hemingway's former home.

Key West may be fond of roosters and cats, but the city really loves dogs. Dogs are invited for meals, welcome in any outdoor seating area.

Of course there is the standard dog run, with separate spaces for the bigs and the littles, and there's Dog Beach, and the dog bar, but it's also a matter of pride for stores and restaurants to provide doggie rest stops outside their front door. 

Where else in the world would you be towed past a bed-and-breakfast by your sometimes unruly Australian shepherd and have the owner call out: "We're dog friendly!" So on our second visit, I persuaded my husband to include Tonka (our Aussie) on the permanent travel team.

Every morning we're in Key West, we walk to a local deli for our Cuban coffees--an indoor space where dogs are certainly illegal. But they wave him in anyway and whoever's working the lunch counter is instructed to get him a treat. No dry dog biscuits here--he gets big wads of Boars Head roast beef.

Lots of people pour into Key West from cruise ships, missing their pets and dying for a furry fix. We take Tonka out to enjoy the Sunset Celebration most evenings and we get stopped every 10 or 20 feet.  "What kind of dog is that? He's beautiful. Look at those eyes! Can we pat him?" Tonka, of course, thrives on this, especially if treats are involved. I suppose that could happen anywhere. But when a group of co-eds dressed in St. Patrick's day duds stops us, cooing and ahhing over the dog, asking "Can we have our picture taken with him?" That can only be Key West.

 
The first book in Lucy Burdette's Key West food critic mystery series will be published by NAL/Obsidian in January 2012. You can follow Lucy on twitter: @lucyburdette, or read more about AN APPETITE FOR MURDER on her website (www.lucyburdette.com) or Facebook (www.facebook.com/lucyburdette.) Lucy aka Roberta also blogs with the Jungle Red Writers: www.jungleredwriters.com. (Thanks to my Key West pal Sandra Bartlett for the dog bowl photos, and to Jerry Touger for the picture of Tonka with his girlfriends.)

Living Outside of My Comfort Zone by Maggie Barbieri

Maggie Barbieri is the author of the Murder 101 series published by Minotaur Books.  The sixth book in the series, PHYSICAL EDUCATION, will be out on  November 23^rd.  The first book in her new series featuring Maeve Conlon—THE COMFORT ZONE—will be available some time in 2013.  Maggie lives in the Hudson Valley of New York State with her husband, two children, aforementioned Westie, and intrepid Maine Coon, Diego.

 

Living Outside of My Comfort Zone

by Maggie Barbieri

Thank you, once again, to the incomparable Kaye Barley for inviting me to post on her wonderful blog.  Every year, posting with Kaye gives me the opportunity to reflect on the past year and think about what is to come for the new year.  This year has been an exciting one:  I appeared in Good Housekeeping in a story about overcoming Stage IV melanoma, I found out that I will be writing two more books in the Murder 101 series, and I also was offered the opportunity to write a new series about a soccer mom/vigilante (she only kills bad people, folks!), something that makes me giddy with excitement.

It was a chance conversation with my wonderful editor at Minotaur Books that set the wheels in motion.  I wondered aloud if I was capable of doing anything beyond the Alison Bergeron series.  Since I began work on Murder 101, lo those many years ago, life had been a bit complicated, first with one cancer diagnosis that involved chemotherapy, surgery, radiation, and the more chemotherapy and then a second diagnosis that was so dire that a prognosis wasn’t even discussed.  I threw myself into writing about a college professor with a propensity for finding dead bodies, desperately trying to write myself back to health by focusing on the one thing that I loved more than my family and my life.  As I’ve often said, I credit writing—along with some amazing medical support—with saving my life.  I didn’t have time to think of much else during that time but I always had time for writing.  There were regularly scheduled treatment visits, two children to raise and a house to keep running, not to mention the very emotionally needy West Highland Terrier who let her wants and desires be known every moment of every day.

About four years after I started treatment, I started feeling better and then I started doing things that I never would have dreamed of doing B.C. (before cancer).  On a whim, I rented an apartment in Paris for a week and packed the family off for the trip of a lifetime.  I bought a ridiculously small car that the kids hate but that makes me smile every time I see it, its shape and color reminding me of Nancy Drew’s “little blue roadster” from the books of my childhood.  I stopped saying “yes” even though the answer was “no.”  I told the emotionally needy West Highland Terrier to quit bellyaching because her life would never get any better than it was living with us.  And somewhere in the process, I started thinking about the future, something I had not allowed myself to do for a long time.

What was it that I loved? I asked myself.  Writing.  I love writing.

And when there was more room in my brain, a brain that had spent far too long thinking about cancer and treatment and side effects, my brain started telling me that there was another woman, a woman who wasn’t Alison Bergeron, who needed to get her story out.  Her name was Maeve Conlon and she had a complicated past, a past that wouldn’t let her go, wouldn’t let her breathe.  A past that was keeping her from living her present.  A past that needed to be acknowledged.

My complicated past is different from Maeve Conlon’s but thinking about how my brain had been filled with something that I finally allowed myself to let go of allowed me to understand this complicated woman. I guess you could say that writing about her has encouraged me to get out of my writing comfort zone, in the same way that cancer did for me in terms of my personal comfort zone.  I wouldn’t recommend facing down a serious illness as a way to explore who you are and what you want to do, but I am all for getting out of your own way, so to speak, and letting your mind take you places that you normally wouldn’t allow it.

You’ll be amazed at what you find out about yourself.

Three-Day Town by Margaret Maron

I've been a fan of Margaret Maron's since discovering her through DorothyL many many years ago.  

After reading all her Deborah Knott novels (there weren't too many back then), I heard about her Sigrid Harald series, which she had stopped writing.  So now I had an author who had two series, and two female protagonists I was over the moon about.  

Like many, I've hoped against hope for another Sigrid novel and every year had to face the fact that it just probably was not going to happen.

Instead, what we've just been given by Ms. Maron is one of the nicest gifts I know I'll be receiving this holiday season.  A book with both Deborah and Sigrid.

After a year of married life, Dwight and Deborah are finally able to get away for a honeymoon, and head to New York City.  You immediatelty get a sense that this is a couple who will be on an eternal honeymoon and it's a joy to sit back and enjoy it with them.

Dwight's sister-in-law, Kate, has arranged for them to stay in her Upper West Side Apartment for a week.  And Mrs. Lattimore, Sigrid's Colleton County grandmother, has asked Dwight and Deborah to deliver a package to her daughter.  Before the package can be delivered though, it's stolen and a body is found. 

There are Maron fans who love the novels where Deborah sticks close to home with the rest of the Knott clan (I'm one of them).

And there are Maron fans who love the novels where Deborah travels around North Carolina (I'm one of them).

And there are a whole bunch of Dwight Bryant fans who kept begging Ms. Maron for years to help Deborah see what a great guy he was and grab him up (I'm one of them).

THREE-DAY TOWN satisfied me on every level, and I was especially happy to spend some time in New York City with Deborah and Dwight tagging along as they unabashedly did all the touristy things we should do when we go to New York City without trying to cover it up with a phoney slick sophisticated veneer - enjoy the lights on Broadway, visit the John Lennon memorial in Central Park, Rockefeller Center, sightseeing and a little shopping, of course.  Deborah and Dwight are always going to be true to themselves and that is one of the most refreshing things about them.  But when one of Deborah's nieces gets in touch with her asking for help, Deborah takes the time to help her. 

It was huge fun to catch up with Sigrid, her friends Roman and Elliott and her NYPD colleagues from the series of eight novels which took place over a one year period.  You know how you have some friends you don't see nearly as often you'd like, but when you do, it's as though no time has passed?  Margaret Maron has the unique talent of doing that with her characters.  It did not seem as though we last saw Sigrid back in 1995.  What is exciting is that we might just see her again . . . maybe???

I'm not the only one who has been waiting for this book.  I must say, it was worth the wait.

FTC DISCLOSURE:
purchased book

Dream a Little by Peg Brantley

A Colorado native, Peg Brantley is a lover of animals (and her husband), traveler and nester, who also appreciates a good bottle of wine. She loves to curl up with a good book—usually a crime novel of some kind. Her writing has come in second place and honorable mention in various contests as she works toward publication.

Peg spent over 25 years in corporate America, many of them running her own businesses. At any given time she could have helped you finance some real estate or sold you a bag of popcorn or a tube of lipstick. She’s unabashedly happy to have those years behind her. She and the love of her life make their home southeast of Denver, where Peg is busy at work on a new manuscript.

 

DREAM A LITTLE

by Peg Brantley

One day, I quit dreaming—and it took me over forty years to figure it out.

At some point, it became easier to turn my back on a dream, to let it fade, then to not be perfect each step on the way toward making that dream a reality. (Perfection is really a stupid concept, but that’s another topic.)

What I had, when I quit dreaming, were flat goals. Goals that belonged to other people. Goals I committed to for some reason: to keep my job; to make a loved one happy; because everyone else had a similar goal. They weren’t wrong, they just weren’t mine.

A few weeks ago, while writing my morning pages (if you haven’t read The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron, what are you waiting for?), I recognized the little girl who used to dream (with a certain amount of fearlessness) had stopped, and I began work to get her back.

I heard this as recently as last week: “Unless it’s specific, with a timeline, it’s not a goal. It’s just a dream.”

Just a dream.

A little belittling to dreams, if you ask me.

I’m not saying my life for forty years consisted of dull days and a series of tasks. Far from it. But I am saying I missed the richness—the possibility—dreams provide.

How do you keep a soul in your goals? Inspiration in your perspiration?

Dream.

I’ve decided a dream is a little like a new idea for a novel. I toss it around for a while. Turn it over. Is it something I can build a whole story around—a life around? If it feels good, grabs me, then I begin to plot it out. Or, for those of you are more of a “live life by the seat of your pants” kind of person, dive in until your dream begins to take shape. If the idea has staying power, it’s full speed ahead.

The best goals begin as dreams. The best dreams are your dreams. Dreams that fill your soul. They demand you go after them. It’s your pursuit that makes the dream stronger and turns it into (gasp!) a goal.

Before you kick yourself for not accomplishing everything on your list in 2011, consider whether those things were your goals or someone else’s. And before you begin to contemplate what you would like to have happen in 2012, dream a little.

 

The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern

When was the last time you read a book you loved so much you didn't want it to end?

I'm reading Erin Morgenstern's THE NIGHT CIRCUS which has 387 pages.  I'm now on page 272.

I'm torn between putting the book down, walking away and doing other things to make the story last longer or sitting down and not moving again until I've read the last sentence.

Have any of you read it yet?  

It's purely magical.

FTC Disclosure:
Purchased Book

New Year’s Resolutions: reflecting on a year of writing by Meredith Cole

Meredith Cole lives, writes, and exercises in Virginia. Her mystery series with St. Martin’s Minotaur is set in the art community in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, and was nominated for an Agatha Award. She teaches writing at the University of Virginia.  www.culturecurrent.com/cole           

New Year’s Resolutions: reflecting on a year of writing

by Meredith Cole

Last year I was disappointed with my productivity and the writing I had accomplished in the previous 12 months. So I resolved to do better. I did this by carving out time to write and making a commitment to write everyday. But I also did something that some writers may found surprising: I made a New Year's resolution to exercise everyday.

I know for some writers there are a million things they’d prefer to do before they get all sweaty, so bear with me. Exercise, it turns out, is great for your brain. It helps to create new synapses and helps to prevent Alzheimer’s. It keeps you strong so you’re less likely to hurt yourself as you age. Exercise also helps prevent breast cancer, heart disease, and diabetes. Just think how many books you’ll be able to write if you live so much longer!

There are only a few hours in the day, and I’m sure your days are as packed and overloaded as mine. I have no idea how you’ll fit one more thing into your life, but here’s what I did:


-Make it a priority

The day begins and the to do list starts to pile up. Things start to fall by the wayside, and most women let the stuff that feels selfish (exercise, etc.) drop off their list. So make it a priority. Get up earlier and do it first. Over the past year I’ve tried this with both writing and exercise and it’s worked great. I’ve had to go to sleep a lot earlier, but that’s not too hard for me. After a full day of stretching my brain and exercising my body, I’m ready to crash.


-Change it up

The first thing I had to do was redefine exercise for myself. For years my only exercise was swimming, and I had to plan my life around when the lap lanes were open at my pool in Brooklyn. But I wanted to make sure that I did other exercise to benefit my body in other ways. I wanted a mix of cardio, strength training, yoga, swimming, running and dance.

A year ago, my family joined a gym that offered not only a pool, but also all sorts of fun classes. And free childcare. I became a Body Pump addict, and I make sure to go once a week. It’s an hour of weight lifting to music, concentrating on all the major muscle groups. I do more repetitions and use heavier weights then I would ever do on my own.

Another great option I discovered—streaming exercise videos from Netflix. If I still hadn’t squeezed any exercise in by the end of the day and the weather was lousy, I would do a kickboxing video or Pilates on Netflix. 30 minutes and I was done.

This past year I’ve made myself try new classes like Nia, Zumba, Body Step, and Reformer. I’d still like to try Tai Chi, Kettle Ball, Boxing and Athletic Conditioning, so I’ll try to slip those in at some point.


-Be flexible

If you decide that you can only exercise between twelve and one, then there are plenty of days that you won’t be able to do it. Or you can only run. Or real exercise has be “x.” Your exercise for the day can be a walk to a corner store as briskly as you can manage. Or raking all the leaves in your yard. So be flexible and it’s a lot easier to fit it in.

The same goes for writing. If I can’t fit in five new pages on my WIP, I’ll at least write in my journal, write a blog post or work on a short story. I’ve got to keep my writing muscles exercised regularly too.


-Involve friends

I still haven’t coordinated with friends to work out lately, but in the past that was a great motivator for me. Instead of meeting for drinks, meet a friend at the gym and swim or work out together, or go for a run or bike ride. You’ll chat, get caught up and you’ll feel great at the end. I also have had writing dates with friends at cafes. Sometimes you need someone else to cheer you on, and that’s okay. Writing can be a very solitary business.


-Give something up

If you look at your life and can’t see a single thing you can give up, this might be hard to imagine. But here is how I don’t spend my evenings: watching TV. I don’t have time, so I don’t watch and get addicted to seeing anything that’s on. I also have too much reading to do.

My house is not as clean as I’d like. I don’t make meals from scratch every night (and I luckily married a man who is a wonderful cook). And I barely did any craft projects this year (just recovered a glider chair – but that didn’t take long).

Do I miss all of it? Sometimes, and so I fit a bit of it back in when I can. But I’ve discovered that I can squeeze some activities I enjoy into the evenings (slow cookers are awesome), still leaving my mornings free for my new priorities.


As 2011 comes to a close…

Have I been successful at my goal? Perhaps a few weeks this year I managed to exercise everyday. But I don’t consider it a defeat. I’ve gone from exercising 3 days a week to exercising 5-6 days a week. And that’s been terrific. I feel stronger and more energetic. I wrote a first draft of a new book in a new series, MURDER TOURS THE CAPITOL—a DC tour guide mystery, faster than I’d ever written anything before. I have fewer headaches. I even have some, um, muscle definition.

So what are your New Year’s Resolutions this year? Did you accomplish what you wanted last year? And how do you fit writing/exercise or all your favorite things into your life?

 

Split Personality by Jeff Cohen

Jeff Cohen, or whoever he is today, is the author of the Aaron Tucker and Double Feature mystery series. As E.J. Copperman, he writes the Haunted Guesthouse mystery series for Berkley Prime Crime. His hobbies include referring to himself in the third person. You can find him online at www.jeffcohenbooks.com or www.ejcopperman.com  depending on who you might be looking for.

Split Personality

By Jeff Cohen

Sometimes, it’s difficult being two people.

For example, when I’m at a library or a bookstore promoting one of the Haunted Guesthouse mysteries, which I write under the name E.J. Copperman (I’ll get to that), I know which name to sign. Unless the person holding the book is someone who knows my actual name.

Not long ago, such a person showed up at a library where I was speaking and bought a copy of Night of the Living Deed, the first book in the series, which was very nice of him. He asked me to sign it, and I was happy to do so. But I always sign on the title page under the author’s name, which in this case was not the one I was born with. So I asked him, “Which name?”

The poor guy, whom I’ve known for a few years, looked confused. “Bob,” he said after a moment.

“I know that. Which name do you want me to sign?”

I completely understand, because sometimes I get confused, myself. Not that I ever forget who E.J. Copperman might (or might not) be, but when I’m out in a crowd and someone calls “Mr. Copperman,” it takes me a second to realize that’s me.

And when I get an email from a reader—I love them; please keep ‘em coming!—addressed to “Mrs. Copperman,” I’m pleased that the reader believes the books are written by a woman, but a little perplexed that E.J. has apparently gotten married and I wasn’t invited.

It’s a little disconcerting when I do run into that situation at a signing. Someone who calls me “Jeff” on a regular basis asks for a Copperman book to be signed. If it’s a new reader or a stranger, it’s no problem. E.J.’s signature looks remarkably like my own. But with an acquaintance or a friend, it’s tricky.

Sometimes, I’ll sign “Jeff (“E.J.”) Cohen.” Other times, I’ll cave and sign it as E.J. I never sign a Copperman book just with my own name, because somehow that seems like cheating. Writers are, in case you don’t know, at least a little bit crazy.

Some people arrive at signings having read one of the books but not knowing anything about the author. This is fine, especially since neither one of me is exactly a household name, except in my household. But the looks I get from the readers who think E.J. is a Mrs. are really interesting.

After the shock wears off, they often ask where the name came from, and why I use it. The fact is, since the narrator of the Haunted Guesthouse series is Alison Kerby, it seemed logical to have at least a gender-neutral name for the author. So the publisher and I agreed we’d have to have something other than “Jeff Cohen” on the cover of the book.

How I became E.J. Copperman is another story. We went back and forth on names for what felt like months, and nobody was happy with any of the candidates. Finally, I decided to ask my daughter Eve, but she didn’t have any ideas. So I asked my son Josh, but he didn’t have any ideas, either.

Then I asked our dog Copper, but he was a dog.

And so E.J. Copperman was born.

As I was writing this, I was interrupted by a phone call from my agent, who has been gearing up to market another book which hopefully will become a series at some point. It has a female narrator.

You’re miles ahead of me—yes, pretty soon, if the publishing industry is open to it, there might be three of me.

The headache is just beginning.

Food and Englishmen by Tasha Alexander

Tasha Alexander attended the University of Notre Dame, where she signed on as an English major (with a concentration in Medieval Studies) in order to have a legitimate excuse for spending all her time reading. Her work has been nominated for numerous awards and has been translated into more than a dozen languages. She and her husband, novelist Andrew Grant, divide their time between Chicago and the UK

Food - -
and Englishmen
by Tasha Alexander
When I got home last week from the first leg of the tour for A CRIMSON WARNING, I was thinking about the time I spent abroad in college. Not because I was thinking of traveling.



Because I was hungry.



Really, really hungry.



And as I debated whether to order something to be delivered or to drag myself from the couch to the kitchen and open our well-stocked fridge, I considered a time when food was not so readily at hand.



When I was a junior at the University of Notre Dame, I studied in London, where I shared a two-bedroom flat with six other girls and squandered my food allowance on theatre tickets. Pretty much all of my food allowance. The end result was that I saw every play the Royal Shakespeare Company produced that season, but ate very poorly.



But who would mind? We had bread and double Gloucester cheese and apples. When we were celebrating, we’d serve undiluted canned cream of chicken soup over spaghetti--and throw on some frozen peas if there was a need for extra festivity. And we thought this was a dish worthy of gourmet status--so delicious that we swore we would eat it after we were back home in the States.



Other than that and the occasional box of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese sent by our mothers, we never had hot food. Never. Which puts a person in an interesting frame of mind, and led to two of the lowest moments of my life.



One night, a friend and I headed to a play at the Barbican, laughing about the fact that we were trapped in a stereotypical London night: cold and rainy. We had arrived too early, and to kill time we wandered around the area. At the time, there wasn’t a whole lot around the Barbican that was...well...nice. But we were hungry. And cold. And damp. And the next thing I knew, we were standing in front of a pub, foreheads pressed against the window, making no effort to hide our drool as we coveted the steaming bangers and mash being served inside.



I can still picture it.



It was a beautiful thing. Until, that is, we were shooed away by a waitress who thought we were homeless and threatened to call the police.



A low moment.



A few weeks later, I went on a date with a very sweet boy. His name was Robert and he had much to recommend him: a lovely, lovely posh accent, titled friends who threw private parties at the best nightclubs, and a very cute red Aston Martin. We went to a swanky Italian restaurant in Hampstead Heath. My flatmates told me to watch for Sting, who lived in the neighborhood, but I had eyes for nothing but the menu.



When my food came, I took a bite.



“It’s...it’s...so HOT!”



Robert was perplexed. “Hot?”



“Hot! Hot! Hot!” It was all I could say, and I couldn’t stop repeating it.



Robert, gentleman that he was, offered to summon the waiter immediately. “Spaghetti carbonara”, he said, “isn’t supposed to be spicy.”



At which point I had to explain that it was temperature, not spice, that had taken me aback. That I had been wholly seduced by heat. That I couldn’t remember when I’d last had such a wonderful thing.



He must have thought I was insane. Or maybe he just chalked it up to strange American eccentricities. Either way, I always felt a bit embarrassed around him from then on and things went downhill from there.



I’ve always believed that was my shot at landed gentry.



Which was all for the best. Not only do I now have my own even-more-charming Englishman, I get hot food whenever I want it...

Sharing that red crayon

Did you have a special friend when you were little?  The "one" special person you would share your red crayon with?

Not just any crayon.  That magical red one. 

Source: http://www.flickr.com/photos/pburrows/3203329341/

Every little kid deserves that one special friend they trust that much.

Sadly, my special friend ran off with my red crayon and then tried to steal my boyfriend to boot. 

And then - years later after I had forgiven her (well, kinda), damned if she didn't try it again.  For real!  She did!  

Try, that is.

This time though, I was ready.  I was no longer the scared little girl who would just stand back and allow herself to be treated badly.  

Source: starburn.blogdrive.com

No one steals this gal's red crayon any more. 

source: lucidrose.blogspot.com

You all know I've been pondering how Meanderings and Muses might be a little different next year.  Different but still maintaining all the things we love - the guests, of course!   Most of them have been lined up.



As I've gone back to read over some of the pieces I've written, I realize that I've danced around a few things.  Things that have hurt me in the past badly enough that they're able to sneak up on me and throw me for a loop all over again.  I start out writing about those things, but back off and do a mini rant never quite getting to the heart of it all. 

I'm making a resolution to keep my dancing and my writing separate from now on, and try to write more honestly.   

None of you who know me would ever accuse me of "holding back."  (did that make you laugh out loud?)  And I don't when it comes to saying what's on my mind.

Saying what's in my heart is a bit different though.

There are a lot of things I carry, just like the rest of you, that just aren't for sharing.  Or if they do get shared, usually it's with Donald.  He's the best friend I wish everyone had.  Well, not "him," but you know  -  someone you know in your heart of hearts that is never ever going to hurt you.  Make me mad as hell?  Oh, yeah.  But disappoint me or hurt me, no.  Well, okay - being honest, I guess perhaps he has.  BUT, I know it's never been intentional, and that's the important thing.

He's one of the very very few who knows just how badly the hurt from all those years ago by the supposed best friend shifted how I felt about things for a number of years.  

The red crayon culprit (let's just call her La Beetch) is still around; but only peripherally.  I see her at reunions and I always speak and spend a little time with small talk.  I no longer hate her because she broke my heart by betraying my trust, we just don't have much in common any longer.  We lived across the street from one another and were in and out of one another's homes on a daily basis.  And then roommates in college.

It's a heartbreak I'll never forget.  Not the guy - but her.  A girl I loved and trusted enough to share my red crayon with for my entire young life.

But you know what - I am one very lucky woman.  I have a life full to brimming with girlfriends I do trust.  Who have earned the trust, and who I hope trust me in the same measure.  Some I've known since elementary school, and some who have been in my life not quite as long, but who have become just as close and just as important.   We may disagree about things from time to time, and we may scrap.  AND, we may have hurt one another from time to time too.  But - not intentionally.  Never intentionally.  And we've gone out of our way to make up for those hurts later.  Because of those things, the friendships have only gotten stronger.

And now I feel free to leave a bunch of those red crayons just scattered about in my life to share with them.  I love that.  'Cause big girls deserve to have someone to share their red crayons with too.

Ladies - You know who you are!  Help yourself to my red crayons, honeys!   

Here's to a life of red crayons and best friends to share them with.

oh.  I almost forgot my point.  Ha!  Imagine that!  My "other" point, that is.  The "new" Meanderings and Muses next year.  I want to tackle some serious topics stemming from a few things that have shaped me into who I am.  And I'd also like to have some of you write a similar piece, IF anyone is willing.  Let me know, okay?

In the meantime - how 'bout you?  Have any of you been hurt badly by a best friend?  Did it change you in ways that lasted for a very long time?  Were you finally able to forgive, forget and move on?

Peace, Love and Healing - Part Two

You'll remember that I recently sent out a plea asking my writer friends for autographed books for the silent auction being held at this event for our friend and neighbor Mary Anne Maier. Mary Anne was seriously injured in a car accident on July 19, leaving her with severe injuries that required fourteen surgeries and a lengthy stay at Wake Forest Baptist Medical Center.  She'll be going back to Baptist Medical next week for another surgery, with still more to come.  And I have to say - not many of us would be going through all this with the positive, upbeat manner that she is.  She is, without a doubt, my newest hero.

I promised you an update - so here 'tis ! !

 

The organizers are to be congratulated.  


And congratulated again.


And again!


WHAT a fantastic job they did.  I can't even begin to imagine the amount of work it took to get all this pulled together, and it was all done beautifully.

As promised, there was music,

Performances also included one of my all-time favorite entertainers - Boone's own incredible Melissa Reaves (who I did not get a picture of because we had to leave before her performance - waahh.  But, here's a video for your viewing and listening pleasure).

There was lots of good food -

a large turn-out of neighbors, family and friends - 

And a silent auction and door prizes. These photos are only a small sampling of what was donated to be auctioned -

 

The silent auction included books sent to me by:

Bronson L. Parker, Shelley Costa Bloomfield, Nancy Means Wright, Mark de Castrique, Bill Crider, Debra Ginsberg, Reed Farrel Coleman, Chris Grabenstein, Lillian Stewart Carl, Sandra Parshall, Jamie Freveletti, Meredith Cole, Alafair Burke, Clea Simon, Rosemary Stevens, Julie Hyzy, Jill McCorkle, Andrew Grant, Tasha Alexander, Beth Anderson, Megan Abbott, Gerry Ferris Finger, Jeffrey Marks, Alan Cook, Lisa Lutz, Denise Hamilton, Carl Brookins, Harley Jane Kozak, Joyce & Jim Lavene, Joanna Campbell Slan, Beth Hoffman and Vicki Lane.  I just know I've missed someone - forgive me!!!! My thanks to all of you, from the bottom of my heart.

I would have to say the event was a huge success.  My heartfelt thanks to all of you who helped either with a donation or with your thoughts and prayers.  

I do not know how much money was raised, but I don't think there was a single auction item that was not bid on, and the donation jar was looking awfully healthy when we left.

The spirit of community is alive and well - and it feels lovely.

you may have noticed.  There's not one picture of Mary Anne!!  Not one!   Except the one on the poster at the beginning of the blog.  Every picture I have of her from the benefit is only a piece of her - as she's being hugged by all of us wanting to wish her well.  I'm hoping someone out there has a picture of ALL of her so I can add it.  Anyone???