Excerpt from HEAVEN'S BLUE

Published by Awe-Struck Publishing
ISBN-10: 1587494469
ISBN-13: 978-1587494468

Samantha's tour of the house turned out to be rather brief. David hadn't realized how small the cottage really was. A kitchen, a pantry/utility room, a living room, one bedroom, one bathroom, and a screened-in porch. No basement, no attic, no den.

A cooling breath of air fanned David's face as they stepped back out onto the porch, the best feature of the tiny house. Four wicker chairs and a low table formed a cozy seating arrangement.

Samantha sank down onto one of the chairs and David did the same. James crawled into his lap.

"So how am I supposed to catch the mosquitoes?" he asked.

"You stand outside and naturally, some mosquitoes land on you."

She gave him a tremulous smile and he blinked to prevent himself from being mesmerized.

"I have a straw-type device and you sort of suck up the mosquito--"

"What if I swallow it?" David interrupted.

"It won't hurt you."

He watched her long, thin fingers smooth out her gauzy skirt. Everything about her seemed so soft and feminine that he almost felt he could relax. He wrapped his arms more closely about James. No. He couldn't let down his guard. Not with her. Not with anyone.

He glanced outside at the endless miles of salt hay and at the blue water beyond that. It would be safe enough, he guessed. "Anyhow, then you put the live mosquito--because, of course, it must be live to test the pesticide--into a small cardboard trap--with a screen on it, so it can't get out. I'll do all the rest. It isn't difficult."

"So I'm a sitting duck. I stand outside, get eaten alive by bugs, maybe catch a few--"

"You have to catch a lot," she broke in. "This part of the study is very important. I have been breeding mosquitoes in the lab and testing the pesticide on them, but I need a control group, a totally unrelated batch of mosquitoes."

"Can't you just take your vacuum cleaner outside and draw in a million of them?"

Her archaic method sounded ridiculous to David.

"You would hurt them!" She frowned.

"Heaven forbid," he stated in a mocking tone.

Her eyes sparked flint at him. He leaned back in the chair, feeling the heat from her searing gaze. James sighed as his eyes began to close.

"It's extremely important research," she reminded him.

David didn't doubt that the earnestness in her face could convince Congress to appropriate trillions of dollars in funding for her cause. Then he reminded himself that right now, he and James needed a safe haven, and this could be an ideal situation.

"Okay, okay." He tried to sound apologetic. "There are nasty viruses and we must do something about it. So when do I start my human pincushion routine?"

"Tomorrow. Today is Sunday..." Her voice trailed off and she glanced into the distance.

Simply the thought of anything religious made him defensive and he stiffened. He had seen nothing but hypocrisy in his dealings with supposed "Christians".

"It doesn't matter to me what day this is," he said. "I don't believe there is a God."

She whipped her head around and stared at him with such surprise in her expression that he had an urge to touch the top of his head to make sure he hadn't sprouted horns.

"Not at all?"

With a voice that sounded hard and bitter, even to his own ears, he gave her his version of the world. "Everything that happens here on this earth is random. Good people meet up with terrible tragedies and very evil people do remarkably well during their lifetimes. Why would a god, who supposedly loved his creations, treat them so cruelly? Why would he make them suffer? The good guys don't win. Honesty is not the best policy. The clever liar will always have a better life."

He didn't add that women who are monsters get custody of their children. He couldn't say it because he knew he was guilty of not spending enough time with his own son. He should have known, but he had been too busy.

"I can understand how you might feel that way."

Her voice had such a tender quality to it that for a fleeting second he actually believed her and thought she might be capable of understanding his predicament. Then his better judgment returned and he glared at her, fully expecting her to clobber him with sermon number one, a compassionate plea aimed at getting him to come back to the fold.

However, she surprised him by not saying another word. The silence hung between them like the heavy atmosphere on the muggy afternoon. She turned her head to stare off into the distant, hazy horizon. He hesitated. She seemed so vulnerable for a moment. He noticed her hands tremble slightly and she bit her lip.

He shook himself mentally. She was probably feeling tainted by sitting in close proximity with a heathen. She might be regretting the fact that she had hired him.

He glanced down at James. His son had fallen fast asleep in his arms.

"I guess I better show you to your room," Samantha whispered.

Though he tried not to move suddenly, the moment he got out of the chair, James woke up again.

"Put me down, Daddy!" James insisted.

David sighed. From this point on, he knew James would be completely wired and impossible to deal with unless he got a nap.

Samantha led them across the yard to the lab building, a low concrete structure. She ushered them into a small hallway and then unlocked the door on the left. When she swung it open, David sucked in his breath as an overwhelming sensation hit him. The small, austere room reminded him of a cell--maybe it was the color of the walls, a sickly, institutional green, or maybe it was the cheap metal furniture. Or maybe it was a premonition. He struggled to recover his regular breathing rate and force down his fear.

Samantha crossed over to the small window and opened it. "I'm sorry it's so stuffy in here. I have a fan in the lab you can use."

Meanwhile, of course, James bounced into the room and opened the wardrobe along with every drawer. He lifted a black book out of one.

"What's this?"

"A Bible." Samantha answered.

James opened it. "There aren't any pictures."

"No. But there are lots of stories."

James frowned at the dull-looking book and dropped it back into the drawer. "Bunkbeds!" he squealed as he clambered up the ladder. "Can I sleep on the top?"

"Sure," David replied hoarsely.

"Look, I can touch the ceiling." James reached up with just his index finger.

"You're taller than your father, now." Samantha smiled.

"I am!" James looked ready to burst with delight.

David felt a painful squeeze around his heart at the unbridled joy in his son's face.

When Samantha showed them the tiny bathroom, James grabbed the faucet and turned it on full force. Water splashed out over the sides of the small bowl. "James! Stop it!" David roared. He slapped at James' hand and switched the faucet off. James' tiny shoulders shook and his face crumpled. David clamped his jaw together. He knew that James' tears would be next. Would Samantha decide that she had made a mistake in bringing him and his son here? However, Samantha simply turned to a small closet and got out a bucket and a sponge.

"This is Mr. Spongy, James, he can wipe up any mess." "Hello, James." Samantha, using a silly voice, folded the sponge in her hand and made it open and close like a mouth. One tear rolled down James' cheek, but he immediately started to smile. "Hi Mr. Spongy."

"I am so thirsty, James, can you help me drink up this water?" Samantha handed the sponge to James who eagerly tried to make it talk, too. Then David watched in amazement as she patiently showed James how to wipe up the mess.

Once that was finished, Samantha left them to settle into their new surroundings. James went back to the drawer with the Bible. He took it up to the top bunk with him and started turning the pages.

"The big lion ran after the little boy to eat him up." James made up a story for himself.

David went to the window and looked out over the desolate marshland. He could see nothing but miles and miles of short grass interspersed with narrow waterways stretching to the blue sea beyond. Would he be safer in a forest, or at the top of a mountain? He shrugged. For two weeks, this would probably be okay.

When he turned back to check on his son, he found the child fast asleep with the Bible beside him. David eased the book away and put it back into the drawer. Just the sight of the book irritated him. Based on it, he was destined to a fiery eternity. Well, better that than watch his young son suffer. He stood beside the bunk bed and listened to the child's even, light breathing. Suddenly, he felt wearier than he had in weeks.

To read more about the book go to Awe-Struck Publishing.

Contest Winner!

Bernadine is the winner of a print copy of Sea Of Hope! She commented on the excerpt from that book which I posted on this blog. Anyone who commented was automatically entered into the contest.

Now I have to decide which book will be the prize in my next contest. Which book would you like to win?

Karma

We had a huge snowstorm on Saturday night. It looked lovely as it fell and coated the trees and bushes. However, by Sunday morning we had about twenty inches of snow on the ground--and the snow had drifted so that in some spots it was much higher.

We used shovels and brooms around the cars. Hubby got out his gasoline powered snowblower, but it was not working properly. We have a small electric snowblower, too. I plugged that in but we had to shave off layers of snow with it as we went along--and we did not have enough extension cords to get the snowblower to the sidewalk.

Then a truck plow went by and pushed up a mound of snow nearly four feet high at the end of our driveway. The situation appeared rather hopeless. Each shovelful of snow was as effective as using a thimble to empty out the ocean.

Fortunately, our neighbor, George, who has a massive snowblower came to the rescue.

My father's neighbors shoveled him out, which was a good thing because we did not get to Dad's house until yesterday. Daughter #2's godparents were surprised when a young couple came along to dig them out. The couple would not accept any money for the job. They told her it was karma. Daughter #2's godmother had no idea what they were talking about so she asked me what that meant. I told her it means that the good you do comes back to you. While that's a rather simplistic definition, I figured it was good enough for a eighty year old.

To all the wonderful people who helped dig out their neighbors after the snowstorm I offer my thanks. God bless you. :^)

Frito Pie

I went to the New Jersey Romance Writers' Christmas party today and I brought along my Frito Pie. I never make this recipe at home because it is loaded with sodium. However, it is easy to make and very tasty--the perfect dish for a party because at a holiday gathering nobody is being mindful of their diet anyway. :^)

I originally clipped the recipe from an issue of Woman's World magazine, but I adapted it slightly by making it nearly twice the size.

Enjoy!

FRITO PIE

2 small (9 1/4 ounce) bags of Frito Corn Chips
2 large (27 ounce) cans of kidney beans, rinsed and drained
2 large (25 ounce) cans of Hormel, No Beans, Chili
4 tablespoons dried minced onion
2 cups of shredded extra sharp Cheddar cheese

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Spread 1 bag of corn chips on the bottom of a 9 x 13 pan. Lightly, crush the corn chips. In a large bowl, combine the chili, beans, and onion. Spread that mixture over the corn chips. Sprinkle with the shredded cheese.

Top with the remaining bag of corn chips--except for a few which you are allowed to eat because you are burning calories putting this wonderful food together.

Bake until hot and bubbly--about 30 minutes.

Serves a lot of people!

Watching Cataract Surgery

I watched a miracle occur. My father had a cataract removed and I was allowed to view the procedure. My father's left eye had 20/100 vision. With the cataract gone and the new lens implanted, he now has 20/30 vision in that eye.

I've been nearsighted since I was eleven years old--so I think it is really quite amazing that my father now has such terrific vision without glasses.

At first, the idea of viewing the procedure made me a bit queasy. However, the nurse reassured me that I wouldn't see any blood.

I thought about it for a minute. The knowledge about what happens during cataract surgery might be useful in a novel at some point. I enjoy amassing all kinds of extraneous knowledge just because I might need it someday. You can never tell where my muse will lead me.

Though I had already heard the doctor explain the procedure to my father, there's a big difference between hearing about something and actually seeing it occur.

I decided to be brave and watch. The ophthalmologist had a small observation room for family members. I was led in by the nurse and seated. From a glass window I could see into the room where the surgery took place. I could barely see doctor's back due to some large machines. My father lay covered in blue cloth on a gurney. The doctor's assistant waved to me. He was the one who handed the doctor the necessary tools.

What I could see very well was a monitor with the giant image of my father's eye--due to the lighting it appeared as a large reddish iris surrounded by white. Everything happened just as the doctor said it would. It did not take long.

Afterward, Dad was fine. He felt no pain and found the most annoying result of the surgery to be the eye drops. He had a tough time learning to plop the drops in by himself, but he was insistent on accomplishing the task without help. :^)

I went home and discovered that you can view the entire procedure on YouTube as well.

Some of my friends were amazed that I watched my father's cataract surgery. I guess they didn't think I had it in me. After all, I'm usually the one who hides her eyes during the scary parts of a movie.

But obviously, the doctor had confidence in the procedure. Because it was offered, I felt it must be a sure thing and many people I know who had undergone the procedure proclaimed it to be a piece of cake.

But I still think it's a miracle. Wouldn't it be wonderful if all our ills were so easy to fix?

How I Wrote Ten Books

The Fiend of White Buck Hall will be published book #10 for me. After getting the contract last week, I took a moment to wonder how I have managed to write ten books. There are writers who produce a lot more and I'm slow in comparison to them, but I really don't think they sleep. :^)

Like the majority of women with families, I am forever juggling the various tasks of living--tossing up one ball and catching another before it falls. Yes, my children are grown, but for those of you who have small children and think life is difficult--just wait. It never gets any easier.

Hubby is retired, but I still have a real part time job that gets me up and out of the house for several hours five days a week, but when I return I have to throw a load of laundry into the washing machine and transfer another load into the dryer.

On my lucky days, I don't have to go on an errand, but more often than not, I do. I have to help out my Dad, or shop for more food, or buy parts for a broken appliance. Once I'm back at the house, I put some form of protein in a pan to brown on the stove.

I turn on the computer, check my email, and fix one paragraph of my manuscript before I check on that browning protein and add some sauce to it.

I talk to Dad on the phone while I'm emptying the dishwasher. I finish talking to Dad and put away the clean dishes before I go back to the manuscript at the computer, but by now my powers of concentration are completely scattered, so I check my email again instead of fixing the manuscript.

I have my computer programmed to announce the hour every fifteen minutes, so I know I have to complete the rest of our supper. I put the computer to sleep, rip open a bag of frozen vegetables and set the table.

Daughters #1 and #3 arrive home from work--late as usual. I ask one of them to locate their father tell him it's time to eat. Lately, he's been busy redoing an upstairs room so he's easy to find.

Daughter #1 cleans up after supper, but now it's time for me to take the dried clothing, fold it, and put it away.

Meanwhile, Daughter #3 is cleaning the bathroom.

Hubby has to check his email on the computer which he and I share. I let him go ahead because after all, I still have plenty to do. I can exercise, sweep, vacuum, or dust. I can organize the photos in the album. (Ha!) Sometimes I have to go out during the evening, but not often.

I never watch television, except for the news. If I'm really exhausted, I will make a cup of tea and read a book. If I have a bit of energy left, I might spend a half hour on the elliptical machine AND read a book.

But most evenings, I will write--even if it's only for an hour. Sometimes, it's more than an hour. That's how I finished ten books. Slowly, but methodically.

If I can do it, anyone can. You just have to plod ahead. Of course, it helps if you have a great story to tell and the characters are annoying you constantly to finish their tale. So you absolutely must help them out. :^)

New Contract!

On Monday I got a contract from New Concepts Publishing for The Fiend of White Buck Hall. It is always thrilling to get a contract, but Monday also happened to be my mother's birthday. So it was nice to have something very special happen that day.

Now I have to work on the art questionnaire for the cover of the book. One of the questions is about the celebrities that the characters resemble. I have a complete image of my characters in my head, but for an artist it is easier to have a visual reference. So I spent a lot of time online searching for just the right faces for my hero and heroine.

I decided that Paul Walker resembles my hero.

I think my heroine resembles Emma Roberts.

It will be fun to see what the cover artist does with my idea.

Resurrect An Old Word Today

One day as I was exercising at Curves, the manager was having problems with the new "Smart" machine. I chuckled and referred to the machine as being persnickety. Granted, I was using personification and giving the machine human attributes, but it surprised me that the manager had never heard that word. She had no clue what it meant. She thought I had made it up.

Hmmmm.

per⋅snick⋅et⋅y:
–adjective Informal.
1. overparticular; fussy.
2. snobbish or having the aloof attitude of a snob.
3. requiring painstaking care.
Also, pernickety.

Origin:
1885–90; orig. Scots, var. of pernickety
Related forms:
per⋅snick⋅et⋅i⋅ness, noun
Synonyms:
1. nitpicking, finicky.

Daughter #1 thought this was a hilarious state of affairs and promptly "borrowed" my word to use at her Toastmasters meeting as the word of the day.

There were lots of people at the Toastmasters meeting that had never heard of that word either.

Yipes!

English is a wonderful language. We have more words than any other language. Check out About English. I know we've stolen plenty of our words, but our language is richer for it. As a writer, I appreciate the variety.

Of course, new words are always coming into being. Language is a living thing. But I hate to see so many wonderful older words fall into disuse.

Please, find an old word and use it. Better yet, find an old word every week and make it part of your vocabulary. Send it out in your text messages. Use it on your Facebook page.

Don't let the old words die.

NJRW Put Your Heart in a Book Conference

Kathy Kulig and I sat next to each other at the Literacy Book Fair and Author Signing at the NJRW Put Your Heart in a Book Conference. Kathy told me all about the experience that sparked the idea for her book, Wild Jade!

The conference was wonderful--as always. The PAN Retreat had plenty of chocolate and wine. :^) I listened to Angela Knight's special presentation, Putting Spice in Your Love Scenes. I attended Kathryn Smith's talk about Sex, Language, and Historical Accuracy. Jennifer Crusie was excellent and so was Robin Perini. I took notes and wrote all over the handouts. Karen Rose was the Keynote Speaker and Allison Brennan spoke at lunch. There were lots of other speakers--including Kathy Kulig--and it was difficult to make a choice as to which workshop to attend.

Free books were available. Free pens, sticky notes, and chocolate were on the promotion table. NJRW gave everyone a flash drive!!!! (The perfect gift!)

I can't wait for next year. :^)

Blogging at Romance Junkies

I am now a contributor to the Romance Junkies Blog! You can see my post at:

http://www.romancejunkies.com/rjblog/?p=593

Check it out. You'll see my newest book cover, too. It's awesome. :^)

My Apple Cake

Everyone keeps asking for this recipe! So I decided to post it here. This is a terrific cake--rich and moist. Everyone loves it and it disappears quickly. :^)

First, peel and cut into medium chunks 4 large cooking apples (winesaps are great for this). Put the chunks into a bowl and mix them with 2 teaspoons of cinnamon and 5 tablespoons of sugar.

Next, in a large bowl mix and beat until smooth:
3 cups flour
2 1/2 cups sugar
3 teaspoons baking powder
1 cup of cooking oil (canola is good)
1/4 cup lemon juice
4 eggs, beaten
2 1/2 teaspoons vanilla

Using a large bundt pan, pour in one layer of batter, then a layer of apples. Add another layer of batter and finish with a layer of apples on the top.

Bake at 350 degrees for 1 3/4 hours or 105 minutes.

Enjoy!

The Basket Collection

My mother started accumulating Depression glass after my brother died at the age of twenty-five. She assuaged her grief by going to garage sales and buying the lovely colored glass for a dime—or less. It reminded her of youth, I suppose, and it was pretty.

She bought books about Depression glass to memorize the patterns and assess the value of the pieces. She progressed in her collection skills and added Roseville china, and even antique furniture—often refinishing the pieces herself.

When she went into the antique business, people often came to her store and sold her more antiques. When she closed the shop, her basement became a storage facility.

Last year, an auctioneer sold the valuable pieces in my mother’s collection. But there were odds and ends left over—tucked away in boxes or hidden beneath a table.

This past week, I found out that my mother had amassed a considerable quantity of baskets. When my father said he would gather the baskets together, I had no idea there would be so many of them, but I promised to transport them to the Goodwill store.

When I arrived at the house on Wednesday, baskets of every kind and size filed the kitchen and the dining room. I could hardly believe it. Dad and I proceeded to stuff the baskets into my Jeep. There were baskets of every conceivable size and shape: bushel baskets, covered baskets, Easter baskets, picnic baskets, and a massive wicker laundry basket.

Dad apologized though there was no need to do so. I headed to the Goodwill store on Route 18 in East Brunswick feeling conspicuous on the road. Everyone could see the baskets piled high inside my Jeep.

The people at the Goodwill store merely smiled and helped me unload the baskets—bless them.

I kept one blue basket. I don’t know why. I don’t need a basket. I have too many things as it is. Nothing in my house will actually go with a blue basket. Maybe I should spray paint it.

But for now, I’ll just look at it, put flowers in it, and think about Mom.

The Teeny Tiny Wedding Dress

My mother's parents were married in 1919. My grandmother met my grandfather when she was sixteen, but her mother refused to allow her to marry him at that point. He joined the service and came back three years later. Their wedding lasted three days. My grandmother always insisted that she had the most beautiful wedding dress. The large photograph of her in her wedding gown with my grandfather seated beside her always hung on the wall in her bedroom.

As each of her granddaughters grew up, she would tell them at a certain point when they were too big for the wedding dress. Eventually, even my skinny little twelve-year old cousin was too big for the dress.

My sisters and I begged my grandmother to show us the dress--even though we could not wear it. When my grandmother brought it out, we were all horrified. It was crumpled and brown and certainly did not look a thing like the one in the photograph.

When my grandmother died, my mother kept the wedding dress. The other day, my father handed the box with the gown in it to me. I took the dress out of the box and gently placed it on the dining room table. It is so incredibly small. It looks like a six-year old child might be able to squeeze into it.

I knew my grandmother as a short, but plump woman. How delicate she must have been when she was younger. Yet, she bore seven children and lived to the age of ninety. So she was actually rather sturdy.

But you would never guess it looking at the dress.

Our Staycation

This summer we spent the entire month of July at the hospital with Mom. And then we went to Florida to help out hubby's parents. We did not have a vacation.

But we salvaged a few days last week and this week as our staycation. Fortunately, since we live in New Jersey, there are plenty of things to do nearby. We went to Snug Harbor in Staten Island one day. They have beautiful gardens but they also have a fabulous collection of John A. Noble's work. You must go there and see it!

We also visited Morven, the home of Richard Stockton and five NJ governors. It is no longer the governor's mansion--but that's because the dining room is too small. :^)

That same day we checked out Rockingham. George Washington slept there.

We went on the paddle boats at Turkey Swamp park one day for some Vitamin D and exercise. I highly recommend a paddle boat ride to everyone.

We went to Burlington as well to see the birthplace of James Fenimore Cooper. Afterwards I downloaded Red Rover and The Pilot from www.gutenberg.org. I never read those two books.


We also visited the Edison Memorial in Menlo Park. That's a giant lightbulb at the top of the very art deco tower. Beside the memorial is a small, but very nice museum. It is worth a visit.

Hubby and I enjoyed our staycation. I'm glad there are so many things to do and see in New Jersey.

Love Letters

My father is emptying the house--slowly. Every time I stop in, he hands me a bunch of stuff. One of the bags he gave me this week was full of my brother's love letters. What a treasure!

My brother was one year older than me. He was tall and handsome--and there were plenty of young ladies in love with him. Some of them he met while driving an ice cream truck around the county during the summer. Some he met in college. The letters are from his high school and college days--long before he met the woman who became his wife. Married in 1970, he died in 1973 at the age of twenty-five.

Mixed in with the love letters from an assortment of young ladies are a few letters that my brother wrote. Perhaps he decided not to mail them, but to me they are the most precious.

In one letter he wrote, "I can still see your face surrounded by a mist floating above the air, larger than life. Your sparkling, beautiful blue eyes half-closed in a dreamy sort of look. Lips are sparkling in a cream smile of pleasure ad passion. I can't stand it anymore. I'm getting weak. No matter how much I try I can't forget you. Please come back."

In another he wrote, "Venus, my Greek goddess, I do not want to tie you down, or in our slang, pin you. I merely want to see you just to be near your perfection. For how can a mere mortal with his feet anchored to the ground, hold, much less catch, a beautiful goddess such as you who lives among the clouds?"

Yes, I suppose some would consider these letters corny. However, my daughters have gotten emails from young men that say, "U r hot."

It is a shame that letter writing has become a lost art. I am so glad I have my brother's letters.

You Will Get Old

Retiring 1100 miles away from your children is not a rational decision in my opinion. At some point, everyone gets old and debilitated.

My in-laws are 92 and 88. They moved to Florida more than twenty years ago when they could dance the polka all afternoon and then go home and still have enough energy to keep the inside and the outside of their two bedroom ranch spotless. My father-in-law is now legally blind, deaf, has some dementia and a hard time putting one foot in front of the other.

My mother-in-law, saddled with the care of her husband as well as the cooking, cleaning, laundering, shopping, and bill paying is overwhelmed. A call from New Jersey to the Adult Protective Services resulted in getting my in-laws some help. The Cares organization has people who will shop for Mom, help with cleaning, cooking and finances.

Getting my in-laws some assistance has been a blessing, but when Mom is at her wit’s end and doesn’t know what to do we feel helpless.

Our latest visit to Florida was distressing. We wound up taking Dad to the ER.

Yet, my mother-in-law insists she can handle things—she’s a small woman, my father-in-law weighs more than 170 pounds and towers over her. They refuse to move back north. They’ve paid for their funeral and have a mausoleum space reserved.

Hubby asked the APS caseworker for the names of some nearby assisted living places. We checked out several and found one we liked. A few days later, we took Mom and Dad there for lunch.

Dad ate every last crumb of the lunch. Mom ran into an old friend from the Polish club who now lives there. They chatted away in Polish and I breathed a great sigh of relief. So far, so good.

While the visit to the assisted living facility was favorable, there are still plenty of details to iron out.

We had to get back to life in NJ and will try to manage things by phone from 1100 miles away—which we know doesn’t always work.

I felt terrible when we left. Dad solemnly bid me to pass on his regards to our daughters and my father. I got choked up when I gave Mom a hug.

I wish they didn’t live so far away.

Trying

Made a huge effort to get back on track with my writing. Having rainy weather this week helped. I find gloomy days conducive to writing and did actually accomplish quite a bit. I had hopes of finishing the manuscript, but on further consideration there are some plot points that need more thought and there's always tightening to do. The synopsis needs work, too. (I hate working on the synopsis.)

Took Dad to the Surrogate's Office yesterday. The lawyer had sent in all the papers and Dad simply had to sign them and then pay the fee. But Dad still wants to get rid of everything and move into an apartment, so there will be tons of work to do to accomplish that goal. Dad is trying to keep busy but he does look so lost without Mom.

Hubby and I celebrated our thirty-third anniversary yesterday. Hubby bought a new pair of lopping shears--really good ones with gears and long handles--like the ones my sister has. :^) He also bought a 24" hedge clipper. I love it. I asked for these tools because they will make our lives easier. Practical gifts are the best, in my opinion.

I treated hubby to an evening at Allaire State Park. Under the stars, we sat on our lawn chairs and listened to Doo Wop music. The singing group was the Sounds of the Street--and they did quite a few songs a capella with gorgeous harmonies. It was dark so the video did not come out very good, but you can hear the group and they were great! Made us feel younger. :^)

The old songs are the best songs.

Loose Ends

This is a photo Daughter #2 took as two Marines began to fold the flag draped over my mother's casket. Another Marine played "Taps" on a bugle in the distance.

My mother's suffering is over and she is--at last--at peace. But there are plenty of tasks for the rest of us to do.

Yesterday, I helped my father by taking my mother's clothing out of the closet, putting it into bags, and donating it. I did not get rid of all the clothes. There were a few blouses and sweaters my mother never wore--the price tags were still attached.

My father intends to move out of his house as soon as possible. He says it's too big and empty for him. Everyone has advised him not to do anything for at least a year, but Dad is set on getting an apartment.

I know he is getting too old to take care of the house, but I grew up in it. It holds a lot of fond memories for me. I will hate to let it go.

Some of My Mom's Paintings

My mother passed away yesterday. The pneumonia exacerbated her Congestive Heart Failure. She spent her last few days in hospice care. This is a very sad time for my family. My mother was a very special woman. We will all miss her.

Negative Ions

We did not go to see the fireworks this year. My mother has pneumonia and has been in the hospital, so we’ve spent a lot of time going back and forth to the hospital. We watched some of the fireworks on television.

However, the day after the Fourth of July we took a brief walk at Keansburg Amusement Park. That’s me as the face of the Statue of Liberty. I’ve been going to Keansburg since I was a kid—and many of the rides have not changed in the passing years. We put our daughters on all the rides, too, as they were growing up. Hubby and I still like to watch the bumper cars go around. We always laugh and said that’s where our daughters learned to drive. :^)

We walked on Keansburg’s beach after we had seen all the sights on the boardwalk. From the beach there’s a magnificent view of Raritan Bay—a wide sweep that encompasses everything from the Outerbridge Crossing, to the Verranzo Narrows, to Coney Island as well as Sandy Hook.

On a clear day, of course.

But I like the view in the fog, too. Or in the dark.

My mother always said she was getting her negative ions when she went to the beach. Scientists are finding out more and more about negative ions. They are good for us!

For me, a walk on the beach is calming. I love the Jersey Shore.