I’ve always looked forward to Memorial Day here in America.  As a kid, it was because we got a three-day weekend, and it meant that summer vacation was right around the corner.  Now it means warmer days are on the way, and I can wear white pants and capris (yes, I’m from that generation.  The tail-end, of course.).  While I’m not a fan of warmer weather (the sixties and seventies suit me fine), I do like the longer days of summer.  And Memorial Day ushers those in. 

When I was growing up, we always had hamburgers and hot dogs, or homemade fried chicken, with homemade potato salad, watermelon, corn on the cob, and homemade cookies.  Oh, and the extra treat: Kool-Aid, instead of milk!  The adults had sun tea, made in an old pickle jar. 

We’d have our picnic at the local park, if the weather was nice, or inside, if it was hot.  We didn’t live near a beach back then.  My dad would put out the flag on our house, and all the neighbors would do so, as well.  It was a reminder that this wasn’t just a family-fun weekend; the holiday had meaning.  Being a WWII vet, my dad remembered a lot on that day. 

Now that I have a family of my own, we follow in my parents’ footsteps, with a few adjustments.  When the boys were little, we’d go to Grandma and Grandpa’s, and eat all the old favorites.  I would bake a cake instead of cookies.  As my sons got older, we moved our picnic to the beach.  Those were the best times.  The boys would boogie-board until the burgers were ready, and then they’d come in, dripping and laughing, and eating like starving wolves. 

Often it was overcast, and cold, and each year it got more and more crowded, until we decided to return to the backyard picnic.  We lived near a park then, so we’d have our party, and, while the adults lolled about like lazy seals after the meal, the boys would get their air soft guns and join up with friends at the park.  Or, if there were too many people to play safely, they’d opt for the pool instead. 

Once my mom died, it was up to me to supply the potato salad, and all the fixings.  The family was smaller, and friends moved away.  Girlfriends arrived and took the boys to their homes for the holiday.  Soon, I moved the potato salad to just the Fourth of July, where we still have guests, because our backyard gives us a front row seat to the community’s firework extravaganza. 

Now, my dad is also gone, my sister is in a retirement home, one son is married and in the Army.  It’s just my husband, our older son, and me to celebrate the day.  The flag is out, and the barbeque will be fired up this afternoon.  I’ll bake my gingersnap cookies, and we’ll eat out on the patio.  And we’ll remember our families, and the men and women who fought to protect our freedom.  No matter how small our family has become, we can get together every Memorial Day because someone else paid the ultimate price in order for us to do so. 

I enjoy hosting garage sales.  Even though the belongings I accumulate over the years bring in just a fraction of what they were worth, I get satisfaction when I see them go to someone who obviously wants them when I don’t anymore. 

We have a garage sale about once a year.  We had our most recent one just this last weekend.  In years past, it’s been after deaths in the family, when we attempt to thin out inherited goods that are way past their prime, or when our younger son joined the army and gave us permission to get rid of the belongings he left behind. 

The one we had recently was because we’ve been on a home improvement kick and bought new furniture.  The old had to go.  It was garage sale time.  While I enjoy scouring the house, finding items to put in the sale, I’m not a big fan of dealing with the buying public.  I’m an introvert (remember, I’m a writer?).  I leave the actually selling to my husband and my older son, who inherited his father’s gift of gab.​So, I find and clean and display the items to their best advantage on tables and hangers that we set up in the garage.  I swear, I must have been a shop keeper in another life!  For example, I tell my husband to hang the vibrant yellow T-shirt up front because “it draws peoples’ eyes to it.”  He scoffs at the idea, but wouldn’t you know it, on the day of the sale, people went right up to it and fingered it.  While that shirt didn’t go, many others behind it did. 

On the day of the sale, my son and husband are up early, planting the signs directing buyers to our house all around the neighborhood.  I sleep in about a half hour longer, then stumble out to make my tea and take care of the dog.  Someone has to run the house, after all.  When I hear voices in the garage, or my dog begins to bark, I head out to be an extra pair of eyes.  Yes, there are shoplifters even in garage sales! 

We always put small items like make-up and jewelry on one table, and I take my place there.  You’d be surprised at what manages to sell; even used lipstick!  You never know how people will employ your belongings.  Sometimes one purchase will balloon into many, like my mom’s seventy-year-old pots and pans.  My husband indicated all the kitchen utensils we had for sale and made a few more bucks off those. 

Once I’ve had my caffeine infusion, I can at least attempt conversation.  I’m not good at bartering; not like my husband.  He could talk a guy with a trench coat full of watches out of his merchandise!  Yet I still manage to joke and gently direct people to items they may not notice.  We try to set things out logically, so that buyers can easily see what we’re selling.  Leaving everything in boxes isn’t advisable.  People don’t want to work for their purchases. 

Most of the time people are pretty friendly, and banter back good-naturedly.  Once in a while you get that person who wants to talk you down from a dollar.  Seriously?  An item that was once worth ten is marked down to a buck, and someone wants to go lower?  My husband can usually cajole them into accepting the price. 

Yes, I do love a garage sale.  They are time-consuming, and you won’t get rich on them.  Many times, it hurts to see belongings go for a tiny price, but if you weren’t using them anyway, at least now they might be.  This last one we made about $140.  You have to decide if that’s worth the prep time.  For me, it definitely is.  We got rid of a lot of items we weren’t using, cleared out space in closets and drawers, and had some fun with complete strangers.  I’d say it was a win-win situation over all.​Do you like hosting garage sales, going to garage sales, or both?  I’d love to hear your opinion of them! 

I hope everyone had a lovely Mother’s Day.  I did.  It started with my husband making breakfast for me.  We used to go out for breakfast, and even earlier, the kids would help make breakfast.  But now he makes the meal, which is always better at home. 

I remember plenty of times, waiting to be seated at a restaurant, the kids whining about being hungry, or complaining their favorite cereal wasn’t on the menu.  Neither one of them was much into eggs or pancakes.  And with what restaurants charge for a bowl of cereal, you could buy a couple boxes and eat for days!  Add the fact that the kids don’t want to get dressed and eat out in the first place and breakfast at a restaurant doesn’t seem worth the effort. 

That’s when we began to make breakfast at home.  What a treat.  My husband can cook; don’t get me wrong.  But cooking with children isn’t his strong suit, and that’s saying it mildly.  What’s supposed to be the morning Mommy gets to sleep in becomes a comedy of errors.  That’s when you don’t want an open-concept floorplan, because everything that happens in the kitchen drifts up to my bedroom.​For example, my older son would help his dad with the toast, as well as cutting a flower for me from the rose garden.  The younger boy was in charge of setting the tray.  Unfortunately, he wanted his brother’s chores, and would loudly complain.  And the older one would capitalize on that, telling his brother to quit complaining.  Soon the din would be so loud that sleeping in was impossible.  And of course, the toast invariably became burnt. 

Breakfast in bed had its own perils.  My husband would carry up the tray, while one boy would bring the flower, and the other would bring the sugar for my tea.  Usually the tea sloshed on the tray, and more often than not, the flower wasn’t in any water.  But their beaming faces made the meal a Michelin-star repast!  Except for the time my husband stubbed his toe on the foot of the bed and dumped the tray in my lap.  He’d like to forget it, but I never will.  The boys laughed until they cried, he was furious, and I wasn’t real happy to wear my food, either.  But that’s one Mother’s Day that stands out in my memory. 

Now my Mother’s Days are much more relaxed.  One son is moved out with his own wife.  He calls me, and this year will bring my gift down with him on Memorial Day.  I can wait, knowing that since he’s in Army Intelligence training, this is probably the last year I’ll have him in person.  He’ll most likely be deployed next year.  I’ll take a real-life hug and kiss any day over Skype. 

My older son lives with us right now, until he’s done with his teacher training.  He went to church with me and spends lots of time with me.  I know those days are numbered as well.  Soon he’ll be out on his own, and I won’t have my sidekick with me anymore. 

So, what advice would I give you as a mother?  Enjoy the time you’re in.  If you have babies, hold them tight, and cherish those whines, cries, and slops.  If they’re school age, enjoy the tepid coffee, burnt toast, and skinny-armed hugs.  There will come a day when the breakfasts will be perfect, and the phone conversations way too short.  And your arms will be empty for far too long.  And then those memories will get you through the day, and warm your heart, until you hear, “Hi, Mom,” once again. 

I hope you had a wonderful Mother’s Day!  Got any funny stories to tell?  I’d love to hear! 

Today I'm on Kaye Dacus's blog, cooking up my award-winning chili.  Trot on over and check out the recipe, find out what award I won, and, pick up your copy of Undercover with the Nanny while you're at it. 

I love getting book reviews.  Every time I have a new book released, I look forward to the reviews almost as much as the sales.  While the sales are a definite indicator of how well a novel is liked, even more so are the comments readers make.  And that’s what I enjoy the most. 

It wasn’t always this way, however.  When my debut romance novel came out, the first review I received was not complimentary.  I fought back the tears as I read it.  After all, publishing a novel is like giving birth.  You put in all that blood, sweat, and tears, and then you send your book out into the world and they greet it with “I just couldn’t get into the story.”  That sort of comment is like telling a new mother her baby is ugly! 

Better reviews trickled in after that first one, but the damage was done.  Desperate to find out how other authors combatted the “yucky review syndrome,” I scoured the internet, as well as Amazon.  I was surprised to find that even my favorite authors, (Nora Roberts, Kristen Hannah, Karen Robards), had some bad reviews.  Stinkers, I like to call them.  And then I heard someone on TV say (I think it was on the show Castle), “Everyone’s a critic.”  I also read an interview of another romance author who said, “You can’t please everyone.” 

I started to regard my book reviews differently.  Instead of agonizing over the few “bad” ones, I began to look at reviews as a whole.  Yes, you may get a few readers who don’t click with your story, but that’s just a microcosm of the real world.  Not everybody is going to be your friend, either.  But the viewpoints from every reader are valid, and give me information I can certainly use in my future writing. 

After that first book, my next two received better reviews.  I took the criticism and learned from it.  My fourth book has just released, and it is getting wonderful reviews from readers and bloggers alike.  Now when I see a new review, I read it eagerly, because this is how I connect with my readers.  This is how I know if I’m hitting the mark.  And I am.  I’d love to answer every single review, chat with the person who left it, but that is a no-no in the writing world.  So please, readers, know that I love the responses you leave.  It’s like Christmas Day whenever I see a new number pop up on Goodreads, or Amazon, alongside my book. 

I enjoy writing unusual stories, and I’m very fortunate to be a published author.  But even more than the steadily increasing royalties I receive from each subsequent book, I thrive on the growing positive reviews I get from readers of my novels, my “babies.”  Therefore, keep them coming.  Tell me what you like about my books.  Describe how they make you feel.  How you can’t stop reading into the night, or that you read it twice because you didn’t want to leave the world I created.  And yes, if it didn’t work for you, tell me that as well. 

Remember, I read every single review.  It’s like a note across miles and oceans.  I delight in them almost as much as Christmas.  You can even attach them to a bow on a car in my driveway, or is that going too far?  Oh, well.  You can’t fault a girl for trying. 

Have you enjoyed my books but haven’t left a review yet?  You still can.  I’m eagerly waiting to hear from you.​​

Author

Just starting out in this writing process.  It takes over a person's life.  After all, there are no set hours, no specific place to go, no definitive wardrobe.  But the worlds you can visit?  They make up for everything!