When I decided to start a writing career I could have chosen a different direction… children’s books, science books, text books… any number of genres were open to me as long as I had the drive to write about them.
But I chose romance. Why? Because I’m a sucker for love and the happy ending. I enjoy nothing more than getting swept away as the hero and heroine find their way through a sticky maze of conflict to end up in each others’ arms and find that fate meant all along for them to end up together. *sigh*
I’m going to admit that I haven’t done many things that are “typical”. I didn’t pretend not to be smart just to impress a boy. I didn’t sneak makeup in my book bag and put it on at school. And I never pilfered romance novels from my mother’s nightstand.
The first one no doubt had to do with being a middle child and always trying to prove myself to my older siblings. There was no way I was ever going to look dumb in front of them. And the second two things on the list were definitely influenced by Mom herself. My mom’s really pretty and I don’t remember her wearing makeup. So the whole thing was a non-issue in my house. There was no one saying I could or I couldn’t, so why rebel? The whole makeup thing seemed like a huge hassle in my opinion. And then there are the books. My mom was a reader. She took 4 and 5 books out of our little library every week and carried them home. She was pleased as punch when we picked one up and thumbed through it. I can’t say for sure when my love of reading began, but by the time I hit middle school I was reading adult books … including romances.
It appears I’ve done it again. I’ve frittered away the month of December and Christmas has crept up on me like an old pair of panties.
And I can only hope this letter finds its way into your hands before Rudolph is hitched to your sleigh. You see there’s only one thing I want for Christmas. I’d really like… if it’s not too much trouble… a doover.
It seems like only yesterday it was the week before Thanksgiving and I was thinking “oh, another whole month stretches out ahead of me to enjoy the holiday season”. *Gulp* Where did the month go? I want it back. If you could turn back the clock I promise the second time around I’d use my allotted time more wisely.
I won’t wait until the week before Christmas to start shopping and picking over the clothing racks with only size 0 or 26 left. I’d send out my Christmas gifts in a timely fashion so the man at the post office won’t laugh maniacally at my feeble attempt to get packages to loved ones. I promise to plan my Christmas dinner waaay before the grocery shelves hold only pickles and day old bagles. I’ll not eat so much at the Christmas parties so the cute outfit I bought for Christmas Eve mass will still fit. I promise to keep the house picked up so when unexpected guests arrive to share some holiday cheer, I won’t be scrambling to clear the laundry off the couch and they’ll have a place to sit. I promise to buy tape, ribbon, and wrapping paper right after Thanksgiving and not pull the funnies section of the newspaper out of the recycling so my gifts are covered with something. I promise to put up the tree before Christmas Eve and have it down waaay before Valentine’s Day. I promise to wrap gifts and stack them happily under the tree and not wait until two days before the holiday to think perhaps I should have asked for gift boxes.
So, if I promise to do all these things, Santa… could you just deliver this one little gift. ‘Cause I could really use a “do over” for Christmas.
PS Anyone tell you… you’re looking good for a jolly old elf!
With Christmas only days away I’m completely off any semblence of a writing schedule. So I’ve sort of thrown up my hands and I’m diving head first into grocery shopping for all the company and wrapping presents. And to me there is nothing more festive than watching some Christmas classics while the paper is cut and the ribbons are curled. I don’t think any of these never-fail-to-watch classics will surprise many of you.
I do think it’s important every once in awhile to take stock of one’s life. To really look at what’s going on. Sometimes it’s to re-evaluate and make adjustments to the course of my life. But this week I just want to share some of the things I’m truly grateful for.
1. The hubster – He drives me insane. He makes me laugh. He leaves his laundry laying around. He understands my needs like no one else on earth. He’s me best friend and I love him with all my heart.
I’ve never carried a gun. But my heart aches for those who carry one every day, knowing it could be the only thing that saves their life or that of a fellow soldier.
I’ve never said goodbye to someone I love, fearing I may never see them again. But I’ve watched flag-draped caskets arrive back on US soil, where mothers and fathers grieve the loss of a child.
I’ve never had to be separated from someone who is my whole world while they fight for a freedom I get to appreciate every day. But I’ve known brave families who get down on their knees every night and pray for the day they can hold their husband/daddy/wife/mommy in their arms again.
I know, I know. I disappeared. But I had a good reason and it can be summed up with 4 simple letters. L. I. F. E.
You know sometimes it just gets the best of you! But I’m working toward a much better 2014. And until then I’ll try to bring my blog back to life! Here’s one of my favorite free reads that at some point in time will definitely require a story of its own!
Meghan dropped down in the small stool, tipped back her cowboy hat and laid her forehead against the soft belly of the Jersey, less than pleased she was here doing the evening milking—again. The youngest of eight sisters, she always seemed to get stuck finishing the barn chores. She never got to do anything exciting, like ride out into Mistletoe Canyon and find the missing cows. Resigned to her duty, she gripped a teat in each hand, rolled her fingers with a vengeance and sent milk pinging into the bucket between her feet. The cow let out a soft bellow.
“Don’t take it out on Clarabelle, it’s not her fault she needs milking,” her sister Michelle said from the stall behind her as she leaned in and begin expertly milking the Guernsey at her hands. “Besides, having you ride out at night just didn’t make any sense. Marissa and Melinda will find the cows and have them back here before Maria and Mary have trimmed the Christmas goose.”
“I’m that transparent now am I?”
Mia laughed, patting the tawny hide of the cow standing over her two stalls over. “I’m surprised you didn’t trip on that pouty lip as you dragged your skinny ass into the barn. Besides, even Santa’s elves don’t take a break from their chores on Christmas Eve until every last train is painted and every dolly packed.” Her oldest sister and her twin, Molly seemed happiest at the Arizona farm, content to tend cattle, breed horses and gather eggs for the neighbors.
Twenty-five head of dairy cattle, two bulls, twenty-seven prize thoroughbreds, a dozen pigs, countless dogs, four geese, two swans and more chickens than Perdue could cook in a month—that was the Morgan farm. Molly and Mia had been running it with a few local hired hands since their dad passed away from lung cancer five years ago when Meghan was just starting her freshman year of high school. He’d lost his high school sweetheart, and her mother, in a freak rodeo accident when Meghan was only five. Fiercely independent, her sisters had insisted on keeping the sprawling acres of land even when it meant every last minute was spent isolated from the rest of the world, earning a living.
As soon as she had enough saved, Meghan was shaking the dust of Peartree Point from her boots and heading east to some college that didn’t include “community” in its title. There was nothing that could keep her here on the family farm.
* * * *
Marissa nudged her chestnut mare, guiding her carefully down the slippery slope of Mistletoe Canyon, praying she could find the pregnant cows. Melinda’s horse nickered beside her, the billow of air pluming from its nostrils emphasizing the steady drop in temperature. The sun had set an hour ago, clouds rolling in, shrouding the full moon in a wash of black and gray.
“Molly just radioed from the other side of the canyon. She’s got nothing,” Melinda said.
“I’d hate to have those cows calve tonight out here. I’m not sure the newborns will survive the squall coming in.” As if her words had summoned them, snowflakes floated lazily from the sky.
“Tell Molly to meet us on the other side of the ridge. We’ll join up by route 17. If we don’t find them there, we’ll go home and pick up the search in the morning.”
Marissa kicked the mare into a trot and gave the horse her head. They’d ridden this section of the land so often the horse knew instinctively how to maneuver safely over the rocky terrain even in the shadowed night. Ten minutes later as the snow fell in earnest, the canyon walls opened up. She could see the lights of the gator up ahead, but Molly wasn’t alone.
A motor home loomed over the gator, her pregnant cows tethered to its grill. Oh hell no! Some yankees looking for Santa in a cowboy hat weren’t going to ruin her Christmas.
* * * *
Ayden stood his ground. In a short sleeved T-shirt, freezing his ass off, he was feeling more than a little desperate. The feisty blonde before him might be small in stature, but her attitude was rivaled only by the storm swirling around him. He hadn’t had a chance to explain himself when two horses thundered across the plain, their riders dropping to stand with the woman in front of him.
“We have a problem here, Molly?” the brunette from the horse asked.
The blonde tipped back her cowboy hat, exposing a heart-shaped face with rosy cheeks and full lips. Even pursed in displeasure, they looked damn kissable.
“No problem here,” she responded. “I was explaining to this man that the cows he’s stealing belong to the Morgan farm.”
“I’m not stealing your damn cows. I’m—”
His brother Aaron chose that moment to poke his head out the door. “Can they give us a ride Ayden? It’s fucking…”
Alex plowed into him from behind, the two of them tumbling out of the stranded motor home. “I do not want to spend Christmas stranded in fucki…”
“Please forgive my language, ladies.”
Ayden rolled his eyes as his brothers’ surly demeanors morphed into flirtatious charisma the moment they realized their rescuers were female.
“You look…” The third woman pointed first at Ayden then to Aaron. “And you…” Her finger moved to Alex. They got that reaction a lot.
“We’re triplets. Aaron, Alex and I’m Ayden Williams. And as I was saying we’re not stealing your cattle. We held on to them in hopes—”
“Their owners would rescue us.” Aaron finished.
“I’ve got the three duffles and a backpack of electronics.” Even at 20, Abraham, his youngest brother had the boyish look of a high school kid. Only his well developed physique hinted at his age. “They agree to take us to town?” he asked as he jumped down from the motorhome.
His twin Acton came down with as much enthusiasm. “Awesome, they brought horses.”
A whistle cut through the air, halting all the verbal confusion. Ayden turned back to the blonde. “One person.” She poked Ayden in the chest. “Why don’t you tell us what’s going on and why the lost cows that are keeping me from Christmas dinner are tethered to your motor home.”
Adam, Andrew and Anderson joined the rest of his brothers and he held his hand up, turned back to them and mouthed “Shut up.” He had hoped to negotiate the ride into town before his Good Samaritans realized there were eight hungry cowboys in need of rescuing.
* * * *
Meghan loved Christmas. The lights of the nine-foot Douglas fir standing proudly in the great room winked at her through the dining room door. Marie had started the fire while they’d been milking the cows. Presents in festive wrapping paper were scattered around the base, ready for the morning’s festivities.
“Are you sure there’s eight of them?” Marie asked, carrying the last of the crystal wine goblets and setting them around the additional place settings.
Mary balanced a tray of serving dishes, arranging them along the length of the table. “I think Mom and Dad always planned on a very big family. There’s plenty of room for all sixteen of us.”
The responsibilities on the ranch were so demanding, Meghan barely had time to do more than think about dating. Now eight men were being delivered to their doorstep.
“They’re brothers,” Mia said. “Molly said they’re buying the Fitzpatrick spread next door. I didn’t get any more than that over the radio.” Mia and Michelle carried more food from the kitchen. No one was worried there wasn’t enough to feed them all. They’d learned early on, that leftovers were never wasted. Mary and Maria had cooked enough food to feed a small country.
Footsteps pounded across the front porch. The wide door opened, the fresh scent of a Christmas snow carried in with all the men entering the foyer. Meghan would have to rethink that whole moving to the east coast thing.
It seems Santa did deliver on Christmas wishes after all.
I feel very fortunate for who I am and where I grew up. I haven’t known hardship. I haven’t had anyone hate me just because my skin was white. I haven’t felt less or been denied a job because I didn’t look like 90% of the work force. I’ve never worried that someone could think me stupid simply because I fall into a particular ethnicity.
I don’t know what it’s like to grow up as an African-American. I won’t even pretend I can truly comprehend what a huge group of people have had to endure because they were different. But Martin Luther King, Jr knew and fought the good fight. Not only do I admire what he did to advance the equality of so many but my heart aches that he layed down his life for what he believed in.
This is so much more than a day off from work/school. It’s a chance for us to celebrate a wonderful man’s legacy and remember all he gave so others could have more.