Forever and Always...

Listening to:  "Made for You" courtesy of One Republic

He stood at the end of the aisle, hands folded behind his back, nervously shifting on his feet. His hazel eyes scanned the room, his jaw feverishly chomping on a piece of imaginary gum, which made me giggle. I'd watched his mother walk up to him and put her hand out, making him take it out a few minutes ago. He appeared nervous, uncertain...the same as me.

Smoothing my chiffon dress, I pulled the lace edge veil slightly over my shoulders. I didn't want it covering my face as tradition dictated. Several nightmarish scenarios played through my overactive imagination where the veil would catch on my dad's cuff link when he lifted it, or the headpiece would slip off during the orchestrated moment, ruining my hair. Or the fabric would tickle my nose and I'd sneeze...

The first step was the hardest. Remembering to smile, hoping no one noticed the slight trembling of my body or the bouquet shaking in my hand. I grasped my dad's arm so tight, I'm sure it felt numb by the third step. Ahead, a brilliant sunset slipped away on the western horizon, spreading golden fingers of light across the wall of windows I walked toward. The closer I got to the gorgeous heartthrob, still chomping, I noticed how the glow of the amber backdrop created a halo effect around his head, outlining each sandy curl. 

My angel--sent to me in a time of my life when I desperately needed a lifeline. Just didn't know my prayer would be answered in the form of a stranger who asked to borrow my binoculars at a Doobie Brother's concert. Four months later he returned the favor by dropping on one knee with a diamond ring and a promise to love me forever. Or at least try. 

I don't remember the ceremony, just the way we looked at each other, silly grins painfully pressing between our cheeks, and the kiss afterwards. A kiss filled with urgency, fear, excitement, and knowledge that we were embarking on a lifelong adventure, having no clue how to proceed...beyond the honeymoon (that we had figured out).  No instructions, or road map to follow. 

Marriage is truly based on blind love and guided by the heart. Each one is like a snowflake - original in design and equally fragile. There's no warranty, certainly no easy exchanges, nor a guarantee attached to that first kiss full of promise that you'll have a happy ending. You only have "hope" to rely on, besides each other. I'm one of the lucky ones who managed to give "hope" a good beating, but held tight to the belief everything would work out despite the obstacles that seemed to constantly bombard us. Every time we survived one, our relationship grew stronger, along with our respect for each other.

All these years later, after several buckets of tears have been shed through love, laughter, and heartbreak, he's still borrowing my binoculars. The sandy curls have turned turned gray and thinned, the deep "V" from broad shoulders to a "six-pack" waist has squared, and the gait a bit slower with less sway. But those hazel eyes still glitter, the playful smile deepening the crinkles at the corner of the eyes still hiding mischief, and the hands have remained strong...the arms comforting. When I snuggle into him at the end of the day, butterflies still flutter in my stomach and I giggle to myself as if I was twenty again...sleeping with my boyfriend.

Thirty-six years ago today, I married my best friend, with dreams of romance and endless possibilities for happiness. Thirty-six years later, I understand the meaning of true love...what real "romance" feels like, and the realization that "happiness" sometimes comes after paying a hefty price. I'm older, wiser, bolder, and still in love with my boyfriend.

I'm sharing a link to a darling video that makes me cry every time I watch - sweet and romantic...enjoy! (hope one or the other works!)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Su1YLAjty-U&feature=youtu.be

http://youtu.be/Su1YLAjty-U

WACKY WEDNESDAY...Where Anything Goes

I should have been a cop. One with a big ass gun. Not that I'd use it, or anything, but the affect would be awesome. Maybe if I cut the cord on my Vidal Sassoon blow dryer and point it out the car window, I could get some "respect?" My life passes before my eyes several times before I arrive at work each day, and my boss wonders why I kneel and the kiss the ground once I arrive.

My commute to work is akin to tight flight schedule. It takes me 20 minutes from my home "runway" to my first layover at the local convenience store where I load up on caffeinated beverages. My body requires a certain amount of caffeine to function properly. If denied even one ounce, I do not play well with others the rest of the day.

After takeoff, I have approximately 9.5 minutes to my final destination, work, where I slide into my office chair and login to my computer with 30-45 seconds to spare. Now I understand things can happen to upset my schedule and I allot 3.5 minutes for this, as well as 15-30 seconds of self evaluation before I detonate because of the delay. If all goes well, I use this extra time to peruse the breakfast aisle for M&M's or Hot Tamales. If not, then I'm strictly on liquid caffeine and checking my pulse by 10:00 am.

But...if something messes with my fine-tuned schedule, I become a force equivalent to the Bermuda Triangle, where anyone daring to breach the perimeter, could end up with their picture on a milk carton. Today, was almost one of those days.

Scene setup, critical to a story. I live in a small town where the "forefathers" never thought straight streets were of any benefit to their horse drawn carriages. Not a lot of rush hour traffic back then. Every street in my community "meanders." "Scenic byways" are straighter. Then there is the misappropriation of city taxes being used for anything other than street repair. The street department's idea of fixing a hole large enough to swallow a Volkswagen (which is the size mandated as "repairable") is to dump enough asphalt to form a small mountain, and let the traffic slowly over time, mush it flat to street level. 

Also, sidewalks are reserved for streets that high profile dignitaries would travel passing through, and if there are sidewalks, joggers, mothers with infants in strollers, dog walkers, and teenagers with a death wish, avoid entirely. Therefore, I'm driving through a freakin' obstacle course every morning. 

I consider myself a safe driver when my eyes are open. However, this morning I left late, allowing only 1.5 minutes for any calamities, so I've edged my speed up a notch, to fall within the questionable "5 mile over" ticket. I'm dodging the struggling bicycle enthusiast (some people should not wear spandex), barely missing "Jogging Barbie" pushing her latest offspring in an overpriced stroller. This road is barely wide enough to allow cars to pass without exchanging paint colors.

Ahead of me, smoothing out the freshly filled potholes, bounces a low-rider "rust-test-in-progress." He's not moving over. I start my morning calisthenics, flexing my middle finger so its ready to demonstrate my salutations at the jumbling rent-a-wreck aiming for me. We're close enough now, I can count 3 "special beings" occupying the front seat, barely old enough to drive and possibly still in "pull-ups."

I roll down my window, immediately swamped with the choking smell of fresh cut hay, which triggers a coughing fit. My bladder is being tested mightily. The truck is close enough I can feel the vibration from the bass speakers traveling the pavement and competing with the soundtrack to Mamma Mia playing over my stock stereo system. I can barely make out the words to "Supertrooper" and I'm getting pissed. 

Hit pause.

I failed to mention this quaint, but beautiful place I live in is consumed with "snowbirds" or as I affectionately refer to them, "Q-tips", because they're just little tufts of white heads peaking through their oversized steering wheels, while driving automobiles still manufactured with 8 foot hoods. They arrive shortly before the pumpkins are carved and start dissipating sometime after Memorial Day. A few die while they're here, lessening the crowd, but some stay and buy real estate...and drive their monster-mobiles at the most inopportune times of day. Like rush hour.

I've come to the conclusion the post office offers free coffee and doughnuts to anyone over 80 with a valid drivers license, if they arrive between 7:45 and 8:15 am on weekdays.

Hit play.

The three munchkins in their booster seats barreling down the country road are ill equipped to handle "Q-tip intervention," but I see the red caddy easing to the intersection. However, the "Lance Armstrong wanna-be" I passed a few moments ago, picked up speed on the downward incline and is checking himself out in my right side mirror. I can't watch him, the "three amigos" and "Gramps" all at the same time, and still maintain warp speed to be to work on time. Something's got to give.

Out of the corner of the eye not twitching, I spy "robo-cop" with his "blowdryer" aimed at the menagerie in motion. Which one of us will cross the finish line first and get to autograph his notebook, taking home our paper prize? Not me. I back off, nearly causing my cycling athlete to crash into the ditch, no longer being propelled by the vast wind speed of my Mazda3. However, the 3 stooges and grandpa are duking it out for the intersection, neither aware they are on "camera." But Q-tips or "floating islands" are famous for surprises. Gramps sails through the stop sign, the baby geniuses slam on the brakes (which I'm surprised worked), and a "slow speed" chase ensues, complete with lights and sirens.

An acknowledgement of respect that we both dodged a bullet, passes between our smirks as I roll by the pickup truck. My triathlete in training? Checking out his spandex shorts. I'm guessing something is amiss by Barbie's turned up nose when she passes.

I slide into my seat, Diet Coke, coffee, and M-and-M's intact, with 10 seconds to spare. Its a good day.

**Since I shot myself in the foot and signed up for two online classes at the same time, my weekend blog shall remain silent. I know, you're heartbroken. Hopefully, I'll be back on track for Wacky Wednesday next week. Till then, stay out of trouble, or don't get caught.**

RUSHING IN THE BACKDOOR WITH A "PAY IT FORWARD"

Tonight's tune:  "The One That Got Away" courtesy of Katy Perry

(A favorite)  I will be creating a page of playlists of songs I listen to when working in each book. Music is a huge part of my writing...along with chocolate.

 

Life is knocking loudly at the front door, so I'm slipping in from the back porch to share a couple of new book releases and shining the spotlight on some author friends. There's a "code" we authors follow. When a colleague's work is published, we rally to launch their books by posting on our blogs, websites, Facebook pages, and "tweeting" their good fortune. In turn, the "creative forces" in our universe send good karma our way by blessing us with what we need for our own projects. Together, we weave a strong tapestry of imaginative thoughts to share and enlighten.

 

I want to share four new "patches" in the tapestry I've discovered. One is by a mentor/teacher, who has been helping me hone my craft. Another is by a newly acquired cyber friend who happens by my blog and sends me comments. In one of my many email threads, she mentioned the release of her new book. I went to Amazon, my new oxygen tank, and read the blurb. I was in love with the story at that point and downloaded it to my Kindle. I'm in the middle of enjoying her story and want to share, so others can discover her talent.

My third and fourth "patches" are dear to my heart. I don't know what I'd do without this particular "earth angel." Her southern drawl and quick wit are only a fraction of the many charms of Loretta Wheeler (also writing under L. Reveaux). We share a "soul connection." I've never met her, only spoke with her on the phone once when I needed someone to talk me off the roof after my first bad review (I now apply "tough skin" lotion daily to dull the sting). She is part of a small sisterhood formed through a writing class we all took, and afterward, the bonds were too strong to break, so we formed our own writing group, aptly named "the Writing Divas." We're "cyber BFF's" and help each other daily through professional and personal ups and downs. 

 

 I was flattered when Loretta approached me about looking at her recently released short "The Rising," (which is also posted here) and then again at "Pan Man," her young adult short story to see what needed changing. I'm happy to say this lady writes well enough that I didn't need to change much in either story, only suggested different colors to add to the characters and scenes. Her trust in me in humbling.

When "Pan Man" released this week for ePublication, I was thrilled to find my name listed as her editor! What an honor! It was fun to see my name on Barnes & Noble's website! Technically, my name is officially "in print." With that said....below are the new patches woven into my never ending tapestry:

        

Pan Man

by Loretta Wheeler

It's Summertime...Beach time...Carnival time

And for Christy

Pan's time…

The carnival arrives at the beach every summer, bringing with it the sounds, the lights, the music, and the mystery only a carnival can impart. But this year, it's brought something more, this year something out of Greek mythology has traveled with it, in search of a long-lost love.

The Rising

by L. Reveaux

They say it's all smoke and mirrors down on Bourbon Street…but what do they know…

Smoke rises…as does heat…and fire…And sometimes all of them are fed by the same unquenchable desires

Take a late night stroll with Rick through the French Quarter, preferably on a night when the moon is rising along with the heat level, and watch as The Lady Ryze steps under a street light...and sets the night ablaze…

Beyond a Highland Whisper

by Maeve Greyson

The last time Latharn MacKay walked among his kinsman was in Scotland of 1410. Sensuous and charismatic, all the women wanted him, but none could capture his heart. Latharn's charm became his curse when a dark sorceress didn’t take rejection well. She snared his soul into a crystal globe until the one woman destined to be his love whispered his release. Now all Latharn has to do is find her and guide her to him without speaking a word.

One of the youngest archaeologists in St. Louis of 2010, Nessa credits one thing for this achievement: the recurring dream of a heart-stopping Highlander since the summer she turned eighteen years old. Little does she know, he's not some fantasy cooked up by her subconscious. He’s a trapped soul determined for Nessa to end his six centuries in hell. Can love prevail over the dark magic of a woman scorned?

She Who Dares, Wins (Blaze series)

Candace Havens:

www.candacehavens.com

He's high risk... and very

Well, it certainly wasn't the assignment detective Katie McClure was expecting. Traveling to London to protect an old scientist who'd been receiving death threats? Too easy.

As it turns out, Dr. Macon Douglas is hot. The kind that makes Katie ponder her own kinds of experiments - namely ones that involve Mac being naked. But the death threats are real…along with the wicked chemistry that seems to sizzle and zap whenever they're together. Can Katie keep her professional thoughts in mind and keep Mac safe - or will she risk everything and dare to be bare?

Thanks for sneaking in the backdoor and sharing a moment. Got to answer the annoying pounding coming from the front door, now. Catch ya next week! Harley Brooks...Joelene's secret "muse"