My Gifts to My Fellow Writers

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It's the giving season and I've be remiss if I didn't share a few "gifts" with my fellow wordsmiths. So, check these out and enjoy the season, hug your family, friends, and significant others, and be filled with  Joy! I'll be back the first Wednesday of January.

• A Brief Letter to a Worried Writer--Take heart, you aren't over the hill if you're still hunting that agent and/or contract and there's no one place you should live.
• Finding Confidence--It's there for the taking if you look for it.
• The Two Minutes It Takes...--Just read it, already. ;-)
• Imposter Syndrome--You know you feel like this.
• How to Write Every Day--And be Zen about it. ;-)
• Controlling the Crazies--This isn't just for women, you know.
• And of course, you need books! Check out Hometown Reads.

Have a fabulous holiday season whatever your way of celebrating

Merry Christmas from my family to yours.

Merry Christmas!

In this week of Christmas, I thought I'd give you a poem.

Christmas Promise

Lit by a star’s glory,
The promise of Christmas
Starts with a baby’s cry.
Its light is the beginning
And with Easter’s dawn,
Arisen and triumphant,
The promise is complete.

~~Zan Marie Steadham
From A Christmas Walk
Copyright 2010

Have a blessed, safe, and happy Christmas! 

I'll be taking next week off! See you in the New Year!

Christmas Babies--Finale

And in conclusion...

All Decked Out!

     The roar of the vacuum stopped. Samantha trundled it to the closet and then stood at my elbow. “Can we talk before you take me home?”
    “May we? Of course.” I scanned her face. Worry tucked her fair brows together and my heart clenched.
    Her eyes were starting to fill. “How do you do Christmas without your husband? I mean…I miss Mom…”
    Tears rolled down her cheeks as my throat tightened. The fact was, I didn’t do Christmas very well since Tom’s death. Reaching out, I gathered Samantha in. The small shoulders shook with sobs as my own tears overflowed and dropped into her curls.
    Her whispered words said it all. “This is my third Christmas since—It’s not getting easier.”
    My heart clenched around my own grief. “It’s my second and I know what you mean, but you kids helped me this time.” I wiped at a tear that had dripped to the end of my nose. “Listening to the boys fuss over crayons and snuggling with the twins helped."
    “I’m sorry your Christmas bell got broken.”
    My hand rose before I thought and wiped her tears, too. “It’s okay. I’m glad none of the kids got hurt.”
    Samantha hunched her shoulders then let them fall. “I want to get Miss Cherie something. I saved a little bit from my allowance. It’s not much.” She tried to keep her tear-streaked face from blooming with hope, but it was a lost cause. “Mom never bought any presents, so I don’t know how.”
    I bit my lip. What mother didn’t buy her child presents? A drug addled one.
   “I think I can help with that because there will be presents this year.” I smiled. “I know just the place. Why don’t we shop a little on the way home. The dollar store had a lot of coloring books. That’ll take care of the boys. How about a big piece puzzle for the girls. They had them too.” And I’d make sure some of the presents had her name on them.
    “Oh! Miss Laura Grace! Thank you.” Her reddened eyes were beginning to twinkle. “Could we get a hat and scarf for Miss Cherie? She doesn’t have any.”
    “Sounds good. Let’s go shopping.”

#

Sipping hot tea as I lay back in the recliner, I smiled. Samantha’s shopping trip had taken the edge off the bittersweet feeling Christmas had folded about me. Dollar stores were underrated. Five gifts for five dollars and tax had to be a record. The creamy white scarf and hat had included a pair of gloves. The fleece was soft and would look good with any coat Cherie wore them with. And it had been half price.

A fuzzy, yellow head nosed its way into the living room. I chuckled as Sunshine stopped with one foot inside. The deep sniffing breaths were audible at my chair. “They’re gone, little boy. It’s safe.” Golden eyes took in the room then the cat crept along the carpet sniffing every inch where the boys had colored. Standing on his hind legs, Sunshine inspected the sofa.

I laughed as the inspector began on my recliner. “See. All gone.”

                          He blinked at me and jumped onto the arm of the chair. Settling into his usual place with his feet tucked and his tail curled in front, the big cat let out a satisfied sigh.
                         “Get used to it, little lion.” I fluffed Sunshine’s fur. “They’ll be back.”

Have a wonderful Christmas Day and may your New Year be blessed!

Christmas Babies

It's the Christmas season and I wanted to gift you with a bit of FRIENDLY FIRE. This scene is from early in the story and Laura Grace has her hands full. There's more to this, but I didn't want to overload you. I know you have gifts to buy, cooking to do, and cleaning for the holidays. ;-)



Baby-eye view of a Christmas tree

          A cold steady rain had finally lifted the fog, but Cherry Hill was still swaddled in a gray cocoon of winter. I could only hope that the waterlogged flowerbeds wouldn’t drown my mother’s iris. The painstaking digging I had done at her home place after her passing would have been in vain if it did. Maybe the rain would help them grow fat and healthy to bloom forth in all their deep purple glory next spring. I hoped so.
        Though the gray weather muted the Christmas lights on the other houses, inside my home, life bloomed, giggling and wiggling, on the sofa. I had successfully settled Cherie’s five smaller children—all seven or younger—in a line like museum statues. If the statues were alive, and all the children were. And loud. Now why had I volunteered to babysit this crew? On the surface it was to allow Cherie to Christmas shop in peace, but I knew that wasn’t the reason I had agreed. No. I was doing it to have more time with Samantha. The girl had rooted into my heart and I had to be with her. Even if it meant dealing with diapers. Cherie had assured me that it wouldn’t be a problem. Samantha would to the dirty work. We’d see. So far, no untoward odors had clashed with the cinnamon pine cones on the mantle.
        Peals of laughter rang off the vaulted ceiling as Jo-Jo, Cherie’s four year old, removed his finger from his nose and contemplated it cross-eyed. Samantha drew herself up, hands on hips. “Jo-Jo, that’s gross. Get a tissue.” The girl had her foster mother’s tone and stance down perfectly.
        The boy just grinned as plunged the offending booger into his mouth.
       “Eew!” Samantha squealed. “Don’t eat boogers!”
        I had to grin. I’d seen worse in high school classrooms, but Samantha’s reaction was priceless.
        Terry and Jamie joined Jo-Jo on the booger hunt, causing Samantha to sputter.
        Time to stop this. I placed the tissue box on Jamie’s lap and raised an eyebrow. He obediently pulled a tissue out and wiped his finger then passed the box down the line of offending little boys.
        Mia and Raina, the two-year-old twins, pulled a tissue for each hand and began to toss them, landing one on Jo-Jo’s head. He brushed it off and began to tickle his nearest little sister.
        “Enough of that.” I collected the tissues as Samantha smirked at the little boys.
         “Miss Cherie said we had to be careful not to mess up Miss Laura Grace’s clean house.”
          Terry grinned. “Is that why the sofa is covered?” He grabbed a handful of the afghan covering the seat. “To keep the leaky girls from soaking it?”
           The twins just grinned back with their tiny baby teeth and dimples. Cherie had dressed them in matching tops. Their black hair was drawn up in two identical curly puffs. I had to grin back. Diapers or not, the girls were too cute to resist and as sweet as the tiny angels on my Christmas tree.
          “No, I keep the sofa covered to keep Sunshine from scratching it when he jumps up.”
           Terry looked around the room. “What’s a sunshine?”
           “He’s my little boy.”
           “I didn’t think you had any kids.” Wariness deepened Samantha’s eyes to navy.
           “I don’t. No grandkids either. Sunshine is my fat old cat. He doesn’t jump much anymore—just sort of scrambles up. His back claws would scratch the leather if I didn’t cover it.”
           Jamie’s eyes were round. “Where is he?”
            I knew where Sunshine was. “He’s hiding because he doesn’t like to meet strangers.”
           Raina’s squeal of “kitty, kitty” ricocheted off the ceiling and Mia joined in.
           “Not today. Let’s let him hide. He’ll get used to you and come out later. Anyway, it’s movie time.” I hit play on the remote and Disney’s latest began to play.
            The kids settled in to watch and I nodded. That took care of the next ninety minutes or so.
           “Samantha, would you like to help me with the popcorn?”
           She followed me around the breakfast bar into the kitchen where it was relatively calm. I could see the little ones on the sofa as the warm, saturated colors of the cartoon glowed from the TV. That had settled them down.
          “Get us some bowls.” I pointed to the cabinet. “While I start the microwave.”
           Samantha’s bright blue eyes followed me as she handed me the bowls. “Why don’t you have kids? Don’t you like them?” The wariness had entered her voice now.
           I closed my eyes for a moment. How many students had asked me that question over the years? I didn’t want to know. The answer hadn’t changed though. Honesty was required here just as it had been all those other times I had answered the question. I looked into her eyes. “God doesn’t always give you what you want, but He does always give you what you need.” My mouth tightened around my self-consciousness. “Tom and I wanted children and we got a lot of them by teaching—hundreds of them.”
           Her eyes widened. “Didn’t you need kids?”
           I looked at the timer as the homey, mouth-watering smell scented the air. “I thought so, but it didn’t happen. I guess I wouldn’t have been a good mother.”
          “Oh, no! You would have been a great mother!”
           “Some of my students thought so too and even called me ‘Momma Chandler’” I smiled, thankful Kerry Jones had reminded me of that sweet memory. “Let’s go share out the popcorn.”
           As much as I loved hearing Paul Newman’s voice—hearing it come out of a cartoon car just wasn’t the same. But I couldn’t show “Cool Hand Luke” or Butch Cassidy to little kids.
           Though for a couple of hours of relative quiet, I could stand it. Of course it helped if your definition of ‘relative quiet’ could stretch to include a stinky diaper, a little boy kneading his crotch because he needed to pee, two squirming toddlers, and a spilled bowl of popcorn. The children for the most part had been giggling and engrossed in the story with their hands traveling to the popcorn bowls on remote control.
           Only Samantha wasn’t watching the movie. Tension thrummed through her as she sat at my feet trying to catch every falling kernel before it hit the floor.
           I laid my hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry, Samantha.”
           Fear shadowed her blue eyes.
           “I’ll vacuum later. It’s not a problem.”
            She sat back, but the tension didn’t go completely. The child was still reacting to everything, trying to decide how she was supposed to act.