Love lives on

I’ve been thinking about my grandmother lately. It was her birthday last week. She would’ve been 103. She died thirty years ago. A lifetime ago. Before I married and had my own family.

Grandma always wore a lime green housecoat with large fish-shaped buttons, a cigarette permanently affixed to her fingers. She limped from a stroke before I knew her. Her eyes were so dark as to appear black in her alabaster face. Her beautiful smile lit up a room.

Every day she sat in her living room, upright in a recliner next to the window so she could look out during the commercials of her ‘stories’ to see what was happening on Woodfield Road.

The phone sat beside her, waiting for the daily call from each of her five children. When I got older, I called her too. I’d joke with my mom about how long it took Grandma to say hello once she’d answered. Rheumatoid arthritis disfigured her hands and made it difficult for her to press answer and then pull the receiver to her ear.

April, 1994, a rare, special outing for Grandma, taken at a cousin’s wedding.

Grandma passed in June.

She had a habit of patting her hair behind her head over the lump at the base of her neck that was never addressed.  

If I close my eyes, I am back in her house, sitting across from her at the kitchen table while she eats her corn flakes, admonishing me for putting too much sugar on mine. She called me Oscar because I was messy and I called her Felix, a reference now only some of us know. The sound of the percolator on the stove, the smell of strong coffee, nicotine, and hot peppers is permanently seared into my memory.

Grandma did not have an easy life. The last years kept her confined to her house, only rarely venturing out. She loved Elvis. Loved Bingo and cards. She knew one joke and always, always told it wrong. But she laughed with every delivery and the sound of her laughter was our favorite song. She was kind and she loved her family.

She asked to be buried facing the sun so her “arthuritis” wouldn’t hurt. She said “url” and “turlet” and called Grandpa, Nicky.

I call my mother every day. Lately, Mom picks up the phone and it takes her a full minute to get it to her ear and say hello. She doesn’t have RA but different issues. The similarities to her own mother grow more obvious with each month. What used to be funny is now a sobering reality.

I’m not sad when I think of Grandma. I find comfort that after three decades I could still bring her to my mind and have her with me. As I watch my parents age, there’s some solace knowing that we never really die as long as someone remembers those things about us only loved ones know.

When I was a child and first learned about death, to console me, my father used to say, “No one ever called back to complain from the other side, so it must be okay.” It helped. But my grandmother wasn’t one to complain.

So Grandma, if you’re listening, I miss you, still, and keep you alive in my thoughts.

I hope wherever you are, you’re watching your stories and playing cards. 

I’ll see you when I see you. 

Happy Birthday.

Best. Review. Ever.

I have written and published four books since 2014. They are categorized as Women’s Fiction, which is defined as stories about women on the brink of life change and personal growth.

Both Sides of Love explores the beauty of true friendship and the ideals of love that last forever.

The Fabric of Us puts a loving thirty-year marriage to the ultimate test.

In Seasons Out of Time, we take a journey with a woman approaching middle age, who finds herself and learns to live, with the help of a younger man.

And then there is Letting Go. The first novel I ever wrote. Inspired by my ever-present fear of leaving my sons, I put pen to paper and wrote a cathartic tale that imagines the possibility that we will never leave our loved ones.

Written in 2010, when the boys were young. It sat in a drawer for a few years until I found the courage to re-write it and put it out into the world. If it never sells another copy, I am most proud of that work.

Why am I telling you this now?

Well. My older son is twenty-four, works full-time, travels and is on his way to a life that doesn’t revolve around his parents. (Pause for gut-wrenching sigh). As much as we tried while he was young, reading stories to him every day for years, he is not a reader. He and his brother know I write, they see my books on the shelves and are super-supportive sharing my successes and failures, but never showed more than a kind, passing interest in the content.

On our recent Christmas break, my son pulled a book from our full shelves and brought it with him back to his apartment to read, as part of a resolution his girlfriend suggested they try. He chose Letting Go. A few weeks later, I received a text.

Been reading every night. Damn near cried twice.

Two weeks later, another text:

Ma, excellent book. Couldn’t put it down. Reaching the last chapters.

Don’t know how it doesn’t have 100,000 purchases.

He came to visit after he finished. We talked about the story. He was engaged and enthusiastic and my heart swelled when he concluded that he loved it.

A full circle moment for me. It’s the best review I’ve ever received.

A thank you note

Hello friends,

It’s been too long. I hope you’re doing well. 

I thought I’d share a lovely experience I had last week. One of my favorite perks of writing is the chance to meet and chat with readers in book clubs. I had the pleasure and privilege of visiting with many groups before the pandemic and I really missed the connection.

So, when the Smithtown Senior Center invited me to join their discussion of The Fabric of Us, I was thrilled and delighted. And any hopes I had for a nice visit were far surpassed. They pulled out all the stops, from the decorated bulletin board at the entrance to the fresh baked scones and coffee, made for this special morning. The kindness shown to me, from the moment I walked in – greeted by my wonderful friend and hostess, Lisa – to the very last goodbye two hours later, was overwhelming. 

After an entertaining discussion sprinkled with tasty snacks, I was treated to a tour of the facility. Lisa proudly escorted me into each room, explaining its purpose, describing upcoming events, parties, clubs and classes offered. From Zumba to Quilting to Jewelry craft and painting, the calendar is always full. 

The joy and enthusiasm exuding from the staff and the love they have for this center was palpable and it showed on the elderly members who came in to spend the day. 

“When we’re retired and growing older, what is there to do?” Lisa said. “This is a place to gather, learn new things, meet people and have fun.” It certainly is. That’s what we want, after all.

Thank you to the amazing staff and new friends at the Smithtown Senior Center for making this girl feel special and for helping me to look forward to good times to come.  

This is where we enjoyed lively discussion of the book. I loved the way we were all seated facing each other.

Lisa, who embodies kindness and enthusiasm

From the moment I walked in, I felt welcome.

The book club

In keeping with the thread running through The Fabric of Us, I paused here to ogle the gorgeous quilts.

Post Thanksgiving Gratitude

Our younger son drove home from college earlier this week with the flu. Five hours alone in the car with fever, chills, body aches, he drove directly to the doctor, then home and into bed. He spent two days in his room letting Tamiflu do its thing, and felt significantly better Wednesday evening. 

To be safe, he opted to stay in his room on Thanksgiving for six hours so his 101-year-old great aunt could enjoy a meal with the family. We brought plates of food to him throughout the day and he ate alone, with his bedroom door open so he could hear the dinner conversation downstairs. 

Our older son will be turning twenty-three in a few days, so his grandmothers brought him a birthday cake. Great Aunt Virginia gave a special solo performance of the Happy Birthday song that nearly brought him to tears. 

This is 101, singing

When everyone left last night and the house was quiet, my husband and I joined the boys in the den to watch Ted Lasso, which we’ve all seen except for the one who had stayed in his room. We didn’t mind. We missed spending the day with him. And it’s a series worth watching again.

As I write this, the memories still fresh, I am filled with gratitude for so much in my life. For our sons, who consistently demonstrate kindness and compassion, for our parents, who we’re so lucky to still have, for family members who share our holidays and special memories, for Aunt Virginia, who is still singing, for our friends who reached out throughout the day, and for my husband, the perfect host partner and my best friend. 

I hope you all had a Thanksgiving filled with good memories, love, family, and friendship. 

Sometimes More is Just More

Dear Marie,

Over the past year and a half, like most people, I have watched more television than in any other year. After binging on everything from Bridgerton to Virgin River, I segued into an array of interesting and educational topics via Amazon, Netflix, Hulu, and Youtube. I can now trim a sail and a bonsai tree, grow vegetables and lemons, advise the most affordable places in the world to retire and when you pick one, I can help you redecorate your villa/yurt/igloo.

As a result of this onslaught of information, I can no longer take a bite of chicken or sip from a water bottle without tasting bitter guilt. And meat? Are you kidding? 

Then I discovered you and journeyed happily down the rabbit-hole of your episodes as you helped people declutter their homes and their lives. 

I agree most of us have too much and are suffocating beneath “stuff” we consistently acquire. I am also learning about how consumerism is posing a real threat to our planet. Downright frightening. 

So I quickly became a fan, appreciating how you gently coerce people to unburden themselves with items they no longer need. You have convinced them to “thank” the item for the joy it once brought and then say goodbye. Genius.

That being said, I admit it would be difficult for me to strictly follow your guidelines. 

If I were to dispose of everything I own that did not bring me joy, my closet would hold yoga pants, hoody sweatshirts, and no bras. My fridge would be stocked with peanut butter, chocolate and wine. My freezer? Yep, vodka…and ice cream.

Hardly a responsible existence, but I’m up for the challenge. I love your message of simplistic living and want to feel more gratitude for what I have. I’m on a mission, Marie. 

If you’ll excuse me, I have to thank my vacuum and toss escort it to the curb.

Wish me luck.

Sincerely,

Kimberly

The Changing of Time

When I was young, summer lasted for ages. Endless, languid days were spent frolicking on freshly cut grass, inhaling the fragrance of mower clippings, on our backs, hands shielding faces from the sun, identifying shapes of clouds against pool-blue skies. The perpetual excitement that arose as music from the ice cream truck grew louder culminated in a reward of ice pops dribbling down our arms in the heat because we couldn’t eat them fast enough. I swear it didn’t get dark until 9:30 p.m. in the 70’s. And no, I didn’t live in Alaska. 

We lived entire lifetimes in three months. 

As a mother to two young boys, the season felt extended as well. With no school schedules to fall back on, it was a challenge to keep these energetic beings busy on hot days. Parks and pools with friends, beach outings followed by thorough bath times trying to extract sand from tiny crevices, catching fireflies in the yard. All of us finally dropping into slumber only to start over again at the crack of dawn with What are we doing today, Mommy?  And if it rained? Oy.

Fun? For sure. Long? Definitely.

Now, our grown boys make their own schedules, leaving my husband and I to embrace the warm months ourselves. But the new pace of the solstice moon is relentless. Where once upon a time days lasted weeks, and weeks, months, now, our callous attitudes have us declare the summer almost over by July fourth.

The hands of the clock have grown stronger – this new strength moving time with merciless speed. Days bleed into each other until, without warning, leaves are burnt oranges and reds whirling in the wind of autumn and we have little to show for the warm season. Summers that long ago brought us joy and freedom are now fragments of time, gone too soon. 

We’re at the point in our journey where we’re peering over that proverbial hill. On the other side, life is supposed to take on a leisurely pace. We’ll stress less, eventually work less, and maybe, maybe, the clock will slow down once again. I hope so.

Truce!

In summer, we like to be outside enjoying the warm weather in the backyard. Especially this year, having just come out of a Netflix-heavy winter, it’s the first in a long time we have no travel plans.

July, though, was a rainy month. During a particularly wet evening, my husband suggested we sit out on our covered front porch. With a bottle of red and two rocking chairs, we watched the rain, listened to the soothing sounds of rolling thunder, and talked for hours.

It was wonderful.

Two nights later, more rain. Back to the porch, to the music of raindrops on dogwood leaves, on warm bricks along the walkway, to the clink of glasses as we toasted to the end of another day.

Truce, we say, our toast ever since I laughingly fumbled my words earlier in the season.

It’s been a strange fifteen months. We’re still adjusting to the changes in our world: working from home, fewer outings with friends, continuous together time.

We broke our quick tradition the following evening, sitting on the rockers when orange and pink replaced the gray sky. As the sky darkened, we watched fireflies dot the front lawn, the baby rabbits that seemed to have materialized this summer more than any other, graze the grass. Maybe we didn’t notice them in the past because we were too busy. Running out. Away on vacations. On the couch.

A car drove by. Neighbors walked their dog past.

“What do you think people are saying about us?” my husband asked as the Shepard pulled the couple along.

“There are those alcoholics who think they live in Brooklyn.”

He sipped. “You think?”

“No. They’re saying can you believe those old people still enjoy each other’s company?”

The truth is, we don’t care. We have a lot to celebrate: summer, marriage, friendship. Life.

A few weeks ago, during another night on the porch, a friend passed by on his way home from work, saw us and stopped. He sprinted up the driveway, dodging raindrops. We poured him a glass of wine and caught up. When his suit dried, he left us to continue home.

It’s August already. Things are moving fast, so we’re making every effort not to. If we’ve learned nothing else from the past year, it’s that slowing down is a good thing. Do what brings you joy.

Sitting on the porch in the rain with my husband brings me joy.

I put dinner in the oven the other night. He walked into the kitchen. “Is that thunder?”

We stopped to listen. I smiled.

“I’ll get the glasses.”

Thank you

Hi Everyone,

Happy summer! I hope you’re enjoying the warm weather. I worked on my garden this past weekend. My veggies and herbs are coming along nicely. It brings me such joy to  watch the plants grow and change as the season progresses.

Speaking of gardening, my new book, Seasons Out of Time, has been out for one month already! So, I thought I’d take this opportunity to express my gratitude to all of you who have reached out via Facebook, email, Instagram, and text, to offer support and praise of the story. After months and months of working on it, your kind words mean everything. I want you to know I cherish every note and message.

No, this is not me. A lovely reader sent this. I so want to be there. 

Hearing from you is my favorite part of this whole journey, so please keep the messages and pictures coming. And let me know how you’re doing, your plans for the summer. If you’re growing a garden, share a picture. We can root for each other. 🙂

I have a favor to ask. If you’ve read Seasons Out of Time and enjoyed it, may I ask that you spare a minute to post an honest review on Amazon, Goodreads, or Barnes & Noble, etc, so that others may find it? Reviews are so incredibly important to authors. They are the best way to get the word out about a book. You don’t have to be prophetic, just speak from the heart. A sentence or two is all you need. This is a judge-free zone. I promise.

Finally, I am so happy to share the new covers for Both Sides of Love and Letting Go. My fantabulous graphic artist, Suzanne Fyhrie Parrott, designed them. Here is Suzanne’s link. Though I love the originals, we felt it was time for an update.

 

Well, that’s it for now. I wish you a safe, happy summer. Hope to hear from you!

Love, Kim

 

 

Messages

Every day for the past several weeks, a cardinal flies to the weeping cherry tree just outside of my dining room window where I work. He flits happily among the gently swinging branches, his vibrant red feathers a glorious contrast to the lime green leaves that quiver in his wake.

Each day, I watch him while he visits, mesmerized, unable to do much else until he  leaves for another destination. I’d never seen him before this spring, though he may have been here before. Cardinals are non-migratory birds that mate for life and put down roots, so he must have settled nearby. Until now, I’d been too busy to notice.

Now, I wait for him, and each day I’m rewarded. I watch him jump and flit and play among the swaying leaves in the tree outside my window. I listen to his song and wonder who he is serenading, peering out through the glass in search of his lucky mate.

Many believe cardinals deliver messages from loved ones who have passed, to let us know they are with us and watching over us. I take comfort in this thought. But to me, he is also a sign of life, of beauty, and joy. Especially now. I’m transfixed.

Life, beauty, and joy. It’s all around us. We just have to pay attention.

Gardening & Life

Hello! I hope you’re all doing well and keeping safe. I woke up this morning to sunshine and warm air. Here in the Northeast, Spring has arrived! You know what that means… Time to bring these babies outside.

 

In the past, I’d been too busy with work, family, and writing to pre-plan a garden. I was the one scrambling late in the season, running to the garden center to pick up infant crops to plant out back.

This year, well, you know what happened. We’ve been sheltered in place, doing the best we can while staying safely at home for the past 8 weeks. Suddenly, I have time to think, and to consider my garden. So, with the bug from last year’s successful harvest of my first seeded sunflower (pic right), I dedicated a sunny space in the living room, bought some soil, pots, and seeds, and started my very first indoor “victory” garden.

The most beautiful thing I’d ever grown (other than my boys)

Every morning, I checked on my pots, marveled at the sprouted greens through the soil, and enjoyed watching their growth. Watering them daily and adjusting their position throughout the day to get the most sunlight became routine, calming, predictable. I found my rhythm.

But, as plants and flowers tend to do, they’ve outgrown their small pots and they’re ready for the great outdoors. I need to let them go, allow them to plant roots outside where they belong, and do what they do best: provide beauty, food, and thrive.

As in life, the rhythms we find change. We settle into a comfortable routine only to face the next phase of our lives.

Parenting is like planting, but waaaay more terrifying. We raise these children, and before we’re ready, they leave, searching for their place in the world. We’re left to face our days without them. We adjust.

In Seasons Out of Time, which comes out next Friday, Heather Harrison just dropped her only child at college hundreds of miles away, and she too faces the next phase of her life. No longer a wife, or a full-time mom, she must re-define who she is and how she’ll fill the long, empty days ahead.

And so begins her journey of self-discovery in the most unconventional way.

This gorgeous cover was designed by my talented designer and friend, Suzanne Fyhrie Parrott of First Steps Publishing

Have you pre-ordered your ebook? If you do, it will arrive on your kindle Friday, May 22^nd  in time for the holiday weekend. The paperback version will be available to order that day too. Here’s the link: Amazon

I’m excited, nervous, and hopeful that you’ll love the story as much as I do.

Until then, I wish you health, peace, and sunshine.

Love, Kim