Italy... Home to Half of My Heart

Scilla - one of my favorite beaches in Calabria

   

     My mind has been on another continent lately. With the writing of my new book, Beautiful Secret, I've found myself so utterly immersed in my memories of France and Italy. It's been a wonderful mental vacay. The story is very much a tribute to my father's mother who was the breathing definition of commitment to family, joyful living, kindness and unconditional love. She was born and raised in a poor hill town near Reggio, Calabria and gave birth to my father there. Even in her absence now, I feel her in the warmth of my huge extended family - her children and grandchildren. I smell her in the anise and fry aroma of our holidays. In my memory, I hold the bedtime stories she told me when I was a young child cuddled  into her Oil of Olay scented arms. These stories came to life for me after she died, when I finally visited the place that raised an angel.  Beautiful Secret is set partly in Pittsburgh but mostly in Europe. Writing it took me back to some of the most revealing and rich days of my life.    
     When I think  about the times I've spent with my family overseas, I realize that those days were days that truly defined me. Italy and its people took me, a twenty year old woman in the throes of University life, and shaped me into what it wanted me to be, into who I am today.
     The first time I traveled across the ocean with my mother and Italian-born father, I did so with no expectations. A little indecisive at the thought of leaving my then college boyfriend for three summer weeks, I landed in Paris feeling exhausted and a little out of place.
      Twenty-one days later, the planes of my world had shifted considerably. I'd sprouted wings and wanted nothing more than to fly through my discovery of luxurious landscape and bright flavor, to land inside this passionate family who'd opened their arms and wordlessly assured me that their nest was mine too. I'd fallen so deeply in love with the pace, the particulars and most especially the people, I thought I would die when I had to say goodbye.
     I will never forget the moment of that last farewell. In the hot stickiness of August, at Reggio Calabria's tiny airport, staring at the sea of cousins, aunts and uncles... When I boarded that plane back to Pittsburgh, I could hardly see through the blur of my tears.
     It was one of the hardest days of  my life. And, since that first trip, I have felt quite halved. So much of my heart is much too far away. I have a big, amazing, crazy family here in Pittsburgh and one on another continent, the continent that holds both the secrets to my grandmother's countenance and half of my heart.
 
     I would love to hear what places or experiences have molded you. Please leave me a comment or a facebook message and tell me about your experiences too!

 

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Just a few of us - Americans, Italians and French... in my grandfather's hometown of Valanidi.


 I've posted the poem below on different websites, but I wanted to share it here on my blog. Italy is such a sensual place. It's hard not to give in to the sights, smells and sounds. One morning, I got caught up in my remembering and this happened.

 

Italy

There is a piece of my heart that will always belong to you

You with your desert landscaped of dry dry mountains and thorny trees

Prickly pears, figs, and olives

Animal smells and sounds

Breath of petrol and cigarettes and unwashed bodies.

Fast cars and slow mornings.

 

You with your clear blue sea

Pebble marks embedded into my skin

The smell of sleep and fish and salt and

Black coffee, oozing with foam in the afternoon.

The sensation of breathing out, finally.

 

You with your stranger smiling faces,

Outstretched arms and ears yearning for conversation.

Wrinkled greetings, broken teeth, and dirty fingernails.

Something is familiar here.

Acceptance by love and association.

Because I have my great great grandmother's nose

So you love me already for this.

 

You with your sleepless nights.

Concentrated life, vibrant and fully felt.

Wine after wine, food after food, dancing until the noise cannot be discerned.

Is it laughter from my lips or is it music?

And on and on it plays until the sweaty sunrise brings silence once and for all

 

And yet I cannot sleep in the quiet.

The heat bubbles on my skin.

I am wet with sweat and with the still excitement of one more day with you.

You with your mysterious pull on my heart.

 

That small part of me which remains in a moment,

On your mountain- dodging cars and breathing polluted air,

On the street, lost in conversation with a stranger who is my family,

Drinking, dancing, laughing.

Digging deep to release joy from the well of life inside of me.

Hardly sleeping, never forgetting that even when the time comes to say goodbye to you,

I will still be there... a piece of me that is forever yours.

You will find me at your sea, tossing pebbles into the clear blue water.

And breathing... finally.

 

 

 

My Writing Process... a.k.a. - Organizing The Chaos Of My Emotions Into Words

     My good friend and critique partner, Carolyn  Menke tagged me to participate in "The Writing Process Blog Tour." Carolyn is an amazingly talented writer who blogs at www.carolynmenke.com, and she is also an author. Her first novel, Return to Me is historical women's fiction, and I can't wait to see it on e-shelves and in stores. Carolyn is fiercely committed, and incredibly skilled. Her blog posts are both insightful and funny and leave you feeling glad you took the time to read them. Check out her website after you read about my writing process. I fear my post may be lagging a few days behind schedule, but I'll still share it in the hopes of reaching out!

 

What Am I Working On?

 

 

     I just wrote the last words of my new novel, currently titled Beautiful Secret. It is women's fiction and romance and its story spans two generations. The book spins two tales that are interwoven by love and family. It is set partly in France and Italy, in places where I've spent the most amazing moments of my life. Beautiful Secret has been on my "to write" wish list for twenty years. It's been both my dream and my obsession, and I'm thrilled to have finally completed one of my greatest accomplishments. Now, onto the editing and querying stages...

     Next I will jump right back into the Whisper Trilogy, my young adult series. Books one and two Whisper and Wake are available for purchase through Amazon and also at Gifted Hands gift shop in Wexford. My readers are waiting patiently for book three, and it is coming! Below are the links to where you can buy my books.

 

http://www.amazon.com/Whisper-The-Trilogy-ebook/dp/B007GHJVGY/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1369777507&sr=1-1&keywords=whisper+by+dana+faletti

 

 

  http://www.amazon.com/Wake-Book-Two-Whisper-Trilogy-ebook/dp/B00HY0CUKC/ref=sr_sp-atf_title_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1398342684&sr=1-1&keywords=wake+by+dana+faletti

 

 

Gifted Hands gift shop : 3000 Village Run Rd. #105. Wexford, PA 15090

 

 

 

 

How Does My Work Differ From Others In Its Genre?

 

     The Whisper Series is different from other YA Paranormal Romances out there because it leaves the reader with an overwhelming sense of the light, the good, rather than the darkness. I find that so much in this genre focuses on the Hollywood-esque aspects of evil, and Whisper really doesn't do this. My angel characters are vastly different from anything else that's out there. Their personality traits and flaws are even a little controversial in some circles, but I had a purpose in writing them this way. Callie, my main character is your typical angst-ridden, drama-driven teenage girl at the beginning of the series. By the end, she matures and grows into what she was created for but not without tripping over her flaws as well - jealousy, lust, competitiveness, lack of self-confidence. The love story is unique, because it is told from both the female and male point of view, giving the reader another layer of understanding about the characters.

     Beautiful Secret tells a forbidden love story that I've yet to see unfold in other novels. At first, it shocks some readers with the absolute scandal. Quickly, though, readers become so engulfed in the steamy passion and stark emotion of the characters, that the lines of propriety cloud, and they can't help but cheer the lovers on.

 

 

Why do I Write What I do?

 

      Since the time of my pre-adolescence, writing has been a lifesaver for me. My father often calls me an emotion with a body attached. This metaphor of his was spot on. At times in my life, my feelings were just too much for me to handle. I carried a poetry notebook with me everywhere I went when I was in high school, writing because I needed to, writing because it was the only way I could deal with the tumultuous drama of those tender days.

     Most of my blog posts are emotionally-inspired. My novels most definitely are. Whisper is my reaction to the seemingly growing stories of teenage suicides in today's society, especially locally. I am overwhelmed with sadness at the life-altering bad decisions, the strangling depression, the bullying that exists on the teenage social scene. It haunts me, and so I came up with the idea of demons whispering into the psyches of young people, urging them to do all of the self-destructive things that they do.

     Beautiful Secret was a tribute to my Italian heritage, my intense love for every aspect of Italian culture, especially family, commitment and passion.

    

How Does My Writing Process Work?

     First, I feel something. Strongly. Next, my emotions swirl and bubble to the surface and finally spill out of me onto paper. The end.

     In all seriousness, I am the type of writer who tends to sit and let the story take me somewhere. I don't really outline formally, although I do have a plan - beginning, middle, end, themes. I write notes to myself about details or things I know I need to go back and change, but, rather than spending tons of time mapping out plot points, I like to shimmy myself between the pages and get into the mood of the story. This is where magic happens, and I find myself creating something that is so much better than anything I could have planned for.

 

     Thanks for reading a little about my works and my writing "process." I'd like to give a shout out to a couple of other writers I've gotten to know in this crazy fun business.

 

 

 

~ Carolyn Menke -

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

     Carolyn writes everything from flash fiction to novels to children's books. She's an incredible author, and I'm lucky to have had a sneak peek at her debut novel, Return to Me. Read more about Carolyn at her website -  www.carolynmenke.com

 

~Lorraine Carey

 

 

 

"...I am a veteran Children’s Reading Specialist, teacher, book reviewer and author. After years of reading with children and knowing what they crave gave me the inspiration to write for them. I wanted to inspire middle grades through high school and beyond. I have loved ghost stories since I was a child and with that was my inspiration to write Paranormal and Mystery stories."

    

     Find out more about Lorraine's books at http://lorrainecarey.com/

 

~Chris Weigand

 

 

 

     Chris's newest novel, Palace of Twelve Pillars is one of her exciting YA Christian fantasy series. Visit her website below to learn more about her books!

 

http://www.weigandchris.com/

 

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



 



Just a glimpse

     I'm always struck by how judgmental we are of each other. I preach to my children to not judge, to be kind and loving instead, that - yes, there are definitely black and white lines when it comes to our moral code,  but they apply firmly to actions and not to people.
     People are chameleons -changing colors on the hour. If we catch someone in a red moment, we can easily dismiss him as a bitter, angry individual. That mom who bawls out her kids in the grocery line. The wife who tosses a too-loud snide remark in her husband's face. We can roll our eyes and call her a shrew. Or, we can wonder - what's going on behind the scenes that's making her act that way? What happened in her yesterday?
     We're human though. Even the kindest of us simply can't stop our thoughts from going there once in a while. A few weeks ago, I caught myself in the thick of people watching. My curiosity landed me on a journey that took me from feeling red-faced anger to blue melancholy. For me, it revealed aspects of humanity I don't always appreciate - in others and in myself as well.

                                                   
    

Starbucks on a Sunday night.

A few teens and college students working on what seem to be school projects.

A few moms out after dark, grabbing a gab and a post-run chai tea latte.

And one old man, all alone.

I notice the fellow as I walk toward the coffee counter.  He’s asleep, or at least he appears to be, in one of the four easy chairs, across from the trio of gabby geese. Dressed in dirty, too- long- for- his- legs khakis and worn out shoes, he’s slouched over, his body curled into a ‘C.’ He’s drooling a little and quietly snoring, while a pair of teens, a girl and a guy, sitting caddy corner from him, smirks and snorts, gawking unabashedly at the man from their perches.

My husband immediately wants to kill the teenagers, but I, matter of factly urge him to restrain the growling beast that is his temper. I’m not in the mood to post bail for simple assault. Inside though, I want to strangle these two crapheads until their eyes pop out and they beg for mercy.

An hour later, the fun poking hasn’t grown tired for them. They continue to point, stare and giggle without reservation. The old man finally wakes from his nap. He stands and stretches, reaching absentmindedly for the empty or at least now cool cup of coffee on the table next to him. The crass teens watch him carefully, whispering to each other in a manner that’s probably only obviously rude to my husband and me because we’ve been spying on them.

Maybe they’re hoping for new material for their lame comedy act, maybe they’re gearing up to bully a little more overtly. I’ll never know, because the old man leaves, walks out of the coffee shop without making eye contact with anyone.  A trio of young high school girls looks up from their project work to watch him walk out the door. Each one is, for a moment, taken away from her notebooks and pens, flyaway flat-ironed locks, and lipstick. For just one moment, each of them, in her own silent space, takes notice. For some reason, this disheveled senior with his strange cowlick and his three-day old stubble seems to give everyone pause. I wonder if any of them will consider him later.

 

I’m stuck thinking of the old man intermittently throughout the evening. Where does he go when he leaves the coffee shop? Is he a widower who hates to be at home with his memories? Can’t stand how very lonely ordinariness can seem?

Did he just receive a frightening diagnosis? His own? His daughter’s?

Is his wife a clean freak with plastic covers over all of the furniture at home? Does he come to Starbucks simply to relax in a comfortable chair, sans plastic? 

I can’t know why the man chose to take a nap in such a public place, under the scrutiny of so many, but I love to imagine his life beyond this glimpse.

And, the bullies too. What are their stories?

What gave birth to their cruelty?

Is the girl victimized? Does someone call her ‘dike’ when they pass by her locker? Does the laughter press on her ears like a vise?

Does the teenage guy with her feel invisible in the hallways? Is that why he’s wearing bright red rain boots pulled high over tight black and grey check jeggings, a faux fur Russian hat and a lip ring? Is he pleading to be noticed without saying a word?

 Victims, preying upon a species they deem to be lower than themselves on the social food chain. I get it. I don’t like it, but the spin of the cycle is easy to follow.

Crisp November night kisses my cheeks as I exit the coffee shop. My husband, having forgotten his previous fervor toward the meanies, takes my hand in his and walks us toward our vehicle.

A man with a stark white collar passes us. The large gold cross around his neck glints in the glare of the streetlights, and the sweet smell of whiskey overpowers the air.

“Nice,” my husband says, his sarcasm landing like a heavy stone in my belly.

“It’s just a glimpse,” I whisper, and wonder, once more.

Writing Romance Novels for Teens

 

     It can be tricky to write romance for a teen audience. A writer must carefully balance her characters’ relationships on the thin line that exists between too juvenile and too mature.  If the writing is done well, readers should feel a hazy intensity when reading love scenes but obviously not feel the need to go to confession or take a shower afterwards. Below is a piece about the all-consuming fervor a teen experiences when bitten by the love bug for the first time.

 

     First love comes into view.  You’re giddy, nervy, like there’s a marshmallow in your mouth and there’s no way to swallow it. Your skin is on fire, but you have goose bumps, not blisters. You want to stare straight into his face, study the contour of his cheekbones, his chin, but your eyes dart everywhere else. You flip your hair and sigh, trying desperately to act nonchalant as he approaches.

     The sweet subtle smell of him, all cinnamon chewing gum and musk, floats into your senses, and you melt, just a little. You beg your wobbly knees not to betray you and vow to stand straight and still and sturdy.

     The moment your eyes meet his, time stops. White noise slips into all of the empty spaces between and around the two of you, and your lips part just enough to quietly gasp. The atmosphere is lit with an electrical charge that’s hissing and spitting off of him and onto you, along a current that’s unmistakably alive. It juices and jolts you in the thread of a moment before allowing you to breathe again.  

     And here you are, basking in the warm glow of the aftershocks that buzz in the bottom of your belly like happy bees. You swallow the bliss of that silent interlude, the one that spoke volumes with no words at all. The moment has seared itself into the skin of your memory, knowing it can never be outdone. You will never forget this.

     Until he smiles.

     At you.

     And suddenly, you can’t even remember your name.

 

     Writing romance for teens requires me to open up that memory vault where I store my most cherished teenage memories of first love. Strangely enough, after all of these years, those memories are still pretty vivid, probably because of the intensity of emotion I felt during these moments. Most people can easily recall the sweaty brow, the bundles of butterflies, the two word conversations that meant so much more than what was actually said.  As adults, we tend to chuckle at the high drama of it all, but for the teens experiencing it, these feelings are very real and super strong.

     When writing a love scene, I take a trip back through time, shed the years of trial and error, disenchantment and practicality, and slip back into the penny loafers I was wearing the year I first fell in “love.” Immersed in memories of angst on top of pins and needles on top of breathlessness, my adult mind is both entertained and intrigued by the sheer concentration of every feeling, the phenomenon of emotions on steroids.  I allow myself to sink almost completely into the teenage drama queen I used to be, but make sure to keep my head above water – just enough to be able to use my years of life experience to send the right kind of message. After all, it’s a wonderful thing to be able to summon the passion of that recklessly love struck creature I used to be, while safely keeping the gifts of truth and wisdom in the back pocket of my (still hip) Mom jeans.

     I don’t know how other writers of YA romance handle this, but I feel a responsibility to set boundaries within my stories. I want to show examples of young men and women with forceful feelings for each other, attractions and urges my readers themselves are experiencing. Then, through the actions of my characters, I want my readers to learn how to harness those feelings and make good decisions. I’m not saying I’m going to hose down my lover boy with ice cold water and cover every inch of my protagonist’s skin. Characters have to be authentic, and sometimes steamy is authentic. Steamy doesn’t have to go over the line to be good though, and if love scenes are written well, they can do more than simply excite the reader. They can open up a conversation about limits and how abiding within them can foster a love story that’s real enough to last and last.

     The romance between Callie Evans and Joshua Pride in Whisper, book one of the Whisper series, is, in a word, magnetic. The intensity between these two individuals practically pulses off the pages. In Wake, book two of the series, both jealousy and danger push Callie and Joshua to an even deeper level of crazy love for each other and force them to have a discussion about boundaries. Although Callie’s identity has morphed to celestial proportions, her values remain those of a good Catholic girl with a conservative upbringing. In short, Callie and Joshua are engaged in war against both the Darks of Satan and their own hormones. It’s almost too much to bear, but the fragile hope of what’s to come, along with the core truths that have been laced into their consciences keep them tethered to the right track. Wobbly, but tethered none the less.

     What do you think? What, if any, lines should not be crossed when writing books for teens?

An Interview with Heidi Ruby Miller from Raw Dog Screaming Press

     I had the pleasure of meeting Heidi at the Penn Writers Conference this past May. Heidi not only is one of the managing editors at RDSP, but she is also an author herself. She has had amazing success both in mainstream and self publishing, and she shared many of the secrets of her trade with me. She is a self publishing guru and really knows how to work the market on her own. Check out Heidi's bio below for more info on this energetic, super smart, and incredibly sweet lady.

 

 

1. Tell me a little about what you do at RDSP.I am the managing editor for RDSP's new Science Fiction Adventure imprint, Dog Star Books (launching August 2013). That means I'm in charge of title acquisitions and contracts, most content editing, and some copy editing. I also coordinate with our incredible cover artist, Bradley Sharp, and undertake some of the marketing responsibilities.

I also write for them so I have that rare opportunity to see both sides of the table, and I believe that perspective, coupled with teaching at Seton Hill and constant educational enrichment, makes me a better editor.

2. Why did you choose to go into the field of writing and publishing?

I always loved reading and writing, especially Science Fiction and Thrillers, but never pursued the writer's life seriously until enrolling in Seton Hill University's Writing Popular Fiction Graduate Program in 2005. That changed my life, and I knew I could only ever follow my dream from that first term forward. And that's exactly what I've been doing.

3. What books did you love as a young adult and what are your top 3 favorite books (any genre)?

I was just telling my husband yesterday when we went to see Pacific Rim that I bought every RoboTech book as a child, along with all the G. I. Joe Choose Your Own Adventure Books, and Star Wars comics. I also loved Madeleine L'Engle. A Wrinkle in Time is my favorite book, and one of the few I've read twice. Rounding out the rest of my top three are Don't Stop the Carnival by Herman Wouk and 2010 by Arthur C. Clarke.

4. What is your view/the industry's view on self pub and how is it changing?

Wow. This could be an entire post. Suffice it to say that I believe self-pubbing propelled my career. In the two years since I released Ambasadora as an e-book, I have noticed less stigma attached to self-publishing, but also the profits seem to be evening out a bit. It feels as though the industry changes each month. I try to keep up with it all, as I'm rather business-minded as well as a creative type.

My husband and I both have a hybrid philosophy at the moment. We have some works published through Big 5, some through smaller publishers, and some we've put out on our own. I see many of my peers keeping to a hybrid as well. But each writer must do what is best for him or her. One thing I've learned is that every circumstance is different and all writers have their own journeys.

5. What advice would you give to an author who is going the self pub route?

Write what you want to write. Put out the best product you can. Immediately write the next book.

6. How do you think e-books are changing the market?

For readers: more choice, better prices, more convenience, easy sampling.

For writers: more money, more creative control, faster development, faster feedback, more room for experimentation, easier to reach niche markets.

And, for those who panic and lament the end of print books and the feel of paper and the smell and such--print books aren't going anywhere any time soon. In most instances the audiences for print and digital books are still very different.

7. You are an e-book marketing guru. Give me 5 tips on how to market and sell.

Having as many good books available under your name as possible is the biggest marketing tool of all.

Whether some people like to hear it or not, really the key to selling right now is Amazon. Fiddle with your book. Change the price around every once in a while, but hover around that magic $2.99. Try a new description if the one you have doesn't seem to attract an audience; the same is true of a cover. Use your KDP promotional days to get your books into the hands of as many readers as possible and don't worry if you give away 5,000 books--there are millions of readers.

Make the most of your Amazon author page and your Goodreads author page--both are more important than your website because they are right there in the path of readers so they can find you without having to look for you. Because most often they won't come looking for you. Why do think Starbucks put two coffee shops on oppoiste sides of the street in some cities? Because they know people are unlikely to alter their routine even to cross the street.

8. Tell me about your books. What gave you the idea for Ambasadora?

My biggest influences for all my work, whether my speculative fiction or my thrillers, comes from dreams. I know I am finally immersed in a story when I begin to dream and daydream about it constantly. Then I often go into hermit mode and forget about much of the world until the book is finished.

Bits of the world for Ambasadora came from many different influences: Disney World, TV, comics, books, the fashion world, travel, movies, and music. The Ambasadora-verse really exists out there somewhere so far as I'm concerned and there are lots of stories waiting there, like Greenshift, which is about to make its paperback debut (available as an e-book now) and Starrie, which is next in line for publication.

 

         

 

9. You talk a lot about your travel experiences. How do you think these have influenced youand your writing?

I always include details from each journey I take--and the journeys don't have to be far away. I can get as much inspiration an hour from my house as I can across the world. Luckily, my husband and I are still childlike in our sense of awe. I hope we never lose that.

We're heading to Paris in a couple of weeks. You can bet each of us will be infusing the feel and the details of our time there into our books somewhere down the line.

10. What is one thing you'd like your readers to know about you?

I love fashion! Part of what makes me happy each morning is putting on a cute dress or top. I only buy items that I love and I mostly stick to black and grey with a pop of bright color from time to time, even if it's just a small accent. I'm especially fond of reds, purples, and blues. And, I have finally begun to wear white a bit more often, though it tends to get lost on my fair skin.

HEIDI RUBY MILLER EXTENDED BIOGRAPHY
Heidi Ruby Miller uses research for her stories as an excuse to roam the globe. With degrees in Anthropology, Geography, Foreign Languages, and Writing, she knew early that penning fast-paced, exotic adventures would be her life.

She's put her experiences and studies to paper in her far-future AMBASADORA series and into ATOMIC ZION, the beginning of her new supernatural spy series.

In between trips, Heidi teaches creative writing at Seton Hill University, where she graduated from their renowned Writing Popular Fiction Graduate Program the same month she appeared on Who Wants To Be A Millionaire. AMBASADORA was her thesis novel there, and the multi-award winning writing guide MANY GENRES, ONE CRAFT, which she co-edited with Michael A. Arnzen, is based on the Seton Hill program and was named #5 in The Writer magazine's Ten Most Terrific Writing Books of 2011.

She has had various fiction and non-fiction publications, as well as various jobs, including contract archaeologist, foreign currency exchanger at Walt Disney World, foreign language teacher, and educational marketing director for a Frank Lloyd Wright house. Currently she is an editor at Dog Star Books and sometimes co-hosts author interviews on the GoingLIVE talk show on FCTV.

Heidi is a member of The Authors Guild, International Thriller Writers, Pennwriters, Broad Universe, SFR Brigade, Science Fiction & Fantasy Saturday, and Science Fiction Poetry Association.

She's fond of high-heeled shoes, action movies, Chanel, and tea of any sort.You can read about her books, travels, and author interviews at http://heidirubymiller.blogspot.com and tweet her @heidirubymiller.

She lives near Pittsburgh with her traveling companion and writer husband, Jason Jack Miller.

Contact her at heidirubymiller@gmail.com.



Coming home to Pittsburgh...

     I was sifting through seashells today, taking a moment to exhale after a week of wonderful houseguests and beautiful busy noise, enjoying the still salty memories from our recent beach vacation. I came across a poem that found my fingers on our first morning back home. It reminded me how wonderful it is to return home renewed and refreshed by time with family, sea breeze and beach walks with no planned destinations or time restraints.  Our trip to the beach soothed my soul, loosened my nerves and bleached my hair a color I've decided to call carefree (not the same as careless) blond. (It's terrible, but I refuse to pay to have it darkened when it will just get more bleached by chlorine and sun for the rest of the summer.)

     Vacation for us, as it is for most families, was a break from the spinning cycle of run here, sprint there, pick up this one, drop off that one, Hi, Bye, goodnight, and so on. Instead of the morning rush to catch the school bus, we'd leisurely slip into swimsuits and sunscreen and make a day of searching for sharks eyes and tulip shells. During these hot, lazy strolls, conversation seemed to spill as naturally as the ocean spills onto the sand. On rainy nights, all five of us would cuddle up together on the one couch, under two blankets, relishing in the uncomfortable perfection of being so close to each other. We watched movies and ate popcorn and candy for dinner, confident we wouldn't get bellyaches or cavities. That stuff just doesn't happen on vacation.

     After two weeks of sandcastles, seafood and sun, it was time to say "See you next summer." I was okay with that. I left the beach feeling blessed to have had the opportunity to experience it with my daughters and husband and also with parents and extended family. The beach left me rejuvenated, calm and grateful for everyday blessings.

      Much as we enjoyed rubbing shoulders with each other in our tiny condo, I have a renewed appreciation for the breathing space our home provides. I absolutely loved every minute my toes twitched in the sand, but I'm also glad now for the smell of fresh cut grass and clover. Marco Island was as magical as always, but Pittsburgh is where we make magic from our own little square of reality. There is a time for vacation, and then there is a time for....

 Coming Home

Crossing the quiet threshold, we bring the noise.

It smells wet and empty, like old dirty laundry.

In a day or so, the air will fill

With morning breath and garlic

And the scent of pool soaked bodies kissed by sunscreen.

The plants are mostly dead.

Too much rain or not enough attention?

Hard to say, but it doesn’t really matter.

We’ve come home.

Solid ground and pillows that don’t leave a crick in my neck.

A sense of newness inside the old and comfortably worn.

I kick my shoes off in the hallway, noticing the stray grains of sand that spray from them like sea foam.

I sigh, then smile, then shrug my soft muscled shoulders.

We’ve brought the beach back home with us.

In more ways than one.

    

Stinky Boots - Embarassing Moments Make the Best Memories

Someone recently asked what my most embarrassing moment was. I took one look at my husband's face. He had both eyebrows raised, both begging and demanding that I not tell the story. So, I thought I'd blog about it instead. Everyone has a terribly embarrassing moment, right? And, honestly, if you don't have one, you need to get one and learn to laugh at yourself. It's so cathartic.  Feel free to post your funny moments below. I'd love to laugh at you too.

Okay ~ here is probably the funniest/most embarrassing thing that ever happened to me.
I was pregnant with my first daughter, almost 10 years ago, and it was my 2nd prenatal visit. I had spoken to my Mom earlier that day and she'd informed me I would not have to have an internal check anymore -the doc would just listen to the heartbeat and measure me etc.. It was Friday late afternoon, and my husband was with me. We were dressed to go out to dinner and a movie after the appt., and I was wearing my infamous stinky black boots with... wait for it...

No. Socks.

Now, this may seem a little strange to some, but honestly, these were really stylish (from Payless by the way - I was dressing on a teacher's salary...) and super comfy high heeled black boots. And, really, they were only smelly when I took them off, so I figured what they heck? No one was going to be seeing (or smelling) my bare feet in mid December, right?

Wrong.

Cute young Dr. (the one in the practice that all of the nurses and patients got googly eyed over) walks in to the exam room and introduces himself to me and my husband.

"How you doin?" And, he winks... I swear.... maybe.

He then proceeds to tell me to change into the green papery robe so he can come back in to do my internal.

Whaaaaaaa????

The minute he leaves, I completely freak out.

"These are my stinky feet boots!" I tell my husband, desperately seeking one of his solutions.

"So?" he asks - totally not getting what an internal exam is, probably, or possibly not suffering from the visual of cute Doc's face resting uncomfortably and green with nausea between my sweaty stirruped feet.

"I can't take them off! The whole room will stink!"

"So, leave them on," he tells me.

Now, I'm suffering from the visual of me in what  would look like a pair of stripper boots when worn with no panties and propped up in stirrups.

"Yeah, that's not happening." I desperately scan the room, trying to locate a quick fix for the stench my feet would bring to the table. Powder? Spray? Soap?

Soap!  And, not just soap. Water! Angels sing - "laaaaaa", and a ray of light bursts through the acoustic ceiling tiles, shining directly on my salvation - the corner sink. I could wash my feet with soap and water before Dr. Cutie returned.

At this point, I am wearing a tight fitting red sweater (pregnancy chest, remember?) and one high heeled black boot. No pants, no skivvies, no gown yet. I make my way, bare bootied, over to the sink and hoist one leg up onto the counter, ready to scrub away the gross when "knock knock knock," Dr. Cutie Pants walks in without pause.

"I'm not ready yet!" I shriek, in what may or may not have been the English language. I probably sounded like a cross between a howler monkey and a sick cat.

My husband bursts out laughing at me sliding gracefully across the floor on one wet foot, slamming the door shut with my body and staying there to make sure the Doc doesn't push his way back in.
To this day, I am sure beyond the shadow of a doubt that Dr. Cutie Pants saw me, washing myself at the sink. Every time I start to imagine what he may have been thinking the moment the image of naked butt, soap drippy me graced his eyes, I cringe and stop myself. The shame is too much to bear. I'm sure his staff, upon hearing the shrew-like echo that reverberated down their Christmas card decorated hallway, readied themselves to fax prescriptions for any number of mood altering drugs.

Safe for pregnancy drugs, of course.

In the end, I did wash both feet before I forced my husband to inform the Dr. I was ready for my examination now. Never wore those boots to the Dr. again, but I did continue to wear them to places I was one hundred percent sure I would not have to take them off.

And, stinky or not, they were my favorite boots ever.