The Darkest Day

He was just five days old when we brought him home from the hospital, a beautiful little boy, perfect in every way. My husband and I had been trying for nine long years to have a child and had gone through all the procedures with no luck--so finding this adorable child to adopt was for us truly a gift from God.

He instantly became part of our family and was loved and cherished by two sets of grandpaents and numerous aunts, uncles, and cousins, as every day he grew in our hearts. He had a great sense of humor and loved to tell jokes, the loonier the better, but even when he was naughty, which he was sometimes being human, there was never anything mean or crafty about him. His laugh was contagious and even at his most mischievousness no one could stay angry with him long. He was a real charmer and when he said, "Hey, Mom, did I remember to tell you that I loved you today?" of course I melted and forgave him any indiscretion. As he grew our house was filled with lots of boisterous boys and later girls, who shyly confessed they thought my son was "cool". He had loads of friends and was popular, but he never let it go to his head. He simply loved people and even as a small child had a rare gift for compassion. He loved animals, too, and was always brtinging home stray dogs and cats, and if someone was hurt or in trouble he was the first to offer a hand.

Am I making him sound like Mr. Perfect? Well, of course he wasn't,  but he worked hard at whatever task was set before him. He also smoked and drank, but not to excess in any way. Actually he hadn't smoked for quite a while when he got sick and they diagnosed it as lung cancer. He had an operation and went through chemo and we prayed everything was going to be fine. But then he took a turn for the worst and died quite suddenly. I didn't know half the people who came to his funeral he touched so many lives, but I'll always remember the things they said about him. Like the woman who told me she had no place to stay until my son took her in and let her sleep on his couch until she got on her feet. Or the young man who said he was headed for prison until my son got him off drugs, loaned him money, and helped him find a job.

One of the last things my son said to me, when I think he suspected he was dying, was, "I always wanted to leave my mark on the world, Mom, but I guess I missed." And I replied, "Oh, no, my darling. You left your mark in untold hearts, and that's a legacy anyone can be proud of." So my darkest day wasn't quite as dark as it could have been.

Just One of Those Things

I told my friend I'd call her and we'd decide on a date for lunch. I then got the flu and was sick as a dog. Lyig in bed, flat on my back, the phone rang and my friend said, from the restaurant, "For goodness sake, where are you? I thought we were meeting for lunch." Well, I still don't remember that we had set a definite date, but she insists we did. Of course I couldn't help wondering if that was a sign of early dementia on my part.

Then right in the middle of my novel writing one day, and in quite an exciting chapter (I thought), suddenly my printer stopped working. I tried everything to get it going again, but no luck, so finally I called the printer company. Their technician couldn't solve the problem either, so he said they'd send me a new printer. I thanked him and a few days later, just out of curiosity, tried the printer again and you guessed it--suddenly the darn thing worked just fine. I immediately called the printer company back to cancel the order, but too late; a new printer was already on the way.  The nice young man on the other end of the line said when the printer arrived I must find the return slip, fill it out, and arrange for a pickup, easier said than done. To find the return slip, which naturally was at the very bottom of this huge box, I had to unpack everything first which was quite a  job in itself. I thought of keeping the new printer, just in case something went wrong again, but was told that unless I wanted to be charged for another printer I had to repack and send the first one back. By then I was quite frustrated, as you can imagine. But finally I managed to get everything squared away and thought I could relax, only to learn that was wishful thinking.

To my dismay Hurricane Irene was on its way! I was without lights and power for several days, and some in my state, Connecticut, are still in the dark, so I know I'm lucky. But flipping a light switch and nothing happens in a sobering experience. Makes you appreciate what those people who lived in the days of "Little House on the Prairie" went through daily and survived. At least I didn't lose my home or my livelihood as many did during the storm and I'm very thankful for that. I think the biggest challenge was keeping my sense of humor. Kept telling myself as I munched on peanut butter sandwiches for dinner and tried to read by flashlight that this, too, would pass--and it did. After all, it was just one of those things.

Ladies Who Lunch

Many years ago I remember reading an article about a group of Society women in New York who daily met for lunch at classy upscale restaurants like the Stork Club, and one of them (already reed slim, according to the article) never ordered anything but Perrier and a sliced tomato, because she wanted to stay that way I guess. Anyway being younger and more critical I remember thinking at the time, "How silly! Can't they think of anything better to do?"

Now fast forward a few years and it suddenly occurred to me that I spend a lot of time lately going to lunch with my "lady" friends, too--three times last week to be exact. And what do we talk about?--only everything under the sun: our kids and grandkids, the price of gas, why in the world Congress can't get on the ball and do something, ANYTHING, God help us! Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.

We don't solve anything, of course, but if you have a problem there's always a sympathetic ear to listen, and if something's really bothering you it's a good place to get it off your chest. My friends and I are not Society, with a capital S, and the restaurants we go to are varied and not particularly upscale, but it's lot of fun and we share a warm ambiance in just being together. Best of all there's no work involved like having people to dinner. That's lovely, too, but for gals of a certain age all that cooking and cleaning up afterwards has more or less lost its charm. We've done it, lo these many years, and now most of my friends and I agree that now it's somebody else's turn, mostly the kids', to do the honors. So we go out to lunch a couple of times a week, and heaven forbid, we'd ever dream of ordering just a Perrier and a tomato. We have a right jolly old time and therefore I guess (almost before I knew it), I've  become one of the "ladies who lunch" and I love it. Does that make me terribly provincial? I wonder.
    

My 101-year-old bundle of sunshine

Today I was feeling kind of grumpy, or as my mom used to say, maybe I got up on the wrong side of the bed. It's been raining on and off for a week (wasn't summer supposed to start on the 21st?) and it's been so chilly I've had to turn on the heat a few times. Then a company I don't want to do business with is trying to charge me almost a hundred dollars for a package I returned that they say they didn't get (fortunately I have the return slip) and my granddaughter's birthday present didn't arrive on time. So I was just about ready to throw in the towel when I went out to lunch with Betty, my 101-year-old friend.

Barely five feet tall and weighing less than a hundred pounds, Betty is a real dish, as my son would say. She has a headful of curly white hair and big, twinkling blue eyes that sparkle, and a smile that's irrisistible. "Hello, doll," she always says when she sees me. "You look absolutely smashing today. New dress? Red (or blue or green or whatever the case may be) is definitely your color. Now where should we go for lunch on this really splendid day?"

So we get in the car and as we drive along she compliments me on what a nice car I have and how pleasant it is to travel with a good driver. We arrive at the restaurant, any one of a dozen downtown, but chosen mainly because, praise be, I can find a parking spot, but Betty, of course, isn't surprised. We go inside and are seated and start perusing the menu. "Hard to decide. Doesn't everything sound delicious?" Betty says. The waiter tells us the specials of the day and we order, and it isn't long before pilgrims begin coming to our table. Not just the waiter or the young man filling the water goblets or the owner of the place, but often perfect strangers who just happen to be passing by. They stop and chat a moment, drawn by the infectious smile and lilting laughter of this little old lady of 101 years.

What accounts for this sunny outlook on things? Was she a child of privilege? Not exactly. She grew up during the great depression and her family had very little money. "A lot of people were out of work," she told me once. "Some even went hungry, poor souls. But we knew it couldn't last. This was America, after all." As a young wife during World War Two she was left alone with two little boys while her husband was overseas. "I missed him terribly," she said, "but I felt God would bring him back to me and I knew our reunion would be just wonderful--and it was!"

So what's the secret of this undying optimism? I really don't know, but my friend Betty always looks on the bright side of things. Maybe that's naive, some might say it's downright corny, but it's worked for her for 101 years, and I know it's contagious and rubs off on other people. By the time Betty and I finished lunch, which really was delicious, I could see the sun shining through the restaurant windows and I realized my little problems were just that, little, and I could handle them, no sweat. A wise man once said that age is but a number, and I firmly believe my 101-year-old friend is living proof of that.

What Are Friends For?

The other day, Sally, a friend I hadn't seen in quite some time, she lives in another town, called to say she'd bought my book and asked if she could come by to have me autograph it. Of course I was delighted and invited her to lunch. She said she'd arrive about twelve-thirty. So I made a shrimp salad, which I knew she liked, set the table, heated the rolls, cut the cheesecake--and waited. And waited! Twelve-thirty came and went. One, one-thirty slipped by, and still no Sally. Could I have gotten the time wrong? Had she had an accident?

Really worried I went to the door and looked outside, and that's when I saw it: a note tucked under the mat. I hastily picked it up and read it, recognizing Sally's handwriting. She said she'd rung the doorbell three times, but there was no answer so she assumed I'd been called away. She said she was awfully sorry to have missed me, and I was disappointed, too, to put it mildly. And bewildered. I immediately tried the doorbell myself and it rang just fine for me. But wait--it was one of those rectangular shaped bells with a little light in the center and an upper and lower section you could push to make it ring. Push the bottom part and it rang loud and clear, but push the top part, as Sally obviously did, and nothing happened. She said she'd also knocked on the door, but I was in my study at the back of the house (and I don't think she knocked very hard) so I didn't hear her. Fortunately she wrote her cell phone number and I called that immediately and was lucky to find her shopping not too far away. So she came back and we had a lovely afternoon.

But I was worried, knowing something had to be done about that darn doorbell. It was obviously defective and should be replaced, and I wondered if I could unscrew it and put in a new one. I live alone now that my husband's gone, and I've never been what you'd call mechanically inclined, so this was a real challenge. Then the next day, as I was still stewing about it, the doorbell rang. I ran to answer it and there stood the husband of another good friend. An engineer, he had taken out the old doorbell and replaced it with a new one he'd bought at the hardware store, and when I asked him how he knew I needed a new one he said when he and his wife had arrived a few nights before to take me to a concert with them, he'd noticed the doorbell didn't work right. So he simply got a new one and put it in. "No big deal," he said, when I tried to thank him. "After all, what are friends for?"

Hope

I don't know about you but did you ever get the feeling this year that winter would never end? Maybe it's just due to the fact that I'm getting older, but here in the northeast it sure seemed like a long, long winter. I got mighty sick of having to watch my step for fear of slipping on the ice every time I ventured outdoors. And driving was particularly hazadous not only because the roads were treacherous, but the snow banks were so high in many places you couldn't see around them. Everywhere you went people complained about the weather and more folks than I can count, including my own son, said they were seriously thinking of selling everything and moving to Florida. Maybe it was just my imagination, but the general tempo of the country was pretty depressing, too, considering our national debt, high unemployment, and the really horrendous rise in gasoline prices.

So many really dire problems face our nation today and can they be solved? Who knows? I don't think anyone is too optimistic that things are going to turn around anytime soon. But I personally experienced a small miracle when finally the show melted and the first brave little buds poked their heads out of the soil. I don't think I'm a Pollyanna (well, not exactly), but suddenly my own little world took on a kind of sheen, and I felt light and happy and ready for fun. Sure, we've still got problems, but I firmly believe our elected officials, of both parties, are trying their best to solve them. And certainly the capture and death of Osama bin Laden was a shot in the arm for all those who lost loved one in the World Trade Center catastrophe almost ten years ago; we can all feel proud that justice was finally done. So I'm filled with hope and resolution to try, in my own little way, to make this world a better place now that spring is here. Can a few daffodils and tulips work that kind of magic? In my case the answer seems to be a resounding--YES!

To Get the Ball Rolling

As everyone knows, for fiction writers, the best way to get the ball rolling (or so I've been told) is to start with a book signing. So you contact your local bookstore and ask them, nicely, if they're interested and usually they are, so you set up a date that's convenient for both of you. Then they order the books and a few weeks later they tell you everything is ready for the show. "Great!" you say, with varying degrees of enthusiasm. But are you ready? That's the big question. Although I've written six adult novels and numerous short stories and books for children, and have participated in all kinds of book signings at book stores, large and small, through the years, for a normally shy person like me just the thought of going through another one causes the butterflies to start jumping in my stomach.

The first big decision, of course, is always, what should I wear? Do I dress up or go casual? I usually try on five or six outfits, then go back to the one I picked out originally, a somewhat dressy top and tailored pants. Then pushing myself out the door it's off to the races. Fortunately my local bookseller knows I'm nervous and is up to the challenge. They always provide a nice place for me to sit with cozy chairs clustered around it for anyone who wants to visit, and coffee, soft drinks and snacks available for the hungry. Not all bookstores do this, of course. It's been my experience that the big chains, while friendly, don't knock themselves out for a writer unless you're a big-time, preferably a New York Times best-selling author. But most local booksellers do their best to take care of their own.

So you're there and now it's up to you to keep smiling, even when someone picks up your baby, reads the flaps (they certainly look interested)-- but alas, they sigh, put down the book and walk away. You take it in stride, telling yourself it's all part of the game, but being normal you can't help feeling a bit dejected. However, the next person in line, a pretty, white-haired lady, buys three books, yes, three, all at once. "For my granddaughters," she says, with a twinkle. "They love romantic-suspense novels and think you're one of the best." Of course you glow!

And it's moments like that that help you through the bore who informs you, in a loud, strident voice, that the publishing business is going to the dogs and he never buys books--although naturally he helps himself to the snacks; they're there, after all. Or how about the chatty little woman who talks your ear off and instead of the standard "Best wishes" dedication, wants you to write something long and flowery that she's composed herself on the dedication page.

So it goes and before you know it four hours have elapsed and your first book signing for the new book is over. But did you get the ball rolling? Well, you sold quite a few books and suddenly realize that you've enjoyed yourself and had quite a bit of fun--which is good, because in the next few weeks, or months, you'll do it over and over again.

Putting Things in Perspective

I was driving home from the hospital with my son, merrily singing along with the radio, when I hit a pothole and chaos developed. Getting out of the car to see what had happened I saw we had suffered two flat tires and damaged beyond repair hubcaps. Somehow we managed to limp to a garage (and what horrific noise driving on those flats made), called AAA, and waited. Fortunately the tow truck arrived in a relatively short space of time, towed us to another garage that sold tires and rims, but were told we'd have to order new hubcaps from a dealer.

I had been looking forward to taking my son out for a celebratory luncheon and now this--not only the time spent buying new tires and getting them installed, but being told replacing the hubcaps would cost hundreds of dollars more. Well, I was fit to be tied, to put it mildly. After the horrendous winter we've had I realize the roads are in terrible shape, but why don't the towns get on the ball and repair them? What do we pay taxes for? I was fuming!

Then my son calmly said, "Well, look at it this way, Mom--at least we were going home from the hospital, not driving to it," and that stopped me dead in my tracks. For only three weeks before I had taken my son in for major cancer surgery. Filled with dread that day, I didn't know what to expect, but the operation was successful and the surgeons said they were sure they got it all. I remembered how my eyes filled with tears of gratitude at those words and how I humbly thanked God. So what was this mishap with the pothole but a minor distraction really? Annoying sure, expensive unfortunately, but also my moment of truth. It helped me put things in perspective as I realized nothing was more important that my son's health and well-being.

Birth of the Book

After months of writing and editing, and writing and revising, I can finally announce that my new novel, "That Certain Summer", will be published by Author House in the next few weeks. Although this is the fifth adult novel I've written I can't say that the writing gets any easier. It's still a lot of work finding just the right words, but I feel I'm so fortunate to be able to do what I like best.

I can't say that any of the novels I've written have been best-sellers, but I know they've been read and enjoyed according to the many great reviews I've received, and what more can an author ask for? I plan to continue writing for as long as I'm able because I enjoy it, and not waste my time worrying about how many copies are sold, or chasing after that elusive thing called fame that sometimes follows. A wise person once said that if you've got two good friends in the world you've got something to feel good about. So as long as I can bring entertainment and enjoyment to even a few people that makes me happy, although, of course, being human, I hope "That Certain Summer" will be read by a lot of people.

I was telling my son just the other day that publishing a book is a little like giving birth--after that long gestation period you're absolutely thrilled to see it, and when the time comes you send it off into the world with high hopes and great expectations. And if it doesn't always live up to those expectations?--(everyone can't be president, after all) well, you still love it and hope for the best. So I hope you like my new baby,"That Certain Summer", and if you have time drop me a line at maryverdick@comcast.net. I'd love to hear from you, really.

Happy New Year

So now we're starting another year with high hopes and expectations, and for many of us lots of new year resolutions. I used to make resolutions, figuring this was the time to reflect on my past mistakes and make changes where necessary, and I was always filled with determination and purpose. So I'd jot down what I hoped to accomplish--you know the routine: diet, save money, exercise more, and so on, and I always started out with a bang. But after a while, usually in less than a week or so, I'm ashamed to say, I'd fall off the wagon and the resolutions would go by the wayside. I wondered sometimes why I didn't have the will-power to stick to them, or if the goals I set were too unrealistic. It bothered me for a while. But then I stopped worrying about it when I read in the august New York Times that nine out of ten people make the same resolutions, year after year, then fail to go through with them. Of course it's always a good idea to kick bad habits and start life anew if possible, but we're all human, after all, so we have to expect some failure.

Personally I feel we should just relax and try to do the best we can, and so far that philosophy has worked pretty well for me. I know I'm lucky to have a loving family and I'm eternally grateful for that, and I cherish the dear friends I have. So with that in mind in the new year I'll try to practice simple kindness to people I meet, and be more understanding if someone inadvertently hurts my feelings. I'll pay no mind to useless gossip and try to think only good thoughts about people, and I hope that doesn't make me sound too Pollyannish--I'm really not.

So here's wishing you all a very happy and prosperous New Year, and I must confess I'm pretty happy, too, as my new book,"That Certain Summer", will definitely be hitting the shelves next month, my publisher tells me. It's been a long haul, as it always is, what with all the editing and revising one must do, but I can't wait to hold the finished product in my hands--and I hope very much you like it.

GRATITUDE

The other day someone said to me,"This country is in such a mess I don't see how we're ever going to get out of it." And that set me to thinking. A mess? Well, I'm sure everyone would agree there are problems that have to be solved. The unemployment rate is pretty high, much too high if you're pounding the pavements looking for work in some parts of the country, and the terrorist threat is downright scary. It's sad to think how many people in other parts of the world seem to hate us, in spite of the fact that we haven't done anything to them, and in many cases have tried to help them as much as we can. Yet there are still those who'd do us harm and, of course, we can't forget that looming national debt which all the soothsayers say our children and grandchildren will be saddled with unless we do something about it. So there are problems, horrendous problems I agree. Out country isn't perfect, far from it.

But ask yourself: would you want to live anyplace else? I think we all know the answer to that. So as Christmas and the holiday season approaches it occurred to me that maybe we should pause a moment in our sometimes hectic lives and practice a little simple gratitude. The results might surprise you. Just think how lucky you are if your kids and grandkids are healthy, that you have food on the table, and a warm, cozy house to come home to. Pause a moment to say thanks if somebody loves you, in spite of all your faults and little quirks. Okay, it's a cliché but I firmly believe that love really does make the world go round. And what about dear friends who put up with you when you're cranky and lift you up when you're down? Will you ever forget that kind soul who took the kids and ran your errands when you were laid low with the flu? And what about that sweet person who held your hand when you lost a loved one and felt your whole world was tumbling down? Friends--we couldn't do without them.

So the country's a mess? I don't think so. We have problems sure, but instead of bemoaning out fate what do you say we count our blessings and be grateful? Gratitude doesn't cost a thing and it'll make you happy; I guarantee it! Especially at this season of the year. Merry Christmas.

Thanksgiving Beckons

So-o, the mid-term elections are finally over and I, for one, am really glad we won't be bombarded with anymore of those negative campaign ads. I don't know about you but they seemed worse this year than ever before, and I got a little sick of them to be honest. However, I do wish all the winners of both parties good luck, they'll need it, and pray they'll do the best for our great country.

But fall is here and there's a definite nip in the air. This morning I awoke to find snow on the ground (I live in Connecticut) but never mind. Thanksgiving, which has always been one of my favorite holidays is right around the corner. I used to spend an inordinate amount of time, it seems to me, thinking up a lovely centerpiece for the table. I'd read all the magazines for hints, hoping to find inspiration, and usually ended up with the old standby of a bowl of fruit and a few mums. Buying all that food and preparing it was challenging enough I'd decide--(now remember Chris won't eat green bean casserole and Fred dislikes anything with mushrooms), and I was pretty well exhausted getting all the loose ends together. However, when the great day finally arrived and everyone gathered around the table it was worth it, a hundred times over, seeing the smiling faces as they dug into the delicious turkey and all the trimmings. And for the last few years I haven't even had to cook, glory be, as various members of my family do the honors.

"You've done it enough times," they told me a few years back, and who am I to argue? So I bring a shrimp ring or little pigs in a blanket to nibble on beforehand, proving there are advantages to getting older.

Certainly one of the pluses of having a family of sweet, caring individuals such as mine is that they take an interest in you, and of course they all want to know about my new book, "That Certain Summer," which is just about ready to be published by Author House and will be ready for sale in a month or so. Waiting for a book to be published is a little like giving birth--the wait can be painful, but the finished product is well worth it. Anyway, as I've told you, "That Certain Summer," tells the story of Sally Grimes, a feisty girl from Iowa, who gets a dream job writing the life story of Diane Fenwick, a famous actress. She moves to a Gatsbyesque community in Connecticut (Scott Fitzgerald's "The Great Gatsby" is her favorite novel) and meets the actress's adorable twins, Meagan and Alec, and Rufus, a special dog, who is more intuitive than a lot of humans. She also falls in love with Ricardo, the handsome hunk next door, who is an honest-to-god count and a Princeton graduate, but is working as a handyman for the reclusive millionaire Morley-Watts, who suspects Diane is hiding something he desperately wants. What is Diane's connection to Ricardo, and why is Sally suddenly plunged into a dangerous situation she has no control over?

Naturally I hope this has whet your interest enough so that you'll want to read the book to find out, and I'll be on pins and needles to see how all you nice folks out there like it. Truthfully I can't wait to see the finished product myself and hold it in my hands. But in the meantime I hope you're all enjoying these beautiful fall days and that you have a wonderful Thanksgiving. Of course we'll all eat too much, but who cares? We're gathering together for the feast and that's the important part!

AUTUMN

As my neighbor, who's got young children, said the other day, "Oh, Autumn, I love it! The kids are in school, the weather's nice, the leaves are turning, and football season's starting--what's there not to like?"

Well, she's right, of course. Except for football, which I could never get interested in, although I tried, since my husband and son were real afficionados of the pigskin (while I spent most of the game supplying them, and their friends, with drinks and munchies it seemed), autumn is one of my favorite seasons, too. There's such a quickening in the air and in the spirit--you can almost feel it as you step outside. Although I'm not exactly the outdoors type when Fall comes I look forward to walks in the woods and the smell of bonfires floating through the air. And can anything be more beautiful, or more inspiring, than the brilliant colors of the season as Mother Nature lifts her paint brush and presents us with her fiery orange and crimson leaves? I remember growing up in Colorado, when the aspen leaves would turn whole mountainsides into sheets of gold, so magnificent you almost had to catch your breath.

Then with Halloween just around the corner, with its little Trick or Treaters, what fun to see all the costumes which seem to get more elaborate each year. I can recall when an old sheet and a homemade mask were perfectly acceptable Halloween gear, but no longer. Costumes of the famous, and the infamous, seem to be derigueur today, although I'm sure there'll still be lots of little princesses and cowboys as in years past. However I've noticed, and my friends confirm it, that there are not as many kids ringing the doorbell as before, probably due to the fact that parents are keeping their children at home, or having private parties, due to the concern about all the crazies out there. Which is sad.

But let's not dwell on such unpleasantness. Autumn is here in all its glory and that's cause for celebration. And what to do with all that leftover Halloween candy I bought? I know--I'll give it to the gals in my bridge club. Of course they'll complain about putting on extra pounds, but by the end of the game the candy will be gone, and I'll be one of the worst offenders. But so be it.

New Start

I don't know why exactly but somehow when September rolls around I always think of it as a new start. Maybe it's seeing the kids off to school which brings back fond memories of my mom and me shopping for school clothes--I remember how there always had to be a new dress and new shoes for the first day of school. I couldn't imagine girls wearing pants or jeans to class, which is almost derigueur today, and instead of the ubiquitous sneakers we loved our bobby socks and saddle shoes, which really dates me I know.

But so be it. September brings change and not only with the start of school, but in the very air it seems to me. Days grow shorter, nights cooler, the leaves start to turn and, almost before we know it, the lazy days of summer are gone. It's always a little sad, but at the same time there's a quickening in the air and in one's senses, as you wonder what lays ahead. I, for one, am always filled with a spurt of new ambition, not anything world-shaking mind you. But maybe I'll finally get around to cleaning out that darn kitchen drawer that I throw everything into and is now so cluttered I can't find anything in it. And there's always the little matter of putting away the summer clothes and getting out the winter things--and how in the world did I get so much stuff? I keep reading that if you haven't worn something in over a year you should discard it, and I have lots of things that fall into that category. So hopefully I'll pack them all up and make a trip to the Goodwill. At least that's the plan in mid-September.

So clean the drawers, weed out the closets, write those letters I've been putting off--and what about calling that old friend I haven't seen in ages because of a minor disagreement that I can hardly remember now what it was all about? It should be easy enough to say, "I'm sorry, and let's have lunch." So will I be kinder, sweeter, more ambitious now that fall is here? I can't guarantee it, but I'm certainly going to try. As I said I always think of September as a new start with lots of new opportunities and I intend to enjoy it. And of course I'm looking forward to the publication of my new book, "That Certain Summer," in a few months.

Cruising

I just got back from an 8-day small ship cruise of the New England islands and other spots where everything was done so perfectly I had a marvelous time. And the funny part was I didn't want to go at all. As I mentioned earlier I have been very busy making the final edits on my new book, "That Certain Summer," which will be published some time this fall, and taking time off for a sailing adventure was the last thing I had in mind. But a dear friend, a fellow widow, talked me into it, and you know something?--I'm very glad she did!

My husband and I had been on cruises before where the accent was on keeping you busy every minute, or so it seemed. But this small ship cruise was entirely different. From the moment we stepped aboard the vessel, that only carried 100 passengers, we were in another world of congeniality and relaxation. Were we cosseted and pampered? "You bet your bottom dollar," as the old sage says, but who doesn't like a little attention now and then? The top-notch staff was friendly and helpful, the food delicious (lobster every day if you wanted it), and the guest speakers, who filled us in on the history and culture of the places we visited, were extremely informative and lots of fun, too.

I was fascinated by the whaling museum in New Bedford (what those poor fishermen had to go through in those days in their quest for the mighty whale) and as a fellow writer I was intrigued by Seaman's Bethel chapel, which Herman Melville described in his great novel, "Moby Dick." We visited the enchanting islands of Nantucket and Martha's Vineyard, and had a glimpse of the opulence of the Gilded Age as we toured the "summer cottages" of the Vanderbilts and the Astors in Newport. Every day there was a new experience to savor and enjoy, but what did I like most about the cruise?--that's easy, I'd have to say it was the people.

Seating in the dining room was unassigned so my friend and I made a point of sitting with different folks at each meal, and I was so happy we did. Where else would I have encountered the delightful "honeymoon" couple, who had first met in junior high, married other people, then met again after 62 years and got married two months later. Or what about the lady who gave birth to a child with so many difficulties she was advised by her doctors to put him in an institution, but she kept him. And guess what?--he's now a Harvard professor. And could anything compare to the romantic story of the beautiful woman, a Holocaust survivor, who came to this country alone and friendless as a child, and met her future husband when she stepped on his raincoat by mistake in a train? Well I could go on and on, but I guess you get the idea. The cruise was a wonderful experience which recharged all my batteries, and I'm looking forward to doing it again, God willing.

New Book Coming

Some time ago I mentioned that I was writing a new book, but I didn't want to say too much about it until it was done. Well,now, happy day!--after much writing and editing, revising, changing scenes, and revising again, the book is finished.

It's called "That Certain Summer" (although it's coming out in the Fall) and is a romantic-suspense novel to be published by Author House. It tells the story of Sally Grimes, a feisty girl from Iowa, who gets a dream job writing the life story of a famous actress, Diane Fenwick. She moves to a Gatsbyesque community in Connecticut, (Scott Fitzgerald's "The Great Gatsby" is her favorite novel), and meets the actress's adorable twins, Meagan and Alec, and Rufus, a special dog, who is more intuitive than a lot of humans. She also falls in love with Ricardo, the handsome hunk next door, who is an honest-to-god count and a Princeton graduate, but is working as a handyman for the reclusive millionaire Morley-Watts, who suspects Diane is hiding something he desperately wants. What is Ricardo's connection to Diane, and why is Sally suddenly plunged into a dangerous situation she has no control over?

Sound intriguing? Hope you think so and that you'll enjoy reading the book. I worked very hard, as I always do, to get it "just right," but it was a labor of love so I can't complain. I was enchanted with the seven-year-old twins in the story, Meagan and Alec, who are two of the sweetest little kids I've ever invented (I was going to say "met," although they're strictly figments of my imagination). As for Rufus, that amazing dog, I did base him on an actual dog I had as a child, a beautiful border collie named Sandy. As a youngster I confided all my hopes and dreams to Sandy, who like Rufus, was extremely smart and could carry on a conversation with you even if he couldn't speak--at least I thought so. And what about Diane, the beautiful actress who has hired Sally to write her life story? What secrets is she hiding, and why is she so afraid of growing old? Some time ago, you might remember, I wrote a blog called "Age is but a Number" which dealt with this very subject. Diane is gorgeous, but so worried about each tiny line and wrinkle she can't relax and enjoy what she has, which is pretty sad when you think about it. But as I said in my blog, and firmly believe, while we can't avoid growing old, we can't stop living because of the fear of it, either.

Finally, of course, "That Certain Summer" is the love story of Sally and Ricardo, who come from vastly different backgrounds and experiences, but are kindred souls who find each other. Theirs is not an easy journey, and they must go through many twists and turns and suffer heartbreaking doubt and suspense along the way. But does the book have a happy ending? I'll let you guess and hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Now, as they say, the really hard work begins, marketing the book. So I'll have to leave you now until the next time--thanks, and wish me luck.

"THAT CERTAIN SUMMER" - New Cover

 "That Certain Summer" - Author Mary Verdick

(Available THIS FALL)

A feisty girl from Iowa  who gets a dream job writing the life story of famous actress Diane Fenwick. She moves to a Gatsbyesque community in Connecticut and meets the actress's adorable twins, Meagan and Alec, and Rufus, a special dog, who is more intuitive than a lot of humans. She also falls in love with Ricardo, the handsome hunk next door, who is an honest-to-god count and a Princeton graduate, but is working as a handyman for the reclusive millionaire Morley-Watts, who suspects Diane is hiding something he desperately wants. What is Ricardo's connection to Diane and why is Sally suddenly plunged into a dangerous situation she has no control over?

Feeling the Fourth

This is a special time of year. We are not only starting a new month but we are about to embrace the celebration of our independence as a nation. Yes, the 4th of July is right around the corner. Many thoughts come to mind when we think about the Fourth. Many think about cook outs with family and friends but the majority instantly think about fireworks. Those small, medium, and large bundles of gunpowder and other ingredients that make such a show in the sky. It is very easy for us to picture all the colors and the loud bangs as the fireworks go off.

There was another time when loud bangs were going off and smoke filled the air. It was during the Revolutionary War. It was at this time that Francis Scott Key stepped out in the early morning hours and was moved when he saw the torn and ragged flag of our young nation still flying in the air. He penned the words of the Star Spangled Banner that day. The words ring true and are delivered with the emotion and passion he felt. They go like this:

Oh, say can you see by the dawn's early light

What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?

Whose broad stripes and bright stars thru the perilous fight,

O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming?

And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air,

Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.

Oh, say does that star-spangled banner yet wave

O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep,

Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes,

What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep,

As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?

Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam,

In full glory reflected now shines in the stream:

'Tis the star-spangled banner! Oh long may it wave

O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

And where is that band who so vauntingly swore

That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion,

A home and a country should leave us no more!

Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution.

No refuge could save the hireling and slave

From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave:

And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave

O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

Oh! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand

Between their loved home and the war's desolation!

Blest with victory and peace, may the heav'n rescued land

Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation.

Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,

And this be our motto: "In God is our trust."

And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave

O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

We, as writers, love words; we love words that drive home a message and stir emotions and feelings long thought hidden away. On the Fourth when we hear, sing or read these words it is impossible to think that we don't feel what our forefather's felt while establishing this land.

What Have I Been Doing?

You may have noticed that a little time has passed since my last post. So, what have I been doing during my absence? That is a question with a simple answer and, believe you me; I like questions with a simple answer. I have been working on my latest book. Actually I have been polishing my latest book.

After the months of writing and editing, writing and revising I can finally announce that my new book will published through Author House and I expect it to be released in the next four or five months. I'm sure by now you are wondering what is the title and genre. Unfortunately I am at that place in the publishing process where the title is still a little up in the air. So what about genre? What can you tell me about the book Mary?

Both of those are great questions I can assure you but at the moment I am going to pass on answering them at this time. Why? I want to make sure everything is completely ready to go before I talk about it to much. I want the editing, cover art, title, sizing....everything to be just about wrapped up before I go into the details. I know, I can hear you now - Mary that's not fair. You're right, it's not fair and I apologize for that but I promise to make it up to you by publishing an entertaining and gripping book that is pleasant to look at and a pleasure to own.

I will also promise to share more about the book in the coming months. Sadly I must go now, it is Saturday and on top of getting a book published I must handle the everyday chores of life.

Have a great weekend.

An Interesting Review

This review was prepared by the fine people at 'Writers in the Sky Podcast and Blog.' It is very well thought out and I thought you might enjoy reading what others are saying about my book.

Title of Document: Book Review
Book Title: As Long As He Needs Me
Author: Mary Verdick
ISBN Number: 978-1-4327-2427-6
Publisher: OutskirtsPress.com
Genre and Target Market: fiction; romance; family
Publication Date: 2009
Book Length in Pages: 215

There are times when I want to dive into a completely fantastical novel that transports me to a life or a place that could never be my own. Maybe it’s a sci-fi adventure in which an alien life form threatens the existence of everyone on our planet. Or, it could be a historical piece that takes place in the royal courts of Victorian England. Sometimes books can provide that perfect escape that a reader needs from her everyday existence. However, other times I prefer to settle in with a story that is completely familiar, one that portrays the challenges and comforts that come with human relationships and exposes the emotional frailties that exist in all of us. As Long as He Needs Me, the new release by author Mary Verdick, beautifully fits into the latter category. This fictional work does not necessarily allow the reader to escape, but certainly provides an opportunity to be challenged with very real emotions.

As Long as He Needs Me tells the story of Kitty and Clem Johanssen, a couple that has just embarked upon a cruise to celebrate their thirty-fifth wedding anniversary. However, the ship does not even leave the port before events change the course of their vacation. Both husband and wife are forced to confront their own feelings of guilt, self-doubt, and loneliness. Along the way, Verdick does a beautiful job of slowly revealing details of the history of Johanssen’s lives through flashbacks and conversations. We learn about their children, their parents, and other relationships that all contributed to the current dynamic of the marital bond. I imagine every reader will be able to identify with at least one of the supporting characters in the novel, if not with the husband or wife directly, making the emotions all the more piercing and convicting. You cannot help but become invested in the success of Kitty and Clem’s marriage once their entire story is told.

One of the great strengths of Mary Verdick’s writing throughout As Long as He Needs Me is her ability to capture a genuine sense of human frailty. She does this without creating a sense of pity for her characters and without making them exaggerated in their weakness. Instead, Verdick illustrates the delicate nature of an intimate relationship that has weathered heartache, devastating losses, and old-fashioned jealousy all while being comprised of two unique individuals. No one is completely evil or saintly in As Long as He Needs Me. Just as the reader is about to condemn a character for a despicable act, a detail will be revealed to show the situation is more complex than originally assumed. When writing a story about human nature, that is about as realistic as it comes!

As Long as He Needs Me is a book that I read from cover to cover in one day. This is not because the writing was overly simple, but because Mary Verdick managed to create characters in which I took an interest. I wanted to see the story of the Johanssen’s relationship through to the end. And, along the way, I took the time to do some self-reflection on the weaknesses that exist in my own relationships and the way in which I may be contributing to the current dynamic. If you enjoy works of fiction that force you to examine some personal truths, As Long as He Needs Me is a book for you.