First Date

 First Date

First dates are usually awkward. At least for me. This week Mike and I recognize our “first date.” Our first date wasn’t awkward at all. 

Mostly, because we didn’t realize we were on a date.

Our high school reunion from George D. Chamberlain High School in Tampa, Florida was to be held Saturday, August 27, 2022. It should have been in 2021, but COVID brought those plans to a halt. 

Long before I left Ohio, I planned a post reunion potluck picnic at the Waters’ lake house near Tampa for the Sunday afternoon after the main event. I knew it would be work, but I also knew there would be some friends attending the picnic who couldn’t attend the organized reunion event for one reason or another. I considered that a win.

I posted the idea on our high school class page. The response was encouraging. 

Mike, a man I knew as a neighbor and friend, lived right up the road from the lake house. He was in my graduating class and was a long-time friend of my late husband,Tom. I knew his sister, Cindy, from classes we had together and his dad was my dentist.

Mike turned out
 to be my Reunion Date.. 
And my Husband!

Noting the response to the picnic, Mike offered, via Facebook messenger, to help with the event. He told me he had put on boating events and had coolers, grills, canopies, and tables. I promised to evaluate what I had available at the house and what I needed once I made my way to Florida.

My mother and I drove from the suburbs of Cincinnati to the Tampa Bay area with an overnight stop to visit cousins in Kentucky. Once at the lake house, we cleaned, scrubbed, and tidied up everything. My brother-in-law mowed the lawn and I assessed my needs. 

The grill was broken, we had plenty of chairs but only the one large picnic table. And we could use an additional cooler. I texted Mike and he told me what all he could deliver, bringing his son with him to help with the set-up. 

I headed out to shop for table coverings and decorations. I saw some red polish and decided to buy it for my toenails since I was wearing “open strappy shoes.” I don’t generally use polish. 

I was standing in the checkout line when my phone rang. Mike had driven to the event center and called to tell me how to get there. It sounded complicated.

“Or you can ride with me if you want to,” he offered.

I looked at the polish in my hand. I was already being a bit adventurous, so I agreed. 

We set a time for him to pick me up. My mom wanted to take a picture of us by the lake.

 

“Mom, it’s not like prom or anything.”

She took the picture anyway.

The evening was wonderful. We were likely more relaxed being together because it wasn’t a date. We shared stories, laughed, sat together at the reunion, and danced. I flitted about chatting with old friends. And when we’d had enough, we left.

The reunion was wonderful and Sunday’s picnic was a huge success. The day ended with rain in the evening after most folks left. Mike came back to pick up his grills on Monday as my mother and I were packing up to leave.

And then he kissed me.

So…Mike and I consider that reunion our first date. 

But not our last. 

 

 

Journey of the Pen

 Journey of the Pen

I am in the throes of writing, revising, and editing multiple works.

I am crafting book three of a series, editing a novel, and outlining blog posts for the next two months. Uh…make that three months. And... I am getting ready for a writing conference.

I have two more novels drafted. Who knows if I’ll get to them before the conference? It’s a haul.

Sounding busy? I am. But it could be worse.

I kind of got into this tizzy…this barrage of half-written books in 2014. That was the year Tom died. My first novel, Breathing on Her Own, was released April 1 of that year. I had the second one, Libby's Cuppa Joe, ready. I was on a roll. 

I started a third book in late September. I was still researching and developing character sketches for my main characters. I had a plot and a plan. 

We were to leave Ohio for Florida November 1st. Tom would be driving the truck, pulling the camper, and I would follow in the car. We planned stops along the way.  I decided to work on my third book as part of National Novel Writing Month in November. 

My idea was to dictate thoughts as we traveled, entering the fifteen hundred to 2000 words in my computer each evening at our campsites along the way. 

Hmmm…that sounded much more doable in 2014.

Anyway, it wasn’t to be. Tom headed out on his daily bicycle ride on October 29^th. If you follow me, you know the story. His bike went off the pavement and threw him into a tree. Two hours later, he was gone. From this earth. He was a believer and follower of Jesus, so I know where he is now.

I have often described that time in my life as the day the ink ran out of my pen. The closest I came to writing anything was my weekly blog.  Even that was a struggle. 

I tried to write, but none of my ideas panned out. They all wound up in a file I called "Fits and Starts."

Writing is Building... 
Rewriting is  
Getting Rid of Useless Material

In 2022, I came back to Florida for my high school reunion. Some of my readers are familiar with that next chapter in my life.

Like a good novel, a neighbor, a man Tom and I both knew in our youth, offered to help me with the “Post Reunion Potluck Picnic” I was hosting the Sunday after the reunion. Mike and I graduated together. He offered to drive me to the reunion event on Saturday night as well. 

Mike and I have now been married over two years.

And… I’m writing again. Mike encourages me at every turn. Because of him I have joined a local writing group. I’ve finished one novel. My favorite so far. (My beta readers like it, so that’s a plus.)

The first two novels in a series are ready…until some editor tells me otherwise! The third one in the series is in the revision stage. Two other books I crafted in my “dark hours” need serious work, but I like the concept each offers so I’m willing to invest the time. 

And…I’m happy.

 

The Rain Dance

 The Makings of a Rain Dance

Supposedly, Native Americans thought they could persuade the heavens to rain on parched land by calling on the gods through music and dance. 

Not a unique thought. Nearly every continent on the face of the earth boasts of rainmaking rituals in times past. The rituals, a message to some sort of god they couldn’t see, is actually, in my view, a testimony that even in the most primitive times, people knew there was a God. Because they couldn’t see Him, they fashioned an image of Him.

God doesn’t cotton to that. (Sorry. My South slipped out there.) He said we’re not to worship “a graven image.” And you sure don’t want to be praying to one for rain. Or concocting some sort of dancing part to supposedly open the skies.

Where Mike and I live, the keepers of the water locks have been letting a lot of water from our chain of lakes out, lowering the water table significantly. We understand. Some. They are anticipating the hurricane season when torrential rains can more than fill the lakes and waterways. They can flood homes and destroy lives. 

Last year, the west coast of Florida suffered through several hurricanes. Some of them didn’t stop wreaking havoc at the state line, either. You watched. You know. 

But as I craft this week’s post, I’m looking out on dry (read dying) grass and citrus trees that need water to make the grapefruit, lemons, and oranges juicy. The water level is the lowest we’ve ever seen. 

A little dry...

We’ve prayed for rain. It comes…just not on us. A little here and there, but not much. I’m pretty sure there are people out there who are thinking we need a rain dance. Now I’m for dancing in the rain, but I have no expectation that God would cause the rain to fall because of some dance…or incantation…or putting some statue in the window. 

I trust Him. He will send the rain when He sees fit.  And it won’t be just for me. The Bible tells us “He causes it to rain on the just and the unjust alike.” That’s in the book of Matthew, chapter 5 in the New Testament.

So, I’m praying for that healing rain to fall on all of us…friends and enemies alike and leave the dancing to others.

Update: I wrote this post, put it in my blog queue, and then...? And then it rained. Not a drizzle. Not a sprinkle here and there. It rained what I would call a "thunder boomer" with the heavens opening and pouring massive amounts of rain on our parched land. 

Thanks, God. We needed that.

Loving the downpour!

 

living in a small town

 Living in a Small Town

You may remember the John Mellencamp song “Small Town.” Or not. It was popular in the eighties. Mike and I live in a small town. And we love it.

The traffic is manageable. The people are friendly. The atmosphere is relaxed. Laid back. We have great restaurants and everything we need in our little town. 

Everything. 

When Mike and I first renovated our kitchen, we had a minor issue with the faucet. We called a plumber. One of the men from the company happened to be in the neighborhood so he came over. He fixed the issue, which proved to be minor for a plumber. It took him ten or fifteen minutes. He didn’t charge us. NOT A DIME. We were amazed. He simply welcomed us to Inverness and left.

Recently, following a storm, we needed someone to come in and do a cleanup for us as well as cut some limbs from a tree. We called a local company. They arrived on time, did everything we needed done and in two hours they left, leaving our yard looking great. Their fee was more than reasonable. (If you want to read about the wind that brought those limbs down, CLICK HERE.)

Mike and I were impressed with their work as well as their work ethic, so we had them return to trim limbs from our hickory tree before another storm decides the hickory tree would look better on top of Mike’s shop. We also had a dead palm tree near the lake and a huge oak stump by the she-shed we wanted removed. Same thing…they came, they conquered, they cleaned up. 

Our Tree Trimmer Did Some Acrobatics on the Rope.
I ran to Get My Camera...and
I Missed some of the Fun Stuff,
So He Did a Little Flip at the End.

By the way...the she-shed is currently used to store a variety of items, but Mike is in the process of fixing it up for me to use for my arts and crafts. Getting rid of the tall stump of a tree…so tall it blocked the window in the she-shed…was a huge step forward. I digress.

A local plumber moved my mother’s old refrigerator out and fixed the waterline under her sink. He said he could use the old refrigerator so Mom let him have it. It turned out to be a great deal. He traded his work for the old refrigerator. 

When her air conditioner wasn’t cooling, a big name company from a big city nearby suggested she buy an entire new unit and replace everything. It was thousands of dollars. We called our small town air repair group. They came to her house, looked it over, and said the unit should still be under warranty. The warranty hadn’t been transferred to mom, but thanks to our youngest daughter getting on the phone with the company, by the end of the day, the warranty was transferred and the unit was repaired as soon as the part arrived. The charge? Quite reasonable.

We live in a small town. We shop here. We dine here. We have everything we need. Right here. I guess Mellencamp was right.

“Yeah, I can be myself here in this small town,

And people let me be just what I want to be.”

Note: If you are interested in the Citrus County businesses I mentioned, message me. I'll be happy to share their info with you.