Meet Sam and Lukas from This Loving Feeling
I’m approaching a big deadline, so instead of the traditional blog today, I wanted to share a few items of news:
–Wanted to remind you to please sign up for my newsletter! (You can do this by clicking the “Join My Newsletter” button on the very top of the Home page here. My next newsletter will go out later this month and will include a prize for a lucky subscriber. To enter, all you have to do is be on the list!
–Here’s my new cover for This Loving Feeling, my next Montlake book which is releasing July 19. Meet Samantha and Lukas!
I’m really excited for this book! If you’ve read the other Mirror Lake books, you’ve seen Sam first as a young college student tormenting her brother Brad, and then as a young woman trying to forget Lukas Spikonos, the sexy bad-boy auto mechanic who aged out of the foster system and who almost killed himself on his motorcycle by nearly wrecking into a chicken truck. And who finally left Mirror Lake…and Sam…behind.
Well, six years have passed–Sam’s all grown up now and Lukas has become a wildly popular recording artist…and he’s back! Here’s the blurb from Amazon:
Samantha Rushford’s future looks bright: the high school art teacher is getting ready to leave Mirror Lake and move to Boston with her ambitious boyfriend, and she hopes a diamond ring is just around the corner. But her past still has a hold on her—especially the bittersweet memory of her rebellious ex, who kissed her passionately before he left town without a word.
Since then, Lukas Spikonos has parlayed his rebel ways into life as an up-and-coming recording artist. When he shows up for a surprise gig at the high school prom, Sam is more dumbstruck than starstruck—he used the words of a poem she wrote about their breakup to create a number one hit. But Lukas hasn’t returned just to impress students; he’s facing some real-life responsibilities and needs Sam’s help. But she has her own unresolved issues about the life she wants to lead. Will the music—and the pull of true love and family—put their hearts back in harmony?
This Loving Feeling is up for pre-order on Amazon for a special pre-order price (the price will go up once the book releases.) (Note: it’s not necessary to read the other books first, even though it might be fun!) You can check out more here.
Okay, back to writing. Happy Saturday!
Where They Put the Books
My local grocery store has recently undergone a huge remodel. Shopping has become more stressful–and more decadent–as we are confronted with the largest array ever of any kind of edible product imaginable. We are blessed and over blessed to have a worldwide market of products at our fingertips. But that’s a different topic entirely–telling you how I really feel about an overwhelming amount of lettuce types or ten different kinds of milk or adapting to the sights and sounds of musical entertainment while I rush in to grab food. There’s a new way to shop, and I’m processing it. Let’s just say I never thought I’d live to see the day when buying an essential, food, was so based on impulse buys like anywhere else you shop.
Turns out, the placement of food products is based on (marketing) science. You can read all about it here. It’s no accident that the most popular products are on the second and third shells from the top, or that big companies pay for endcap placement just like publishers do in bookstores.
I was kind of shocked that I’d never thought about this particular product placement before the remodel: books. You know what I mean, the display of grab-n-go paperbacks that usually figure prominently somewhere on your way out. I can’t tell you when I last bought a paperback at the grocery store–maybe if I just had to have one right now, or if a book was (rarely) on sale, but I used to look–every trip. A quick glance to see what books were featured, what was bestselling, what genres of romance were prominent…it was a treat for me. A fun moment. A reward for hunting and gathering my food.
I realized something about how it was before: I’d tackle the grocery list then the store used to literally dump the shopper out into a prominent aisle that contained books. They were literally in front of your face and it was easy to wheel your cart a little to the right to browse them.
During the remodeling, I followed the books as they moved around into various out-of-the-way places. The worst was next to the beer near the front of the store. Not that books and spirits don’t go together, but this location was accessible either at the very beginning of the store flow (no time to browse when you’re all about business) or after checkout (too late).
So now the books are at the end of an aisle (convenient) but before dairy. Not in the prominent I-just-ran-right-into-the books-on-my-way-to-the-registers location that I loved. But not as bad as being stuck in the middle of the store next to the greeting cards. I have to readjust my thinking and steer up an aisle before my shopping’s done.
Maybe that’s a sign of getting older, not understanding change, but I’m adapting.
And hey, a book’s a book. Not much I wouldn’t do for one of those.
Election Glasses, A Quest
My mom’s glass is on the left; one of the ones I just bought, on the right.
Long- and short-stemmed versions.
When my mom was a newlywed, she worked the election polls. I never really asked her what she did there, probably sign voters in, etc. As a result, she got paid in…glasswear! She was given a set of fragile-looking long- and short-stemmed etched glasses, and she was very proud of them. She’d pull them out for special occasions, like Christmas Eve and Easter, or for occasions (babies, engagements) which required a celebratory toast. My mom’s parents hailed from Poland, so our toast was Nosdrovia. (Actually, it’s really spelled na zdrowie, which means Cheers! Bless you!)
I grew up thinking of that set of crystalware as the election glasses. Which I now own, since my mom’s been gone awhile.
I didn’t hail from money. In fact, my parents were a generation older than my friends’ parents and both of them had lived through the Depression. They knew how to stretch a dollar. My mom’s good china and silver were in sets of eight, not twelve. That may be why I’m a dish fanatic, always searching antique stores for more place settings to complete the set…
For years I kept an eye out for more of these glasses.Maybe I thought that if I had some extras, I wouldn’t feel these were so fragile, and I would use them more often. Not very logical, but ways to feel close to a parent that’s long gone are never rational, are they?
A few weeks ago, while visiting another part of the country, I went for a walk near where we were staying and happened on an antique store. I cruised through the dishes sections as I always do and suddenly, there they were. Five short little election glasses, twinkling at me like a hello. Maybe from the 1940’s, the owner thought. $35 for five.
Of course I bought them They’re a little different–bigger, less fragile looking–they might even be called stemmed dessert glasses or something like that. But they are darned close to my mom’s.
I carefully washed them and compared them to my mother’s. Then I poured some wine that was leftover from the night before’s Bachelor-watching party and gave my own little toast. Na zdrowie, Mom.
Son’s Home, Laundry, Beard, and All
I picked my 19-year-old son up from college recently, only to discover that my sweet, clean-shaven boy had grown a big, bushy beard. “Who are you, the Unabomber?” I asked when he got into the car.
I’m exaggerating a little, I suppose, but I kid you not when I say his beard was growing halfway down his neck. “Why didn’t you trim it up?” I asked. “Girls don’t like neck hair.” (I thought that might make him rethink his non-beard-grooming policy, noting also that he hadn’t had a haircut in the two months since he’d been home.)
“I don’t know,” he said. “I didn’t have a trimmer. I was waiting for (insert name of the barber from the shop back at home) to do it.” Then he added, “And for you to pay for it.” I think, personally, the wild, untamed look is a reflection of how he’s been living the past few months–sort of like John the Baptist going into the desert, wearing his haircloth and all. Living on bugs, (i.e., college food), roughing it. Enduring the hard classes, the stress, the ups and downs of dorm life.
The transition to college isn’t an easy one, is it? He’s in a difficult program. He’s made friends and gotten stellar grades. He’s managed to keep his clothes clean and get along with his roomie. He even got a job on campus. So I suppose I shouldn’t complain if he hasn’t found a place to get his hair cut yet.
Then I got to thinking, maybe he’s become too independent. Maybe he doesn’t even need home anymore. Maybe he doesn’t need me. After all, he’s nineteen now. A man. And he sure looks like one.
As soon as we got home, he unloaded his giant basket of dirty laundry. “I saved my laundry for you,” he said. He laughed, aware of the many lectures I’ve given him over the years to ensure he won’t grow up a misogynist, but rather a contributing partner in an egalitarian relationship. Believe me, I’ve given many, many soliloquies on the benefits of doing your own laundry.
“Oh, goody. How did you know I was holding my breath waiting for that?” I said sarcastically. Then he gave me a big hug. “It’s great to be home, Mom.”
That made my heart melt. It’s great to have him. Shaved or unshaved. And you know what? I probably will cave and do that laundry. Because he’s not quite all grown up yet.
Ice Cream Cures All Ills
When my daughter was small, she used to adore chocolate ice cream. We have countless pictures of her as a toddler licking chocolate ice cream cones, the chocolate dripping down her chin and onto her cute little dress or shirt and shorts. She, however, is oblivious of the mess. She isn’t caring about getting the clothes into the washer before the stains set, or searching for the nearest hose to water her down. The reason we took so many pictures is because she has this look of bliss on her face from the pure pleasure of being in the moment, enjoying it to the fullest. The experience of that cold, delicious treat sliding down her throat on those hot summer days–it was fully lived. 
As adults, we often lose this ability to live in the moment. I just spent a week with my two beautiful daughters, one on spring break from college and the other from grad school. They were worried about the typical things young women of their ages worry about–summer internships, getting accepted into grad school, navigating their way through relationship with coworkers, roommates, and men. As their mother, I worry with them. But several times during the week, we took time to visit our favorite ice cream shop in the world, the very same one from their childhood. 
Sure enough, my daughter ordered the flavor she’s been ordering since she was old enough to say “chocolate fudge brownie.” I couldn’t help covertly watching her, remembering, wondering if after all these years, it would have the same effect. And yep, her eyes closed in ecstasy, and a huge smile crossed her face.
No matter how much life changes, some things don’t. This was strangely comforting. The lesson for me being, we all need to slow down a little more, stop stressing so much, and just enjoy the chocolate!