A Butterfly Kisses Moment

That little monkey sitting on our endtable belongs to my granddaughter, Aubrey. She forgot the poor little guy yesterday when she and her parents and brother Matthew came for dinner, but he's dutifully waiting, either for us to return him to her or for her to come back for him, whichever comes first!

Each time I see him there, he's a reminder of something so touching that happened last night. It's been really hot here in North Carolina for at least the past two weeks, so we've been getting a lot of use from our pool lately. After dinner we were all gathered on the pool deck, and Aubrey and I are in the water together. She's got her little pink lifevest on and she's in her float, kicking her legs playfully in the water, and I'm giving her a big hug and a kiss and telling her how much I love her.

Well, my granddaughter, who's a toddler of 2 1/2, gently turns my face and kisses my cheek with such complete and genuine affection, as only a child can express her love. And the look that she gave me afterwards, without any words at all, basked me in that same love, so much that she touched my heart with her tenderness.

There are moments like that which remind me of that song a few years ago, the Bob Carlisle song "Butterfly Kisses." The song applies more to her mom and dad, but her grandfather and I can relate, too. Because both Aubrey and Matthew won't stay little forever, and I'm grateful to the Lord to be a part of their lives. They'll grow up too soon, first into bigger kids and then into teenagers and young adults, and they won't have as much time for their Grandma and Grandpa. These precious times won't last, so I want to store them in my heart.

And I'll always remember that moment in the pool, when my sweet granddaughter said I love you so poignantly and so powerfully, without even having to say the words. It's times like that when I can feel the Lord Jesus close, sharing that hug with us.

As for her monkey, I'll take good care of him until he gets back to her!

Lunchtime Scribblin'

Whoever said that you couldn't work a full-time job and write obviously never sat in Wendy's, working on their WIP over a small chili and a medium unsweet tea.

In my travels, I've sat on a bench while working on Leading Lady, pausing to look out at the Hudson River and the New York skyline. Once or twice I toted my notebook and pen over to a small area near the East River while a chopper landed and took off several yards away from me at a heliport. (Yes, I'm putting good at tuning most noises out!) A favorite spot was in a church courtyard, where I sat listening to the sounds of the City while banging out stories on my AlphaSmart. There was also the Tea Spot, down near New York University in Greenwich Village, where I sipped on tea and wrote a good portion of The Cop and the Mermaid.

Now I'm working on The Bride With Wings, a paranormal novella, that is written in said Wendy's and in the car at the park, with my Neon in auxilary and playing relaxing spa music, perfect for composing.

A little bit every day, even if it's just 500 words, with just a little bit under an hour to work. That's how stories get done.

And that's one answer to that eternally annoying question, "How do you find time to write?"

Answer: You make the time. You carve it out. And you nibble on a Subway sandwich while you do it!

Don't you just love being a girl?

These are not your mom's 50s! Well, my mom, unfortunately, didn't make it past the age of 48, but I remember her referring to herself as "an old lady." Now that I'm a few years past her age, I realize she was anything but an old lady, with several good decades still left in her.

As for the "I'm an old lady" mentality, that's not what I'm seeing today from us young-at-heart chicks. We've hit and run right past "The Big 5-0," and yet many of us are even more fashionistas than when we were little 20- and 30-somethings.

Or maybe it's because it seems those ladies in my generation are cool with acting and dressing our age...but we're redefining exactly what that age looks like. Stylin'-wise, that is. Check out both a bracelet set, inspired by one worn by Susan on Desperate Housewives, who I'm sure didn't get it for $8 at Walmart's. Or maybe she did?? The Fossil watch, also below, was a gotta-spoil-myself-sometime splurge from Belk's.

So when I go out with my hubby for a coffee with his sister and her husband for a latte in Belmont, or even if I'm just headed for work, I'm not ready for the matronly look of the 50-somethings in those black-and-white sitcoms.

And as you can probably tell, I really love accessories! I actually got a compliment on the bracelet below, purchased at, of all places, a flea market. Flower jewelry has been my favorite for a long time, and the $3 bracelet above was handmade and sold at a flea market. In the "You'll never guess where I picked up this trinket" category is this fun piece below, which dangles from a long necklace, that I got from, of all places, Walmart! At $8, it's already gotten its share of compliments, too.

Speaking of flowery jewelry, this is one of my favorites, and it's from Charlotte Russe:

I guess the moral of the story is, even in your 50s, you can still be as girly-girl as ever!

I Live on Wisteria Lane

Or, sometimes I wish I did!

Lord, I love that show. Love, as in, love, love, LOVE.

Last week I had to make an emergency visit to the dentist, leaving work early to do it. With my mouth all numbed-up and getting over a couple of weeks of pain inflicted by a malevolent wisdom tooth, what could I do at home?

So Bill and I watched a 9-hour marathon--yes, NINE hours--of Desperate Housewives on Netflix. I can't believe eight seasons have gone by and we're only now discovering Susan Meyer, Bree Hodge (formerly Van de Camp), Lynette Scavo and Gabrielle Solis. Oh, and let's not forget Mike, Orson, Tom, Carlos, Edie, the Scavo kids, Andrew Van De Camp, Carl Meyer, and the rest of the wonderful, fictional people in fictional Fairview.

We can thank our daughter-in-law, Yesica, for getting us addicted--I mean, turned on to that show. As if I didn't have enough distractions as a writer. And as any writer can tell you, those of us who write stories as our life's work don't need any more distractions. Now, in addition to my Real Life, which includes being a wife, mom, grandma, working full-time, hitting the gym, checking e-mail fifty million times a day and making homemade pickles, I can look forward to my husband tempting me with these little words: "Wanna see what Bree and Orson are up to in Desperate Housewives?"

And of course, I'm a woman, so I don't just watch what is essentially a soap (albeit, a very well-written soap, with a terrific and talented cast that really makes you care about the characters) for its stories. I've also got to stop and wish there really was a Susan Meyer, so maybe I could figure out how best to raid her closet for her amazing clothes. (Not that Teri Hatcher's clothes would fit me, but again, this is fantasy!) Twice, I've paused while watching the show to look up on AllRecipes whatever scrumptious dessert one of the characters was whipping up. Can't wait to try that fruit tart! And watching Edie or Gabby set out for a morning run reminds me that I need to recharge my Ipod for my morning or evening workout.

Okay, so maybe I don't live on Wisteria Lane. But I applaud the writers of this awesome show, which makes me laugh about as often as if makes me shed a tear or sit on the edge of my seat from a suspenseful cliffhanger. And for making Wisteria Lane and its residents so real, because at heart, it's a story about families and friends and life and love and passion and dreams and forgiveness and death and living in the suburbs. One of my favorite shows so far was the one that starred Beau Bridges as a handyman who'd touched each of the housewives before he passed from this life to the next. This isn't just a TV show, but one with a lot of heart and soul.

If you've never caught the show, make a point to give it a try. But beware: It is addictive.

And don't say I didn't warn you!

My Very Own Master Gardener

Okay, full disclosure here: My husband, Bill (the handsome guy pictured below) is the master gardener in this household. This year we got REALLY adventurous and decided to try our hand at growing a variety of fruits and vegetables, with a focus on SALAD!

So what's out there getting watered, sunned & loved, then devoured before the main course each night? Well, we've got iceberg lettuce...Romaine...red and green field lettuce...tomatoes...green & sweet peppers. And, not tyically used for salad, but we've also got strawberries, blueberries, grapes, broccoli, cucumbers, and a variety of spices including cilantro.

Our berries aren't doing too well, though I'm told the garden lizards think they're utterly divine, and the grapes and the tomatoes aren't anywhere near ready, but the lettuce is making an appearance on our table DAILY! Obviously, lettuce alone does not a salad make, so we hit up the local farmers' market today for fresh mixings like chopped red onions, hothouse tomatoes and radishes.

And while I baked my first classic pound cake from scratch--a recipe that is delish, and you can find it right here--Bill fixed some homemade salsa, also from scratch. I happened to pick up the Mission tortilla chips on a recent trip to the supermarket, since we've always liked Mission's other products, and how better to enjoy them than with some salsa you whip up in your own kitchen? Did I mention our homegrown cilantro came in very handy? Yep. The hubby told me, "How'd we get into all this fresh, homemade stuff, anyway??? Is that what happens when you grow your own garden?"

Who knows? But it sure beats the processed stuff!

For Papi

JORGE VAZQUEZ, JULY 8, 1934 - APRIL 5, 2011

How I loved this man. My dad died at the age of 76 last week. During my life, I've made so many trips down to Miami, Florida where he lived. On the flight down last Friday evening, I remember thinking it was the saddest trek I'd ever make to Florida.

Between my sister Sandra and I, we were able to put together a memorial for him that was held at La Ermita de la Caridad del Cobre, a pretty little chapel in Miami named after the patron saint of Cuba. Papi loved that chapel, which is set by the sea, with its mural that included Cuba's history, and attended it often. Since there was no casket, we instead tossed roses into the sea in his honor. Afterwards we assembled at Sandy's house for an intimate gathering of friends and family to celebrate a man who was always filled with life and laughter.

Our relationship might not have been perfect--Mami and my dad divorced when I was about 3--but my father and I loved each other. More than anyone, Papi taught me that you don't have to have a perfect relationship with someone to love them with all your heart. As an adult, I shared many a heartfelt conversation with him. That's him in the picture above, taken at my 50th birthday party last year. My sister affectionately claims he was always eating! He was a father, grandfather and great-grandfather. He was part of that great generation belonging to my mom, Madrina, Padrino, Soledad and others.

There will never again be anyone like Jorge Vazquez. And when I tossed down that rose into the sea, that large part of my heart that belonged to him also disappeared into the waves.

My Classic Namesake

Kind of a spooky thing to hear, while you're doing a story that involves a car, to hear that you have one named after you! But that's exactly what happened to me. Meet Connie--my cousin's classic Nova!

Pep is my cousin only technically. He's more of a kid brother to me, since we were raised together by his mother (my Madrina, which means grandmother) and my mother. You can't talk about our childhood without also talking about his half-brother and half-sister, Danny and Solie, who were siblings-of-the-heart to me, too.

We're all older now, and it seems like everybody's life is so busy. In this entry, I wanted not only to show off my very cool namesake (the Nova has a big "C" on its hood!), but to make a tribute to Pep, Danny and Solie, as well as Pep's wife Marlene, who has also been like a sister to me. They're the reason that, when chatting with people who've said, "I'm an only child," I've responded with, "Oh, me, too! Well, actually no--my Padrino filled my life with two brothers and a sister." So, in addition to my half-sister Sandra and my stepsister, Tammy, I guess I come from a big, crazy, and loving brood of kids!