Cancelled At Easter

 I was excluded from Easter Dinner. 

It was a bummer. 

My Aunt Joanne (or is it Joann? I can never remember if there’s an e on the end) made the best Easter meals too. The best tasting ham. But the star of Easter Dinner for me, was the pineapple bread pudding, which I’d never had until I’d married my husband and had my first Easter Dinner at Aunt Joann(e?)s.  

The exclusion (well, really, it was a dis-invite) happened a year after Covid and the vaccines were all the rage. 

I was skeptical of the vaccine. Imagine you’re going to fly on a brand new airplane that had just been built…actually, it was rushed during the process using “warp speed.” And, not to worry, but, if the plane breaks apart while you’re flying, neither you, nor your relatives, can sue the company or airlines because they are absolved from any harm that might happen. 

Dang, no. Not for me. I’ll take my chances with the ‘vid (of which I knew zero people that had died from it, most people reported it was like…well, a case of the flu). 

So my Aunt Joann(e?) sent out an invitation for Easter in 2021. But then followed it up with a text to me, “If you haven’t received the vaccine, please don’t attend. We want to keep everyone safe.” 

Sigh. 

Now, the ironic story here is – the vaccinated people in the family got really, really, sick after having the vax and the boosters! 

Me? I stayed healthy until 2024. A week before Christmas, I lost my sense of smell and taste (the worst!), sweating nightly (this led to getting rid of the king-sized bed and buying a single sized bed because changing king sheets daily was not fun). Luckily, on Christmas Eve, I could smell the aroma of coffee and just as quickly as my sense of smell and taste left, it came flooding back. It was indeed, a Christmas Miracle. 

Since the dis-invite, I’ve known people that have lost complete sense of smell and taste after getting the Covid vax (and it’s never returned, he’s seen specialists, neurologists, etc). Young people that developed heart problems. One person that was paid 1,000 and received two weeks of paid time off for taking the vaxxes and later, he said he wished he had never taken it because he is having problems and will never know if it’s a result of putting something into his body or just bad luck). He rationalizes now, if it was such a great thing, why were they offering free things to get us to take it? Also, if you’re reading this and took the vax and all you got was a free donut, that must really suck, I’m sorry. 

Easter is one of my favorite holidays. Rebirth. Transformation. Hope. 

I hope that we can look back on the past and learn lessons. 

I hope that I can find it in my heart to forgive the people that crossed the street to get away from me (OUTSIDE!) because I walked without wearing a mask. I hope I can forgive the people that made children stay home from school, fired employees for sticking to principles, and closed small businesses (while giving a pass to corporations who fund government entities and politicians). I am working on forgiveness, but…dang, it’s really difficult. 

Covid divided us. 

And the way to survive any future chaos whether it be in the form of a “disease outbreak” or  “terror attacks” or some hell that hasn’t been unleashed yet, is to not allow it to divide us. If the “powers that be” start trying to paint a picture of EVIL vs GOOD, pause. Pause hard. Who is benefitting from the fear? Who is profiting from the fear? 

A people united is a threat to the predator power structure. 

And, you know, who knows? Maybe Aunt Joann(e?) disinvited me because, maybe I’m not a good guest? Maybe I ate too much pineapple bread pudding. Maybe she just used the excuse of Covid vaccines to delete me off the invite list!

I’m far from perfect. I have followed people and ideas I felt to be true also, only to discover, man, was I fooled! And as always, I’m much harder on myself than on the person or system that sold me a load of bullcrap while wearing a doctors coat, blazer and tie, or carting around Oscar or Grammy awards. 

I (WE) need to stop outsourcing our trust to people and institutions who pretend to have our best interest in mind, when in reality, all they are looking out for is themselves and their own survival (money, belonging to their group). 

Easter. Rebirth. Transformation. Hope. 

And pineapple bread pudding. 

Justify The Means (cozy thriller) and Christmas Bells & Wedding Spells Available Everywhere

 Hello Friends!

When I worked at Germantown Academy, it was suggested we call everyone "friends." This was supposed to take place of "Hey Guys" or "Hey Girls" (something that old school me always does and it's difficult to not say this when talking to a group of guys or a group of girls. But kids today get their feathers ruffled so easily, mostly because adults are steering them in this direction of collection (we are all friends, we are all one, individuals aren't special))

It felts so odd to me, calling students "friends." I wasn't there to be friends with them. I was there as a guide rail, if you will, to help keep order and keep things as secure as possible (well, this ended up being less about security and more about visibility, but that's another story, I have so many Germantown Academy stories I could write a book. And I just might!) Don't get me wrong, the kids at the academy were mostly well behaved. And they were smart. And I enjoyed hearing stories from them, but I wasn't their to be their 'friend." 

Anyway, this post was meant to tell you that my books, Justify the Means and Christmas Bells and Wedding Spells - are now available everywhere! Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Kobo, Apple, etc. Where-ever ebooks are sold. And you can order a printed copy on Amazon as well. 

And Sorry Bob! is in the final editing stages and should be available by the end of April! Just in time for May Flowers!

Justify The Means - A Cozy Vigilante Story

 

Click On The Book!

I actually wrote this book more than 20 years ago. It’s a quirky little whodunit set in Cranberry County, just outside Philadelphia. At the time, agents and publishers turned it down because the plot centers around a vigilante hunting down pedophiles. “Too dark,” they told me.

But here we are, years later, and the conversation around crimes against children is everywhere. People are talking about accountability, justice, and the frustration of watching terrible people slip through the cracks. It made me think…maybe the timing for this story is finally right.

So I decided to dust it off and bring it back to life.

If you enjoy a mystery with a little humor, a little romance, and a few twists along the way, you might like meeting Detective Molly O’Brien and the strange cast of characters she encounters while trying to solve
the case.

The book is free until April 1st. You can download the Nook app from Barnes & Noble for free and read it on any device. 

If you do give it a read, I’d truly love to hear what you think, good or bad. And I’m especially curious if you were surprised when you discovered who the vigilante really is.

Justify The Means...

Meet loveable but quirky (and always starving) Detective Molly O'Brien.

And meet her next assignment... a serial killer loose in Cranberry County, just outside of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

As the murder list grows, Molly's problems grow just as fast; her partner Jake follows the letter of the law, and is ruthless in his pursuit to find the vigilante.

Handsome FBI agent Luke Foreman is assigned to the case and carries his own secrets.

A bumbling detective compromising crime scenes.

A hyperactive male dancer who happens to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and worries he's a suspect.

And a gun found by Molly in her best-friend's closet that matches the one used in the crimes.

Molly soon finds the boundaries of friendship, romance, and the law tested as she struggles with the idea "The End Justifies The Means."

This cozy mystery has a little romance, a little humor, a little bit of an edge, and will keep you wondering 'whodunit' until the surprising conclusion.

(This is a PG rated book, contains light romance, very few curse words, and non-graphic violence.)

Signs, The South, and Lady Bugs

 Do you believe in signs?

I do.

The other morning, when it was twenty-eight degrees in Pennsylvania (far too cold for anything red and spotted with wings to be crawling around) I found a ladybug on my windowsill. On its back, wriggling. I righted it gently with my fingertip, and it paused for a moment as if to say thank you, then meandered on my desk and disappeared.

A ladybug in February felt like a cosmic telegram. At the time, I was planning a book tour, toggling between cash flow and Airbnbs, wondering if I could justify a little Southern sunshine as a business expense. I had my eye on a lake house, all soft greens and blush pinks…exactly how I’d decorate if someone handed me a blank check and a new home. But this dreamy dreamy lake house was only available sooner rather than later (and I’d wanted to go later – there are finishing touches to Sorry Bob! that I’ve been procrastinating on). But I wasn’t sure: was I meant to go now, or should I give it a few more weeks so I didn’t rush through the 2,747 edit of Sorry Bob!

What are you trying to tell me ladybug? I looked it up:  a ladybug symbolizes protection, good luck, and is often associated with the Virgin Mary. 

Though I was raised Catholic, I’m more spiritual than I am religious but I’ve always loved the Virgin Mary

Ok, but what was the ladybug telling me? It seemed to say GO! But…I started overthinking it. Because sometimes a sign is more about the feeling it gives you…  

Years ago (before anyone became divided over politics, that’s how long ago it was!), I dated a man we’ll just call G. He was charming and disastrous in equal measure. He gave romantic gifts (that I ended up tossing out moving car windows when I finding out he had cheated again) but not out of the goodness of his heart. But! I was convinced that if I loved him enough, I could fix him, that love alone could outwit addiction and ego and all the worst parts of someone pretending to be better.

One day, we were at a horse race. The least-favored horse bore his sister’s name, which was also  his mother’s. “If that horse wins,” he said, “it’s a sign we should get married.”

You can guess how that went.

The horse won.

And my stomach dropped straight through the grandstand. I realized (perhaps for the first time) that sometimes the sign isn’t the event you witness, but the feeling that floods your body when it happens. His sign said marriage. Mine said run!

Back to present day (if you’re still reading, thank you, I appreciate your patience) …another sign arrived not long ago, and it had to do with moving…though, as always, I’ll take the scenic route to explain.

When you reach a certain age, you start thinking about where to spend the next chapter of your life. My husband wanted Montana: big skies, quiet mountains, a place where you could feel small in the best possible way. I, on the other hand, hate the cold. I’ve never understood the cult of “crisp air.” I’m the person sitting in a sweatshirt in the sun when it’s seventy degrees.

I tell people getting married…talk about weather preference before you say “I do.” Love may conquer many things, but frostbite is not one of them!

But life, with its dark sense of humor, threw a wrench into our moving ideas. 

My husband got cancer.

Like so many men, he didn’t want to tell anyone until the procedures were nearly over… that quiet, stoic pride that pretends it’s protection. The medication stripped his testosterone down to nothing, and for the first time in our marriage I watched this strong, self-sufficient man become emotional. Tender. Not broken, just unguarded.

Then, one winter morning, he shivered as we stepped outside and said, “I finally get it. No more Montana.”

Florida was too crowded and hot for him, but South Carolina and Tennessee rose to the top of the list. And driving to Wegmans a few days before I was scheduled to visit family in Florida, a car with South Carolina plates pulled in front of us!

“See?” I said. “A sign.”

When we got home, I pulled out my Spartina 449 clutch that I’d purchased (because it had a map of the islands in South Carolina). I’d never even used it. I flipped over the label and stared in disbelief. The code number on it combined digits from my Social Security number and my husband’s old police badge! C’mon now! Even he raised an eyebrow at the coincidence. 

THEN, a few days later, in the Allentown-Bethlehem Airport (the second best airport in the world – Nashville being the first), another sign was waiting for me. Her name was Amy. 

ABE airport has this sweet little free library at the gates. I was admiring the shelves when I met Amy: fabulous purple jacket, Pilates instructor, and volunteer philosopher. She told me she’d lived everywhere: Montana (her husband adored it for the hiking), Idaho (which, she said, has “Idaho nice” people.

Wouldn’t you know it, Montana and Idaho were the two places my husband had wanted to move prior to his health challenges!

But Amy (who has lived in the Allentown area for a long time) said she loved South Carolina! If she could pick anywhere, that’s where she’d live (she had no idea it was on my list!) 

Naturally. Another sign.

We stood there chatting until her flight boarded. Amy was strong, graceful, the kind of woman who looks ten years younger because she spends her energy in all the right places.

 I do believe the universe conspires to help us. 

But sometimes, we think we know better. Sometimes, we overthink. Sometimes, the sign says: how would you actually feel if you got what you wanted?

So what was the ladybug telling me? 

Maybe the ladybug wasn’t sending me a destination; maybe just a message: You’re still protected. You’re still guided.

So wherever I land, whether it’s in the Carolinas or just in this moment, I’ll take it. Because sometimes protection doesn’t mean staying safe — it means finding the courage to go.

One thing I do know is, I’ll be trying Pilates! Thanks Amy!