- Flowers from Dancing Mandolin Player’s garden, and vintage blocks from a local antique store.
Old habits die hard. From her perch in heaven, my mother-in-law is smiling at the jars lined up on the counter. I hear her reassuring voice–“Don’t worry, they’ll pop,”– whenever I hear the snap of lids.
It’s a boy.
And life couldn’t be any more exciting.
So of course this calls for a party.
And now that you have seen my kitchen in all its glory, I’m going back to writing a short story for Harlequin. It needs to be done in two weeks, which should be interesting.
Cooking, practicing the lap steel, learning new songs to sing, yodeling, band practice, a baby shower and going to a couple of concerts with DMP take precedence over writing.
But I will manage to fit it in somewhere.