Is it Spring Yet???

Okay, so we moved to Myrtle Beach in November, hoping to escape the snow, ice and frigid temperatures of Northern Virginia.  I had a yard sale in August, and with a tear in my eye, I put out all my soft, cozy winter pajamas, my luxurious lamb-soft white robe, my prized Sherpa coat that I’d drooled over for months before finally buying it at Kohl’s.  All the beloved winter stuff that I just knew I wouldn’t need in sunny, sub-tropical Myrtle Beach.

Flash-forward to the end of November, two weeks after we moved into our beautiful new house.  I’d kept two pairs of ultra-soft, cozy-warm pajamas—my Paul Frank monkeys and my black zebra-prints.  Which I found myself wearing every night.  And the inevitable happened.  They both ended up in the wash at the same time.  So, out I go to Wal-Mart, where I bought some Betty Boop winter jammies.  (Just the fact that Wal-Mart was stocking winter pajamas in sunny Myrtle Beach should’ve been a clue.)  And a week later, a pair of purple softies with metallic silver snowflakes.  After that, some panda pjs.  Okay, so I’m a PJ addict.  But now I have about six pairs of winter pajamas…which I’m still wearing almost every night, and here it is the end of February. 

Bottom line?  It’s freaking cold down here in the tropics!  Okay, I can see all of you up in the northeast and Midwest, looking out your windows at mountain of snow hovering over your sidewalk…and right now, you’d like to have my soon-to-be 61-year-old neck between your clawed hands.  No!  You’ve got me wrong!  I’m not complaining!  Hell, I’ve been lucky enough to play tennis down here about twice a month since we moved.  But I was not prepared for the two ice storms we got the end of January, and then again, two weeks later.  I thought if such a thing would happen down south, it was a pure freak of nature that happened maybe once in a decade.  But twice in a two-week period?  So not what I was expecting. 

But we made it through, and the palm trees, which I thought for sure had been murdered by the ice, look like they’re going to survive.  Now, if we can get through three more weeks, I’ll start believing spring is really going to arrive.

And guess who has a birthday coming up?  Me! On March 11^th, I’ll turn 61.  Man, the years are going by fast!  But I’m thankful I’m still super active and have a real zest for life.  I’ve really dived into life down here; I’ve made a bunch of great new friends, and I’m singing at assisted living homes, and I’m making jewelry and…what else?  Oh, yeah, writing a novel!  INCENSE & PEPPERMINTS should be out this summer, and I’m starting to work on a new novel titled HOWLING AT THE MOON set in the Charleston area. 

Oh, and one more thing.  I’m offering creativity workshops from my home starting next month.  If you’re in the Myrtle Beach area…or even if you’re not, and just want to come to Myrtle Beach, check out the information on my website.

And have a fantastic March!  Spring is just around the corner!!!

Hugs,

Carole

185 Seconds

In honor of South Carolina's proposed legislation allowing concealed weapons in bars WHERE PEOPLE ARE DRINKING ALCOHOL, I'd like to share with you a story I wrote years ago, "185 Seconds."  It won grand prize in a literary magazine competition back in the 90's, and subsequently published there.  It may be an old story, but its theme still rings true...unfortunately.

185 Seconds

by Carole Bellacera

May 18, 1992, 6:00 P.M.

Chad

Chad couldn't decide what to order. There were so many foods he liked. At first he'd thought about going with fried chicken, but then, it wouldn't be his mother's, would it? Instead, he'd opted for a peperoni pizza, a thin one, New York style, with lots of drippy cheese and tangy sauce.
He was thirty-three years old. How many peperoni pizzas had he put away in all that time? Hard to believe this one would be his last.
So, that was what it was going to be. A peperoni pizza and a giant-sized Big Gulp from Seven-Eleven. And for dessert? A bag of chocolate-covered peanuts.
Not some off-the-wall brand, but Brach's.
After all, the state was paying for it. A vision of Christ and the Last Supper flashed through his mind. He looked at the clock on the gray wall of the holding cell.
Five hours to live.

Leslie and Russell

"They're gonna kill that Chad Donovan tonight," Russell said through a mouthful of mashed potatoes. "Eleven o'clock. Gonna zap him in the electric chair."
With a trembling arthritic hand, Leslie lifted a cup of coffee to her lips and took a slurping sip. "Now, which ones did he kill? The people in the fast food restaurant?"
"Naw, this is the one who burst into that office building and took out three or four people. Electric chair is too good for him, I say. They should put him in a room with the families of the victims and let them have at it."
"Russ, don't get yourself in a tizzy. You know what it does to your blood pressure."
The gray-haired man rolled up the newspaper and tossed it to the floor. "You're right. He ain't worth it. Pass the salt, Mama."
"Dear, you know salt isn't good for you."
But she passed it anyway.

Heather

The microwave bell dinged just as Heather finished setting the table.
"Steve! Can you get Brad in his highchair? Dinner's ready!"
She was like a ballet dancer as she whirled through the kitchen, pouring the fruit juice, arranging the salad on the table, grabbing the Lean Cuisine dinners from the microwave.
The under-the-counter TV was the accompaniment to her Dance of the Dinner Preparation. "Barring any last-minute stays from the governor, convicted murderer Chad Donovan will be executed tonight at eleven o'clock. Donovan has been on death row for the last seven years....
Steve entered the dining room with two-year-old Brad on his hip. "I can't believe you're going to the health club tonight. Three years ago, you would've been down at the prison with the other protesters."
Heather grabbed the salad dressing bottles from the refrigerator, closing the door with her foot. "Three years ago I had a different life. I don't have time to get involved in causes these days. Even if I do believe in them. I still think capital punishment is barbaric, but a bunch of candle-holding hymn-singing activists isn't going to change anything. So why waste my time?"
She snapped off the TV. The dance had ended.

Sammy

"Eat your broccoli, Sammy."
The four-year-old boy's lower lip trembled. His stomach muscles tightened. He knew what was coming. But he just couldn't eat that green stuff. It made him feel sick.
"Did you hear me, boy? Eat.tm
He looked up at his father. "I don't like it, Daddy. It tastes funny."
His mother pushed back from the table. "How about if I heat up some peas for you? You like, peas, don't you, hon?"
"Sit down, Rachel. The boy has to learn to eat what's on his plate."
Sammy felt his father's hard eyes eating into him. For a horrible moment, he thought he was going to throw up. That would be the worst thing to do. Daddy would think he'd done it on purpose.
"You will eat every bite of that broccoli on your plate... if you know what's good for you, pal."
Sammy stared down at his plate and willed it to disappear. But he knew it wouldn't.   Nothing ever disappeared. Not even when the hitting started.

May 18, 9:00 P.M.

Chad

There was nothing to do now but wait. He'd asked for and received a television to pass the last few hours until the scheduled time of his execution. "Murphy Brown" came on and he got caught up in it. Even laughed a couple of times. But at nine-thirty he felt a coldness settle inside him. It was a two-parter. He wouldn't be around to see the second episode next week. A news brief flashed on the screen. He saw his face looking back at him. "Details at eleven," the pretty anchorwoman said.
A flicker of fear ate through him.
The day before he'd read a newspaper article about his upcoming execution; 185 seconds, it said. That's how long it would take to kill him. First 1,825 volts of electricity at 7.5 amps for 30 seconds, followed by 24 volts at 1.5 amps for 60 seconds. A five-second pause would be followed by a repeat of the 90-second cycle ... just to make sure he was dead.

Leslee and Russell

They were watching a movie on HBO, a violent saga starring Mickey Rourke as a desperate man holding a family hostage. Russell winced with every foul word that came out of the actors' mouths. When a nude scene came on, Leslie stood up.
"Want some ice cream, hon?"
"Yeah," Russell grunted. "Some of that Tin Roof Sundae."
When Leslie returned with two bowls of ice cream, the nude scene was over.

Heather

Sweat beaded and rolled down Heather's lithe body as she jogged along with the rhythm of a Paula Abdul song. She smiled as her muscles came alive. This was her reward after a long day at the office. Twice a week she treated herself to a couple of hours at the health club. Not only did it keep her body in shape, it had one added benefit.
It made her horny.
Steve loved Monday and Wednesday nights.

Sammy

Sammy lay on his stomach in his bunk bed and tried to go to sleep. His buttocks and thighs stung where the belt had struck him. He smiled grimly into his pillow. His father had lost the battle. The broccoli had been tossed down the garbage disposal.
His stomach growled. Not only had the broccoli been thrown away, so had the fried chicken. He liked fried chicken, but he hadn't been permitted to eat any until the broccoli was gone.
The door to the bedroom opened. It was his mother. She walked across the room quietly. Sammy knew it was because she didn't want his father to know.
"I brought you a piece of chocolate cake and some milk," she whispered. "Eat it quickly."
He did.

May 18, 11:00 P.M.

Leslie and Russell

The movie had gone off at ten o'clock. They'd turned the channel to the Ten O'Clock News where they watched a clip about Chad Donovan and his last hours on death row.
Leslie sighed. "Can you imagine? With all the tasty foods in the world, he orders peperoni pizza and chocolate.covered peanuts for his last meal. Probably never had a lick of home cooking in his life, poor man."
"Good riddance, I say," Russell snorted. "The world's a better place without him." The news moved on to Washington where a group lobbied for a handgun bill. "Look at those stupid do-gooders," he went on. "Now they want to take away our right to defend ourselves in our own homes!"
Leslie squeezed his arm affectionately. "Oh, hon... you know the N.R.A. won't let them get away with that."
"'You're right, Mama. Thank the good Lerd we've got somebody watching out for us ordinary citizens." He put an arm around his wife. "Let's go to bed, Pretty Lady. Tomorrow's another day."

Heather

Brad cried out once while Heather and Steve were making love. They tensed and waited a moment. Silence. They continued in what they were doing.

Sammy

The door to his bedroom burst open.
"'What the hell are you whispering about?"
The light came on. Sammy cowered in the corner of the bed, staring up at his father's furious face.
"Oh, Jesus Christ! You've wet the bed again, haven't you? What am I going to have to do to break you of this nasty habit?"
Sammy shrank back as his father approached. There was no escape. His cruel grip fastened upon the boy's skinny arms. Trembling, Sammy stared up into his cold eyes. It would begin now. As always, he prayed for his mother to rescue him, but he knew it wouldn't happen.
The only thing he could do was disappear into himself, all the time wishing it was his father who would disappear... forever.

Chad

They'd shaved his head and right calf. Chad felt as if he'd already been electrocuted as they strapped him into the chair and covered his face with a restraining belt with holes cut out for his nose. Why? For breathing? But they wanted him to stop breathing! An electrode was placed onto his shaved calf. He was numb. On the other side of a window, the press was seated in three rows of benches. They were waiting to witness the execution. The clock on the wall, the one that would record the moment of his death, read ten-fifty-eight.
The metal helmet, lined with a brine-soaked sponge, was placed onto his head and buckled beneath his chin. It bit into his skin. He grimaced. For a moment, panic washed over him. He didn't like pain. And in a matter of seconds, a massive jolt of electricity would kill him. A sudden memory flashed in his mind. A hot summer day in 1971. He, a sturdy twelve-year-old, washing the family car. His favorite song, "Maggie May," had come on the radio he'd plugged into the outlet just inside the garage. Bare-footed and standing in a puddle of water, he'd thoughtlessly reached for the volume diai and received a jolting shock that vibrated through his fingers and down to his toes for a good two seconds. For days afterwards his arm had been numb.
That had been a little shock. Now... in a matter of moments ... he would experience the big one. He thought back to the day that had brought him here. It was the receptionist's fault. If she'd only put him through to her boss. Ross Jackson was an old friend. He would've found a place for him at the firm. But the receptionist refused to put him on the phone. How many times had he called only to be told Ross was out or on another line or in a meeting. Always after he'd told her his name, of course. It was obvious she'd been screening Jackson's calls... and his had been one that wasn't allowed through. It took him a while to realize Ross had been refusing his calls. But they'd both paid for their arrogance, hadn't they? The others had just got in the way.
It was time. Chad waited for the ring of the red phone on the wall. That was the line where the call would come in----the one that would stay the execution. It would happen, wouldn't it?  It always did in the movies. The clock's hand was straight up---eleven o'clock.
The executioner walked to the control panel, his eyes studiously avoiding Chad's. Panic overcame Chad. The stay wasn't going to happen. They were going to kill him. He bucked at the restraints, but of course he couldn't move. There was no escape, no reprieve. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing this to be a horrible nightmare, all of it, the beatings he'd taken from his father, the aimless wandering from job to job, the failure of every relationship he'd attempted, the petty thefts, the drunken brawls, the murders, the years on death row, and now... this. His entire life had been one long nightmare.
Nothing was happening. His eyes opened as a tiny peephole of hope entered his brain. Then he heard the low hum. His body stiffened. He tried to look out at his audience, to tell them, "Hey, you see what they're doing to me? Can't you stop it? They're killing me, They're really doing it."
"This is it...', screamed his brain in its final moments.

Leslie and Russell had another day. Heather went to work at the office. Sammy nursed his wounds of the night before. Twelve years later the four of them would meet in a shopping mall.
Sammy would have a gun.

Home, Sweet Home

<<Deep Breath>>

Can it finally be over?  Well, almost over.  I’m still hearing the sound of some kind of saw coming from my kitchen/dining room.  The hardwood floors are almost in.  And when that happens, I can finally unpack the boxes that have been sitting in my great room and spare bedrooms for over a month now. 

And when that happens, we’ll truly be moved into our new home in Myrtle Beach.  That’s when I’ll take a long, deep sigh of relief.

So far, we love it here.  I mean, what’s not to love?  We played tennis on a morning in December then took a walk on the beach (after devouring two Krispy Kreme donuts--another perk in this area--well, until I step on the scales, anyway.)  But until we get completely unpacked and get the pictures hanging on the walls, it won’t feel completely like home. 

That moment is close…I can feel it!  And then I can finally get back to my normal routine—working on student assignments and writing!  Do you know I haven’t written one line of fiction since I finished INCENSE & PEPPERMINTS in July?  And the old (not literally-speaking) brain is starting to storm about my next novel.  I wrote the prologue during one of the writing exercises in Ireland, and I’m starting to feel that familiar itch when I know it’s time to start working on my next novel. 

But I can’t do that until sometime next year.  We’re spending the holidays in Destin with the grandsons, and then once the New Year checks in, I’ll be heading to Kentucky to spend some time with my sister and dad.  Once I get back from Kentucky, then I can buckle down and start writing.  My brain should be done with the storming by that time and straining at the bit to write.  I’ve already got a title.  HOWLING AT THE MOON.  What do you think?

As for INCENSE & PEPPERMINTS, it’s with a publisher and if they make me an offer, I will consider it.  But whether or not I accept it remains to be seen.  I may just go ahead and self-publish, since we all know how much I like being in control.  I’ll let you know what happens.

As I said, I really love our new home in Myrtle Beach, but I have to tell you of an alarming incident I experienced last week—kind of put me off a bit.  I found a really fun karaoke place that actually has it at a decent time.  It starts at four pm on Fridays, and I can usually stop in and sing a couple of songs before I meet Frank for our Friday pizza movie night.  Last week, a friendly couple sat down to join me…at least, I thought they were friendly…until the male began to spout off about African Americans, and using the N-word three times.  I was so astonished and horrified that I just sat there, staring at him.  (I’m sure my mouth was agape.)  Finally, after the third time, I got up and walked out of the bar, mentally kicking myself for not having the nerve to look him in the eye and say, “What is it about me that makes you think I wouldn’t be offended by language like that?  You don’t know me.  Is it because I’m white that you feel like you can get away with your racist remarks?”

Of course, I didn’t say anything.  If it had been one of my characters, she would’ve spoken up. 

It’s disheartening to know that in this day and age—and during this holiday season, bigotry is still alive and well.  I will pray for enlightenment for people like this.

And to everyone else…

God Bless and Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Happy Holidays, Seasons Greetings, Happy Kwanzaa!!!

Carole 

LILY OF THE SPRINGS WINS HONORABLE MENTION AWARD IN WRITER'S DIGEST 2013 SELF-PUBLISHED BOOK AWARDS!

Hi, everyone!  I know it's been FOREVER since I've posted.  It's been crazy here with Frank's retirement and our upcoming move to Myrtle Beach in November.  I promise...as soon as we're settled, I'll write a nice, juicy post about all my news from this summer.

But this couldn't wait.  Yesterday I was notified that LILY OF THE SPRINGS was awarded Honorable Mention in the 2013 Writer's Digest Self-Published Book Awards.  So exciting!  

One of my prizes was a $50 gift card at the Writer's Digest Shop, and I want to pass that gift along to one of my lucky fans, many of whom are writers. And in the process, I'm going to promote my print novels. To enter my contest to win the $50 gift card from Writer's Digest, buy one of my print novels, and send me your receipt. You'll be entered in the drawing on December 1st. This week's spotlighted novel: my first novel, RITA-award nominated BORDER CROSSINGS. (But you can buy ANY of my novels to enter the contest.)

"A stirring first novel of terror, death, love, and hope, told with power and
conviction and set in the troubled part of Northern Ireland where peace at long
last seems almost possible." Andrew M. Greeley, bestselling author of IRISH
GOLD, SUMMER AT THE LAKE, CONTRACT WITH AN ANGEL, etc...

http://www.amazon.com/Border-Crossings-Carole-Bellacera/dp/1468056387/ref=la_B001KHCBFE_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1381851193&sr=1-2

http://www.amazon.co.UK/Border-Crossings-Carole-Bellacera/dp/1468056387/ref=la_B001KHCBFE_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1381851193&sr=1-2

Blessings,

Carole 

In a New York Minute

You may have heard the song.  Don Henley’s “New York Minute” from his “The End of the Innocence” album.  It’s about how life can change suddenly, and in the case of this song, tragically.  Luckily, I’m not writing about that today.  Everything has changed for us in “a New York minute,” but it’s all good.

 

It all started on July 3^rd.  Frank and I were sitting out on the screened porch, enjoying the hot summer night, and we started talking about his retirement.  We chatted about how it was a good time to buy our retirement home in Myrtle Beach because it was a buyer’s market down there.  He suggested that maybe I should go down there and scout out houses, and if I found the right one, we’d go ahead and buy it; then, when he was ready to retire, we’d already have a house. 

 

The next day as we drove to a winery for a 4^th of July event, Frank brought up retirement again, and how much he’s disenchanted with his job.  “So, retire,” I said.  “Pick a date.”  So, he did.  April 26^th, 2014. 

 

A week or so later, we saw an article in the Washington Post about the hot real estate market in the Washington DC area.  I was astounded to see that houses in our county sold within an average of 12 days on the market.  So, we called a realtor just to chat.  That was, I’m guessing, somewhere around July 20^th.

 

Fast-forward to today.  We’ve received three offers on our house.  After signing with a realtor and packing up everything we absolutely could not live without, we had painters come in a couple of weeks ago and paint the entire interior.  Then we had the carpet replaced upstairs.  Last Tuesday a photographer came out to take pictures.  The listing became live on the MLS on Wednesday afternoon, and our first offer came on Thursday morning.  On Friday, we had five groups look at the house.  On Sunday, we had an Open House and over 20 groups came through.  Now, we have three offers, and have countered with one.  Waiting to hear now. 

 

I’m kind of in shock.  I can’t believe my days of living here in Manassas are running out.  I’m excited to move to Myrtle Beach, and especially excited to look at the 34 listings I’ve saved on Realtor.com.  But I’m going to miss so much about this place—most of all, my church, my Bunco group and my karaoke group.  But I know that new adventures lie ahead and I can hardly wait to get started on them.  Now, if only Leah and her family can get back to Myrtle Beach, it will be absolutely perfect!

 

Oh, did I tell you?  INCENSE & PEPPERMINTS is finished and off with an agent.  Cross your fingers for me that she’ll fall in love with it.  J  Until we’re settled in Myrtle Beach, I’m suspending my monthly contest, but hang in there—it will be back soon!

 

Hope you all are having a great August!  J

 

Carole

 

Our Non-Human Loved Ones

A friend and I went to a spiritual medium last week, Elizabeth Herrington, (http://elizabethherrington.com) and if you’re in the market, I highly recommend her.  Pam, a long-time friend, and I were both hoping our mothers would come through.  They did, but that’s a story for another time.  Let’s just say we both received remarkable validation that Elizabeth was communicating with our mothers. 

But one of the most astounding moments during our hour-long reading occurred when Elizabeth described a grey-striped cat with my mother.  And I knew immediately who she was talking about—my Asa who’d traveled to the Rainbow Bridge back in the mid-80’s.  An outdoor cat, Asa had the run of the woods to the back and side of our house on Andrews Air Force Base—cat heaven!  Except for the four-lane highway, Route 5, bordering the woods nearby.  I don’t know if that’s where it happened or not, but when Asa didn’t come home for two weeks, I knew in my heart something terrible had happened to him. 

I was right.  One afternoon when I stepped out my front door, I heard a cat’s meow coming from the gated area where the garbage cans were kept.  I stepped inside, and there he was, looking up at me with his beautiful amber eyes.  At first, I was overjoyed.  My Asa was home!  But then he tried to come toward me, and that’s when I saw, to my horror, that he was dragging his hind quarters.  My joy at seeing him alive drained away.  I think I  knew, even then, that this was something he wouldn’t recover from.

On the way to the vet, as Frank drove, I held him on my lap.  He didn’t make a sound, just gazed up at me with those haunting eyes—eyes that held pain, and yes…I’m sure I wasn’t imagining it…resignation.  It was almost as if I could read his thoughts.  Make the pain go away, Mommy. 

I prayed during the short drive.  Please, God, let him be okay.  Let this be something that can be fixed. 

But it wasn’t to be.  After the vet examined him, he told us that Asa had suffered a spinal injury; he was paralyzed.  Nothing could be done, and it was better to put him out of his misery.

Frank and I returned home alone. I couldn’t stop crying.  I spent the next three days on the sofa, sobbing off and on.  Every cat food commercial broke my heart all over again.  How could it be so painful to lose a pet?  I felt like a part of my heart had been cut out and stomped on.  Along with the pain, I felt guilt.  If only I hadn’t allowed him to go outside.  I vowed then to never have another outside cat. 

The years passed and other pets came into our lives.  And inevitably, we suffered other losses.  Our beautiful white Golden Retriever, Kai, who came to live with us at three months old in Hawaii.  He lived to the age of 14, and the night before we had him euthanized, we took him to the Manassas Battlefield—one of his favorite places—for one last walk; he managed only a few feet before collapsing to the grass.  We served him a whole slice of pizza the morning before we left for the vet.  Again, we returned home in tears, and I took a solitary walk on the battlefield that afternoon to send up prayers and blessings to him.  And then last year, on the night of Mother’s Day, I sat with my beautiful 13-year-old orange-tabby, Ruby, in my lap, knowing it was our last night together.  Broken-hearted, we returned home without her, and even though we now have two beautiful kitties, Mario and Lily, whom I adore, I still miss my Ruby.  (She appeared in several of my books.)

So it was with some surprise that I learned that Asa was the cat with my mother, but Elizabeth went on to say that it was because he’d been in such pain, and wanted to thank me for taking care of him up to the end.  Elizabeth also said, contrary to some beliefs, pets do have souls, and someday we’ll be reunited with them.  I can just imagine how cool that will be—meeting all our loved ones who’ve passed on, and also being surrounded by all the non-humans we’ve loved throughout our lifetimes.  I can just imagine Kai and Asa and Ruby—and pets from my younger days, Gilbert and Marty and Carol Ann Kitty and Happy all playing together and vying for my attention.  Now, that will definitely be Heaven.  Until then, I know they are all up there with my mom, and she’s taking care of them.  Or they’re taking care of her.  J

Congratulations to Carrie Castro of Los Altos, California, my May website contest winner.  She won a copy of UNDERSTUDY and a piece of jewelry from Beautiful Evening Beads.  (www.beautifuleveningbead/etsy.com)  You can be next month’s winner.  Just go to my website and enter my contest.  www.carolebellacera.com.

As for news—my new novel, INCENSE & PEPPERMINTS, is finished, and is in the revision process.  As soon as I finish it, I’ll be sending it to an agent who has requested to read it, so wish me luck!  I’d dearly love to sell this one to a New York publisher, so we’ll see.  I did a book trailer for it, and you can see it here:

http://animoto.com/play/xODQQ3eB9c0rgskOiltEbQ

Also, TANGO’S EDGE will soon be available as an audio book at www.audible.com.  I’m very excited about that because I had to listen to the complete book to approve it, and I got wrapped up in the story and couldn’t wait to hear more!  I know, I know…I wrote it.  But it had been a while since I’d read it, so it was like listening to a completely new story.  And the narrator, Amy Ulrich, does such a wonderful job (especially with Mikhail’s Russian accent) so it really captivated me.  I think it will captivate you, too. 

Well, that’s it for me this month.  I’ll be heading down to Destin, Florida in a few weeks to visit my darling grandsons.  It’s been over three months since I’ve had any preschooler hugs and kisses—and I’m suffering withdrawal! 

Have a fantastic June!!!

Best,

Carole

A Smile is Just a Smile

A Smile is Just a Smile

Fifteen eye contacts, four smiles and two hellos.  That’s what I received from five days of walking from my hotel near Grafton Street in Dublin to a friend’s house for a writing workshop—a 25-minute walk there and back.  I started counting to entertain myself.

See, I love smiles.  I love giving them, and I love getting them.  So, this was kind of an experiment for me.  I’ve been to Ireland before, but this was the first time I’ve spent the entire time in Dublin.  And yes, the Irish are friendly people, but Dublin is a city, and like people everywhere, they’re rushing around, trying to get to work, chatting on cell phones, and pretty much lost in their own little worlds.  So, it’s not all that unusual to get only minimal eye contact in 370 minutes of walking.  In fact, I was quite surprised—and delighted—that two people actually smiled and said hello during a couple of my morning treks. 

I wonder if they have any idea how good that made me feel?  I don’t think people realize the power of their smiles.  That simple connection between two strangers can change an ordinary day to an extraordinary one.  Oh, I know what you’re thinking!  It’s not safe to make eye contact with strangers.  You never know if someone could be a psychopath, and you can make yourself a target just by acknowledging him/her. 

Well, I suppose that’s possible.  You could be unlucky enough to smile at the wrong person—and suddenly you’ve become their next obsession.  But if I’m going to live life thinking like that, I might as well crawl into a cave and become a hermit.  And I don’t want to live like that.  I believe we’re all put here for a purpose, and we meet people for a destined reason—in some little way, they change you…make you a better person. 

I like to talk to strangers.  While in Dublin, I struck up conversations with several people—a young Irishman on Grafton Street who studied at the University of Tennessee in Knoxville, a man who ran a charity shop across from Trinity College, a female customer in the same shop, an attractive young salesclerk in a trendy shop on Grafton Street, two Norwegian men in an upscale shoe store, a garrulous taxi driver who totally made my day—we talked politics, gun control, books, the high cost of drinking in pubs, the Virginia Tech massacre. As you can imagine, not all of these conversations were light and airy, but I left each person, feeling connected to them in a universal way.  And I’m glad I took the opportunity to converse with them.  I walked away, feeling like I’d learned from them in some small way.  That we were connected.

I’m not saying everybody should engage strangers in deep conversations every chance they get.  It’s not in everyone’s personality to do that.  But what I am saying is don’t ever underestimate the power of eye contact and a smile.  Try it sometime—I guarantee that when you get a smile back from a stranger, your day will feel just a little bit better.  J J J J

Okay, so I chose a winner for my April website contest, but unfortunately, I haven’t heard from her.  So…Karen Farmer, if you’re reading this, contact me at carolebella2001@yahoo.com and give me your address so I can send out your prizes.  Also, I need to know which book you want, and if you want print or digital.

If I don’t hear from Karen by next week, I’ll draw another name.

Hope all of you have a blessed May.

Carole