Where I've Been This Summer

This summer may be just getting started, but I've already been to some fascinating places. At the end of May, my husband and I made the trip across the desert to visit friends and family along the Wasatch Front in northern Utah. We heard an amazing concert (if you ever get a chance to hear the Millennial Choirs and Orchestra, go!) in which our daughter and her twelve-year-old sons both sang. We spent time with people we love and even enjoyed the trip across the Nevada desert. I've never seen Nevada look so good!

That is the only trip I've made in person, but through the miraculous power of books, I've visited a number of places and have even traveled through time.



Heather Moore's All For You took me to the very romantic small town of Pine Valley. Last I checked, this book is one of eleven in the Pine Valley series. I've read three now, and I find them all light, fun, satisfying romances. I can recommend them highly.

Moore is also one of a group of authors who've collaborated on a series called the Belltown Six Pack. Grizz, one of the pack, is the catcher in the book you see at right. This is another fun and satisfying romance.


Until I Met You, by Kimberly Rose Johnson, took me into rainy Seattle. It's a novella, short and sweet, but the story is complete and satisfying. Somewhat longer, and perhaps a bit darker, is Magdalena Scott's Midnight in Legend, TN. I expected the story would start, or largely take place, in the middle of the night. Not so! Midnight, very aptly named, is the heroine of the tale. Although I identified this as  "a bit darker," it's a sweet romance with the emphasis on the characters' emotions and their involvement with the complex but welcoming community of Legend. I enjoyed it greatly.

Equally sweet and satisfying were The Sweetheart Test, by Alicia Street, and Cowboy Boots, by Christine Bush. Sweetheart carried me to Long Island's North Fork with a clever, sweet story about a young woman who devised her own test for a man who could be "a real sweetheart." You'll enjoy it, too! Meanwhile, Christine Bush shared a short story of "love that blooms in the second half of life." I've seen a few second-half romances. Chester and Annie are a cute older couple and the cowboy boots are real. Anyone who appreciates country living is likely to enjoy this short book. Meanwhile Roxanne Rustand took me to a productive, but still struggling, working ranch in Montana and introduced me to a cowboy I loved reading about and a woman who is in every way his equal. Who wouldn't love a Montana Legacy?


Because books have the power to transform our everyday lives, I've even visited another time. Josie Riviera's Seeking Patience delivered me safely into the England of 1913. Lady Patience Blakwell is a wonderful, compassionate heroine who happens to fall for a "traveler," a Romany man who has inherited responsibility for his tribe. Luca Boldor is a dashing, handsome, brave and flawed hero who knows better than to love an English aristocrat, but can't help being drawn to her. I thoroughly enjoyed this sweet story and I think that you will, too.

From Montana to Tennessee to Long Island and even into the England of 1913, I've traveled a great deal this summer. I've met some fascinating people and have enjoyed sharing their stories. I expect to travel a great deal more before this season is over. Stop back later in the summer and I'll happily recommend more such trips you too might enjoy.

Father's Day Joys and Sorrows

Another Father's Day has come and gone. For me, this one brought both joy and sorrow. For the joy: What's not to love about a houseful of eager grandchildren, accompanied by a pair of sons who are excellent fathers and their wives who are wonderful moms? For the sorrow: I can't help missing my own dad, a kind, loving man who left us in 2012. Both emotions were plentiful this year.

Only two days before the Big Day, I got a text from a daughter-in-law: "May we join you for Father's Day?" By the following day, it was a party: Our two youngest sons and their families, including eight children age nine and younger, were all coming to our house for the big celebration. I had bought a rack of ribs for the slow cooker and planned a simple meal. With the locusts about to descend, I picked up a second rack of ribs, planned more food, and asked both daughters-in-law to load up. 

We ended up with more than we could possibly eat. Two full sets of Kansas City Rub pork ribs, slow-cooked all day, were enough to go around. Then the dil's added baked beans, cheesy potatoes in another slow cooker, green salad, and three desserts. I brought out a pan of fresh yeast rolls and several bottles of homemade jam. We ate. And ate. And ate some more. At the end of all that eating, we got out the dessert, complete with five different containers of ice cream (everyone brought some) to add to the peach cobbler, fresh cherry pie, and apple crisp the kids brought along.

Little people played games in the yard and tested one another on Grandpa's new exercise machine, terrorized the cat until he hid for his life, and alternated between wild laughter and hysterical sobbing--rather expected among those five and younger. Grown-ups talked business, child rearing, weather, food and more food, and eventually took a short tour of one son's new office building, soon to be completed here in town.

In short, it was a joyous family occasion. If my dad had been here, it might have been perfect. Dad loved nothing better than getting the family together. He adored little people and was especially good with babies. The craziness when they all started crying and accusing one another of being unfair would have bothered him (it bothered me!), but he'd have been the first to step up to soothe Evie's bumped knee or coo soothing songs to baby Ian. 

I loved having the gang together. I liked seeing my husband in the midst of his progeny, honored by those who love him. I missed my father. It's the kind of Father's Day I am learning to enjoy. I expect to have many more of them in years to come.

What's with the weather?

I know, I know. Weather is about the most boring (and neutral) topic I could pick. Only...just maybe...not. At least, not this year. My husband and I just made a long drive across the deserts of northern Nevada to visit friends and family along the Wasatch Front (the Rocky Mountains in Utah). The scenery surprised us. Greatly!

I've visited these locations in the months between November and March and have found the high mountains covered in snow. That's not surprising during ski season in one of the more active ski locations in the world. I did not expect the same sight in June. June! Some of the ski runs were still open and welcoming skiers. (If you don't believe me, I won't blame you. I wouldn't have believed it either if I hadn't been there to see the deep snows myself.)

Perhaps even more shocking, the drive across northern Nevada was ... wait for it ... beautiful! I'm shocked even to see myself write that, but it was true. We passed fields where cattle grazed knee-deep in green grass while snow-covered mountains hovered in the background. Some animals drank from streams created by seasonal run-off. In one field, two antelope joined them.

Other places boasted wildflowers I have seldom seen in this dry high desert, celebrations in purple, white, and yellow. The scenes were pastoral, paint-worthy, and yes, beautiful. Unfortunately, we didn't stop long enough to get pictures there.

Meteorology is not my thing. I listen to what the broadcast weather reporters have to say and wonder what it will really mean for carrying an umbrella or wearing a jacket and I stay glued to the Weather Channel when tornadic storms threaten my kids in Oklahoma. That's about the best I do with weather.


Given that, I don't begin to understand the processes that gave us snow in June and a beautiful trip across Nevada. I don't understand them, but I can certainly appreciate them. I did and I do!

Mixed Mother's Day Emotions

Mother's Day brings mixed reactions in women. Those who are fighting infertility, who want desperately to be mothers and haven't been able to bear or adopt them, often hate the day, hide from it, and hope for it to pass quickly. Reactions to the day also vary among mothers, one mom to another.

As a daughter, I've always appreciated Mother's Day. I've given thought to gifts, to the proper way to honor my mother. Last year, I was living in the Navajo Nation, so I visited a local jewelry artist and shopped through her creations, looking for something special.

At age 93, Mom was struggling with macular degeneration and was nearly completely blind, but she had always loved jewelry. A native Arizonan with jet-black hair, she looked smashing in turquoise and silver. I chose a turquoise pendant that had a tiny, raised teardrop of lapis lazuli on the front side. Just by touch, Mom could tell the front from the back. I hung the pendant on a lovely silver chain that fastened with magnets, easy to put on or take off. I mailed the gift to my sister some days before the big Sunday and Sis delivered it to Mom on time.

Mom never wore it. By then, she was already in a downward slump. I sat by her side as she left us in early July. After she passed, I found the pendant, still in the box I sent, on the top of her dresser, waiting among her favorite jewelry pieces, the ones she loved to wear. I wear that pendant now.

As a mother, I have seriously mixed feelings about celebrating. I am deeply grateful for every one of my offspring. I miss the babies and children they were and I'm pleased and proud of the adults they've become. Their children are equally wonderful. I love being a mother and grandmother.

Still, I struggle with Mother's Day. Everyone talks as if the day is for perfect mothers who've never made a mistake, never given their children reason to be disappointed in their mothering, never caused their young to feel anything but joy about Mom. I don't qualify. I don't know any moms who do, but my personal sins and regrets have injured the people I love most in the world. How do I reconcile that with the honors and congratulations that are supposed to be part of Mother's Day?

Each year, I approach the day with both joy and regret. This year, I am choosing to put the emphasis on joy and deep gratitude for the children and grandchildren who are mine.

Mother's Day without Mom

My mother passed quietly on July 3 last year. I sat beside her, wiping her brow and checking her pulse, while she drew her last breath. She was 93, blind, and, due to a badly broken arm that could not be immobilized, in severe pain any time she moved. Given that, it was not difficult to let her go.

That hasn't kept me from missing her. Something awful. And as we approach Mother's Day, that missing starts to feel like a large hole in my life, one with very raw edges.

Moms and daughters often have complicated relationships, so it isn't surprising that ours was ... well, complicated. As the eldest child, I was supposed to be perfect. She intended me to be not only the perfect daughter, but also the fulfillment of whatever she had hoped for her own childhood, youth, and young adulthood that had not materialized in her life.

I was willing to cooperate and be all that ... to a point. But let's face it: Moms do not bear daughters with cloned personalities, desires, dreams, talents, or pretty much anything. Mom and I were different people. What worked for her was not necessarily what I wanted in my own life, and what I wanted for myself often made little sense to her.

I've tried to remember those lessons as I've raised a daughter of my own. Although we're close, our relationship is ... well, complicated.

One thing that went cosmically, wonderfully right was the last meeting between my daughter and her Grammie. From the time Rebecca was a little girl, she had wanted a sister. I didn't explain all the medical reasons that wasn't going to happen. I simply told her someone had to be youngest and she was it. Once she began to believe me, she longed for a daughter of her own. At the same time, she began planning for the four-generation pictures we would take when that little girl was born.

She had boys first, but then her daughter came to us a year ago. She telephoned her Grammie and reminded her of the plans she had for a portrait, but because they lived hundreds of miles apart, it didn't seem likely that portrait would happen soon. Then Mom's injury, and her decision to go on hospice, forced everyone's hand.

Circumstances cooperated and Rebecca arrived at Mom's little senior apartment on Sunday, July 1, with her sons and baby girl in tow. I stayed in the exercise space next door while the boys went in individually to visit with, and say goodbye to, their great-grandmother. Then my mother, daughter, and I sat down together with Macy, my baby girl's baby girl.

"Life isn't fair, Macy," my mom began. "If it were fair, I could see you." Not being able to see didn't keep Mom from holding the baby, touching her arms and legs, letting Macy clutch her finger, running her own fingers over Macy's face. She loved "seeing" our little one through her sense of touch and Macy patiently cooed through it all.

And we got the pictures Becca had longed for over decades. They aren't perfect. My mother is in a hospital gown and a sling--what she wore for the last two weeks of her life. None of us had the time to primp and I know I could have looked better, but it didn't matter. We have the pictures to remind us always of that four-generation meeting and the continuity it signals. That is especially meaningful since Mom passed two days later.

Then too, I have the pictures and a host of positive memories to remind me on this Mother's Day that, no matter how much differences sometimes come between us, we are family and we love each other.

Susan Aylworth is the author of 17 novels, all available as e-books. Her 18th is due in May. She loves her northern California home which she shares with her husband of 49 years and the spoiled cat they serve. When she can't be with her seven children, seven great kids-in-law, and 25 grandbabies, she loves hanging with her fictional offspring, the children of her mind. She also loves hearing from readers. Visit her website at www.susanaylworth.com or find her @SusanAylworth, at .facebook.com/Susan.Aylworth.Author, or on Pinterest.