Dear Reader

Dear Reader Column 02-10-2021

Dear Reader,

My favorite time of year at the book club is when entries from our annual Write a DearReader contest are submitted. It's a privilege to read the stories and I continue to be amazed at the quality of writing.

Today I'm featuring an Honorable Mention piece that was written by Diane Boddicker.

Thank you so much Diane for sharing your story with us.

THE GIFT

My Mom used to say, "You get what you give." Today I got an unexpected gift.

Driving home from the dentist, I notice a Red Cross Blood Drive being held across the street from my house. These days, I'm trying to do anything I can to make the world a better place, so I think to myself, "Hey, I can help. I'll go in and drop off a pint, or gallon, whatever is needed." Mask up and inside I go.

I'm greeted at the door by a bubbly, young girl named Shianne who squirts me with hand sanitizer and leads me to a table to be interviewed. During the onslaught of questions, we strike up a friendly conversation. "So, your name is Shianne. That's a different kind of name. Seems like it should be Cheyenne, with a ch." "My parents are from Wyoming, but also from the '60's. They wanted me to be unique." Hehe. "Oh look, I'm Shianne and you're Diane." Cool. Giggle.

I pass the tests and lay on the donor table. I should insert here that, as good as my intentions always are when it comes to handing over my blood, whether it's for lab tests or charity, it pretty much takes a vampire to get it out of me. I seem to be blessed with squirmy veins. It requires poking, jabbing, and an abundance of patience to hit the mother lode. Shianne hands me a rubber squishy ball and says, "Squeeze 3 times and hold." I do that. Over and over. Left arm. Right arm. Left arm. "Squeeze 3 times and hold." Gentle slap. "Squeeze 3 times and hold." Sigh.

I tell Shianne about the last time I donated blood. How I only filled half the bag. How my blood was trashed. I'm feeling like a loser. We start to joke about how the Red Cross needs to have stickers that say, "I TRIED to give blood," or, "Thanks for TRYING to save a life." Or maybe a giant, red "L" forehead stamp. We find ourselves feeling like two (slightly irreverent) old friends, chuckling over a glass of wine and some fancy cheese.

Finally, success! Shianne triumphantly pokes the perfect little sucker, hooks me up to a bag marked with many identifying labels (none of which say "Loser!"), and we're in business.

As I'm being drained, Shianne sits to chat with me. I tell her I've been painting my bathroom and, other than painting behind the toilet and when my husband dropped his loaded paintbrush on the floor, picking the color was the worst part. She advises me to next time look on Pinterest and simply, "copy a room." I ask her if she's married. She declares "nope," and enlightens me about her exciting life in the city. By the way, she does have detailed wedding plans for when the time comes (undoubtedly, it will involve Pinterest). We continue to blab on about friends, food, and life, until my blood pouch is stuffed.

My tubes are disconnected and I'm pointed in the direction of the cookie tray. I'm feeling like a champion as the shiny "I Donated" sticker is affixed to my shirt. While I munch on my peanut butter cookie, Shianne thanks me for providing someone with the gift of life today.

Later, I wonder who will receive my blood, will it save someone? I feel hopeful and satisfied. Then, I reflect on these crazy pandemic times. During this moment, when human contact is at such a premium, I think about the surprise gift I received today. I made a contribution. I met someone new. I smiled, laughed, and enjoyed an easy and effortless hour. I think maybe I should've put an "I Donated" sticker on Shianne, and thanked HER for giving ME the gift of life.

-- Diane Boddicker
Honorable Mention, 2020 Write a DearReader Contest

Thanks for reading with me. It's so good to read with friends.

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com

AUTHORBUZZ: Click here to discover new books, "meet" the authors and enter to win.

MAKING HEARTS (Fiction) by Jack Getze

Young, single women are too often unwilling to be mothers. In my new book, a magical infant explains why and how one teenage mom and her family change their minds. I'm giving away five copies. Write to me at jackgetze@gmail.com and and tell me why you'd like to receive one. I'll pick the emails I like best, the people who best understand my inspiration.

Go to: AUTHORBUZZ click on MAKING HEARTS to read more and to email author Jack Getze, you'll get a reply.

Dear Reader Column 02-09-2021

Dear Reader,

Renee Patrick is the pen name of married authors Rosemarie and Vince Keenan. Their mystery novels featuring Lillian Frost and real-life costume designer Edith Head have been nominated for the Agatha, Anthony, and Macavity Awards. The fourth book in the series, The Sharpest Needle, is available now.

Email the authors and say "Hello" they really appreciate hearing from book club readers. Email: reneepatrickauthor@gmail.com

WRITING THE RAILS

We enjoy the research required to write our books. It helps that for our series, set during the golden age of Hollywood, research includes watching lots of old movies. The process is fairly routine. Hunting down out-of-print books. Peering at vintage newspapers and magazines on a computer screen. Traipsing through dusty libraries. About as glamorous as it gets is when we visit libraries in Los Angeles, where the dust has a youthful sheen and a healthier diet.

For our latest book, a field trip was in order. We wanted to see one of our major locations, Hearst Castle in San Simeon, firsthand. For a dash of verisimilitude, we opted to travel the way our characters would: by rail from Los Angeles.

The fun started as soon as we reached Union Station in downtown Los Angeles. It's been renovated and modernized, but you can't fool old movie fans: we recognized the bones of the building from countless films like, well, Union Station (1950). We found the platform featured in the classic noir The Narrow Margin (1952) and reenacted the final scene ourselves.

Rail travel instantly transforms the familiar. As our train wended its way out of Los Angeles, we passed the backs of businesses festooned with vivid graffiti no one would ever bother to remove. After all, no one saw it save for train passengers.

Outside the city, the trip became even more remarkable. Long stretches of the track hug the Pacific. We rolled past isolated coves accessible only by water; surfers stopped their paddling to wave at us, the only other people they'd see all day. Soon, WiFi and cell phone service was only a wish. Your only company aside from your thoughts were the old-fashioned utility poles standing sleepy sentry alongside the tracks. Occasionally a huge building would loom in the distance, the forbidding placement and fencing indicating it was a prison, with a name heard in one of those old movies. Not so far away, other travelers were rumbling up Interstate 5. But we were also moving backward through time as we ambled north through California, pressed temporarily into an era without distraction.

San Simeon, the breathtaking setting in particular, impressed. But the journey there made a more lasting impact. We've thought of that ride often during these long months when we'd welcome a trip anywhere. Once the world opens up again, we intend to return to the deliberate pace of train travel, which mercifully forces you to slow down, breathe easy, and appreciate whatever happens to be rolling past your window.

-- Renee Patrick

Email the authors at reneepatrickauthor@gmail.com

Thanks for reading with me. It's so good to read with friends.

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com

AUTHORBUZZ: Click here to discover new books, "meet" the authors and enter to win.

SHINE WITH ME (Fiction) by Kristen Proby

I'm thrilled to tell you about my newest release with 1001 Dark Nights, Shine With Me. This novella is a part of my With Me In Seattle series. You'll get to see some of your favorite couples from this world, and meet some all new characters that I know you're going to fall in love with! Two of those are Sabrina and Ben. Sabrina is getting ready for a new movie role--the role of a LIFETIME!-and only Ben can help her do it. There is so much swoon and sighing included in this story, I don't even know what to do with myself.

Enter to win one of five copies! Click on the link to Authorbuzz and the book jacket for details.

Go to: AUTHORBUZZ click on SHINE WITH ME to read more and to email author Kristen Proby, you'll get a reply.

Dear Reader Column 02-08-2021

Dear Reader,

My husband and I have celebrated 43 Valentine Days together. We're both creative people, but we've run out of unusual gift ideas for each other. Besides, I told my husband that everyday in our relationship feels like a celebration of love, so perhaps we didn't need to exchange gifts this year.

But then our granddaughter (25-year-old Bailey who lives in Madison, Wisconsin) sent us a Valentine card with a note that inspired me to not let the special day go by without doing something to celebrate.

Have you ever eaten Five Guys french fries? (Yes, that question is a very strange segue from talking about Valentine's Day but let me explain.)

Because of the pandemic my husband and I have been doing all of our cooking at home. We're both great cooks, but neither of us has found a way to replicate the tasty, made-from-fresh potatoes french fries they serve at Five Guys restaurant.

So I suggested this Valentine's Day we buy an air fryer and make Five Guys french fries for our Valentine's dinner. But when I typed 'air fryer' into Google, there were way too many options on the page.

Could you help? Can you recommend a brand of air fryer we should buy, and could you also suggest other foods besides french fries to cook and the recipe, if you have one? I sure would appreciate it.

You can reach me at: Suzanne@DearReader.com

Thanks for reading with me. It's so good to read with friends.

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com

AUTHORBUZZ: Click here to discover new books, "meet" the authors and enter to win.

WHEN TWILIGHT BREAKS (Fiction) by Sarah Sundin

I'm giving away five copies of my latest novel! In When Twilight Breaks, two Americans meet in 1938 in Nazi Germany. Their efforts to expose oppression attract unwanted attention, pulling them deeper into danger as the world marches toward war. With startling parallels to today's society, the story provides lots to discuss with your book club--as well as an exciting and romantic read!

To enter the book drawing, click on the link to Authorbuzz and the book jacket or email: revellcontest@gmail.com

Go to: AUTHORBUZZ click on WHEN TWILIGHT BREAKS to read more and to email author Sarah Sundin, you'll get a reply.

Dear Reader Column 02-04-2021

Dear Reader,

The quality of writing in this year's Write a DearReader Contest was outstanding. Today's Honorable Mention piece was written by Lee Rothberg. Thanks Lee for sharing your story with us.

Lessons from Sophie

Of the countless lessons my husband and I learned from our Labrador Retriever, Sophie, the most lasting was to open our hearts to every dog we encounter. In this way, we sustain her legacy of joy and laughter.

It's been five years, but we still walk daily on the paths that meander through a county park where we strolled with her. This serves the dual purpose of spirited exercise and lively encounters with the dogs and their owners who frequent these trails.

Whenever we see any of our "regulars," they react as if we were meeting them for the first time. They greet us with their tails wagging, acutely aware that I carry a cache of treats, and they nose up to it in anticipation. If we see a new dog, we always ask if it is okay to offer a grain-free turkey biscuit, as we understand that many dogs are on special diets.

We remember the obedience classes that we attended with Sophie, where the trainers stressed that we should have her "work" for her treats. Sit. Stay. Come. She could do all that, but it was not in our nature to request a performance unless we were playing a game with her. We would just kid each other and say, "Look at how cute she is... That requires exceptional effort."

But some folks in the park subscribe to that "work" formula for treats. And we abide by their wishes. Some dogs sit, waiting politely, and others offer their paws to "shake" hands. Three rescued Basset hounds perform like a circus act. One runs with a stick, his elongated ears flopping in the wind, while the second howls his sweet song. The princess of the three rolls over to have a belly rub and then sits up expectantly to enjoy her reward.

We met one woman whose stunning chocolate lab, all 110 pounds of him, was straining at his leash to come say hi, as he recognized us immediately. It had been a while since we'd seen him, but once you've fed them, they never forget you. The woman said that she had told her friends about the time, months ago, when we first met in the park. They were tickled that I carried treats for all the dogs we saw.

Two sisters walking in the rain with three King Charles Spaniels, whose paws were positively caked in mud, were amazed that we absolutely did not mind that they were jumping on us. "They are expressing delight," I explained. "This is the reason why we have washing machines." One sister asked, "Do you have a dog?" "We did," I said solemnly. "We honor her memory by giving treats to all the dogs we see." She gave me a heartfelt and knowing hug. This random act of kindness could be delivered only by someone who has suffered that loss and understands the enormity of it.

We defined Sophie's tasks differently. Her fun-filled antics made us laugh every day and, in addition, taught us to keep chewables off the floors, lest she claim the remote controls and our sneakers as her toys. That was tutoring excellence.

She assisted us with recycling by shredding our magazines and newspapers, chased rabbits and squirrels out of the yard and fine-tuned our throwing arms with endless games of catch.

She coached us to keep the kitchen spotless, as she was expert at counter-surfing and had a sensitive stomach. In this way, we avoided anxious visits to the vet. What a brilliant medical strategy!

Sophie opened our hearts to an unconditional love for all dogs, who bring joy and laughter to our lives and deserve rewards for their tireless efforts. Perhaps, we can donate an occasional sneaker to their toy collection.

Lee Rothberg
Honorable Mention, 2020 Write a DearReader Contest

Thanks for reading with me. It's so good to read with friends.

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com

AUTHORBUZZ: With so many new books out every week, we promise these titles deserve your attention:

(Fiction) THE LAST TIARA by M. J. Rose

(Fiction) CHERISH ME by J. Kenner

Go to: http://authorbuzz.com/dearreader

Dear Reader Column 02-03-2021

Dear Reader,

The last line of the email I received read, "I hope you are a perfectionist always looking for a chance for improvements, otherwise please disregard."

A perfectionist--I hope that's not me. Attending to details--yes, I'm guilty. But obsessing over every detail, so things have to look just right, I tried that approach for awhile. It was tiring and it never reciprocated. Near-misses, no hope of being perfect, the stuff that looks like it's a reject--these are the things that bring me the most joy in my life.

My husband bought a tribal drum from a woman who had been using it as part of a therapy program for children. Frankly when I first saw it I couldn't understand why he was even paying money for it. It was a filthy-looking thing. Dirt marks infused into the tan sides of the drum and the skin over the top was reinforced with two wide strips of duct tape, obviously covering worn spots that were about ready to break through.

It was a miserable mess of a thing, but for some reason I fell in love with the drum when we were driving home. Tap, tap, it had a pretty good sound. I didn't know anything about playing a drum, but I was beating on it--loudly--and making up my own songs all the way home.

I found the perfect spot on the living room floor for the drum, and with my husband's permission, claimed it as "mine." My husband was thrilled he'd discovered a treasure for me and he wanted to clean it up and make it look even better. So one afternoon, when I wasn't around, he washed the dirt off the sides, tidied up the skin, took off the duct tape and reinforced it with something clear. When I got home he proudly showed me the "new" drum.

I never played the drum again after that. I didn't want to hurt my husband's feelings, but after a couple of weeks, I finally explained to him that for some reason when he cleaned up the drum, it lost the character that had attracted me to it. The used, tattered-looking drum looked approachable to a novice like me, no rules, no need to do it the right way; instead I could just be myself.

Thanks for reading with me. It's so good to read with friends.

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com

AUTHORBUZZ: Click here to discover new books, "meet" the authors and enter to win.

Dear Reader Column 02-02-2021

Dear Reader,

Today's guest author, Ramona Richards, managed to turn her dreams of being a writer and editor into reality, publishing her first article at seventeen. She's the author of 11 books, including her recent suspense novel, Burying Daisy Doe, about a woman trying to solve two decades-old murders that destroyed her own family. Ramona lives outside Birmingham, Alabama. She'd love to hear from you. And when you email, you'll automatically be entered in Ramona's book giveaway. She has five copies of Burying Daisy Doe to give away to readers. You can reach her at: ramonarichardsauthor@gmail.com

The Lure of Imagination

I grew up before the advent of video games. In fact, I didn't see my first one until I was in college, and that was a bulky machine in the back of a gift shop. Asteroids. I found even that simple game--line drawings of a spaceship, missiles, and stars--fascinating because it sent my mind tripping through all the space opera novels and films I'd loved as a kid. Even as I tried to shoot rockets and protect my ship, I floated light years away into another universe.

Imagination is one of our most powerful intellectual tools. Dreaming of the "what ifs" fires up our ambitions and fuels innovation. It not only spurs novelists and other writers into action, it triggers actions that lead to inventions ranging from an ink pen to space exploration.

Imagination carries us far beyond the great inventions as well. While this past year has been rough (more so for some than others), I've witnessed great bursts of imagination as teachers innovated new ways to reach and engage students. As exhausted parents struggle to balance working from home, learning from home, and everyday tasks such as cooking meals and mowing the lawn. And it's not just necessity being the mother of invention--people are finding exceptionally creative ways to re-form their normal.

When I was six, my father--who was a long-haul trucker--brought home a wooden telephone cable spool, the kind people turn into tables. But for me, this monster in the backyard was just that--a monster to be defeated with swords made from tree branches or cannons created from wrapping paper tubes. It was a magnificent palomino to be ridden across the western plains or Amelia Earhart's red Lockheed 5B Vega. They were dreams of what might be waiting in my future, dreams fueled by books that sent me searching for yet more books.

Of course, after standing on that spool, the wind thrashing through my hair as I sped across the ocean in a clipper ship, I had to climb down and go inside to set the table and do my homework. But I never stopped dreaming. It drove me to study a wide variety of subjects--and eventually to becoming a writer.

And I found--as so many of us have this past year--that when life is at its most difficult, it is our imagination and innovations that keep us striving toward a hopeful future.

-- Ramona Richards

Email ramonarichardsauthor@gmail.com and when you do you'll be entered in her drawing for one of five copies of her new book, Burying Daisy Doe.

Thanks for reading with me. It's so good to read with friends.

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com

AUTHORBUZZ: Click here to discover new books, "meet" the authors and enter to win.

CHERISH ME (Fiction) by J. Kenner

This is a special story. A holiday tale that I admit I based on one of the movies we watch every Christmas season in my house. There's danger and romance, and without a holiday miracle, Nikki may never get to tell Damien the secret she's been saving to tell him during this special holiday. Win one of five copies I'm giving away. Click on the link to Authorbuzz and the book jacket to enter.

Go to: AUTHORBUZZ click on CHERISH ME to read more and to email author J. Kenner, you'll get a reply.

Dear Reader Column 02-01-2021

Dear Reader,

It's 3 a.m. and it's become a routine. I wake up, sit up in bed, stretch my arms towards the heavens and hope it's not really three in the morning--again. But when I call out, "Alexa, what time is it?" she assures me, "Sorry, Suzanne, I know you don't want to hear it, but it is 3 a.m." (I paid extra for a chatty, little Alexa with an attitude.)

Every night for weeks now, I wake up at 3 a.m., but my mind and body thinks it's 5:30 a.m., the time I used to get up every morning.
Since my body thinks it's 5:30, I know I shouldn't, but I can't help myself, I'm possessed, so I hit the 'start' button on my coffee machine. Hearing the coffee beans grinding in the machine, my five cats come running. They think it's 5:30 too and they line up to eat.

That first cup of coffee of the day, there's nothing like it! Each warm sip wakes me up even more. I'm feeling fine, the caffeine's doing its thing, but then I count the hours, 'Let's see, I went to bed at 9 p.m. It's 3 a.m. now, which means I've only had six hours of sleep, but if I want to really have a good day, I need more sleep.'

But what's a girl to do? I'm up, the coffee's fine, maybe I should bake a cake? I haven't properly welcomed the new neighbors yet. So I measure the flour, sugar, chocolate, vanilla, crack a couple of eggs, mix it up, pour it in the pan, and pop it in the oven. I wonder if the neighbors are up, too. I did just get a new nightgown and pink bunny slippers, it would give me a chance to show them off. It's a fun thought.

I don't think the caffeine in my coffee is winning anymore. I'm feeling a bit tired, maybe I should try to go back to sleep? If I do, I might get an extra hour of sleep, but then when I wake up again, my body is going to expect another cup of coffee. But that second cup--it never gives me the same, "I'm awake and I can do anything'' feeling, so it's a bit of a quandary.

But, 'Oh dear, I forgot, there's that cake in the oven. Somebody needs to take it out? What's a tired girl to do?'

"Hey, Alexa..."

Thanks for reading with me. It's so good to read with friends.

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com

AUTHORBUZZ: Click here to discover new books, "meet" the authors and enter to win.

THE LAST TIARA (Fiction) by M. J. Rose

In my most recent novel, a young female architect in post-World War II Manhattan, stumbles upon a hidden treasure--a stunning silver tiara, stripped of its jewels--and so begins a journey to discovering her mother's life during the fall of the Romanovs.

Told in alternating points of view, two stories unfurl. In 1915, young Sofiya Petrovitch, friend of Grand Duchess Olga Nikolaevna, tends to wounded soldiers in a makeshift hospital within the grounds of the Winter Palace in St. Petersburg and finds the love of her life.

In 1948 New York, her now grown daughter, Isobelle Moon works to break through the rampant sexism of the age as one of very few women working in a male-dominated profession and discovers far more about love and family than she ever hoped for as she works to solve the mystery of the Romanov tiara--and how it is that her mother came to possess it.

Go to: AUTHORBUZZ click on THE LAST TIARA to read more and to email author M. J. Rose, you'll get a reply.

Dear Reader Column 01-29-2021

Dear Reader,

It's all about the little things in life for me. Because doing the little things is where I find my joy, and then I can share my joy with others. But unfortunately life isn't always fair, and that unfairness can deplete my energy and my joy.

A few years ago I was in a dispute about the installation of a wood floor in our home. I could have folded, walked away, lost money and had someone else finish the job correctly. But it wasn't right! No, it wasn't fair!

At the same time I was dealing with my wooden floor, my health insurance company (even though I had a pre-authorization for a monthly procedure), would deny, deny, deny the claims. I had to make five or six calls every month, and I had a thick, 3-ring binder detailing every call. The date, time, issue, name of employee I spoke to, their employee number, verbatim what the employee said, and every word I said. No, it wasn't fair!

But after a few days of struggling with both situations, I was feeling overwhelmed, and I realized I didn't have enough energy to fight both battles, and I was probably going to have to make a choice. But I was having a hard time accepting that idea, because it felt like defeat.

No doubt about it, things aren't always right and life isn't always fair, which led me to thinking about a conversation I'd had with my grandson. He'd been having a difficult time letting go of injustices. Sure, it was little things like, his brother just walked over and whacked his Lego block design for no reason. And the boy in my grandson's class didn't follow the rules, but he won and my grandson didn't.

So I had a discussion with my grandson about his situations and in the midst of explaining the concept of "choosing your battles" and not always having to win, I realized I needed to heed my own advice.

"Choose your battles, Suzanne." And soon I found my joy.

Thanks for reading with me. It's so good to read with friends.

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com

This month's Penguin Classics book is Romance in Marseille, by Claude McKay. Start reading and enter for a chance to win a copy.

Dear Reader Column 01-28-2021

Dear Reader,

Today's column "A Day with Margaret" written by Sharon Benedict, was one of the Honorable Mentions in my 2020 Write a DearReader Contest. Thank you very much Sharon, for sharing your story with us. It's a delightful read.

A DAY WITH MARGARET

I spent a day with Margaret who is 99.75 years old. She's in the hospital and waiting to find out why. As in why was she dizzy, why was she weak and having trouble standing up. I started my visit by getting her to eat a few bites of fruit from her breakfast tray. Margaret is blind and can hardly hear with her hearing aids, so I fed her.

How is it I'm friends with a 99.75 year old woman? My mother was a school teacher and she taught at the same school with Margaret. They discovered they had daughters the same age and husbands who had grown up farming, so they brought us together every Friday night for years! The parents would talk and Jill and I would play at either her creek or mine. We would vacation together, swim at the local lake, and take weekend picnics to various parks. The families were inseparable for years. I even went to the same graduate school as Jill because of an invitation to see a concert one night and stayed in her dorm. But that's another story. Everyone is gone now, except Margaret and myself.

When the doctor or nurse would come in, they'd ask, "may we talk in front of her" and Margaret did not hesitate to say, "This is my adopted daughter, and you can say anything you want in front of her." I had taken a book, a sketch pad, and had my iPhone prepared for a day of watching her sleep. She had other ideas. What I've learned is when you can't see and can barely hear and have had a full wonderful life, there's a lot to think about and share. Margaret started talking at 9 AM, took a brief nap while I left to find lunch and for about fifteen minutes after I returned then talked until I had to leave at 6PM. She had a lot to share, to remember, to see if I remembered. She had me look up people from her past, to see if they were still alive.

Margaret worked with a gentleman back in the 1960's who shared a dream with her and asked her to assist with the project. Thinking that not everyone who graduated high school would want to go to college, but that they would need some place to get more training than a high school degree, they started Clark Technical School. It grew to become Clark Technical College and now Clark State University. It is still well known locally as a great two year school which many use as a stepping stone to a four year degree. Margaret has a road named after her around the campus.

Luckily, we actually found the son of the gentleman she'd assisted in founding Clark State with and have made contact! Now, that may seem a trifling thing, but as we age, friends pass, family passes, the circle of friends becomes smaller all the time. New people who come into an elder's life are usually doctors, nurses, housekeepers, and paid assistants, so to find someone from fifty plus years ago who remembers the past is huge. I'm hoping phone calls are made and Margaret's life has just a bit more interest to fill her days. She should get to go home in a day or two as they couldn't find anything seriously wrong that pushing more fluids and food wouldn't fix. Not being able to see food and drink, she tends to forget it's there and that she actually needs to eat and drink. But she has a bet with the doctor that she'll see 100, so eat and drink she must, if she's going to win! She asked me yesterday if being with her made me rethink wanting to live to 100. It has its disadvantages, but actually seeing how well she remembers and is able to reach out, with a little assistance, I'm willing to give it a try.

Sharon Benedict
Honorable Mention, 2020 Write a DearReader Contest

Thanks for reading with me. It's so good to read with friends.

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com

This month's Penguin Classics book is Romance in Marseille, by Claude McKay. Start reading and enter for a chance to win a copy.

Dear Reader Column 01-27-2021

Dear Reader,

Miguel, my new gardener, is a talented guy, but it's practically impossible to get him to pull an old plant out of the ground and throw it away. A couple of weeks ago, I wanted to spruce up my front yard, so I told Miguel to yank the sickly-looking red geraniums and toss them out. But instead, he insisted we transplant the geraniums from the front of the house to the side, where they wouldn't be as noticeable. So, rather than futz over such a minor little detail, I agreed. My crafty gardener positioned the geraniums in-between other strong healthy plants and low and behold, two weeks later, every plant in the side flower bed looks inviting and you can't tell which ones are the "leftovers."

Now I tease Miguel, calling him my "leftover" gardener, but he's got me thinking about other leftovers in my life, too.

I live in a historical home and when you think about it, the entire house is a leftover and that's what gives it its charm. When I walk through the low door frames I'm reminded that someone in 1926, (eighty-one years ago), walked through these same doors. The wood floors in my home are original, the curved archways, the dish closet in my sunroom; they're all someone's leftovers that bring me joy every day.

The old end table in my living room, it's a perfect fit in-between the chair and sofa. The bottom shelf on the table looks almost like new, but the top is in terrible shape; rings from water glasses, scratches, and a couple of ink marks. It's definitely showing its age, so I've been searching for a new end table to replace it. But now, after thinking about Miguel's leftover approach, I've decided to refinish the table instead.

When I was a kid, leftovers were always a big deal. In our family, leftovers was the name of a main course. Just like pot roast, fried chicken or spare ribs with sauerkraut, "leftovers" had its own recipe card. Open the refrigerator, take out all the bowls that were covered in plastic wrap, and "Dinner is served!" Hmm, sounds pretty good right now.

What's for dinner?

Leftovers.

Thanks for reading with me. It's so good to read with friends.

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com

This month's Penguin Classics book is Romance in Marseille, by Claude McKay. Start reading and enter for a chance to win a copy.