Poppa Johns’ Christmas Village.
There are dates that stick out in most people’s memory, your birthday, maybe those of your family and even close friends. An anniversary would likely be in that category. Some people remember special days when they started a job, went on remembered holidays, or met a new love. All good dates that might remain in a person’s memory.
For me, Dec 1st is such a day.
First of all, my beloved pops who we called Poppa John was born on that day. Not only had he been a fantastic father, he was also my hero. A man who never stopped climbing life’s mountains and teaching those below that we could accomplish whatever we strived for. He grew up on a farm in the 1920s, the oldest of four children, lost his father when he was thirteen, and worked from then with his mother, my Baba, to take care of the family’s many responsibilities. Eventually, he became a mechanic and brought up three children of his own on that paltry salary. Worked like a demon all those years until in his retirement, he took a cooking course at the local college and became a bull cook, getting up at five am to get to the restaurant that happily hired a man who didn’t know the meaning of slowing down. Finally, my mom said, “enough is enough”. But retirement didn’t sit well for him. Soon, he’d taken a short course was creating beautiful stain glass lamps and Christmas villages… and loving every minute of being so busy.
When my own hard-working husband began dealing with his cancer, a man I adored like my dad, he also won my admiration. Never a complaint in all the years of his remission. When that passed, and the cancer began again to crawl through his bones, he still wore a smile every day, cooked our suppers, and made me laugh – made my life wonderful. When his time came to say goodbye, he drifted away peacefully on Dec 1st. Now I don’t know about you, but I somehow knew that Poppa John, a man he also loved, waited in the wings for him. The two probably went off together as they did in life, to enjoy a drink, lots of jokes, and a blab-fest they’d both thoroughly enjoyed.
As that day approaches, in their memory, I intend to cook my dad’s favorite meal (perogies) and drink my hubby’s favorite cocktail, rye and coke in a tall glass filled with ice…. and remember all the times we’ve done that in the past.
Because I have the ability to create stories using personality traits from those that I love, I dedicated books for both of these men. Then I wrote characters that resembled them, and they became endearing heroes for the readers too.
Poppa John’s book is called Special Agent Charli – It was a total joy to remember him in this story.
Special Agent Charli Madison can’t get a break. After the stress of her last horrific assignment, all she wants is to spend time vacationing with her Gramps in Ft. Lauderdale. Plans go awry & she’s forced into witness protection, guarding a teenage girl who’s the only person able to identify a notorious killer.
To make matters worse, she’s forced to accept the womanizing local FLPD Major as her fictitious fiancé, the man who’ll be her backup on the dangerous mission.
Heaven knows, she doesn’t deserve this mess…
My husband’s book is called Special Agent Murphy – This one ripped my heart out and had me falling for him all over again.
Murphy & his chatty rookie partner, Kayti, get caught up in the kidnapping of a teenager & the teen’s troubles pulls at the heartstrings he keeps hidden. Fighting the budding attraction for Kayti, he wonders how he can be so attracted to a trouble-magnet female who drives like a granny, fights like a trained assassin, and has him questioning his single lifestyle.