A familiar fox arrives, the rose behind its left ear bobbing as it bows its head to you, then takes a missive from the bag at its side.

You take the letter, and begin to read...

In personal news...

January and into this month has been... good. Busy, but good. I quizzed people for a Family Feud game for my church (They hold a Valentine's Day event for the singles, widows, couples with small children, and couples who live rural and are getting older. I've held with snacks and games a couple years now, mostly because I really enjoy those aspects.) 😊

Watching my wee nephew quite a bit. He's adorable. And somewhat troublesome, as all babies are. He has a gorgeous smile and an evil smile, scarily appropriate for various instances.

My nasal/ear problem is, apparently, partially due to acid reflux; some of the things the doctor suggested really helped, and other things I'm taking new steps to try and cut down on. (Although considering I tend to eat on the earlier side and don't drink soda much... I'm ahead of the game.)

I did some reading with my little sister, and we're trying a comic series with her that's old-hat with me, but not too bad. I love seeing it through her eyes.

I've done some experimenting in the kitchen, too: some special ramen at my sister's behest (a picture below), and a 4-flavor crunchwrap that, while labor-intensive, was definitely enjoyed by the crew, as well as remaking the chocolate-covered strawberry Chex Mix that I did last year and was so well-received. (And, since you have been kind enough to subscribe, the recipe...)

Chocolate-Covered Strawberry Chex Mix Recipe

• 5 cups Rice Chex cereal
• 1 big box Strawberry Jello Mix
• ¾ cup powdered sugar
• ¼ cup freeze-dried strawberry powder
• Approx ½ package almond bark melt (more if needed)
• 1 cup freeze-dried strawberries,
• crushed 3½ cups Chocolate Chex
• 1 10oz package Cupid mix M&Ms OR 1 ½ cup dark chocolate chips (you can go half-n-half, but I didn’t want to gild the lily, lol)

Directions: Put the Rice Chex cereal in a large bowl and set aside. In a microwave-safe bowl, melt the bark and stir ‘til smooth. Pour the melted bark over the Rice Chex cereal and gently toss to coat the cereal evenly. Combine the strawberry jello mix, powdered sugar, and strawberry powder in a plastic bag, and shake to combine. Transfer the coated cereal to that bag (or to an airtight container, then add the jello mix and powdered sugar mixture). Shake until the cereal is fully coated. Spread the coated cereal on a baking sheet to cool and harden. Add chocolate chex, dried berries, and candy, and store in an airtight container once fully dried.

What I’ve Been Reading:

​Draven's Light, by Anne Elizabeth Stengl, was a sweet and tearjerking novella in the world of Goldstone Wood but distant enough from the rest of the stories to make a fine standalone. Wonderful themes of self-sacrifice and different kinds of strength. Totally recommend. Bring tissues.

​Ice, by Sarah Beth Durst, was one of the biggest disappointments I've had. Can't really recommend it.

Also am dabbling with a new manga, though I don't tend to promote those here terribly much as the content can be rocky... though I will say I'm really enjoying it so far.

Some Funny Stuff:

Snippets/Stories to Share:

This space was occupied, for some time, by a series of stories based on Havok's themes of the month. Last year, they had a Multiversal theme, which meant that the only thing in common amongst all the stories was a single character. They didn't have to be a major character in the story or anything... they just had to be there.

This year at Havok, the annual theme is Encore! Each month, they'll review one past season and accept new submissions for those old stories. Season Two, Stories that Sing, was one I really wanted to participate in... but found out about far too late. So, I've taken the liberty of summing it up for you: Stories that Sing was all stories based on songs. So I'll probably be doing stories like that All. Year. Long. The title of the song is clickable to the song the story's based on. I don't listen to songs with language in them, that I know of, and I'll search for clean versions if for some reason I've never understood the lyrics and have been by accident.

I'm sorry in advance, but not that sorry. If you have suggestions for songs, email me back and you might get to see one you love!

And now, for your perusal... Pink Skies​

A warmth on my shoulder, like Alice’s gentle touch when she thought I was sleeping, rouses me.

I crack my eyes open, half-expecting to see her standing there, a twinkle in her blue eyes and a blanket over her arm, but it’s only the rays of the rising sun whose touch I felt— just as warm, but far more distant than my Alice ever was. I close my eyes again, disappointed.

Please, Tom. Tell them for me, won’t you? I drag my unwilling eyes open again and take in my surroundings. I promised to pass her messages along, and I will. The late-summer sky is vivid with shades of fuschia, gold, salmon, and orange in the sun’s wake, and I pause, knowing how much she would’ve appreciated it. It looks like it will be a pleasant day, not a trace of rain. She definitely would’ve liked that.

My stiff legs remind me that I fell asleep outdoors again, but in good weather like last night’s, it doesn’t matter. I’ve slept outdoors before, and will probably do so again. Alice always made sure I got inside before I dropped off to sleep, although, truth be told, I prefer a little fresh air when I take a siesta. This newfangled air conditioning settles in my bones and leaves me colder than a body should be, especially at my age.

I stretch each limb with a yawn, and climb down from my seat on the porch to check the fenceline that surrounds our farm. Everything’s as it should be, although I note some digging by the shed that indicates a mole’s decided to take up residence here. I’ll have to catch it later.

After all, today’s an important day. I look up at the sky again, and sigh.

Don’t worry, Alice. I’ll make sure it goes smoothly. I still owe you one, remember?

Today is her funeral, and while I think such a fuss is silly after how distant they’ve been, all her kids, grandkids, and great-grands are in town for the service and supper afterwards. I’d wager at least three of them are there for the meal alone, but that’s because I’m a cynic. Alice would argue that, at worst, they’re there to see their living relatives, which would be just fine with her.

Alice was married to one Jim Bucher for sixty-three years before he died, the patriarch of a four-generation clan of a hundred strong, or so. I lost count after a while, honestly. Suffice it to say, there was a lot of kids and grandkids, and Alice was proud of every one of ‘em.

I was in her life before Jim passed, but our relationship changed when he did. I moved in to take care of her, but I think she takes more care of me, in the long run. Whichever of us did more for the relationship could be argued, but the thing that cannot be disputed is that she and I got along famously. Our relationship is— was —purely platonic, of course, but the two of us were close as peas in a pod, rarely leaving the other’s presence. We just clicked, and were happy that way.

I wonder, not for the first time, if I will ever again be as happy as I was before I met her, now that she’s gone. I doubt it. She always quoted Tennyson’s line, ‘Tis better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all,’ and while I never was much of a reader, the fellow had a point.

I head back to the house to get some breakfast in me before everyone else gets up and makes a fuss; the reason I went to sleep outdoors, I recall now, is that I’d had enough of the giggling and moping teenage and twenty-something grands and great-grands that currently occupy the second floor. Because why not dump a load of kids in the house while all the adults withdraw to their familial conclave, conspicuously leaving me out of it and instead expecting me to supply some sort of babysitting? Phooey.

In between bites, I ponder the best way to go about my day.

Realistically, none of the kids’ll be up ‘til eight, which leaves me a bit more quiet time before the hoodoo begins. The service and supper will both be at the church, who readily supplied a red-carpet welcome for the crowd, despite their absence. At least Alice’s preacher spared me a kind word when he came to pay his respects to the family, something that the family themselves gave more begrudgingly than they ought to.

Perhaps I should pay him a visit one of these days and thank him for his geniality. To an old codger like me, it means far more than it used to, even if it didn’t take much effort on his part. I’ve half a mind, really, to tell her many descendants to go scratch and spend the rest of their visit in the shed— but Alice’s face appears in my mind, a stern, loving reprimand.

We’ve got to love ‘em, Tom, even if they don’t love us the way they should. The Good Book says so. If we don’t, we don’t look much like the Lord.

Like the time that bunch of brats who’d called her names behind her back and hurled dirt at me more than once were playing in the creek, and one got trapped underwater. She didn’t hesitate, jumping in after the squirt and prying him loose, even if his thrashing broke her arm. It was the way she was made. She didn’t have one word of chastening for him, either, just comfort as he gasped and sobbed, dripping all over. Most Christian woman I ever knew.

The kids never heard that story. She told Doc Hansen to tell any of ‘em, if they asked, that she’d gotten sick of Jim’s things in the garage and decided to move some, but some things had fallen and she was going to let it lie until one of them could deal with it. (Which was, technically true— Alice hated lying. She just hated to make the kids worry more, and I believe, although she never said so, that she was a little embarrassed —it just wasn’t the cause of the injury. Only hypocrisy I’d seen in the woman.)

Doc had the grace to shake his head and chuckle to her face, but he remarked to me that perhaps I ought to remind her that she wasn’t as young as she used to be, and that she oughta stay away from any water deeper than the kitchen sink.

I, of course, agreed, but Alice was smart enough not to pull anything like that again, notwithstanding the reminders I never gave her. She was a smart cookie, all right, even if she was a little unusual.

I settle on a quick bath and a long walk. I’ll meet the family at the church.

I’ve just cleaned up and am heading out when a muffled sniffle catches my ear, and I pause. The sound is genuine, and I turn back to the kitchen, however unwillingly, to wait.

One of the great-grands, I think her name is Eve, stumbles sleepily onto the linoleum scrubbing sticky tears from her eyes, and burbling through the tears, something about missing Gramma.

Drat. Yet… She needs comfort. And no one else is around to offer it.

She plunks down against the wall, unheeding my presence, and wraps her arms around her knees. She lays her head on the whole shebang and begins to weep openly, muffled sobs shaking her diminutive frame.

After only a moment’s hesitation, I hurry over to sit beside her. Alice was right. Holding a grudge is no way to live, especially when the littlest ones are hurting. I lean against her, unsure of how to offer any other comfort, but to my surprise, she leans back against me, and suddenly her arms are around me as she cries.

“I miss Gramma, Tom,” she whispers at last, when the tears have slowed.

As much as I can recall, I saw her once— when she was a baby. But Eve was one of her Visits, I’ll wager. The ones of her family young enough to still be interested in family were blessed with time on the phone every Saturday or Sunday, since she didn’t have enough time to get all her ‘visits’ completed in one day.

“Me, too, kiddo,” I sigh. “Me, too.”

She and I sit in silence for awhile, our breathing reaching a matching, steady rhythm, and finally she gives me a last squeeze, and a peck on the cheek. “Gramma loved you a lot, didn’t she?” Without waiting for an answer, she continues, “You don’t have to be lonely ‘cuz she’s gone, Tom. I love you, too.”

I sigh deeply, and give her my best smile. How to explain to a child all that you’ve lost when your best friend’s passed? Yet… she offers her affection without hesitation, and that gives me courage to continue on the path I’d chosen for today. I bump my head against hers, and she giggles, the last of her tears disappearing from her eyes.

“I’d better get ready,” she says, rising to her feet. “Thank you.”

I offer her a salute as she leaves the room, then I head outdoors again before she comes back and can see the dampness in my eyes.

***

The church is lovely; flowers in and out of season crowd every available space, and there’s a steady stream of congregants, ready to praise Alice’s virtues and mourn her loss. The family looks a little bewildered, as if expecting to be the only ones that miss her— or perhaps just finally realizing that she’s gone.

“She was always so kind to us,” one mother says, jiggling a baby with one arm, and hugging the family with the other. “She’d send us treats and offer to watch the kids if I was having a hard day.”

“I loved her pecan pies!” another woman gushes. “It won’t be a potluck without them! Do you think she’d mind if I asked you for the recipe?”

“It must be so hard to lose someone so lovely.” A gentleman from the funeral home murmurs, bringing in another few folding chairs. “She taught my Joni to read when nobody else could.”

“She saved Darren’s life a couple years back. Broke her arm doin’ it, too!” A toothless man grins, the gangly boy by his side looking much cleaner and more grave than he did last I saw him. Guess that cat’s outta the bag; but it was time, after all.

“Did you know she volunteered for the Red Cross every second Tuesday? She’d fold bandages and sort paperwork for five hours, faithful as clockwork.”

“She taught me to sketch in grade school— because she got me interested in art, I’m making a good business online now with my paintings.”

“Thank you for sharing her with us.”

“She was a saint.”

“She set us up,” a couple chuckle. “Hadn’t seen her as a matchmaker, really, but she just… knew we were right for each other,” the husband adds.

“I never got to thank her,” one woman, nearly Alice’s age, says from her wheelchair. “She and I got in a lot of trouble when we were girls for trying Dad’s cigarettes. She told him that it was her idea, but it was mine.” She folds shaky hands in her lap, and sighs deeply. “Because she told him that, I didn’t have to miss the prom. And I was crowned prom queen that year!”

“She never yelled at me for gettin’ in her garden, even when I squashed her rootadendren.” A small boy removes the finger from his mouth long enough to speak, then pops it in again.

“Rhododendron, dear,” his mother says gently, then turns to the family. “He’s always going after bugs and things. She never once got upset, and gifted him a little bug-catching kit this Easter when she held an egg hunt. None of the other kids got anything so personal as a prize. He wanted to catch something special for her, but…”

“Nothing yet,” the boy declares, removing his finger again. “I’ve gotta find one pretty enough. But I’ll find one soon.” The finger is replaced, and the pair moves on.

The family’s expressions turn from bored and bewildered, to puzzled, to mournful as they realized just how much they’ve missed with her, and how much they regret.

And I step in, just as the first few genuine tears fall.

***

Prrrrrrrrr.

Tom, Gramma’s cat, circles the ankles of everyone in line he can reach. Ordinarily, I think they’d be upset to have a cat in church, but today nobody complains. Gramma loved Tom, and I think everybody’s glad to have someone who is willing to give ‘em a cuddle without hurting. Some of these people are too hard of huggers, and some share stories that make my heart hurt— although it’s a good kind of hurt, one that means I loved Gramma —but Tom just gives you love without saying anything but a soft meow. I think he misses her, too, because he hasn’t been eating very much since she died, but I think he can tell that we’re hurting too.

“Come here, Tom,” I say, and, after a moment with Mom, he curls up against me like he did this morning. I lean down and stroke his fur, and murmur a thank-you to him. He looks up at me, blinking one eye and then the other, as if he understands, and I add, “I know you miss her, too. Thanks for being kind.”

He purrs again, and I can feel it in my bones before he moves down the line.

Love you, Gramma.

Something Cool to Me:

I participated in the TBR Love Party hosted by a friend of mine: it was terribly fun and I thought you all might enjoy it as much as I did (at least until other commitments quashed my final day's responses: still gotta catch up...)

Also, I'm enjoying some of the videos by a creator who does different stories from Japanese history and/or folktales. (NOTE: There is sometimes language involved. It's generally mild, but this is a mainstream creator so be careful. I leave it up to your judgment.) I like the tale of the Awesome Boss Wife (no language in the first two parts: beeped out in the third), the Cinderella variant (there's mid-range language in this one: one usage of b-word and I believe a d-word that is best used by God alone), and the Story of the Shallows (No language: character briefly considers throwing themselves in a river but it doesn't happen. Very sweet ending!)

Closing thoughts:

The question in the title of this email is "What's love got to do with it?" (As in... life, the universe and everything).

Love isn't going to fix all your problems. I can tell you that right now. (Discounting the love of Christ, which ultimately will fix everyone's problems when He returns.) But it does make many of them easier to bear. If you know you are loved, experiments have shown it lessens physical pain. If you feel connected, you are less likely to entertain harmful thoughts, or make bad choices. Or, the more likely you are to return from a bad choice when you DO make one. (Take the prodigal son, for instance.)

There's a reason God designed relationships. He wants us to not only love Him, but when we do, we then have the capacity to love others to the extent that our bodies and lives improve. And no, I'm not saying a specific kind of relationship.

Am I saying that if you're a Christian, your relationships are somehow immediately perfect? No. Am I saying they'll be perfect this side of heaven? I'm not saying that, either. But the minute you and God are in a relationship, your capacity begins to change. You can hold more than before, of the virtues that make love more deep, powerful, and true.

The more you work with Him, the more you become like Him, and the relationships improve. It's not an immediate fix, nor will it be perfected in the here and now: but there's a reason John says "we love because He first loved us". If you're not going to root in good soil, you're not going to have healthy plants. If we're in a world made to run a certain way by its creator, then playing by His rules ensures that things are going to be better... in your heart, if nothing else.

That's why America was such a flourishing country, for a while. We ran things in a way that still honored God's precepts, at least nominally. It wasn't that we were so great or smart. It was that we were willing to bend the knee and take the lead from the One who built the game. Writing your own rules won't rewrite reality to be your way.

If He made our hearts, then loving in His way will make those hearts run better. So get closer to Him, and see what happens. Maybe you'll find you see less of the ugly in others. Maybe you'll awaken to some of the damage you've caused. Maybe you'll be bold enough to communicate something that might lighten another's load.

Will we be all fixed? No... but we'll be faithfully on the track that we were made to run on. And that can give us more return for our investment, so to speak.

The point of the matter being, our love actually does practical good: so grow bold. Look for ways to love a little better, and ask God to help you.

The fox bows again, and as it turns to leave, cocks its head.

"Shall I take a message in return?"