I have a to do list that is pages long.  Literally.  I have a love hate relationship with this list.  I love that it’s there, keeping track of me and helping me remember my responsibilities.  And I hate that its constantly there telling me what to do – and what I’m not getting done.  My list and I have been constant companions this past week.  I’m in between projects – just finished the Comfort Cove trilogy and have at least a week before I start the next project.  (My editor is on a cruise with her husband and I need her input on a couple of things before I begin.)  My husband is roofing a house.  And I actually have time to get to the things on the list.

Instead, my mind is focusing on the things that I push aside while I am engrossed in a story.  The things that I tell myself I’ll think about later – deal with later.  I’ve realized a couple of things this week that I want to share with you today.

1.  I use my writing to escape.  This is funny to me because I’ve spent my entire life (from the time I became a romance reader at 14) preaching about the fact the romances are not escapism.  I realize that my perspective is not always the most common one.  But that doesn’t make it any less valid or real.  To me, romances are the place you go to find the good in life.  They are where you go to find mentors and examples.  They are the key to joy and happiness.  I still believe this.  Emphatically.  And now I have to admit that they are also, for me, escapism.  Not in the reading of them, but in the writing of them.  Life is hard.  So I leave it to inhabit worlds of my own making.  Worlds where, even if I am not in control, I can always hit the delete key.  I can’t hit the delete key in real life.

2.  Life is about focus.  Both in the reading and writing world, and in the everyday world.  Whatever we focus on is what we bring into our daily lives.  What we focus on becomes our life.  Our world has a lot of worrisome happenings.  With the economy, the price of gas, the state of our country, the state of other countries, wars and school violence and sexual abuse of minors…

It’s easy, far too easy, to see the bad.  To focus on the bad.  And when we do, the bad becomes all there is, or a lot of what there is.  Life is bad.  And when life is bad, we bring that ‘bad’ focus into everything we do.  Like our relationships.  We start to snap at those we love.  We’re cranky, cantankerous.  We hurt those we care most about because what comes from within us is coming from a perspective of negativity.

But this focus on the negative isn’t just about how we treat our loved ones, it becomes about how we see them, too.  Everyone has faults.  And when we come from a place of negativity, we tend to focus on the faults of the ones we love.  Focus on the faults and that is what you will see.  See fault and you will treat the person accordingly.  I am not purporting turning a blind eye to wrong doing.  But I am suggesting that we have a choice of where we focus.  Instead of paying so much attention to what our children or spouses or parents do wrong, if we could focus on what they do right, then the wrongdoing will be much easier to manage.  Beyond that, live will be filled with good.  We will feel the love instead of the irritation.  What follows naturally from there is that we treat our loved ones with more kindness than irritation.  And from there, they treat us better, too.  If you nag all the time, you irritate people.  If you are kind to them, you don’t upset them so much.  This works with associates and strangers, too.

Look for the good in people.  Focus on the good. 

And the end result is that we are all happier.

(p.s.  I have made it through almost my entire list!)

So here it is – My favorite cover.  I’ve seen and approved sixty of these things.  I’ve loved some.  I’ve been not so happy with some.  I’ve thought some really depicted the story.  I liked the colors on some.  But this cover…it speaks to me. 

The book, Four Times the Trouble, is out in May.  It’s going to be available digitally – e-book – and in print direct to consumer.  It was chosen as part of a special program that Harlequin is doing for those readers who love romances but prefer their books without graphic body parts.  This story was in print before.  It made the USA Today Bestseller list.  It was my fifth book – Jacob’s Girls.  When Harlequin called and asked me if I wanted to re-do the story for this new program, I was delighted.  I loved the hero – Jacob.  He’s a single father with triplet seven year old girls.  He’s a deejay with a hit morning show.  And he’s just…yummy.

I just recently finished reading Four Times the Trouble and I am really happy with this wholesome rendition of a great story.

More news on the writing front – I got the okay this week on the next series!!  I told you all about the idea that came to me out of the blue on the bus trip home.  I wrote the overview the next morning and it’s a go!  I have two editors and both of them loved the idea!  We’re going back to Shelter Valley for at least three books.  These books, instead of being centered on the town, are centered on the university in the town.  We’re bringing in new people and the backdrop will be old friends.  I can’t wait to get started on it and will be doing so over the next couple of weeks.

In the meantime, this week, I’m working on a proposal that my agent asked to see.  She’s excited about my work and I’m excited to have someone in my corner who is just there for me.  (And Tim, but more on that later.)  I’ve balked at the whole agent idea for most of my career.  Thanks to my very very dear friend – our own Patricia Potter – I connected with the right woman and now I’m really excited about the future we’ll have together.

And…last week I wrote about speaking out – but also about what’s most important in life – the people.  The love we share.  I’ve paid careful attention this week to walk away from the work and give to the people in my life.  I didn’t get to everyone, but I will get better at this.  I feel as though I’m the star of the movie Fifty First Dates.  If you haven’t seen it, you should.  This week, I re-discovered, with great joy, the fullness life has to offer when we take the time to connect with the people in our lives.  I knew people were the most important part of my life.  I’d just forgotten how much strength and energy we get when we give to others.  I’d forgotten that the people in our lives are the only true source of strength and energy and joy because they are the running thread of that which connects us all – the power that binds us to our true selves.

I’d been putting off a phone call for fear of not having the strength to get through it.  And instead, I found that the call gave me what I needed to sustain me.  I pray that I can in someway uplift the other.  This is truly a relationship where I feel as though I do all the taking and none of the giving.  I can’t imagine what the other gets out of it, but I am so thankful that she is there.

And I spent an afternoon sitting with a loved one in urgent care.  It was a long wait.  Took far too long.  I had revisions due and the clock was ticking and…I wasn’t even tense about it.  I was just glad to be there.  I sat in the dreaded waiting room and was thankful that I could be this intimately a part of life.  The afternoon lifted me.

In the end, I worked a little less this week, and I got more work done.  I made my deadline.  Ideas are flowing.  Tim and I moved out of the RV (we’re having all new flooring installed and all cupboards, etc. are built in and have to be taken out).  And we even had time for a bike ride and a skate.  Proving that the more you give, the more you have to give. 

I’m generally pretty comfortable with my understandings of things that matter.  I don’t think for a second that I know all.  I don’t think I will ever know all.  But I know that I pay attention.  That I’m open to learning.  I don’t have a problem with being wrong because every time I am wrong I have been given the opportunity to learn and that ‘wrong’ then is moved over to add to my list of ‘rights.’  I am open to changing if it will make my life’s experience more complete, more worthy.  And right now I have a pressing question.

Today – for a long time – I’ve pondered the idea of when to say something and when to hold silence and I just don’t get this one.  I tend to hold my tongue more than not.  And so often my silence is misinterpreted.  People think I’m being judgmental.  Or that I simply don’t care.  I’ve been considered manipulative.  And yet, when I speak up…so often I’m misinterpreted.

I’ve learned hard lessons due to speaking up.  And I’ve learned hard lessons due to keeping my silence.  I look around me, at the role models in my life.  One of my key role models is Pollyanna.  You’ve met her.  She refuses to acknowledge the bad as long as she can as though, if she can refuse long enough it will settle itself.  Kind of like ignoring the bad behavior of a child in the hopes that if you don’t reward it it will disappear.  And I see a situation where this has caused so much confusion and harm.  And then I look at another major role model, Frank.  She is often criticized for saying too much.  She speaks her mind and sometimes hurts people.  They go away.

Maybe this whole question of to speak or not to speak is a girl thing.  I don’t know.  I was told as a child that if you can’t say something nice don’t say anything at all.  If someone asks you if you like their new dress, you are supposed to find something nice about the dress, even if it’s just that it covers skin, rather than come and out and say the dress is hideous.  I would never want to uselessly hurt someone’s feelings.  If my speaking up will hurt someone and what I say has no chance of creating a better next moment, then I will not speak up.  I’m clear on that.  But what about the rest of it?

If you know that your friend’s husband is cheating on her, do you speak up?  If you know your boss is sleeping with the CEO’s wife, do you speak up?  If you know your sister is lying to your mother, do you speak up?  When do you tell all and when do you hold your silence?

I think about the women in my life.  There have been several instances where they just don’t talk to each other for long periods of time.  Long long periods of time.  I can think of three such instances just off the top of my head.  I’m not talking about being mad for a few weeks.  I am not speaking here of people with problems that are spoken and still unresolved.  I am not speaking of the instances where one just won’t listen and isn’t willing to open his or her heart to their own mistakes in an effort to resolve situations.  I am speaking of the cut off.  The unspoken.  I’m talking about long, extended periods of time.  I don’t understand how people can do that to each other.  I don’t know what to do with the situations.  Where to put them inside myself.  How to find peace or do the best thing.  I don’t believe the silence best serves life.  I don’t know what to learn from it.  I don’t understand why some people cannot just speak their hurt, or anger, or fear, or frustration, to face head on whatever is being buried.  There is no way to heal or move on when the problem is buried.

On the other hand, if I talk about situations that are upsetting, or give my opinion on things, if I say what I think, then I risk becoming a gossip.  Or sticking my nose in where it doesn’t belong.  I risk hurting feelings and being mean and spreading viciousness instead of love.

I have been living with a five year silence within my family.  I have tried every way I know to end that silence.  I have given months of total silence.  I have tried occasional contact.  I have made certain that the love in my heart is spoken.  I have apologized for everything I can think of that I might have done to offend or hurt.  I have been patient.  I have offered everything.  I am blocked at every turn.  It is unnatural and unhealthy and it is killing me one day at a time – more I am watching it eat away at another family member.  I don’t even know why the silence exists.  I have never been told.  What horrible thing have I done?  I’ve talked to others, or rather, they talk to me, and every single person I speak to says that the problem is with the other person.  So many are being hurt.  But no one speaks up.  Is there any way to rectify the situation?  At this point, I would give my arms and legs, literally, to make this better.  What good is the body, the shell, if the life inside is not right?  How do I at least get understanding?  I am out of answers. 

I read an article this morning about being happy in this life.  It spoke about doing what matters most to you.  The author states that we are all unique individuals with our own unique things to offer the world and our own unique experiences to have.  The way to live our individual lives to their fullest is to listen to our inner voices – not the external voices of others – to know what matters most to us.  (As opposed to living our lives the way others would have us live them.)  The article stated that if we can find out what matters most to us and then make our choices so that that which matters most is our priority, then we will truly have lived.  People matter most to me.  Making things right with those I love is what matters most to me.  It always has.

These past few months I have slighted you all with shortened and hurried blogs, making my writing my priority over all else, when, you, the people I have come to know and care about in our Storybroad community, as well as the people in my family, should have been the priority.  I apologize.

Today is one of ‘those’ days!  Book Three of the Comfort Cove Triology is due tomorrow.  The printout of Book One is here and due back on the 17th and revisions for Book Two are due by the end of the month.  I have fifty pages to write today…so I’m hoping we can communicate in spirit today.  It’s my blog day and I’m thinking about you all!

I can’t wait for you all to get this third book.  I’ve been so enmeshed in it for the past week that I feel as though I’m living in Comfort Cove.  It’s Massachusetts so it’s been unseasonably warm there (I couldn’t bear to spend any more time in cold weather!)

And I have just one tidbit to share.  Tim and I were signing books at the Glendale Chocolate Affaire on Saturday.  I’ve been signing there for about fifteen years and over the years the Affaire has grown into a huge festival with all the requisite fair food.  Still, chocolate and romance are the main focus.  There was even a booth to make chocolate pizza!  But for me the main event was Gloria.  I’m guessing her to be near ninety, if not already there.  She came to the very first chocolate affaire I was ever at.  She’d walked there because she doesn’t live far away from downtown Glendale where the affaire takes place.  She was elderly then, but she brought with her a bag of every book I’d ever written – including the very first one.  I signed every one of those books and every year after that she would come to the affaire with the books I’d written that year and I would sign them.  I missed a few chocolate affaires in the recent past, but on Saturday, when I arrived, the bookseller told me that Gloria had been by.  And that afternoon, while we were sitting there, she came by again.  By herself.  Walking.  She was dressed to the nines in a bright blue skirt and shoes that matched exactly.  Her blouse was plaid with the blue in the plaid and she had a sweater to match.  (She showed off her outfit in her very demure sweet way.)  Anyway, it’s Gloria, and all of you and Nanamom who we haven’t seen in a while and Darla and Lynda and Cheryl and Debbie H, who keep me going on days like today.  I thank you all.

Tim and I are just back from a bus trip we took with my mother and aunt – arranged by my aunt.  The time away was beneficial – a much needed break to clear my mind so that I can go into the next eight days – my time left to finish this book – with a rested and fresh mind.  I don’t sleep well much of the time, and one night while we were gone I slept for ten hours straight.  I can’t remember a time I’ve done that.  Morning, when it arrived, was a whole new entity to me!  It wasn’t a struggle to get going, a fight out of the hell of the dark of the night.  I woke up feeling great and eager for the day ahead.  For those of you who sleep well and find this a regular beginning to your day – take a moment to be incredibly grateful for the gift!!

While we were on the bus ride home last night, an entire trilogy plotted itself.  Oh, but I get ahead of myself.  I am finishing up the last book of the Comfort Cove trilogy.  (There will be revisions and line edits to come, but the creation will be done.)  And while I was on my mini vacation I got an email from my editor regarding the next contract.  She wants ideas from me.  And on the bus ride home last night, an entire series presented itself.  I have three heroes.  Three heroines.  And multiple stories that could follow off from it.  It looks like we’re going to be going back to Shelter Valley.  A new Shelter Valley.

And in the meantime…the time away.  On these bus trips there is a guide.  And it is the guides job to entertain the passengers.  (This whole bus trip thing was brand new to me.  I prefer my own car, but was happy to have the experience!)  On the way up, our guide played a video of a comedian.  I’d never heard of him.  Still can’t tell you his name.  But I thoroughly enjoyed the show.  He’s a professor from Kentucky.  And is determined to put on a stand up comedy routine that is completely clean.  He’s managed to do so and to amass quite a following.  I lost count of the times I burst out laughing.  His entire show is based on the idea that in most every situation there is something to smile about.  And if we look for that something in every situation that there is to smile about, life is joyful.  He proceeded to spend nearly two hours giving us every day situations that we all live through on a regular basis and to show us the humor in them.    His perspective on life is priceless.

So…I’m not good at jokes.  I don’t remember or tell them well.  But I managed to save two that I heard this weekend – both very plebian and nothing like the comedian on the base came up with.  But here they are…my smiles to you…

Do you know the two breeds of sharks that Don Laughlin was able to find that could live in the fresh water of the Colorado River?  (Because sharks are salt water organisms.)

Card Sharks and Loan Sharks!!

And…

Do you know how to recognize Ronald McDonald in a nudist colony?

By his Sesame Seed Buns!!!!  Ha ha!

Anyone else have any smiles to share???

I’ve always been a firm believer that things happen for a reason.  We might not know the reason; we might not even know when things are happening that will effect us, but there is reason in everything.

Yesterday, Tim and I stopped by Mom’s.  She mentioned that she was out of Diet Coke and waiting for the ads to know where it was going to be on sale.

Half an hour later, Tim and I stopped at CVS.  I noticed that Diet Coke was on sale.  4 12 packs for $10.  That’s a good price around here.  Good enough that I called Mom from the store, told her about the sale, and told her that I had no idea how long it would be on sale for that price.

Half an hour later, on her way to meet my aunt, Mom stopped by that very same store to pick up the Diet Coke I’d sent her for.  She gets a call from my aunt, who lives just down the street, telling her to get back to her car.  Shots were being fired.

This morning, the parking lot across the street from where I’d sent my mother to shop, was blocked off with Crime Scene tape.  The parking lot of Fry’s Food and Drug Store – a Kroger company store – the chain where we all do all of our shopping.  This is a nice neighborhood.  Filled with snowbirds and churches and kids and elementary schools.  Last night it was the scene of an undercover drug sting operation gone bad.  Right here in suburbia.

A Mesa police officer had been working undercover.  He’d made an appointment for a drug exchange.  When he got there, the drug dealers – one of whom had just been released from prison and was already wanted for other violations – started firing shots rather than exchanging drugs.  I can only imagine that they’d been tipped off that they were dealing with a cop.  There were two other officers on the scene.  As I understand it, the undercover cop was shot in the leg.  One of the drug dealing suspects was killed.  Another injured.  The third surrendered without further fight.  And two female suspects were also arrested.  There were reports of 14-16 bullets fired.

Mom could have been in the line of fire.  Tim and I had just been there half an hour before.  It wasn’t our time.  But we never know when our time will be.  Something as innocuous as a trip to the local store for diet coke, could be the incident that changes everything.

The laws of attraction say that you attract to you the things that you put energy into.  I’m wondering…is it time to stop writing suspense???

This picture was taken almost five years ago now!  Hard to believe.  This was the second time in my adult life that I’d been on a bike.  Tim and I were on Mackinaw Island, in Michigan, and had rented this bike for the day.  We had a blast.  And have talked about it time and again.

Sooo…now that we’re in our new life and doing the things we’ve said we’re going to do…

For Christmas this year, we asked for a bicycle built for two.  I didn’t really think we’d get one.  It was kind of silly thing to ask for.  We’re not kids anymore.  (Okay, maybe we are, we asked for the bike!)  I wasn’t surprised that there wasn’t a bike under the tree.  But then, I forgot, for just a second, about Santa Claus.  I’ve always believed in Santa.  I’m dead serious about that.  Santa isn’t just a guy in a red suit.  He is the spirit of Christmas.  Of people rising to larger than life occasions, reaching deeply into themselves and finding the ability to do more than they think they can.  Not in gifts, but in life.  Not for self, but for others.  And Santa is also magic.  If you believe, it will come to you. In some fashion.  And sometimes, even if you don’t believe, it will come to you.

The presents were all opened.  We all felt loved and gifted and happy and ready to play.  And then Mom reaches up to the tree for an ornament.  She hands it to Tim and I.  Inside is a picture of our bicycle built for two.  And the money to order it.  There were too many choices and she wasn’t sure which choice to make.  I had no idea, either, once I started actually looking.  But Tim’s a biker.  He knew.  And this past week – our sleek, 21 speed, silver bullet arrived.  What a gift!  Far beyond what I’d expected.  I am now experiencing my mountains and blue skies and sunshine in a more intimate, glorious way.

The first day we took the bike out in our neighborhood – we rode a couple of miles to a place we like to eat and had lunch, and took the long way home.  I couldn’t wait to get back out.  And on Saturday I got my wish.  Tim and I tend to start out with a goal in mind and end up adding goals along the way.  We were just going to go for a little ride.  But we live out at the base of the Superstition Mountain.  The roads don’t just curve around in a neighborhood – they go straight out to the mountain.  And dead end.  We took one.  And there Iwas, with the wind in my hair, the sun on my face, and all around me the air of the mountains seeping into my skin and my lungs.  The views were glorious.  And we weren’t experiencing them encased in a vehicle.  We were right there with them.  Biking is much different from skating.  While skating is still my first love, and we are still skating, on skates you are limited to clean pavement.  On the bike, we could just go.  And we did.  Really far.  Our little ride turned into so many miles I lost track of them.  We rode to the mountain.  And then into town.  We passed a shop I’d been wanting to visit and went in there.  We rode by Mom’s house.  And eventually, we made it home.

On Sunday I paid for that ride.  I’d used muscles I hadn’t used since I was a kid.  They let me know they were there.  I am very thankful for them.  And we’ve made an agreement – those muscles and I.  I promise to pay better attention to them, to give them a chance to enjoy their re-emergence on a less rigorous schedule.  And they promise to take me on many many years of glorious rides.

How about the rest of you?  Anyone like to ride bikes?

Garden of Gethsemane

I don’t like olives.  At all.  I don’t like how they look, all moldy like in the bottle of juice like some kind of gross lab specimen.  I don’t like how they smell.  And I don’t like how they taste, either.

But I pay more money for the olive oil Tim and I use for cooking than I would pay for regular vegetable oil.  Olive oil is healthier.  And I think it tastes better.  Go figure.

I don’t like olives, but my husband loves them.  The green ones.  He’ll eat an entire jar of them in one sitting.  He likes them with salad, with sandwiches, with pizza, or just by themselves out of the jar.  So when my mother heard about this olive mill not far from us, she determined that we had to go there.  We had to find out everything we could on olives.  For Tim.  She mentioned the place to us.  And then mentioned it again.  And then she called and found out their hours and on Sunday, Tim and I and my mom and aunt took a drive out to a really cool place.

My mom and aunt have seen olive trees that are thousands of years old.  They stood in the Garden of Gethsemane at a the base of a 4000 year old olive tree.  (Mom took the picture above.)  On Sunday we saw trees that were only a decade old, but the fruit the trees bear is the same.  Olive trees bear fruit forever, if the trees life is sustained.  And they can live forever, too.

We saw fruit on the trees – though they’d just been harvested.  We saw fruit on the ground.  And then we went into the mill and watched a demonstration of olives being made into olive oil.  And here’s what I learned:

1.  You want to use olive oil instead of vegetable oil.  It’s much healthier.

2.  You want to use extra virgin olive oil.  All other grades of olive oil have oil that is extracted from pumice type stuff that is olive waste.  It’s not only disgusting looking, it’s not as healthy.  Some of that stuff they add lye to to give it color.  When a bottle says pure olive oil, it has more than sixty percent of that pumice stuff in it.  When it’s extra virgin, it is only fresh oil from olives and nothing else.  Nothing else.  Virgin olive oil and olive oil all have different percentages of olive waste with water and perhaps other chemicals added.  Extra virgin has nothing added.  And it’s not heat processed, either.

The day wasn’t all about learning.  We got to try some really unique mixes of olive oil.  My favorite was caramelized onion olive oil.  We had that on a sandwich and it was divine!  We also had home made potato chips made in extra virgin olive oil.  Also divine!  There was chocolate olive oil – they recommended that over gelato.  I let it pass.  Tim tasted different preparations of olives, too.  His favorite was garlic vermouth.

 And to answer the question above.  No, black olives and green olives do not come from the same trees.  Because there is no such thing as a black olive.  I know, go to the grocery, look at the aisle of olives, at all the black olive choices – or go for pizza and order them and have them right there on the top of the cheese – but they don’t exist.  What we call black olives are really deep purple and they DO come from the same tree as green olives.  They ARE green olives that have ripened to the point of turning purple.  However, at that stage they are nearly tasteless.  Those olives get treated.  They have lye added for color.  They are processed with flavor.  And they are jarred and called black.  After Sunday’s tour, I wouldn’t eat a black olive even if I liked them!!  No problem here, though, I don’t like olives!

I’d love some olive oil recipes though.  Anyone have one to share?

I wrote a blog late last night.  I published it.  And I came out to visit this morning to find that it only had a title!  I am taking this to mean that the blog I wrote wasn’t meant to be published.  Perhaps it would have offended someone.  Or hurt someone’s feelings.  Perhaps it would have brought trouble down upon me, or upon someone else.

Or maybe technology just failed!

I talked about resolutions.  Not New Year’s ones, but about resolutions that are born out of every day being a new day.  I believe that any time we are impressed to make a change is the time for the resolution to begin.  I don’t begin by making lists.  Or by starting physical action to make the resolution come true.  I think that by starting out with action, our resolutions have less chance of success.  I start my resolution in the mind and the heart.  You have to believe that something can happen in order to make it happen.  And if you believe it will happen, truly believe, your actions will come from that belief.  And chances are much better that what you want or need will truly come to be.

I talked about our Broadie sister here, Darla.  She is such an inspiration to me.  Maybe I said too much.  Maybe that is why the blog went into the land of the lost.  But what can’t be lost is GREAT JOB, DARLA!!!!  An almost perfect grade point average!  You’ve shown us all how to make a resolution, how to fight the fear, beat the fear, and succeed!  I can’t wait to hear about this next semester!

I talked about other things, too, and I’m just not sure which of those things weren’t meant to be heard!

But here is some proof that resolutions, born out of honest heart searching, out of true want and need, really can happen:

I am home.  I live here.  Those of you who have been following us for the past four years know how badly my heart yearned for my blue skies and sunshine and mountains.  Last year at this time the eventuality seemed almost an impossibility.  I had days when I could hardly get up in the morning because I didn’t have the heart to face another cold grey day.  But I continued to believe, to visualize the mountains, to feel the sun on my skin, to close my eyes and see the blue skies.  And here I am.  Hoping to get out to the pool this afternoon if I get my work done in time!

Last week, I was miserably sick.  After several days of suffering with a foggy head that couldn’t think clearly, I was not in good spirits.  Tim took me out driving.  Among my mountains.  Beneath the blue skies.  Under the penetrating heat of the Arizona sun.  And the peace and healing that I’d been seeking settled upon me.  This is the power of believing in a resolution.  This is the power of manifestation.

Darla in class is the power of manifestation.

My god-daughter’s happy smile as she sits at lunch with her new husband is the power of her manifestation to be happy.  She suffered horrific tragedy and still found a way to open heart again, to take from life all that it had to give and find the joy.

I look at these bits of proof and I look into my heart and I know that what my heart needs will be provided.  I only have to believe.