A big announcement for you today, you guys!
My publisher has chosen to feature my first book for an online promotion, and you can get the eBook version of And Life Comes Back for only $1.99.
Please click on over there and check that out. Prices rarely get better than this, and I love that they chose mine for their May promotion. It's like a shiny gold star for my heart.
Here's a little love note for you, a sneak peek into the first chapter.
Gas tank: full. Cell phone: charged. Ipod: stocked. I drive up I-70 toward the mountains. A decision of classic, spontaneous impulsion on my part. Once I’ve decided I want to do something, I want to do it today. This is no exception.
Robb and I weren’t a perfect match. We were different in every way. But maybe the differences make the perfect match. He liked a planned agenda; I thrive on spontaneity. He was a filer. He put everything in its place. I am a piler, and I can’t find anything once it leaves my hands. He liked to visit the same restaurants and order favorite dishes; I like to try new places and taste new things. He went to bed at the same time every night: just after the nightly weather report at 9:17pm; I came alive at night, often thinking and writing and creating into the early morning hours. He was deeply invested in the decisions of the government and any election; I am apolitical and often handed him my ballot since it mattered so much more to him. He believed in the thrill of competition; I enjoyed the commercials and believed in the gracious social merits of the game. I always have a book in my hands; he was nonliterate. Not illiterate, but nonliterate: he hated to read. We parented differently. I read books, conducted internet research, posted on parenting blogs, and studied consequences based on love and logic. He wrestled on the floor, tickled and rough-housed, and earned respect by saying things like, “Dude, just obey. I’ve pooped bigger than you.”
But we both loved road trips and loud music on the iPod. (I like mine louder than he preferred.) We loved having people into our home (although I could quickly and seamlessly add a chair to our dinner table while he preferred a guest list in advance). We both loved serving people; I would listen and learn their favorites and their fears, while he would grab his tool belt and fix any problem at hand.
Years ago, I stopped trying to make us match — him the same as me, me the same as him. I learned that his relationships, although far less verbal, were in no way inferior to mine; they were just different. His experiences and his preferences were different from mine, but they were equally valuable. The ways he chose to love me were, in fact, loving me. The face of love depends on one’s willingness to understand two vernaculars of the same language. We were not the same. We didn’t always understand each other. And we made a great team.
In the passenger’s seat is the white paper bag, with handles. It looks like it could come from a candle shop or a quaint boutique. No one might guess that it holds the canister of my husband’s ashes.
I drive on a two-lane road that becomes more winding, less crowded, and finally utterly secluded as I arrive at a lake just below the mountain’s highest elevation. I turn off the car. I step out. The air is crisp and silent. I button my coat, grab the handles of the white bag, and click the remote to lock the car as I walk toward the water.
* * *
My goodness, I love that book. It holds a special place in my heart, the book that holds the story of how it all began and fell apart and came together again.