Monday, May 14, 2012


This is my first blogfest. I'd like to thank Alex J. Cavanaugh for the opportunity.

There are four areas specified by this blogfest: books, movies, music, and people. Since I'm new at this, I'm only going to choose one.

I intended to choose a lover/boyfriend/unrequited love but, in thinking back, I remembered my very first love of all. Memories popped out at me with images so clear and striking and heart stopping, I felt as if I were there.

The years melted away in a heartbeat and I was five years old again waiting for the front door to open. Like a wriggly puppy unable to physically contain my joy, I would run to him the moment he stepped inside the house and be swept up in his big, powerful hands, tossed into the air to my exhilarated squeals, heart pounding wildly. He'd catch me like a football, hands around my belly, then fly me through the front room, Peter Pan style.

"There's my girl," he'd say as he carried me into the kitchen where mom burned dinner in her 1950s apron and gingham house dress. They would hug and kiss with me squeezed between them floating in the cocoon of love they wove around me. Safe in my cozy little world.

Yeah, it may be cliche, but my first love was my daddy.

That safe little world is gone now. I'm sixty, just got laid off and feeling deeply alone and vulnerable in the harsh reality of a hostile world. My father is almost ninety now, stooped and frail with cloudy eyes, a failing heart and a mind that struggles to be some small part of what it once was, but sometimes I still see him through the eyes of that little girl--tall and handsome and strong and with love shining bright in his blue, blue eyes.

He was my first hero. He flew me to bed so I could feel like TinkerBell. He read me stories of wonder as I fell asleep. When I wanted to touch the stars, he stood me on his steady shoulders to help me get closer and told me to reach. And when I asked questions he not only answered them but set up demonstrations and drew diagrams. He was never too tired or impatient to listen. He's the man I've compared all others to in my life.

He's my dad and he was my first true love. I am and will forever be his little girl.

Love ya, dad.

Wednesday, April 11, 2012


Heroes in romance novels vary widely but they mostly seem to be handsome, physically powerful, intelligent and wealthy.

This must be what most women are attracted to, but I'd be more likely to fall in love with the everyday hero. The kind of guy who stands up to life's challenges without complaint, who has plenty of support to give no matter what he's going through, and isn't afraid to be vulnerable.

My hero doesn't have to be drop-dead gorgeous or have six-pack abs or bulging biceps. He doesn't have to be rich or witty or really even all that smart. My hero is a little off-beat, makes me laugh and is there for me, always.

Okay, maybe I wouldn't turn down a spin with a great-looking guy with six-pack abs and loads of money. Throw in a little angst, smoldering eyes and unruly dark hair and I'm all in, at least for awhile.