Halloween is Scarier Than Ever!

    When I was growing up, admittedly eons ago in the last century, we had fun on Halloween. We'd go to haunted houses, the Halloween fair at the elementary school, giggled at seeing adults dress up giving out candy, and laughed at the creative decorations on the porches where we screamed "Trick or Treat!" At some houses, we bobbed for apples, and at others, our friends' mothers spent days making homemade treats you couldn't get any other time of year. Some people even carved their pumpkins with really outrageous faces. But they'd have only one pumpkin, not 10, nor would they cover their whole front yard in scary decorations. It wasn't like today, where many of the decorations could scare the you know what out of you. I must be getting old because I don't understand why Halloween decorations are now so frightening. Is it because our society is much scarier? 

    

    In my little town, many of my neighbors began putting up their decorations in September. And the funny thing is that few kids trick or trick in my town because a day or two before Halloween, the city sponsors a Trunk or Treat event downtown, where kids can walk or drive by with their parents to safely collect their treats. Very few kids actually go door-to-door trick-or-treating. We used to do the Trunk or Treat event, then a few years back, we stopped doing it and began giving out treats just to our neighborhood kids on Halloween. They know us, we know them, it's safe for everybody. 

    This year, I don't know if we will get that many kids because we don't have "cool" decorations. Not like some of the homes in our neighborhood. We don't have one of those 12-foot-tall, $250 skeletons or mechanical ghoul sculptures standing on our lawn, nor does fake fog rise up from a fog machine, looking like the dead will rise any moment. We don't have a skeleton dog or cat, either, or a terrifying Grim Reaper. We do have a singing vampire, though, with a motion detector that starts singing "After Midnight" when a kid walks near our door. When we got it years ago, it scared the littlest kids. These days, I doubt it could frighten a baby. But we'll put it out anyway, because we're old school and we like it, and that vampire has been with us so long he has come to be like family.

    It seems like these days Halloween has become a lot like Christmas; it's all about making a profit. I don't think it's about having fun anymore. It's just an opportunity for companies to sell as many of those giant skeletons and animated sculptures as they can. Have you ever priced any of those things? Out of curiosity, I have. Buy a few of them, (and many people have several on their front lawns) and you might as well forget about making this month's house payment. But they aren't the only ones milking the formerly fun holiday. Don't forget the candy companies that are now charging $12-$22 for a bag of candy, and the costume companies that are selling costumes starting at $40 that will be worn only once. 

    I guess I am getting old. I remember Halloween used to be fun. I'm not sure that it is any more. I can't imagine that it is for the parents and homeowners who are paying $1000+ to make their houses look scary, and buy outrageously priced costumes, and overpriced candy. Where's the fun in that?

Till next time,

Jeffree Wyn

 

        A Seat On a Plane 

    Airports have a strange way of showing the full range of humanity — joy, impatience, excitement, exhaustion, all packed into one loud, humming space.

That’s where I was on a gray Thursday afternoon, sitting near Gate 27, waiting for a flight to Chicago. I wasn’t paying much attention to anything — just scrolling through my phone and sipping an overpriced latte — until I noticed the man at the counter.

He looked like any other traveler — mid-thirties, worn denim jacket, travel backpack slung over one shoulder. But what caught my eye was the tiny girl clinging to his leg, her pink shoes dangling off the edge of the counter as she watched the planes outside.

The airline agent asked politely, “Sir, how old is your daughter?”

He smiled proudly. “She just turned two last month.”

The agent nodded, typing quickly. “Okay, does she have her own ticket?”

The man’s smile faded. “No, she’s under two. I was told she could ride free.”

The agent hesitated. “Sir… if she’s already two, she’ll need her own seat.”

You could feel the air shift. The man blinked, trying to process. “No, that can’t be right. When I booked this flight, she was still one. Her birthday was just a few weeks ago. She’s just a baby.”

The agent sighed, kind but firm. “I understand, but FAA regulations require that all passengers aged two or older have their own ticket. I’m really sorry.”

He looked down at his daughter, who was now playing with the zipper on his jacket, completely unaware that her dad’s world had just tilted. “How much is the ticket?” he asked quietly.

The agent checked. “$749, sir.”

I saw him close his eyes for a moment, the kind of pause that comes when reality hits harder than you expected. He thanked her softly and stepped away from the counter, carrying his daughter to a bench across from where I was sitting.

He set her down and took off his hat, rubbing his hands through his hair, his face pale. Then he took out his phone and made a few calls — hushed, desperate ones.

“I don’t have it right now, Mom… No, I didn’t know about the age rule… I can’t miss this flight.”

He hung up, holding his daughter close. His voice cracked as he whispered, “I’m so sorry, baby girl. We’ll figure it out, okay?”

She just giggled and patted his cheek.

That’s when a woman sitting two seats over from me stood up. She was maybe in her forties, wearing a red coat and carrying a tote bag covered in travel stickers. She walked over to him and knelt beside his bench.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, “I overheard. You’re having trouble getting your daughter’s ticket?”

He nodded, embarrassed. “Yeah… it’s my fault. I didn’t know the rule changed once she turned two. I don’t have the money to rebook today.”

The woman smiled — the kind of smile that feels like a warm blanket. “Don’t worry about that.”

He frowned, unsure if he’d heard her right. “Ma’am?”

“Let’s get her on that plane,” she said, standing and motioning for him to follow her back to the counter.

The gate agent looked up, surprised to see them back so soon. The woman pointed toward the little girl, who was now tugging on her dad’s sleeve.

“I’d like to buy her ticket,” the woman said calmly.

The agent blinked. “Ma’am, this ticket is seven hundred and forty-nine dollars.”

The woman nodded. “That’s fine.”

The agent hesitated, almost disbelieving. “You… you know how much that is?”

“I do,” she said, pulling out her card. “And she’s worth every penny.”

Silence hung in the air for a second. Even the people in line stopped pretending not to listen. The agent took the card, swiping it with a shaky hand.

When the receipt printed, she handed it to the woman and said quietly, “You just gave me goosebumps.”

The man’s eyes filled with tears. “I don’t even know your name,” he said.

She shook her head. “You don’t need to. Just pay it forward someday.”

He knelt down beside his daughter and said, “Can you say thank you, sweetheart?”

The little girl looked up with wide brown eyes and said, “Tank oo!” — her voice high and cheerful, the kind of sound that can melt even the hardest heart.

The woman smiled. “You’re very welcome, sweet girl.”

As the boarding call began, the man hugged her — not the quick, polite kind of hug, but the kind that carries the weight of gratitude words can’t hold. “You don’t know what this means,” he said through tears.

The woman smiled again, her eyes shining. “I think I do.”

She turned and walked away quietly, disappearing into the crowd.

The man boarded the plane holding his daughter’s hand, still looking back like he wanted to memorize the moment — the kindness that came out of nowhere, at the exact time he needed it most.

I never saw the woman again. I don’t even know if she ever told anyone what she did that day. But everyone at Gate 27 saw it. Everyone felt it.

And maybe that’s how kindness works — quietly, without cameras, without hashtags, without asking for anything in return.

That day, at an ordinary airport gate, I watched a stranger remind us all that compassion still exists — and that sometimes, the smallest child can carry the biggest lesson:

That love, when given freely, can move mountains… or at least, one little girl’s seat on a plane.

Credit due to Lisa Resnik

 

On the Home Stretch

    For those of you who have asked if there will be a sequel to The Wedding Dress Quilt and, if so, when, I have big news to share with you. The Mercy Quilt, aka the sequel, will be available at the end of February 2026. 

    You can preorder a copy here: https://ctpub.com/collections/fiction-and-mysteries/products/the-mercy-quilt?_pos=10&_fid=bef28bb9d&_ss=c&filter.p.m.custom.show_in_store=1

And if you are a book, library, or quilt store and you wish to order multiple copies, you can preorder now through whatever book ordering service you use, or check this page on the C&T website for a list of  distributors: https://ctpub.com/pages/retailer-info

    I am currently buried in front of my laptop reviewing the final layout of the book, looking for typos, and any other errors we don't want to see make it into the final print version or ebook. This is the very last review. If I miss anything here, well, you'll see it when you read the book. The senior editor, copy editor, and graphic designer have done an extraordinary job of finding every tiny minutiae that needs fixing. Even so, they are human, and we're dealing with machines and software here, which means things like extra spaces and extra lines slip through. I'm trying to pace myself as I have five days to finish my review and sign off on it so C&T can send it off to print. I'm also trying to keep the butterflies in my stomach from doing a major flip-flop. I'm so nervous I'll miss something! I just have to get through it as I've done with previous books. It's not like this is something new. You'd think I'd be used to this process by now. What I can tell you with great pride is how beautiful the book is, both inside and out. Yes, the cover is lovely; but the inside, which includes the font, the title pages, and special characters the graphic designer used gives the book a very special look and feel. I think you're gonna love it. 

    Till Next Time,

    Jeffree Wyn

 

Good People Exist

    Once or twice a year, folks in my little town sign up for a city-wide garage sale. It's really quite fun. We sell things we no longer want or need to people who do want or need them. Then, in a year or so, we see our items for sale at someone else's yard sale. Talk about the ultimate recycling project! And sometimes we never see our treasures again, which is kinda heartening because we know that someone is really using what we no longer can. 

    This past weekend was our city-wide garage sale, and like we've done before, we were all-in. We put everything in the garage, readying to put in the driveway first thing Saturday morning. We got up early, moved the car, blew the leaves out of the way, and moved our treasures into the driveway. We didn't have to wait long before the early shoppers descended upon us. They picked through our well-loved mugs, bowls we'd grown tired of using, knives we'd replaced, linens, a couple of stuffed toys, vases, pie plates, and other whatnot, including a beautiful, apple-red toaster oven we'd used twice. 

    We hadn't owned the toaster long when our cooktop/range went kaput a year or so ago. Our warranty company was giving us a hard time about fixing or replacing it, so as a temporary fix, we bought a countertop oven, and of course, the only place where it would fit was right where we had the lovely toaster oven. So, the toaster oven went into the laundry room, where it was used only once, because we discovered that the countertop oven was, as the saying goes, 'the best thing since sliced bread!'  There wasn't anything we couldn't make in that divine little appliance. In fact, we thought about not replacing the big cooktop/range at all, but that seemed like a silly waste of space to have a non-working appliance taking up that much room in the middle of the kitchen; eventually, we did replace it, and the lousy warranty company. By then, we loved the countertop oven so much that we couldn't see going back to using the smaller toaster oven. In the laundry room, it stayed. 

    And then came the October city-wide garage sale, and we thought it would get scooped up in the first five minutes. It did, sort of, well, yes, and no. About a half hour into the sale, a very nice lady saw it and admired every inch of it. I'd priced it at less than half of what we'd originally paid for it, which wasn't all that much, but even so, she was apparently living on a limited budget. She said she didn't have the $25 I'd marked on the price tag and wouldn't until she got paid at work on Tuesday. A lot of people in a situation like that would have asked if I could reduce the price. She didn't. Instead, she asked me, if she gave me her name and phone number, and it didn't sell, would I call her and she would come back and buy it on Tuesday. I said, of course, I would. She wrote her name and phone number on a piece of paper, and I slid it inside the toaster oven on the rack. 

    No one else took interest in the toaster oven until I saw a woman late in the day looking at it. I walked over to her and told her how it had barely been used and why we were selling it. She remarked that it was in very good condition. Then she saw the note on the rack inside.     

    "What's that?" she asked. 

    "A lady was here earlier who wanted it," I told her, "but she said she didn't have enough money today, and doesn't get paid until Tuesday. She asked me to call her if it doesn't sell, and she would come back on Tuesday and buy it then."

    The woman reached into her purse, took out $25, and handed it to me. I looked at the money and back at her. "Would you like a box for it? I've got several I saved in the garage."

    "No," she responded. "I'd like you to call that woman and tell her that she is the new owner of a toaster oven. If she could not afford to buy it until she gets paid, she must need it more than I do." 

    "Thank you," I barely spat out. "That's very generous of you." The woman simply nodded and left. I immediately called the new owner of the toaster oven, who couldn't believe that a complete stranger would do that for her. I simply said, "There are good people in this world."

    When the lady got to my house, she thanked my husband and me and said, "I have been blessed today." We could not have agreed more. 

     

 A New Glimmer Just Showed Up!

I've been under the weather for the past week. At first, I thought it was a cold, then the crud, then a cold, then both. It didn't really matter what it was; I was puppy dog sick. Even the cats got the hint and hung on me realizing I needed some major TLC. Then hubby came down with it, and we were both a hot mess. It seemed like it was never going to go away, and then, drumroll, please: I received an email from my editor stating that my publishing company has given me the green light to start writing book #3 in my mystery novel series. After four outlines and summaries, to say I was jubilant, ecstatic, excited, elated, in seventh heaven, tickled pink, and every joyful synonym you can imagine is a major understatement. All of a sudden, just like that, I felt immeasurably better. Not completely well, mind you, but better. 

Talk about a timely glimmer! It doesn't get any better than that, and like I've said previously, you can't make up glimmers; they appear on their own. I'll take one any time I can because they're gifts, and today, I needed a glimmer gift. This is just the kind of day that deserves a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch. Yep, that's exactly what I'm gonna do. Gotta go make myself that sandwich right now before I get buried in something else less important because when I'm feeling like this, nothing, absolutely nothing is more important than a PB&J!

Till Next Time,

Jeffree Wyn

 

Glimmers Among Us

   

    I keep lists. Lots of them. Well, to begin with, a to-do list that I update daily, lists of chores to do inside the house, and errands to do outside, a shopping list, a list of things to fix, a list of things to write, and a list of glimmers. You know what a glimmer is, right? No? It's pretty simple; it's the opposite of a trigger. No light bulb going on?  

    A trigger is something that causes stress, often physical stress. For example, when you come to a street intersection where you were in a pretty bad accident and scenes of the accident and the injuries you suffered come roaring back, not just through your brain, but you can also physically feel it coursing through your body. Okay, that's an extreme. A milder though no less important trigger might be seeing your ex-husband at your favorite cafe hitting up on the pretty barista, which brings back memories of his infidelity and the demise of your marriage. This kind of trigger may just leave you feeling angry and nauseous or happy that you got out before it got any worse.

    And then, there are the lovely glimmers -- the opposite of triggers. Those are moments of joy and happiness that create a very different type of physical reaction. They're like a burst of a shimmering star in the sky, but it's inside of you. And thank God for them! You've felt them. We all have, because it's part of being human. Think about how you felt the first time you held a newborn baby. Or watched a glorious sunrise or sunset that truly took your breath away, and you were absolutely sure that you would never ever see anything so beautiful again. Or when you saw an old friend or family member you hadn't seen in a very long time, and you could almost feel your heart melt. That feeling of pure, unadulterated joy? That was a glimmer. And you know what? You can't just make up a glimmer. They're spontaneous. But here's the really cool thing about glimmers. People who study glimmers (yes, they're a thing) say that you can train your brain to be on the lookout for glimmers. And once you do, these tiny, microscopic glittery moments will appear to you more and more. And you know why? Because everyone wants to be noticed, even glimmers. If they see you noticing them, they will do their best to make sure you notice them more and more, which means they will instill more happiness in you. 

    I'm sure that by now you're thinking I've gone a little loopy; I assure you that I have not, because I practice this little trick every day. It comes down to this: you can decide to look for the positive in life (glimmers) or focus on the negative (the triggers). You make the choice. You want to walk around depressed or happy? I choose the latter, and ever since I began making this a practice, I have found that things have been looking up. Does that mean I constantly walk around with a big grin on my face? Heck no! But I do make an effort, and on the inside, where it counts, it matters. Is it that simple? It sure is. But if you need a little help, there's a song that came out many years ago that you can find online. It's called "Don’t Worry Be Happy” by Bobby McFerrin. If this song doesn't make you smile, I'm pretty sure that this one will help you find your glimmer. “Walking On Sunshine” By Katrina And The Waves. 

Till Next Time, 

Jeffree Wyn

    

 

It's Been a Busy Few Months

Well, folks, there's been no rest for the weary these past few months, so bear with me while I bring you up to date on The Wedding Dress Quilt.

Since the start of the year I've spoken at quilt guilds all over Texas in Harker Heights, Bryan/College Station, Pflugerville, and Temple in addition to a book club in Woodway, and the Creative Quilters Guild annual quilt show in Ennis. In a couple of weeks I'll be speaking at a new bookshop, book club, and writers group in Sulphur Springs out in East Texas. In December, I'll be speaking and signing books at O'Briens Bookshop in Midlothian. In March of 2026 I'll be speaking at quilt guilds in McKinney and Greenville. 

At the quilt show in Ennis, I met several people who asked if I'd be willing to speak at their quilt guilds, and of course, I enthusiastically said 'yes!' I was also asked by a very nice lady if I'd come speak to her sorority, and again, you can guess how I responded. 

Getting out into communities of quilters is a sure pleasure. Sometimes they've read The Wedding Dress Quilt, and sometimes they haven't. In many cases, they're so intrigued by the plot that they've bought a book afterwards (I always travel with a box of books.) At the quilt show, several people told me how much they liked the book and wanted to buy a copy for a friend or relative because they didn't want to loan out their copy and risk losing it. How sweet is that? 

Meanwhile, things are ramping up for the sequel, The Mercy Quilt. This second book is much longer, with more in-depth backstory on both old and new characters. The new book will also include recipes for a few dishes the characters dined on, and instructions for making The Mercy Quilt, which is the Grandmother's Fan quilt design. The manuscript went through four revisions, then a copy editor gave it a good going over, and finally it was deemed ready for the designer to lay it out in the book format. I let out a big breath of air the day I got that email. Being a bigger book with multiple story lines and new characters required a great deal of brain machination. There were days I was mentally exhausted from it all; however, in the end, everything came together. And now I'm busily working with the marketing folks to get the word out about the new book.  

In fact, as I write this, I'm working up a list of scenes for the video that will be uploaded to numerous sites. I did one for The Wedding Dress Quilt too, and honestly, I did not like it, and I still don't, so I'm trying to be more creative this time around.

Well, gotta get back to my screenwriting project. Ta-ta for now.

Till next time,

Jeffree Wyn

Dreams

"Hold fast to dreams. For if dreams die, life is a broken-winged bird that cannot fly."

-- Langston Hughes

    I stumbled across this quote today; its veracity stopped me cold. When we're young, we all have dreams of what we want in our lives, not just at the moment, such as asking for a pony, but more so for the future. We dream of being astronauts, actors, musicians, and even the President. Then life comes along, and responsibilities ensue. Things like getting an education, a job, marriage, kids, and a safe place to live suddenly take precedence, and those big, important dreams slowly recede into a memory, never to be lived.

    But what if we could make such dreams come true? I am a firm believer that they can. I mean, why not? If you want something badly enough, why not give it everything you've got to make it happen? I've watched many people turn their dreams into lives they envisioned. People who became doctors, medical researchers, business entrepreneurs, writers, musicians, actors, inventors, and countless others. Each of them believed not just in the dream, they also believed in themselves, and that if they worked hard enough at it, they could turn the dream from a wish to reality. 

    Last night I watched the film, The Freedom Writers, which came out in 2007, about a teacher and her class of troubled students in Long Beach, California. When I say troubled, I mean TROUBLED. These kids were in gangs or were on parole or dealing drugs, and have witnessed more deaths in their gang-infested neighborhood than most morticians. They're rife with attitude, hate, arrogance, and bigotry toward anyone outside of their ethnicity. Then along comes a teacher in her first job after graduating college who has never seen, much less known, kids like these. And boy, do the kids pick up on her insecurity and make her job 200% harder than she imagined. 

Early on, you think she's gonna quit any moment. Except she doesn't, and you know why? Because she had a dream to make a difference in these kids' lives. She applied to teach at this crime-ridden school because she believed she could help these kids, and she wasn't going to let anything, even the backward, archaic-thinking school administration, get in her way of turning these kids around. Ultimately, she succeeds, but it wasn't an overnight achievement. It started with baby steps and using creative teaching techniques that other teachers at the school ridiculed. As I watched the film, I kept thinking and hoping that this was a true story. Turns out it was which made my heart practically burst out of my chest with joy. I love films based on real life and real events, especially where someone achieves something incredibly unbelievable, something that seems unachievable, and then you watch the person succeed.

I suppose the film appealed to me because it fit right in with my notion and the quote about dreams. Anything is possible if you believe in yourself and never let go of your dream, no matter how big or small, no matter your age or experience. It's your dream, and only you can make it happen. 

Just imagine if Colonel Sanders thought that at 62 years old, that he was too old to open his first Kentucky Fried Chicken restaurant.

Grandma Moses didn't pick up a paintbrush until she reached her 60s. It took 10 years for her work to be noticed. Once they were, her paintings were displayed at the Museum of Modern Art.

Joseph Campbell opened his canned goods company at age 52. He sold canned tomatoes, condiments, and jellies. He developed his first condensed soup, tomato soup, at 78 years old.

And finally, Laura Ingalls Wilder quit school at the age of sixteen and worked with a dressmaker. She was in her forties when she began writing, but it wasn't until she was in her 60s that she wrote Little House in the Big Woods and began to gain a following.

There are hundreds, if not thousands, of similar examples. If you're stuck and need some inspiration to pursue your dreams, inspiration surrounds you. I am inspired by people who pursue their dreams regardless of barriers. All you have to do is look for it.


Till next time,

Jeffree Wyn

The Generous Spirit

I recently learned about a relative doing something so extraordinary that it made me reconsider the choices we make. It is in moments like these that you realize there are those around us who practice benevolence, selflessness, graciousness, altruism, and compassion every day without ever giving a second thought to doing what they deem is right.

There have always been people who follow a moral and ethical code, the most extraordinary example having occurred during World War Two. Some non-Jews could not tolerate what was happening to their Jewish neighbors and took it upon themselves to hide Jews, save them by providing forged travel documents, rescue them from deportation to the camps, and do anything else they could to prevent the mass slaughter of the Jewish people. These people who risked their own lives to save others became known as Righteous Gentiles. Of the nearly nine million Jews living in Europe before the Holocaust, it's believed that six million perished in the Nazi genocide. Thousands, if not millions more would have also died were it not for the courageous intervention of a few world leaders and thousands of individuals who risked their lives to save Jews from the gas chambers. Many of them paid for their heroism with their lives.

Good moral character comes in all forms, from major acts of valor to quiet behind-the-scenes gestures that few notice other than the beneficiaries. And that is where people like my relative come in, doing something unexpected that redefines kindness. This family member lost her husband of many years. It was devastating for her, and you would have thought that lifelong close friends would have gathered around supporting and caring for her. That's what dear friends do, right? Yet quite the opposite occurred. They stayed away, as though they might get the plague if they came near. Only one friend came to her aid, a friend who helped her get through one of the most difficult times of her life. Fast forward several years. The best friend of the widow's husband passed away. Rather than treat the new widow as she was treated, my relative came to her aid, sitting with her, taking her on walks and errands, in short, doing whatever she could to ease the woman's pain. She never thought twice about helping; it was the right thing to do.

When you start recognizing goodness around you, all of a sudden, you begin remembering witnessing other such acts of decency, character, and morality.

Several years ago, a colleague at work walked into the office wet from the rainstorm and wearing flip flops, which was highly unusual for that time. I noticed and asked her if there was a new dress code I didn't know about. She said there wasn't and she planned to buy a more office-appropriate pair during her lunch. She saw the confused look on my face and sat down on a chair in my office to explain.

"I put on my blue flats this morning to wear to work. As I pulled out of my garage, the rain started to come down hard. I drove through it, and at a traffic light, I saw a homeless woman standing on a curb without any shoes. She was in pretty bad shape. I pulled over to the curb, got out of the car, took off my shoes, and handed them to her. She needed them more than I did. When I got to the office, I took out this pair of flip flops I keep in the trunk for emergencies."

My colleague didn't hesitate for a moment to help a stranger in need. If that isn't the purest form of a generous spirit, I don't know what is. These stories remind me that every single one of us is capable of being a hero, or simply doing good for another less fortunate when the need arises. In this new world where divisiveness reigns and people are more interested in casting blame and turning from one another, we could all do with being generous spirits and helping to make this place we call home a better place.




Till next time,

Jeffree Wyn

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It's Been a Grand Year So Far

Seriously, it has. On May 20th (my dad's birthday in Heaven), my story about Willie (see pic above), a cat who adopted us, will be published in Chicken Soup for the Soul: What I Learned from My Cat. This will be the third Chicken Soup for the Soul book I've been in this year, which for me is a record. Now here's what's so unbelievable to me: I'd always wanted to get a story, that's right, ONE story published in a Chicken Soup book. It was a bucket list thing. When my story about my dog Sitka was included in that 2016 title, My Very Good Very Bad Dog, I was ecstatic. My wish had come true. In a weird way, I felt like I could now die happy. I hadn't planned on submitting any more stories to Chicken Soup for the Soul; I was done. Or so I thought. What did I know?

Then, I got an email, a callout really, of upcoming titles encouraging me to submit to more books. Wow, I thought, they must really like me (kinda the way Sally Field said she felt at the Academy Awards). So, I looked at the list and saw a title that appealed to me, one called The Spirit of America. I instantly knew I had the perfect story for them.

I had been mentoring a woman from China with a Ph.D. who was in the U.S. for one year. She told me she wanted to learn about the real America and real Americans, not just what she read in books. Her English was excellent, and we got along famously. I decided that the best way for her to learn about America was for me to show it to her, and show it to her I did. Grace and I met once a week in my office to engage in a half-hour activity, like my teaching her about English idioms, which boggled her mind. For the second half hour, we'd plan an activity we'd do on the weekend. I showed her the kinds of activities Americans in my beachside town liked to do, places we liked to visit, foods we liked to eat, and what made Americans, well, Americans. The best day, and the one I wrote about, was taking her to our county fair. I will never forget that day, and if you'd like to know why, pick up a copy of The Spirit of America. Whenever I think about that day, I can't help but smile.


Fast forward nine years, and I find myself still writing for Chicken Soup for the Soul. Happily writing I should add, because every time I receive a callout from my Chicken Soup family, I see a new opportunity to share a beloved personal story. Getting back to the new cat book coming out on May 20th, this will be the 16th Chicken Soup for the Soul book I've been lucky enough to be in. And to think all I was trying to do with that first story was get into one book. To be able to say, I was a contributor to a Chicken Soup for the Soul book. I never imagined the Chicken Soup folks would honor me by including so many of my stories in their books. I am grateful and consider myself one lucky woman.


Till next time,


Jeffree

 

Jeffree vs the Jury System

        Don't faint, yeah, another post just a couple of days after the one about spring. I know, not my usual pattern. For some reason, it just kinda felt like I should get a few things off my chest. Not necessarily bad things, just stuff I've been holding in; I'm sure you've gone through it, too.

        So, I've had a few health issues that have been a real burden and have impacted my ability to live normally for several years. Never mind what, you really don't want to hear the details. The good part is that the doctor I've been seeing for a couple of years, who has given me every medication out there, none of which did a darn thing, told me there's a surgery that will fix the problem; at least, it will for 91% of patients.

        "Whattttt?" I almost screamed. "Why didn't you tell me about this before?"

        "Because insurance requires me to see if any of the meds would work because they're much less expensive than the cost of the surgery."

        'Of course,' I thought. 'Why in he-- are the insurance companies still managing our healthcare? America's healthcare system is still as broken as it ever was.'

        "Fine," I told my doctor. "How soon can you schedule the surgery?"

        Turns out they couldn't schedule me for over two months. I think I groaned. I took the date they offered me because two months out was better than living with this forever. I'd already been dealing with it for 10+ years, though it had only become really bad in the last two years. What's a few more months? A few weeks before the surgery date, I received a jury summons to report two days before my surgery. I felt a rage boil up inside. I was on the cusp of screaming so loud that people coulda heard me six blocks away. The next morning I called the jury office and tried very nicely to tell them I could not report for jury duty. 

        "Why not?" the uber efficient woman who answered the phone asked. "You have to report or you'll be arrested."

        "Gimme a break," I retorted. "I'm having surgery two days later, and if I get put on a jury, and it goes more than two days, I'm gonna play hookey on surgery day."

        "You can't do that!" she said. "You'll be arrested."

        "What are you gonna do, send the deputies into the operating room to arrest me?"

        She backed down. "Well, no." Silence. "When will you be able to report for jury duty?"

        "Not real sure," I answered a bit smugly. "I don't know how long it will take to recover."

        "Do you think if I postpone your jury date that you can report two months later?"

        Silence on my part. Finally, I thanked her because I recognized she was obviously making an effort. The funny part about all this is that I've never ever sat on a jury and I've really wanted to. I've been called for jury duty several times in three different states, and in every case, either the defense or the prosecution throws me off. 

        Long story short, I had my surgery, and it turned out to be 100% successful. Honestly, I didn't expect it to work, simply because nothing else has why should this be any different? Oh me of little faith. It didn't just work, it worked brilliantly. And life has returned to normal or whatever normal is.

        Till next time,

        Jeffree