The Gift

Cricket McRae

Some of my friends are serious about birthdays. Serious. Not content with a mere, single-day hoorah, they celebrate for at least a week: birthday lunch with one friend, birthday dinners with other friends, an intimate celebration with their man (yes, these are all women – well, there’s one guy, but he still has a man), another get together with parents and siblings and usually a nice chocolate sheet cake in the break room at work.

Not me. In fact, I once forgot my own birthday until UPS delivered a package from someone obviously more on the ball than I was. I’m afraid this also means I’m not always good about other people’s birthdays. But I make an effort because I know it’s important, and everyone deserves to have a fuss made over them.

Last weekend I turned forty-seven. My guy is much like me about birthdays. He gave me a funny card, a practical gift, a single tulip, and took me out for brunch. No fuss, no muss, no bother, just eggs Benedict. He’d already brought home a flourless chocolate cake for Arbor Day, and it was way too soon to repeat the decadence.

(Side note: We celebrate Arbor Day largely because Hallmark doesn’t try to make us. The cake said, “You’ve got me treed.” What a romantic, eh?)

And that was that. Until …

The mailman brought a box to the door in the afternoon. I have a friend who still sends me birthday presents. They are thoughtful, often funny, and distinctly personal. This woman knows me well. After all, we’ve been pals for thirty-three years.

Her gifts were, as usual, spot on and much appreciated. But this year the card took the cake. So to speak.

She wrote me a story.

Two pages, about one teenaged girl teaching another one how to drive a stick shift on the dump road outside of town. About almost getting hit by a truck. About how they made up a song about it.

About a friendship overflowing with laughter that ended up spanning more than three decades.

The little story is so well-written. Poignant sans sentiment and intensely personal to yours truly. It made me cry. Hell, I’m tearing up as I write this now. That this thoughtful gift, utterly free and utterly priceless, came from her when I know she’s swamped with work, family, and a dozen other obligations just floors me.

But there’s more. I’m working up to the deadline for my next book, and that always makes me a little crazy. Okay, a lot crazy. I planned for the stress better this time, as well as the inevitable distractions, visits from friends and family, etc., but let’s face it – I’m still crazy. In this frame of mind, writing loses its luster. After this many go-rounds, I know it’ll come back, but the word that comes to mind when I sit down in front of the keyboard yet again to fuss and rewrite and add scenes and make decisions is slog.

That precious, two-page story turned out to be a gift in another, unexpected way: It reminded me of the power of words, of how much I love them, and that stories are truly important. It shifted my attitude at a time when it sorely needed a shift.

There just isn’t a Thank You big enough.

TIS THE SEASON (To Be Thankful)

Darrell James

The holiday season has a way of making us turn introspective and take time to ponder all the wonderful blessings in our lives. People are the blessings.

This season will usher in the year of my debut novel, something that I have worked long and hard for. Not alone, I understand. I have been ferried to this place and time in my life on the wings of many, many others. The people who touch my life.

I suppose I first have to offer praise to my mother and father. They were humble folks from the hills of Kentucky who entered life with little more than grit and determination, and a hope and dream of a better life for themselves and for their children. I was the last of seven children to be born, spread out over twenty-two years. I’ve always felt that I received the greater benefit of our parents wisdom and maturity. They were expectant grandparents by the time I came along.







(Father Roy, Mother Minnie, oldest Sister Crystal )






Though their limited education didn’t allow them to outline a path to success, I was always told that I could do, AND BE, anything I wanted. I just had to be willing to work for it.

WORK was the defining value they taught. And LEARNING. We were encouraged to read from a very early age. With few books in the house, I recall stealing my older sister’s school library books. I grew up absorbed in such classic tales as Little Women, Gone With The Wind, The Great Gatsby…

I cherish my siblings. While they were all older, they always made time for nurturing their younger brother. How can you go wrong with four extra mothers. They are the ones I have always primarily worked to please and make proud.

I have also been blessed with a wonderful loving daughter and two totally fabulous grandchildren. These are both of college age (yes college). One has recently graduated.

Then above all, I am thankful for my mate. My wife, my lover, Diana, has not only been my guiding star but the sun ray that warms my path. We’ve shared many adventures over the past twenty-seven years. And on the day I declared that I was going to become a published author, she took my hand and joined me in my quest, creating PRme Promotions as my publicist. These days she not only works to promote me, but represents a number of our author friends in the mystery community. I would be lost without her. I’m guessing a few others might say the same.

Blessed.

As I have said, this holiday season passing will usher in the year of my debut novel. And while I have been blessed with the best family in the world, I would be remiss not to give recognition to the many people who have influenced me and helped me along the way. Generous and caring friends who have mentored and supported me unselfishly—many within our own writer community—too numerous to name. But to all of you (you know who you are) I give my thanks and commit my friendship in return. I hold you all in loving regard.

They say it takes a village to raise a child. I have my village. It’s a wonderful village. And this holiday season I’m using this post to publicly say thanks.

Have a Happy Holiday Season and A Wonderful New Year, All.

I know I will.

(Midnight Ink will publish the first in Darrell’s Del Shannon series of mysteries in September 2011.)