Do you still close your eyes and make a wish when you see the first star in an inky black sky?

How is it that I can’t remember someone’s name five minutes after I’ve met them, but the Star Bright rhyme from my childhood pops into my head nearly every time I see a twinkling star above?
​

(Sorry – now it might be stuck in your head, too.)

I feel like wishes get a bum rap. We have all kinds of wishes and dreams when we are growing up. Some of us manage to keep on dreaming, but often, life intervenes, and we get caught up in the busy, monotonous rhythms of daily life. Our wishes fall to the wayside. We don’t have time for that silly stuff anymore.

When we were younger, there was always more than one way to make a wish. We’d make a wish before blowing out our birthday candles. Or how about when we’d pick a fluffed-out dandelion on a hot summer day? Did you blow on it and send your wishes off on the cottony seeds as they drifted away?

Out of curiosity, I poked around on the internet and had to grin as I was reminded of other prompts we used to wish on:

• Close your eyes, make a wish, and throw a coin into a water fountain
• Make a wish when the very first robin of spring makes an appearance in your yard
• Always wish for something when eating a green M&M
• And with Thanksgiving right around the corner, we can’t forget about the wishbone

There were others listed, but they didn’t ring a bell for me.

When we were young and the holidays were approaching, we’d sit for long hours with a Sears or Montgomery Ward catalog in our laps, carefully studying the toy section and circling those items we’d wish we would find under the tree on Christmas morning. Visits with Santa Claus were another valued opportunity to make our holiday wishes known.

Do you ever wish you could go back to those simpler days? In reality, maybe they weren’t simpler, but if we were lucky, as kids, we were blissfully unaware of bigger troubles.

But as soon as we reach adulthood, there isn’t nearly as much encouragement to spend time wishing. Setting goals and working hard – yes. But sitting quietly and looking into our own hearts to remember some of our earliest wishes for our own lives (and letting those dreams drive our goals) – not very often.

One fun thing we do get to do as adults is to try to help make the wishes of children come true.

I remember the anxiety I felt one holiday season when our then three-year-old son only wanted a “101 Dalmatians” video from Santa. This created a dilemma. Twenty-plus years ago, Disney would cycle through their movies, only offering some for a “limited time” and then locking them back up “in their vault.” You couldn’t simply “go online” to find a random copy somewhere. I looked and looked but had no luck, sure our little boy was going to be so disappointed on Christmas morning.
​

But wishes can be powerful things. My brother happened to be dating someone at the time who loved and collected Disney movies. He was bringing her home to meet us all for the very first time that Christmas, and when she heard about our dilemma, she saved the day. Santa was able to deliver. I knew I liked that girl (and she’s been part of the family ever since!)

And let’s not forget the amazing Make-a-Wish foundation – granting wishes to critically ill children. They do incredible work, and all of us can help them in their mission in some way.

Tonight, as I’m writing this post, I’m sitting in a hotel room in Las Vegas, tired following an amazing, three-day writing conference, where I was surrounded by like-minded authors and amazing presenters. It felt surreal to be part of something like this. And to think it all started out with a simple wish—to write a book.

​My hotel room looks over the courtyard below, and a few times each night, they offer a light and water show at the waterfalls. The first night I heard it, I couldn’t figure out why something that sounded like a soundtrack from a Disney movie was playing so loudly outside my window. When I peeked out my curtain, I was delighted at the spectacle below. Much like the feeling you get if you let the little kid in you come out and play during a visit to Disney World, there was a little bit of magic in the air as I gazed upon the show and enjoyed the music.

I would never have guessed when I told a group of girlfriends more than ten years ago that I wished I could write a book someday, that I’d be standing here tonight, my head filled with fabulous ideas and inspiration.

It always starts with a wish.

Last week I launched my fourth book. If you’ve read it, you know wishes, both old and new, are weaved throughout the story line. It’s a holiday book, and there is no better time than the holidays to take a break from the craziness of life, sit quietly, maybe stare into twinkling Christmas lights, and let your mind wander. Think back to Christmases of your childhood. What did you wish for?

Spend some time with your memories. Then, come back to today. Would you still wish for the same things? Or maybe life has given you new dreams and wishes.

As we celebrate the holidays with family and friends in the coming weeks and months, it’s the perfect time to dust off our wishes, as we did when we were kids.

Remember those wishes or find new ones, and now that we are all grown up, maybe it’s finally time to do something about them. The calendar will soon flip over to the year 2020, the perfect time to focus on finally achieving some of those wishes and dreams. Make it happen.

​Always cheering you on,   Kim

​With Halloween fast approaching, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to dream up a short ghost story. Much of my fiction series, Celia’s Gifts, takes place at a family-owned Minnesota lake resort. Even my newest holiday book, Capturing Wishes, kicks off at a Halloween party out at Whispering Pines. There is a legend of two young ghost boys that keeps popping up in my books, so I thought it was fitting to have two of the kids sneak outside and see if they couldn’t find the alleged ghosts. Because everyone deserves one good scare on Halloween:  

"Don’t tell Mom, but that movie was lame,” Logan said, motioning toward the credits rolling up the television screen. He directed his comment toward Dave, his twelve-year-old brother. Their two younger brothers, Jake and Noah, had been asleep since halfway through Beetlejuice, the DVD their mother had picked up for them to watch once the party games were done and everyone else would want to visit. The sleeping boys were sprawled out on the round braided rug on the floor in front of the screen. Someone was snoring softly, clearly worn out from the evening’s festivities.
    Dave snorted, glancing up from his phone screen. “I suppose you think you could do better.”
    “I know this film is supposed to be a classic, but, yeah, I think I could do better. You wouldn’t believe the monsters that roam around in my head.”
    “Oh, I can believe it,” Dave said, sounding bored with the whole conversation. “Let’s go upstairs, see what Robbie and Nathan and the girls are doing.”
    Boring, Logan thought. Sitting around with his older cousins and their friends sounded nearly as dull as joining the adults out in the kitchen where he knew they’d be discussing something like weather or politics. Ugh. “Come on, Dave, this is supposed to be a Halloween party,” he whined. “ I don’t want to sit around. I know why you really want to go upstairs. You think that new girl that came tonight, you know, Aunt Jess’s boyfriend’s daughter, is cute. But she’s like fourteen and way out of your league, bro.”
    The way Dave squirmed at his words confirmed to Logan that he’d been right about his brother’s real reason for wanting to go upstairs.
    “Do you have a better idea, then?” the older boy asked.
    Logan, the most daring of the four brothers, slowly grinned. “Why don’t we go outside and see if we can find the two ghost boys everybody talks about. You know, the ones they say roam around out here at Whispering Pines, Albert and Arthur.”

    “You love that old ghost story, don’t you?” Dave said with a shake of his head. “You realize it’s all crap, right? Something someone dreamed up to scare little kids around the campfire?”
    Shrugging, Logan stood. “Probably, but I want to write a screenplay about the old legend. Wouldn’t that be cool? We could sneak out, maybe get some creepy footage on our phones. No one would even know we were gone.”
    He saw Dave glance toward a window, an uncertain look on his face.
    “What’s the matter, big brother, are you scared?”
​    “Yeah, right,” Dave said, pushing up off the couch he’d been stretched out on and picking his hooded sweatshirt off the floor where he’d dropped it earlier. “Let’s go find you some little ghost boys, but if either of them wakes up and tells Mom or Dad, we’re gonna get it.”
    Logan headed quietly for the door, knowing Dave was right. If either of the two younger brats found out they’d ducked outside, they’d be raking leaves the whole next day as punishment.
 
                                                                 *******
 
The boys tiptoed to the front of the old lodge and went outside through the front door. Icy pellets pricked their faces, driven by gusts of harsh wind. One solitary street light cast a mellow glow over a corner of the gravel parking lot, leaving the rest in deep shadows. Hulking shapes of parked cars and pickups reminded them they weren’t alone, although the moan of the wind and tick ticking of tiny beads of ice were the only sound.
    “Perfect Halloween setting,” Logan said with delight, skidding to a stop on the gravel and pulling out his phone. “Look how cool those tall pine trees look against the night sky, swaying like that. It’s like frigging skeletons dancing.”
    Dave stopped a step behind him. “You are twisted. It’s freezing out here. If I’d known it was sleeting, I wouldn’t have let you talk me into this.”
    Logan saw Dave glance back toward the lodge. He hadn’t realized the weather was quite this bad either, but he had a feeling he could get some inspiration for his story out here, wandering around between the dark cabins. He didn’t really believe in ghosts, but if they did exist, this would be the type of night you’d likely stumble across them.
    “Come on, don’t be a pansy. Let’s go,” Logan said, walking briskly toward the corner of the lodge toward the sidewalk that would lead them into the heart of the dark resort. He held his breath as he entered the shadows, hoping Dave would follow. He couldn’t hear his brother’s footsteps behind him, but Dave was probably testing him, so he kept going.
    They’d spent enough time out at the resort lately that he didn’t need much light to know where he was going, which was lucky because clouds were blocking most of the moonlight. The flashlight beam from Logan’s phone only revealed a couple of feet of the ground in front of him as he walked. Only family and a few friends were out at Whispering Pines tonight. There were no guests renting cabins. It was getting late in the season.
    He must have passed Dave’s test and walked slow enough because his brother was suddenly at his side.
   “What exactly are we looking for out here?” he asked, his face shrouded by the hood of his sweatshirt. Not that Logan could see much of him in the deep gloom.
    “Don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I wanted to feel what it would be like to walk around out here in the dark on Halloween. Feel my blood pump a little faster, experience whether or not we could even see anything back here. It’s hard to write about this if you’ve never experienced it.”
    He heard his brother grunt beside him, unsure if Dave was agreeing with him or suspecting he was nuts. Maybe a little of both.
    They continued on, passing the cold, dead fire pit in the gloom.
    “A s’more would sure taste good about now,” Dave said, although Logan knew there was no way his brother could be hungry. They’d been eating since they’d gotten to the Halloween party. But Dave had a point. There was nothing like a hot, gooey marshmallow, smashed between a chocolate bar and graham crackers in front of a roaring campfire. The thought of it made the gloom of this night even more pronounced.
    They were now far enough away from the lodge and the party that all was dark back here.
  Somewhere, an owl hooted, the unexpected sound causing both boys to jump. A hand grabbed Logan’s upper arm.
    “Come on, Logan, this is stupid. Wandering around out here in the dark. I’m freezing. We aren’t going to find anything out here. You can’t even film. It’s too dark.”
    Logan shook Dave’s hand off his arm. “Not yet. I’m telling you, Dave, I feel something out here.”
    “You feel something? Give me a break, bro.”
    “Don’t you think it’s cool out here?” Logan asked, doing his best to make out the dim shapes along the edge of the lawn, where the woods encroached close behind a small cabin in front of them. Logan knew his family called this the Grey Cabin. There was something off about the little structure. It was the only place at the resort that made him feel somehow weird anytime he’d been inside of it, which wasn’t often. But he sensed something bad had happened there, a long time ago.
    “Fine, ten more minutes,” Dave reluctantly agreed. “Tell you what. I’ll give you five bucks if you walk into the woods back there and sit down on the ground, by yourself, for like ten minutes. That should give you plenty of feels.”
    “Like you’ve got five bucks,” Logan shot back, half hoping his brother didn’t have the money to make good on a bet like that.
   “Matter of fact I do have it, right here,” his brother replied, waving a five-dollar-bill he must have pulled out of a pocket in front of Logan’s phone light. “Come on, I dare you.”
    Dang, Logan thought, no longer feeling quite so brave. The owl hooted again, and the wind sighed through the trees, high above their heads. There was no way he could pass on Dave’s dare. He’d never hear the end of it.
    “Ten minutes?”
    “Yep, ten minutes. I’ll just sit here on the steps of the Grey Cabin and wait for you.”
    Logan wasn’t sure which was worse. Sitting on the steps in front of that creepy cabin, all alone in the dark, or in the woods.
    “Fine. Set the timer on your phone so you can’t accuse me of cheating. Yell when time’s up,” Logan ordered, then set off across the grass towards the edge of the trees, leaves crunching and rustling under his feet. Dave was right, this would be a good way to find some inspiration.
 
                                              ******
 
Logan reminded himself he was heading into the dark woods alone to find inspiration for his story, and not just because Dave bet him five bucks he couldn’t do it. He walked about twenty feet into the trees and found an old log on its side. He sat gingerly, testing whether the log could hold his weight, then settled down with a deep breath. He could do this. He could prove to his brother that he wasn’t afraid. Dave didn’t need to know his heart was nearly beating out of his chest. His phone slipped out of his sweaty hand, falling into the leaves around his feet.
    He bent over, fishing blindly through the leaves for his phone, and grimaced when his fingers grazed something cold and squishy. He bit his lip to keep from whimpering. Just a dead plant, he assured himself, sitting back up straight, phone again clutched tightly in his hand. He turned off his flashlight, committed to getting the full experience of sitting in the dark woods, all alone on a stormy night, a few days before Halloween.
    As he sat, the darkness lessened ever so slightly. High above, glimpses of broken clouds were visible through dense tree limbs and tall pines. A few errant moonbeams broke through, illuminating small circles of the forest around him. Behind him, something rustled through the leaves, but he barely flinched. It was surely a small animal, nothing to be worried about. He closed his eyes, focusing on how he felt sitting alone. He could feel the rough bark under his butt, and something poked his ankle through his sock. Probably a stick. With his eyes closed, he could listen without distraction. The wind sighed, and he thought he could hear something else. A whisper of laughter, out of place in the woods. Fighting the urge to open his eyes, he forced himself to focus. This was why he’d come outside; to see what his imagination would conjure up. A slight murmur, almost like voices, reached his ears, but no matter how hard he strained to make out the words, whatever he was hearing was too faint.
    “This is good stuff,” he whispered out loud, his own words echoing back at him. Eyes closed, he could imagine two young boys, standing near, watching him as he sat quietly on his log. They’d be wearing old fashioned play clothes, a slight glow making them visible through the darkness. Would they want him to play, anxious for a new playmate after years of having only each other in these deep, dark woods?
    Oh yeah, I could write a movie about this, Logan thought to himself, feeling only excitement now.    
    “Logan, Logan,” a boyish voice whispered in his ear. An icy finger touched his neck, and he shot up off his log, spinning to see what was behind him, sure Dave had snuck up in the dark while his mind was busy formulating what he’d write. But there was no one there. Nothing but branches and trees, creating a maze of crazy lines. He lowered the beam from his phone, shutting off his flashlight. There, behind his fallen log, was a smudge of something, probably a trick of the moonlight through the trees. He pulled his phone back up and held down the photo button, taking several shots in quick succession.
    “All right, you little creep, you did it,” Dave’s voice rang through the woods to reach him. “Come on out. It’s been ten minutes.”
    Logan started to turn away, but stopped, again straining his eyes to see the area behind the tree. If there had been something there before, a breath of fog maybe, it was gone. With a sigh, he turned back toward Dave’s voice. While he’d never admit it to anyone, he was more than a little spooked.
    What had he felt on the back of his neck? That had not been his imagination.
 
                                                     ******
 
“I can’t believe you actually did that,” Dave said, jumping off the middle step in front of the Grey Cabin onto the grass as Logan approached.
    Logan snatched the bill out of his brother’s outstretched hand, hoping Dave wouldn’t notice how his own hand trembled. “Course I did it,” he replied, trying to sound braver than he felt. “Piece of cake. You said it yourself. That old ghost story is just crap. But sitting there, I got some good ideas for my movie.”
    He could see Dave shaking his head through the gloom. “You are nuts.”
    “Probably,” Logan replied, heading back toward the lodge. Dave fell into step behind him. As they got closer, lights glowed out the windows. Inside, he knew there was still plenty of conversation and life. Sitting out there in the woods, he’d begun to feel incredibly lonely. He hadn’t liked the feeling at all. He gave his whole body a quick shake as if that would dispel the sensation.
    Up ahead, he caught a blur of movement pass by one of the upstairs windows. He pointed, turning toward Dave. “Think we can scare them?”
    Dave stopped walking, following the line of Logan’s finger. “How?”
   Logan stepped off the sidewalk once again, this time walking over to a nearby tree. The ground underneath was littered with fallen crab apples. He gathered a hand full and walked back to where Dave stood, looking up at the upstairs window. “With these.”
    Dave looked down at what he held in his hands, a grin spreading over his features. “Turn your phone off, or they might see us,” he ordered, taking a few small apples out of Logan’s hand.
    “Not too hard,” Logan warned. “They’ll kill us if we break a window.”
    Dave rolled a tiny apple between his thumb and index finger. “Nah, these little things won’t break the glass.”
    Logan watched as his brother, a better baseball player than himself, wound up and whipped an apple towards the window. They couldn’t see where it hit, but they could hear a tiny thud.
    “Dang, I think I missed,” Dave said, trying again.
    Three tries later, they could see one of the apples against the light from the window, and it sounded different when it hit. They both held their breath, but nothing else happened.
    “Here, let me try,” Logan said, mimicking Dave’s actions. His apple hit the window square. Suddenly, a black silhouette filled the left half of the window. Someone was looking out. The boys froze, hoping they wouldn’t be spotted. The silhouette stayed there for a minute as if searching for something, and then it disappeared from the glow of the window.
    Dave slapped Logan’s hand, making him drop the few remaining tiny apples.
    “Come on,” he whispered, taking off in a tip-toe jog back toward the corner of the lodge. “We gotta go before someone sees us.”
    Logan took a minute to kick the fallen apples into the grass. He turned slowly around, taking one last look across the deserted resort. Just before he’d spun all the way around, something caught his eye, a trick of the light perhaps, back near the Gray Cabin. A grin spread across his face. Their little excursion out into the woods had been worth it.
    He’d found more than a little inspiration during their little late-night adventure across the darkened resort. He’d found Arthur and Albert.

Did this little story remind you of how fun Halloween can be?  Did the idea of seeking out a delicious little scare ever have you heading to a haunted house or a corn maze? Purposefully scaring ourselves isn’t for everyone, but it can be part of the appeal of Halloween. How much money would it take to get you to sit in the dark woods, alone, on a stormy night? Especially if that night was Halloween?

The four boys in the story above will play a bigger role in the next book I’m writing in my series. Val, their mother, has her hands full, but she’s more than capable of handling the chaos.

But you won’t have to wait much longer for Capturing Wishes – A Whispering Pines Christmas Novel. My latest book will be available in early November. Stay tuned!

If you are a fan of Halloween, I hope you enjoy the festivities this week, even if it’s just handing out candy to little ghosts and goblins. Otherwise, keep your front porch light off and curl up with a good book. It’s the perfect time for books, blankets, and cocoa.    Kim
 
p.s. If you haven’t yet read my free novella where Albert and Arthur first appear, join my Reading Club today, and your free story will appear in your email inbox. 
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I was lucky to grow up in a small town with my grandparents close by. One set lived on a farm outside the city limits, the others lived near my grade school.  I’d often walk there after class, and enjoy Grandma’s sugar cookies and a card game while waiting for my parents to pick me up.

My grandparents were an integral part of our lives, and we never celebrated a holiday without them. I remember plenty of home-cooked meals, afternoons spent visiting on the front porch and even one disastrous rollover on a three-wheeler with my big cousin. Luckily we were climbing sand dunes at the gravel pit my grandfather operated. If we’d been on any other surface, that accident could have been life-altering!

My grandparents are all gone now, and honestly, I most often reflect on times spent with my grandmothers. They were strong, loving women, and I know I owe much of my dedication to family to the examples they set while I was growing up. But my grandfathers played important roles as well.

Dad’s father died when I was in the third grade, so my memories of him are limited. I remember the awful phone call when he passed and attending his funeral. I suspect it was my first and I’ve never forgotten it. Mom’s father was part of my life for many more years. Grandpa Les lived long enough to meet our son. I only wish they’d had more than a few years together.

Last week, I decided to set out a few fall decorations around the house, something I hadn’t bothered to do over the past few years. As I dug through the tub of decorations, my hand fell upon a frame. My breath caught as I turned it over, and my eyes read my grandfather’s poem. How could I have forgotten about this?

I’d never known Grandpa to be a writer. An avid golfer, yes, but never a writer. It wasn’t until years after he was gone and Mom gave us framed copies of a poem he’d written that I realized there were facets to the man I’d never known. I guess I’m not the only writer in the family!
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Can you picture a crisp autumn day, feel the tease of a soft breeze on your face, and smell the leaves as you read my grandfather’s words? I wish I knew when he wrote this. Was he a young man, perhaps in school, or sitting on the very same front porch that would become the setting for so many of my memories? I’ll never know for sure.

I placed Grandpa’s poem in the front bay window, then turned to set a ceramic pumpkin on the hope chest behind me. My mind flooded with the story behind this very special piece of furniture. Here again was another reminder of Grandpa.
​ 

Grandpa Les gave this hope chest to my grandmother as a gift. I think Grandma told me he gave it to her for her high school graduation, and if I'm remembering it right, nearly one hundred years have passed since Grandma graduated. By the time I discovered this chest, it had been relegated to their basement, cast-off and nearly forgotten.

So how did it end up in my living room?

Labor Day weekend festivities for our family always include an annual golf tournament back in our hometown. One year, when I was in college, I ran over to my grandparent’s house to see Grandma. Most everyone else was at the course, either playing or watching golf, but I don’t ever remember Grandma going out there. I couldn’t find her that day when I stopped by (I think she’d gone to visit a neighbor). I checked all over the house for her, even going down to the basement. I can still picture that crumbly old basement. One had to be careful on the stairs, and it had a smell all its own.

That particular day, for some reason, I noticed an old chest in the corner. I’d never paid any attention to it in the past, although it had probably been down there since before I was born. I was living in an apartment at the time, and likely looking to furnish it. The old chest was dark in color, nearly black, and the beautiful carvings on the front were barely discernible. But I suspected it had been beautiful before age had taken its toll.

​Did I dare ask Grandma or Grandpa if I could have the chest? I was excited at the prospect of trying to refinish it but nervous to ask. I still remember Grandma’s shocked face when I asked her later that evening. She couldn’t understand why in the world I wanted that old piece of junk. But with her blessing, my then-boyfriend (now husband) helped me wrestle it out of that old basement and take it over to his mom’s house where we’d undertake our first-ever refinishing job.

This is one piece of furniture I plan to keep forever. My grandfather could never have guessed where it would end up a century after he gave it to his young girlfriend.
​
The hope chest is more than just a pretty piece, sitting in our living room. It contains countless treasures from my first fifty years on this earth. There are also items I saved while cleaning out my grandparent's things when they transitioned out of their homes. I need only to open the top to see a dizzying array of history. 

​

• the manila envelope contains a portion of our family tree, the typewritten pages fading now with age
• the threadbare blanket was mine as a child, and I distinctly remember pulling it out of the garbage more than once (Mom thought I’d outgrown it)
• a box of War Ration Books bearing names of my father’s family, the one on top listing his oldest brother, the uncle I never knew because he was killed in a military accident when my own father was still a child
• a memorial book from my great-grandmother’s funeral dated 1946 is inside the small, thin box
• high school graduation pictures of myself and my husband, along with my graduation gown
• a beautiful newborn outfit my mother splurged on when our first daughter was born, along with a bib we placed on our son at his baptism

There is no order to the jumble of precious items in my hope chest. The items listed above are only the top couple of layers. I know more treasures lie beneath, like my own wedding dress as well as my mother’s. Some day, I’ll sit down and go through it all again, perhaps with my own kids. Sometimes touching special objects gives us the power to remember things long forgotten, and remember those that have come before us, without whom we wouldn’t exist. I’m hoping the cassette tape of a grade school interview I did of my Grandpa Les is in there somewhere.

Often we look around and despair over the clutter and junk that accumulates as we live our lives. We toss, we recycle, and we donate, all in an effort to keep peace and harmony in our own homes. But I encourage you to keep the most precious of items, corral them in one special place, and give yourself the gift of memories.

We all have a history. Don’t be too quick to throw it all away. I’m so thankful Grandma’s hope chest never ended up in a pile on the curb during clean-up week. What a waste that would have been!   Kim

I love that tiny spark I feel deep inside when I’m looking forward to something special. It may be as simple yet powerful as keeping an eye on the clock during a slow Friday afternoon at work while I look forward to a fun evening out with friends. Or waiting for one of our kids to pull into the driveway, home for a weekend visit.

Whether we are waiting for the arrival of a momentous occasion or we’re holding our breath as we wait for something slithery to peek around the corner in that scary movie we’re watching, the thrill of anticipation gives spice to our days.
​

Have you noticed how some people don’t like to wait for anything? We’ve all seen the impatient driver speed through a red light or heard the blare of their horn, communicating their frustration when the world isn’t moving fast enough for them. Their bad mood can quickly spread to those around them, and even if their crappy driving doesn’t cause an accident, it's sure to steal the sense of calm you were likely enjoying a moment earlier.

What if we dial things back a click or two, take a deep breath, and remind ourselves that there are certain things in life worth waiting for, things that shouldn’t be rushed?

It's rare these days to see a groom’s face light up when he sees his bride for the first time on their wedding day, walking down the aisle toward him at the start of the ceremony. Usually, they’ve already spent hours together, getting wedding photos out of the way beforehand because no one likes to wait to do pictures later. We even caved to this practice thirty years ago, but I fear some of the potential romance of the day is lost.

And what is with this trend for new parents to hold “gender reveal” parties? I may be in the minority on this one, but I think one of the greatest reveals in life is when your own child is born and, after nine long months of waiting, you finally find out whether you will be raising either a daughter or a son. “But Mom, it’s so much more practical to know what you’re having so you can get the right color clothes and set up the nursery in advance,” my kids have argued with me. No, none of them are parents yet, but they already have strong opinions on the topic.

Do you remember when we used to have to wait a week in between episodes of our favorite television shows? There used to be that one night each week when you looked forward to the TV line-up. That’s been replaced by things like Netflix and other streaming devices. Now you can binge-watch your latest and greatest favorites all in one weekend, and the annoyance of commercials is nearly a thing of the past. I’m as guilty of this as the next person, but sometimes I wonder if this nearly insatiable desire for more, for bigger, for ever more edgier topics and higher shock value, all in the name of entertainment, is having serious drawbacks.

Hours of binging on episode after episode of easily consumable entertainment will usually leave me feeling depleted, lethargic, and even guilty because I worry it was all a huge waste of my time.

Do you binge on your favorite shows and then regret it later? Is there a better way?

I know I’m not the only one that prefers to read a book before I watch a movie based on the same story. Why is this? I suspect it’s because allowing our imaginations to turn the words on paper into our own  personal interpretations of the characters, the dilemmas they face and even their surroundings can be so much more fulfilling than the condensed version the “experts” will create out of the author’s words. Our imaginations are boundless, but the resources of the movie producers—not so much.

I love when I get drawn into a book series, how an author carefully constructs the storylines of each book, pulling me through as she or he builds anticipation. Some questions will be answered as we go, giving us a sense of accomplishment, but we are kept guessing about other open plot lines. I trust that the author has every intention of weaving in the answers eventually, and I enjoy the sweet anticipation as I read my way through the series.

As an author, I enjoy the fun challenge of trying to find this balance. Most readers love the slow build, but a few get impatient and frustrated. They want answers now. What is it they say about writing something everyone will like? You guessed it—if you try to write something that will appeal to everyone, it’ll likely appeal to no one.

We all enjoy different rhythms and tempos in life, and there is nothing wrong with that. I just wanted to pop in here to remind us all (me included) that there is value in slowing down a bit, in giving ourselves the gift of something to look forward to as we navigate life.

We lose so much if we rush towards the punch line. In a world where it can feel like all we do is hurry from one thing to the next, we need to make room for a measure of patience.
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Have you noticed that the time leading up to a big trip you’ll be taking is often just as much fun as the trip itself? Having something to look forward to can brighten our days well in advance of our departure date.

Some of you may remember the iconic Heinz ketchup commercial: the tilted glass bottle, the thick, red condiment slowly inching its way downward, all to a familiar little ditty about “anticipation” and “making me wait.”

So many things in life are more fun if you give them time to develop:

• an infatuation into a love affair,
• a tomato plant in your garden into a jar of homemade salsa,
• the development of your own holiday traditions,
• time between reunions to heighten the anticipation of once again seeing family or old friends.

Even something as simple as a pot of chili, simmering on the stove on a cold autumn day, will be so much tastier if you let it bubble for a while.

Don’t rob yourself of a good thing by demanding all the answers too soon. Let things build. Give yourself the gift of that little thrill. As Alfred Hitchcock once said, "there is no terror in the bang, just in the anticipation of it." Brilliant!

We’d all benefit from slowing down the pace of this insane rush through our own lives. I suspect that when each of us reaches the end of our days, we’ll regret getting there so quickly.

​Take a deep breath and enjoy the ride.    Kim