As we move closer to a Trump dictatorship, I wonder who voted this guy in…and why? His IQ is below average, his compassion for his fellow Americans is severely lacking and his past business ventures have produced multiple failures. Yet over fifty percent of the population thought he would be a good leader. Did they forget his previous administration? Did they forget that many law enforcement personnel were injured (or died) because he incited the January 6th riots? Did they forget that only the rich will benefit from his presidency? (perhaps it is the rich who voted for him, but that doesn’t explain the other 49% who voted for their own destruction).

Let the sunshine in

For my sanity, I thought it might be best to just sit back and try to ignore what’s going on, but that’s what everyone did in Hitler’s Germany and pretty soon it was too late to raise their voice. I may get targeted for sharing my thoughts against this administration, but I don’t care. We have to speak out and we have to speak loudly or we will be crushed by Trump and Musk (who we did not vote for and should not be accessing our records). All they care about is their own wealth and the support of a few chosen billionaires–the rest of us don’t matter to them.

But the 50% of Americans who voted against this oligarchy matter to me, and I will do everything I can to raise my voice against this dictatorship that is rising so quickly. Sadly, we don’t even have a Supreme Court that will challenge him, which is even more disheartening. They should be following the rule of law, not political partisanship. It’s all about politics now–none of it is about honesty or doing the right thing, but I choose to continue to do the right thing.

I hope all of those who voted for Trump hoping he would lower the price of eggs will realize there is more to life than decreasing your grocery bill. The truth is, if he manages to get his tariffs implemented, no one will be able to afford groceries. So easy for these billionaires to inflict these rules upon us when money means so little to them. All Trump cares about is punishing his adversaries, but we need to be aware that all of us in the middle class and below will pay the price for his vindictive agenda.

I hope we will not just sit back and let him bully us into submission. I, for one, will be fighting him all the way. I hope everyone else will lift their voices and demand our government DO THE RIGHT THING and hold Trump accountable.

We have to take a stand before it’s too late.

I have to admit it’s been a while since I was an active participant in the dating pool. Between Covid and my aversion to hanging out in bars, the only option for the past few years has been online dating sites. I’ve read a lot of profiles and occasionally took the bait and met someone for coffee. When I say ‘bait’, I mean their pictures on the website. Hey guys, does it really make sense to post a picture from 1999 when you clearly no longer resemble those photos?

But that’s not always the case. Some men have been honest with their pictures and although I never felt enough of a spark to pursue a relationship, I went on an occasional date and made a few good friends over the years. But honestly, it wasn’t worth continuing to pay a monthly fee to meet these guys. So, I finally closed my account and walked away.

Then the emails started. The site said I had messages. I had suspended my account, but apparently, they don’t let the guys know I am not an active member. So, the messages accumulated—not many but enough to pique my curiosity. I began to wonder if maybe I was missing the love of my life.  So, I looked at my options for rejoining.

It turns out I could join for one week for $10. Would my curiosity cause me to waste both my time and my money? I know, I know. It’s only $10. I hate throwing money away, but what if ‘the one’ was trying to connect with me. I pulled out my Visa card and made the investment and there he was—My Ten Dollar Guy.

As he says, ‘It’s Official’, we are a couple. We have been together for almost three months now and I couldn’t be happier that I spent that $10.  He was worth every penny…and so much more.

 

September 5, 2024 will be the last reunion for the Class of 1969.  We hope you will all be able to attend as we celebrate an informal afternoon at the Edmonds Yacht Club. Hopefully, the weather will cooperate and we’ll have a beautiful day near the beach with appetizers, spirits and old friends (and I mean that literally as we are all in our 70’s now).

If you are interested in attending, please complete the attached form and mail with your check or money order made out to Nathan Hale Class of 1969. Send  to Jane Grinnell at the address shown on the form.

Registration form

For those coming from out of town, the Edmonds Harbor Inn/Best Western is within walking distance of the venue. It is a nice hotel with free breakfast, but a bit pricey. They have blocked off a group of rooms available until sold out or August 20, whichever is sooner. Here is our personal discounted link:

Edmonds Harbour Inn link

(Disregard the rates–they will be discounted. Click on the room you want, then on the right under the picture of the hotel, click “Edit Stay”, then choose the dates you want and click “update”. The discounted rates will appear as shown on rate sheet below. DO NOT SELECT AAA OR AARP DISCOUNT AS THOSE RATES ARE HIGHER THAN OUR NEGOTIATED RATES) Here are the discounted rates:

Edmonds Harbor Inn Rates

If you’re not opposed to driving 4 or 5 miles, Lynnwood has a couple of nice hotels at a more reasonable cost. Here are the links:

Courtyard by Marriott – marriott link

HIlton Garden Inn – Hilton link

The planning committee is retiring after this reunion, so I hope you will join us for our final hurrah!

Jacquie May Miller

(feel free to reach out to Melody, Jane or me with questions)

Melody Leaf Taylor (425) 337-1429 melodyann10@hotmail.com
Jane Grinnell (206) 713-3212 jane.grinnell@gmail.com                                                          Jacquie May Miller (206) 604-3340 jacquie.miller7@gmail.com

 

Lately I’ve been obsessed with my writer’s journey. I had somehow assumed that if a publisher offered me a contract, I would sell a lot of books and maybe even become a best-selling author. Despite great reviews, I’ve only sold about 300 books. Luckily, I’m not depending on royalties to pay the rent. I was feeling pretty low with my lack of success, then I realized that book sales are not necessarily the measure of success—it is all about the journey these books have provided in the past two years.

Of course, I’d like to be a best-selling author, but maybe this excursion into a new world was about something else. Perhaps it was about the friends I’ve made along the way, or the confidence I’ve gained from speaking in front of audiences. Or maybe it was just about digging into my heart for a story that connected with a few people out there. Maybe I’ve made a difference in someone’s life, but I know for a fact that I’ve made a difference in my own life.

Here are a few things I found on this journey:

• Support from my critique group who helped me write and re-write both books.
• An appreciation of the writers and poets who let me share my work at Open Mic events and encouraged me along the way.
• A group of new friends through my publisher who added their books to my reading list and brought me new ideas and a sense of community.
• A foray into an arts and crafts fair this summer with the women who featured me in their book club.
• A sense of accomplishment. I say I ONLY sold 300 books, but I should remove the ONLY—I sold 300 books! (and the buyers were not all friends and relatives).

Sadly, I have always equated success with dollars and cents and this journey taught me that there is more to success than money. Don’t get me wrong, I would not turn down a movie deal or a chance to sell a million copies of my books, but sometimes we need to appreciate what we have rather than looking for some future pot of gold.

So instead of obsessing over book sales, I am letting it go. I love all the love I have gotten since writing the books and if that turns into sales, I am grateful! But even if it doesn’t, I am grateful for this journey. It has been quite a ride so far…

Almost half my life ago—thirty-five years to be exact—my best friend and I parted ways. We were going in different directions, and it made sense to travel solo on our opposing journeys. But what made sense on paper, felt so very painful inside my heart. Today I found out I was not the only one hurting.

We met when we were eighteen-year-old freshmen at the University of Washington seeking community in our sorority, Alpha Delta Pi. She had traveled across the state, leaving her home and four siblings behind. If anyone needed a surrogate family to fill that void, it was my friend, and my parents were happy to take on that role. One of my fondest memories was sharing my dad at a ‘Daddy & Me’ luncheon (the picture is us at age eighteen) and from that point forward, we became fast friends—a friendship that lasted seventeen years.

There are many reasons the friendship had to end back in 1988, but today all those reasons melted away as we reconnected over lunch for the first time in thirty-five years. The hugs and tears made me wonder why we waited so long, but perhaps there was never a more perfect time to meld our hearts than today.

Time has a way of moving forward even when we cannot. I can never retrieve those years, but I am so glad we have cleared a path to a new friendship. I won’t forget this day and I promise I won’t wait another thirty-five years for our next lunch.

If you’re waiting for an old friend to make the first move to heal a broken relationship, I urge you to make that call. Don’t let another day and another day and another day turn into thirty-five years. I promise you will not be sorry.

As I drove away today, it was only fitting that my Spotify chose an old song that said it all: Funny How Time Slips Away…

As I sit in silence wondering when the internet will be reconnected so I can watch TV or listen to music, I realize how lucky we are to live in a world full of sights and sounds stimulating our minds. Or are we? Maybe we’d be more prone to use our imaginations if the images were not plastered on the TV. As a kid, I conjured up all sorts of scenarios when reading books, but now we all succumb the images chosen by the film makers and honestly, they do not always match the vision I held while reading a book.

I have no expectation of my books being made into movies (not that I’d turn down an offer), but I can only imagine that there are as many versions of my characters as there are readers. We all see the world differently and as hard as I try to describe people and scenes, there will always be room for interpretation. That being said, if you know a movie studio looking for an emotional family drama (The Price of Secrets) or a mystery on a cruise ship (Do You Take This Man?), please give them my number.

But back to this silence thing. The lack of sounds in my home today (even the dog is sleeping) makes me realize the fear I feel as I lose my hearing. Quiet time can be refreshing for a short time, but I would not want a steady diet of this. Not only do I want to see the world, but I want to hear it in all it’s loud, sometimes obnoxious tones. I want to hear the dog barking, the horns honking and the person yelling obscenities in traffic. Because if I can hear those sounds, I’m assured of hearing the sound of a trickling brook or rushing river, rain on the roof, a bird chirping in my garden, the next great piece of music or the precious words of love and affirmation from friends and family.

Technology has given me the chance to tweak my hearing, but if I say “What?” one time too many, please know that I wish I did not have to ask. I only hope that these aids to my hearing will get me through to the end. There is so much more I want to hear.

Looks like the sounds of silence are about to end. The cable and internet just came back on.  As much as I enjoyed a few hours of silence today, I’m ready to end this all too quiet morning.  I’m off to an Open Mic at Third Place Books (6:30 in Lake Forest Park) to listen to local Poets and Authors–including me! 😊

Changes in Latitude reminds me of trips to Whistler where we would turn up the volume to this song as we reached the outskirts of our favorite vacation destination. The change in latitude never ceased to change my attitude and although Brittney was not the biggest fan of Jimmy Buffett, she probably agreed that we were all happier when Jimmy sang us into our vacation spot.

To be honest, my favorite Buffett song is Come Monday, but as I write this on a Monday it hurts like hell to know he won’t be making any more music or share his unique way with words on this Monday. Damn him! He said, “Come Monday, it’ll be alright”, but it is not alright. He was only seventy-six and as I approach that milestone (only five years behind him), I can’t help wondering where the time went.

Boat Drinks

I guess I must have known we were coming to the end of an era when I suddenly felt the urge to listen to these tunes again. As we grow older (but not up) his words resonate more than ever. I can’t help but be happy when I listen to his songs, but today I am so, so sad that we lost this wonderful human. He touched a lot of lives with his music and I, for one, will miss him more than I can express here.

Goodbye, Jimmy

No, I’m not getting married, but a character in my next novel just might be taking the plunge. Did I say plunge? The marriage is set to take place on a cruise ship heading to Mexico, but will someone “fall” (or be pushed) overboard in the wake of these nuptials? Luckily, you’ll soon be able to find the answers to these questions when my second book is published in 2023.

Yes, it’s true! My second book, titled Do You Take This Man?, has been accepted by my publisher, The Wild Rose Press. While my last book may have had an element of mystery, there were no dead or missing bodies. I guess if you write long enough, the imagination conjures up a myriad of mishaps, mystery and mayhem—all of which are found in Do You Take This Man?. The darker theme garnered me a place in my publisher’s Crimson Rose line of mysteries and thrillers.

For those of you who know me, you are well aware that I never thought I would write a complete novel, much less get it published. But my dream came true with the release of The Price of Secrets (in the Champagne Rose line) in 2021and now the dream continues.

So, do you have a dream? I urge you to follow that dream whatever it may be (assuming it’s legal, of course). I can’t stress enough how satisfying it has been to take a journey into an unknown world—a world I have jumped into with both feet. Even if publication had eluded me, I wouldn’t trade the experience of working with other writers—sharing my words as I learned from theirs and proudly joining the writing community both in person (finally) and online.

Life really is about the journey. The destination keeps changing as we reach each milestone, so just keep traveling, living your dream and learning along way.

P.S. Just a heads up. The second book is a sequel to The Price of Secrets, so if you haven’t read the first, please visit my website and click on the Amazon link where you can read the first few chapters. I would love to share my words with more of you so I will give away a copy of The Price of Secrets to the first two people who comment on my blog at www.jmaydaze.com. Make sure you give me your email or Facebook information so I can contact you privately to arrange to send you the book. Or  contact me through Facebook at Jacquie May Miller.

When the summons for Jury Duty arrived in my mailbox, my first thought was “Why me?” I know I’m retired, but I wasn’t excited about getting up at the crack of dawn to sit in a room waiting for a trial. Then, I realized this was an opportunity.

My second book (not yet published but I’m hopeful) sends one of my characters to trial, so what better way to make that scene authentic than to experience a trial from the inside. I was actually excited when I became juror #11 and was on my way to deciding the fate of the accused. All I can say is, be careful what you wish for. Did I really want to be on a trial where the defendant was accused of child abuse?

Fortunately, my position in the jury box was not set in stone. The attorneys had a few questions and while I passed the first question regarding my previous jury experience on a domestic abuse case, I did not answer the next question to the satisfaction of the judge or one of the attorneys. The truth is, I don’t believe in spanking a child, much less using belts or wooden spoons and it was sickening to hear potential jurors endorse these forms of punishment. Sadly, those jurors were not excused, but I think I know why the prosecutor let them stay. I’m guessing the abuse in this case went far beyond a belt or a wooden spoon.

I was in the courtroom long enough to hear the list of witnesses—doctors, nurses and social workers at Children’s Hospital. Perhaps they were there to tell us the thirteen-year-old girl had nothing more than a scratch, but my gut told me this was not the case. Regardless of the reason for their presence on the witness list, the fact that the trial was expected to last five to seven days, told me this was a pretty severe case of abuse. But, because of my views on physical punishment of a child, I was excused, and I will never know the outcome of this trial.

I left with tears in my eyes. I only hope some of those jurors will be an advocate for the little girl. I understand that as a parent, you need to discipline your child, but what can a child possibly learn by being hit? Maybe they will not repeat their behavior out of fear, but maybe they will just learn that it is okay to hit someone who behaves badly or disagrees with you.

Listening to jurors say, “spare the rod and you spoil the child”, made me sick. I gave my kid ‘time outs’ as a small child and took away privileges as a teenager. She might be a tad bit spoiled, but at least she is not traumatized by the fear of getting hit. No child deserves physical harm to learn a lesson.

And speaking of lessons, I know I learned mine. Be careful what you wish for.

 

P.S. I also learned how to make the courtroom scene in my next book believable.  It’s a sequel to my first novel, The Price of Secrets, which you can find on Amazon or Barnes & Noble. Check it out  so you’ll be ready for book two.

Fifteen years ago, my world operated out of my left brain—the side that deals with the facts and numbers and organizational skills I needed to run my business—but the right side of my brain was screaming at me to let some creative energy flow. As a kid, I fancied myself a decent writer, so I decided to nurture that creative voice with a class at the local community college. The class I chose was “The Art of Fine Writing” taught by a local author, Bruce Taylor.

Bruce’s Shadow

To say Bruce changed my life is an understatement. He taught me how to write, what to write, and most importantly, why we write (and why we may have been programmed to believe we couldn’t write). Bruce told me I could open that door and soon the words started jumping out of my brain and onto the page. Each exercise brought out more and one day Bruce’s prompt led me to create a character who turned out to be a major force in my first novel. A novel! I never thought I would actually write a novel, much less get it published, but Bruce gave me the confidence to move forward. Without that class and an unlikely hero named Bruce Taylor, my life would have followed a very different and much less satisfying path.

We never know who may walk into our lives and take our journey in a different direction. Have you ever wondered if you may be that person in someone else’s life? Everyone we meet touches our lives in some way either for a moment or for a lifetime. Maybe I am that person for someone as Bruce was for me.

There were many steps along the way in my writing journey, but I took that first step with Bruce. So, because of him, I am now an author—a dream come true. I wish I could tell him, but I can’t because…

In memory

Bruce Taylor died last week.  And although I thanked him for teaching me “The Art of Fine Writing”, I wish I had gone a step further and told him what a profound effect he had on my life. I thought I had all the time in the world to let him know. The truth is, we only have today, and we need to tell the people in our lives what they mean to us. I wish I had told Bruce.

Rest in peace, Bruce Taylor. You made a difference in many lives and I will be forever grateful that I met you in my quest to learn “The Art of Fine Writing”.