I'm ready to say good-bye to 2016. So much was lost.
Here's Patti on a happier day... her book launch party. I've always loved this little video:
The next post were the sad words of a daughter who lost her mother. No! Churn. I always
envisioned a scene from “The Notebook” when Bob Staffanson showed the
love of his life, Frankie, who he lost this month, the beautiful pages of his memoir WITNESS TO SPIRIT filled with photos of their impressive life together. Here's a recent interview where he brilliantly said this: “Standing Rock issue is a tip of the iceberg. The American Indian Institute, of which I am emeritus President, is working on the iceberg.” Here's a photo I sent for the article—Bob and Frankie as she adjusts the bow tie of Boston Pop's Arthur Fiedler. Such a grace-filled and beautiful lady. Behind every great man...
Then the worst words I've ever heard. “Quality of Life.” Noooooo. Everything got darker this fall as my 10-year-old chocolate lab became frail and began to suffer. The more we tried to help, the worse he got. In the middle of caring for “Book” his buddy, our 11-year-old black lab, lost the use of his legs. Oh those dreaded words “Quality of Life.” Twice in a matter of weeks. Part of me believes each of them couldn't handle the other being sick, like an old, loving couple.
Still together... somewhere.
My “Book” was a reader from day one!
He made me happy. Constantly.
So, this month I dove into work and tried not to think about the beautiful energy no longer in the office with me. I found a soundtrack which made me both happy and sad in alternating bursts. I was able to bring a number of Imprint books to fruition alongside our next trio of novels: January's THE WRONG KIND OF INDIAN, February's THE MERMAIDS OF LAKE MICHIGAN and April's THE PROMISE OF PIERSON ORCHARD. Woot.
