Pear Blossoms

I've been doing a lot of walking lately. Everywhere there are pear blossoms. I have one question. What do they smell like to you? (I already know what my sister, Shauna, would say!)

Katie Henderson's Senior Recital

Look who's finished with school. Katie performed her senior recital this weekend in Logan. She was beautiful, the music sublime and the location perfect for an evening of wonder and awe.

She chose the Episcopal church for her venue which was perfect acoustically, especially for the 17 minute unaccompanied Bach. Why don't Mormons get to gaze at stain glass windows all through church? A church could be true AND beautiful.

Here is the view from the balcony.

Here is Katie in action in a time elapsed shot.

Of course the real show started after the recital. We brought Kat with us from Orem and the two of them jammed while the little ones shook their booties. (Marco was slightly distraught that he forgot his drum and started banging on anything he could find.)

CONGRATULATIONS, TO KATIE AND SAM. (Sam is also graduating.) Now they are finished with school, they are packing their bags and heading to Tennessee for the summer. I talked to Katie yesterday and she told me that in stead of buying a cap-and-gown and attending convocation, the happy couple opted for a matching set of USU sweat suits and Aggie blue ice cream.

Good luck in the deep south of Knoxville. Hopefully, Katie will find loads of Bluegrass and Old-time fiddling to sit in on while she is there.

No news is GOOD news.

I know, I know -- it's been weeks since a post. But I am pleased to report that no news is good news. We have been lounging in sunny Vegas and outside enjoying spring. Well, nearly spring. Would you believe we had SNOW this week. A sudden blizzard blew threw town yesterday. Isn't it nearly MAY?

I have been thinking on my long morning walks that it is time for a party. June is awfully warm here in Utah and my folks have that nice little place in the mountains of Colorado. Who's up for a road trip? I think I will be at the cabin for a couple of weeks in June and I want to know who wants to pop on in while I'm there. Bring the kids -- we have plenty of room. (Erin, I would even let you bring a mother in law. Maybe she'd get eaten bear. Think about it.)

So email me at andipitcher@aol.com if you think you want to go fishing with us. Here's a link to last years summer's Moms-Gone-Wild tour threw Colorado with Whitney.

WHO'S IN?

Family Home Evening Ideas for Children

Family Home Evening for Dummies

I was talking to Kirsten a little while ago and the idea of FHE came up. We talked about how scriptures are a little over a three year old's comprehensions and many of the "Ideas for FHE" books resemble a different church than she and I might attend. So, how do you teach little people gospel ideas with out going nuts because of the "manual"?





This is what we do ...



First, I get a kid to go ring the doorbell profusely. This is the sign that FHE is ready to start. I try to use this when it is time to have family prayer too. It's a good way to get little kids excited just about ANYTHING. Have them ring the door bell - like a real grown up - and they will be totally into it.

Next, we start with the standard song and prayer. The core of FHE is always stories. We have a big box of all the standard church graphics of stories from the scriptures and gospel ideas. You know the art I am talking about. It's not perfect, but usually not offensive. (Sorry, I am a bit of a snob when it comes to "church" art. If Marsha Ellis would paint all of the stories of the scriptures I would buy them all and teach my kids with those!)

Marco lets each kid pick out 2 or 3 (it always ends up being 7 or 8) of their favorite pictures. Warning: It is decidedly more difficult to find the girl pictures, but they are there and Zina is always good at digging until she finds them.

Then we just sit around and tell stories. I know it's not a novel idea, but it works. We as parents get to decide if we mention whether the "good guy" chopped all the arms off of the "hungry guys" -- uh, I mean, "bad guys". In our story to our three year old, they merely had a nice talk about stealing instead of just asking for some sheep. (My pet-peeve of my mission -- to this day -- is the chapter in the Missionary Guide on Charity. The MORE effective example of charity in this book was the story about chopping off arms. What was that all about? All of the teachings of Jesus and they pick the worse story in BOM. The story about starving peasants that were just trying to feed their families. Maybe the king was greedy and just didn't want to share. Did you ever think about that? But I digress ...)

I also like to do a game of "Go Find" using random things around the house as a "Just like the gospel" scavenger hunt. "Go find" something in the house that is just like the star that the wise men followed. This is a really good exercise to build talk writing skills in the future.

Last week one of our stories was about Joseph and Potiphar's wife. He went to jail and used a neat trick of interpreting the dreams of Pharaoh as his ticket out of there.

"Go find something in our house that is just like Joseph's Coat of Many Colors."

Next Xanny "went to jail" and had to come up with a good trick to get him out of there. Did you know he can whistle? It's a talent.
Zina's trick for getting out of jail is the BEST. She can touch her tongue to her nose. It's genetic, she inherited this skill from my mother.

Then we just end with ... well, another 7 stories. Works every time.

In the name of Jesus Christ, AMEN.

My friend, Cindy, has reminded me that I am behind in my blogging. (Pressure, pressure!) Here's to catching up. I called my friend Carolyn last week to see if I could introduce her to a couple of friends. How do I describe Carolyn? First I would say she is her own Person. After a divorce she legally changed her name to Carolyn Person to declare she belonged to no man -- she was her own person.

My life seems to be full of independently thinking women, so I decided that a couple of us should get together. Cindy and Emily joined me for tea and dark chocolate fudge at Carolyn's as we marveled at her house, handy-work and stories. I felt like we were somewhere in between being sister missionaries and small children visiting our dangerous grandmother. Either way, it was great to get a preview of what lies in store for a couple of my most talented girlfriends.

Carolyn is an amazing fabric artist. (One day I will introduce Carolyn to Ginny, the other over the top knitter friend of mine.) Below is a wall hanging she said she whipped out between husbands. It is portraits of all of the wives of Henry VIII with a one word description of their demises. (BTW - I poached these two pictures off of Cindy's blog. Thanks.)
"Divorced, Beheaded, Died, Divorced, Beheaded, Survived." Carolyn's daughter-in-law, Marsha, is a friend of mine and told me she hung this as decoration at Marsha's wedding as a cheery wedding decoration. Welcome to the family?

As you can see, she is quite the collector. Her house should be a museum of menageries. There is everything from stuffed lizards to Tibetan mandalas to spears of the Masai. The effect is hypnotic. Every corner is carefully packed with a dozen surprises.



Here is Emily contemplating all of the treasures.


Emily art directed this shot of Cindy taken via double mirrors. (That's not a mirror image? Strange.)


This is a shot of a poster advertising "Brigham Young: the psychedelic years" Maybe this most closely resembles what is floating around inside Carolyn's brain. What ever is in there, it is sure beautiful and was a lovely place to visit. Thank you, Carolyn and we will be back for more fudge and stories soon!

Art Chase

I spent last Friday in downtown Provo for their gallery stroll and art chase. The streets were full of people who crawled out of their winter caves to enjoy art and street performers. The evening that tempted us all with the feel of spring. (We can dare to dream winter will end some day before July.)

It was so fun to bump into people I haven't seen in a long while. In attendance were the Mark and Elizabeth Englands ...

Chris Foster on guitar ...
Ino of Finland and her sister Sada ...

Baby Ocean :) ...
Jenelle Wride, sister-in-law to my sister...

Kristen who used to live with Marsha and Jeff the dentist ...

Assorted hipsters and friends of Cindy ...(Ruel, Damien, Mike Kelly's giant painting.)


One of my favorite stops on the Art Chase was the Coal Umbrella Vintage Boutiques and Vinyl.

These nice people run the joint and they have one of my favorite pieces of art in town. This is a giant wall canvas of a boxer and a tiger. It's probably 8 feet by 12 feet and cover the wall over the stairs. If you haven't been in, be sure to head down to 2nd N and University to check it out.



Random Gallery Stroll participants enjoy some sweet paintings and roasted marshmallows. The city had gas open fires set up with marshmallows and sticks at each of the galleries. What? Did you think they would serve wine and cheese? We're Mormons!




The whole evening was rather festive. I bet you all the saxophone player's tips that we see YOU at the next Art Chase.

Today is Picture Day

Somehow I got roped into taking ALL the school pictures for my kidlette's preschool. (How often do you get the chance to say, "Today I shot 97 children at a preschool." Sorry.)

All I can say is you never know before snapping the picture, which kid is photogenic and which one is going to look like a deer in the headlights.
Case in point ... Above we have instant charisma and charm. Below is definite DDITH (a dear-deer-in-the-headlights).

It is the same thing every time I have a random photo moment with people everywhere. I always think, "Oh, he's going to be great to take pictures of!" and then I look at the back of the camera and find myself double checking my camera settings. Nope, it ain't the camera!

Some people have just got it ...

... and others have to work at it a little harder.

(Sorry, Zina. Of course it would be the photographer's kid that has a bad picture day.)

Words Women Use

OK, I'm back to normal ... mostly. The highlite of the weekend was my Semi-Annual Priesthood Session Party for Women Only. Fine food, friends and gossip is always a welcome spot of sunshine in an otherwise gray spring thus far. Except the part where I was mysteriously deathly ill and had to send some of my party guests to the pharmacy to pick-up a remedy that left me too sleepy to bid farewell to my friends. (Does anyone know anything about gall bladders?) I tip-toed upstairs around midnight and fell asleep before most had gone home. The next day I called Emily to see what time the rest had made it home.

Are you ready for this? THEY LEFT AROUND 5:30 AM. Zendina told me she watched the sun rise on her way home to SLC, her little newborn asleep in the back seat. She's a mother with a 7 week old baby -- she doesn't sleep anyway so why not enjoy the middle of the night with some friends, right?

I think we could say the party was a success even though the hostess passed out early! We missed Cindy but she sent me the following this morning and I think it is the perfect bit to go with any girl party.

WORDS WOMEN USE

1. Fine : This is the word women use to end an argument when they are

right and you need to shut up.

2. Five Minutes : If she is getting dressed, this means a half an hour.

Five minutes is only five minutes if you have just been given five more

minutes to watch the game before helping around the house.

3. Nothing : This is the calm before the storm. This means something,

and you should be on your toes. Arguments that begin with nothing

usually end in fine .

4. Go Ahead : This is a dare, not permission. Don't Do It!

5. Loud Sigh : This is actually a word, but is a nonverbal statement

often misunderstood by men. A loud sigh means she thinks you are an

idiot and wonders why she is wasting her time standing here and arguing

with you about nothing. (Refer back to #3 for the meaning of nothing.)

6. That's Okay : This is one of the most dangerous statements a woman

can make to a man. That's okay means she wants to think long and hard

before deciding how and when you will pay for your mistake.

7. Thanks : A woman is thanking you, do not question, or Faint. Just say

you're welcome.

8 . Whatever : Is a woman's way of saying F@!K YOU!

9. Don't worry about it, I got it : Another dangerous statement, meaning

this is something that a woman has told a man to do several times, but

is now doing it herself.. This will later result in a man asking 'What's

wrong?' For the woman's response refer to #3.

I'm in a book club ...Well, it isn't THIS kind of book club.

I am having a hard time tracking down the real book for my real book club so I propose a subsutute read for this month. Meet Jack Sawyer, a Dad In Disguise!

Dad In Disguise
by Kate Little

A medical mistake…

Thanks to his desire to leave behind a genetic legacy—and thanks to a beauty named Rachel Reilly -— Jack Sawyer now had a son. He knew he had no right to play daddy, but he was determined to make sure this woman, whom he had never met, was a loving parent.

led to the family he'd always wanted!

Rachel was unaware that Jack was the sperm-bank donor who had fathered her baby. She only knew that her reaction to the strikingly handsome man who had suddenly appeared in her life was unfamiliar…and undeniable. But what would she do when she learned that attraction wasn't the half of what had brought them together?

You just wait, this is going to be a smash hit movie next by year. Who would you cast? Anne Hathaway and Mathew McWhat'sHisName? How about the Indie version with Kate Winslet and John Malkovich? Woody Allen's take with Diane Keaton and Harvey Keitel? The comedy version will star Drew Barrymore as the reformed lap-dancer and Adam Sandler as a sperm donating rabbi. Wes Anderson's hit will feature Adrien Brody and Owen Wilson, identical twins who were the result of this random act at a sperm bank. Anjelica Houston will play their mother. Sofia Coppola -- her's will be a period piece about the 90's Madonna and her real sperm donor.

Did I miss anyone? Oh, yeah Cohen Brothers. Their movie will star Francis McDormand, John Goodman, George Clooney and Brad Pitt all going into that sperm bank and blowing the heads off of ... well, this is a family blog so I will stop there.

Now, just in case you are procrastinating cleaning your house for the company who is coming over this weekend, I give you Chapter One of DAD IN DISGUISE. (You only have to read to the part where he finds out that the deadly brain tumor turns out to be just fingerprints on the MRI. The radiologist ate greasy pizza for lunch that day.)

Dad In Disguise
by Kate Little

You never know what's going to happen when you wake up in the morning.

You think you do…but you don't.

That's what Jack Sawyer believed now. Less than a week ago, he'd opened an innocent-looking envelope and his life changed in the blink of an eye.

Settled at his desk on a typical Monday morning, he was sorting through a pile of mail while sipping his coffee and a letter marked "Personal & Confidential" caught his eye.

He tore it open, read it and—bam!

A meteor might have landed smack dab in the middle of his sleekly decorated executive office. In the middle of his sleekly decorated life.

The letter had come from a firm called Dynamics, Inc. He couldn't place it at first. When he finally did, he cringed.

Dynamics, Inc. was a sperm bank where he'd impulsively made a donation two years ago. It had been a bleak, frightening moment in his life. Diagnosed with an inoperable tumor, the prognosis had been grim. Given only a few months to live, Jack faced a sad truth. For all his accomplishments and worldly success, he wondered if he'd achieved very much at all. For one thing, he'd never married and had children, a fact he deeply regretted at that moment.

There had been plenty of lovely, marriageable women in his life and plenty of chances for commitment. Maybe too many choices. Jack didn't know why, but something always held him back. Somehow, at the last minute, he always sidestepped walking down the aisle, claiming he wasn't ready. Or deciding that the woman in question just wasn't "The One." Maybe he just didn't want to make the changes a real commitment would demand.

His lifestyle wasn't suited to marriage…and maybe his temperament wasn't either, he thought. He'd bounced around foster homes most of his childhood, some kind and some cruel.

He'd never felt part of a real family and had never known close, loving ties. No wonder he thought relationships were hard. Work was easy and life was never boring, traveling to the world's greatest cities, where his skills and vision as an architect were always in demand.

But during that dark time, Jack couldn't kid himself. No one really cared who designed a skyscraper or even a monument. Children were the real legacy. Without that bequest to the future, all his worldly accomplishments didn't amount to much.

Or so Jack had felt as he faced his mortality. Donating to a sperm bank seemed some small consolation. There had been some extra scrutiny, due to his medical situation, but finally, he was accepted as a donor. Jack had been thankful and relieved. If he was going to leave this world without having children the traditional way, at least his DNA—and perhaps even some portion of his spirit—would live on.

A few weeks later, Jack happily learned he wasn't a doomed man after all. A cloud on his MRI had caused his condition to be misdiagnosed and his tests results had been inaccurate. With luck, he would live a long life and had time enough to marry and have children if he wanted…the usual way.

Jack sat back and had a good laugh. A sperm bank? What in the world had he been thinking?

He contacted Dynamics, Inc. immediately and withdrew his donation. The organization told him that his genetic material was never given out and Jack was relieved to hear it.

And that was that.

Or so he thought.

Now, two years later, the laboratory had written that they'd made a mistake. A recent audit revealed that Jack's sperm had in fact been administered at least once before it was removed from the bank.

It took Jack a few moments to consider the full implications. Once he did, he was nearly blown out of his cushy leather desk chair.

Some unknown woman out there could have become pregnant with his "donation" and given birth to his baby!

What did this all mean? What should he do? Could he even find out this woman's identity and what had happened to her?

Within seconds, Jack was on the phone to his attorneys. "Why look for trouble?" he was told. "The chances are incredibly slim, Jack. Less than one in a million."

Jack had to agree. But he couldn't let it rest. He felt nagged by a strange stirring, down deep in his gut. He had to know for sure if this particular long shot had come in. The information was confidential, but the high-powered law firm that represented him was good at pulling strings and coaxing open sealed files.

After a few days of anxious waiting, his gut instinct was validated. Jack was stunned to learn that he was indeed a father.

Rachel Reilly was the child's mother and the baby, a little boy born about ten months ago, she'd named Charlie. But the investigators hired by Jack's attorneys had found out precious little more.

Rachel Reilly was single, twenty-nine years old, a clothing designer who specialized in children's wear. She'd been living in Manhattan and working for the same clothing company since she'd graduated college. But a few months ago, she sold her city apartment, pooled all her savings—including a small inheritance from her mother's recent death—and bought a house inVermont. The small village she'd chosen was just over the NewYork state border. She'd quit her job and moved there.

Jack couldn't believe it. All these months, at least until recently, he'd been living in the same city as this Mystery Mom and his own son. He could have passed them on the street, sidestepping the baby's stroller. Now that he'd known they existed, they were in the middle of nowhere. Where in the world was Blue Lake? He'd dug out a road atlas and could barely find it, a tiny dot in the midst of the Berkshires.

Barely twenty-four hours after receiving the investigator's report, Jack was on his way, and the same map sat crumpled on the passenger's seat beside him. Against all the good advice he'd been given, Jack refused to send a professional investigator. He knew had to follow this trail himself, wherever it might lead. He had to see his son and this mystery mother firsthand, not the blurry image taken through a tele-photo lense.

He'd been driving for hours and had turned off the highway some time ago, traveling now on narrow two-lane roads that wound through the mountains and valleys of southern Vermont. It was late September and cooler than it had been down in New York City, the hillsides looking as if they'd been lightly touched with a paint brush.

He drove through wooded stretches and small towns and through valleys where the view opened up to green pastures dotted with big red barns and lazy-looking cows. Lush green trees arched over head and handmade signs on the roadside advertised Pick your own apples and Fresh Eggs, Milk & Cheese, reminding Jack he hadn't eaten anything since he'd left the city early that morning. But he didn't want to stop, too intent on reaching his destination.

He knew he had to be close to Blue Lake by now. Close to seeing his son.

Charlie. He liked the name. He said it out loud to himself in the car, over and over again.

Jack couldn't wait to see the little guy with his own eyes. To touch him, or hold him. To hear the sounds he made, even the crying. He didn't have any trouble picturing the boy. It was simple. Jack envisioned a miniature version of himself. Logically he knew it may not have turned out that way, but he couldn't help it.

He did have trouble picturing Rachel Reilly. What did she look like? Was she tall or short? Dark or fair? Slim or curvy?

More importantly, what kind of woman was she? What kind of woman opts to get pregnant through a sperm bank, anyway? Some homely, lonely, forever single type, without any hope of having kids the usual way? Some radical Amazon who holds a grudge against men on principle? Some uptight prude who just hates sex, period?

He didn't want his son to be raised by any of the above. He wasn't sure what his rights were in the situation, but he had money. Plenty of money. For better or worse, it's not the best man who wins, Jack had learned, but usually the guy who can afford the best lawyers.

Even if she wasn't some nut case or recluse, what kind of mother was she? Jack had barely known his own mother before being dumped into the social service system. He couldn't stand the idea of his boy being raised by any woman who was less than ideal—who wasn't warm, nurturing, loving. All the things a mother should be.

If Rachel Reilly wasn't a good mother—wasn't a great mother—he'd get his son away from her before you could say X chromosome.

No matter what it took.

Finally, a sign for Blue Lake appeared on the roadside. Jack turned and found himself driving down the town's Main Street. He cruised down the avenue slowly, surprised to see the quaint, old-fashioned architecture—well-kept shops and restaurants on a busy main thoroughfare. There were awnings and flower boxes, wrought-iron street lamps and a town square with a big white gazebo in the middle.

If Rachel Reilly had to stick herself in the middle of nowhere, at least she picked a pleasant middle of nowhere. He scanned the numbers on the doorways, trying to find her address. Finally at the end of the thoroughfare, he came to number 533, a Queen Anne style Victorian with a wraparound porch and a turret on the third floor.

Freshly painted, the house was an eye-popping combination of pale pink with magenta shutters and a yellow door with touches of violet blue and bright white trim. Just this side of overdone, but the English style garden in front and white picket fence lent an overall effect that was fanciful and stunning.

A hand painted wooden sign hung from a post in the middle of the garden:

Pretty Baby—Unique treasures for babies & toddlers ~ Clothing, Toys, Furniture and More! ~ Made with a loving touch.

A loving touch. He liked that phrase. So far, so good. But Rachel Reilly might not have anything to do with this store. He couldn't jump to conclusions.

There was plenty of space to park in front, but Jack drove down the street and chose a spot out of sight. His car—which cost more than most people made in a year—seemed as conspicuous as a rocket ship. He didn't want to draw attention to himself if he could help it.

The information from the investigators hadn't included anything about a baby store. He studied the house some more, deciding there must be an apartment on the second and third floor. Maybe she lived up there. Maybe he should just sit and wait for her to come in or out of the building, like a real PI would do.

But Jack had never been big on patience. He'd driven all day and was dying to catch even a glimpse of his son. Maybe someone working in there could give him some information.

He checked his image in the rearview mirror. Chocolate brown eyes stared back at him. He never had trouble attracting women and more than a few had told him he was handsome. But Jack didn't see it. Especially not today.

He'd started the drive early and now looked worn out and even needed a shave. Well, there was no help for it. The grubby look was sort of country-like, wasn't it? Helped him blend in with the scenery?

Pocketing his car keys, he and climbed out. At the last minute, he pulled off his leather jacket, trading it for a gray sweatshirt he spotted behind the driver's seat. He tugged it on and pulled up the zipper. There, instant "working man," he thought. His black T-shirt was expensive but nondescript. His jeans had cost a small fortune, but had the fashionable worn out look that wouldn't give him away.

He didn't like the feeling of going "undercover" like this. Deception wasn't part of his character. But under the circumstances, it was probably wiser. He didn't know anything about this woman beyond the bare essentials. He had to find out more about her before he could decide what to do.

She held all the cards in her hand.

She had his son.

* * *

The sound of the bell on the shop door made Charlie stir in her arms. He'd just about dropped off but the noise disturbed him. Now she'd have to pace a few more moments— while singing a few more verses of "Rockin'Robin"—before he would conk out and she could set him down in his porta-crib.

This mother-shopskeeper juggling act was tricky. Some days it seemed like a complete disaster. But she had made the right choice, Rachel kept reminding herself. Things would work out. Eventually.

Having Charlie with her in the store hadn't seemed to hurt sales any. Most people enjoyed seeing a real live baby amidst the baby paradise she'd created in Pretty Baby.

If some customers got impatient or even walked out, what could she do? Charlie was her priority. She'd purposely designed the shop—designed her entire life—so that her son came first. He was with her all day and had his own daycare room where he could sleep, eat, play and do everything a ten-month-old needed to do.

Besides, it was best to let them browse a while before she pounced. There was so much to look at, most people forgot what they'd come in for.

Rachel hummed and paced and soon felt Charlie's body heavy and slack, his breathing deep. She set him down gently and tiptoed to the doorway.

"I'll be right with you. Just one more second," she called out softly to her customer.

"No problem" a deep male voice called back. Rachel returned to Charlie and pulled a light blanket over him. Men shopping alone at her store were unusual. They rarely had any idea of what they wanted, or even the age and size of the baby they were buying for, looking a little lost among the tiny outfits and fluffy toys. They would put themselves totally at her mercy and take just about anything she suggested.

It was tempting, but she never took advantage of them. Sure that Charlie was finally asleep, Rachel lightly kissed his forehead, inhaling his sweet baby scent, then stepped out into the shop. She spotted her customer wandering around the toy section. He didn't look the type who would whip out a gold Am Ex card and put her in the black for the month. But there hadn't been much business today and she welcomed the sight of him. And what a sight indeed.

He was tall, with thick dark hair and impossibly broad shoulders, outlined by a gray sweatshirt jacket he wore over a T-shirt and worn jeans. The floppy velour bunny in his hand—one of her handmade originals—seemed totally out of synch with his dark intensity. He looked over at her, his brown eyes curious, taking her in, his expression unreadable.

Rachel felt self-conscious and pushed her curly hair back from her face with her hand. Between the store and Charlie, she didn't have much time to bother about her appearance. The past few months, she'd gone from urban chic to basic hygiene. But what could you do? Out here in Blue Lake, she didn't worry about things like that. Not the way she did while living in the city.

Rachel quickly checked her T-shirt and denim long skirt, looking for apple sauce or spit up stains. All clear. That was some comfort. Summoning her best shopkeeper smile, she stepped forward. "Hi. Can I help you with something?"

He didn't answer right away. He looked at the stuffed rabbit in his hand and quickly put it down.

"I'm just browsing. I was passing through town and thought I'd stop in and take a look around. The store is very…eye-catching."

"Thanks." Rachel smiled, not sure he meant it as a compliment. "I thought the painted lady look might be too much. But it does attract attention."

He nodded. "Just about stops traffic. Is this your shop?" Rachel smiled proudly. "I opened about a month ago."

"Very nice. You make all this stuff yourself?"

"I design most of the clothes and toys. I look for other items that are handmade or really unique. And I paint all the furniture. I do room murals, too," she said, glancing over at the far wall that was painted with a scene of a nursery rhyme,

"Hey Diddle, Diddle." The opposite side of the store was painted with the tea party scene from Alice In Wonderland and behind the cash register, there was a magical, misty garden, filled with flowers and fairies.

"You're very talented."

Rachel smiled and shrugged. "I'm okay. Painting is the fun part. I haven't gotten any calls yet for the wall murals, but business is picking up."

He didn't say anything, just slowly smiled, deep dimples creasing his lean cheeks that were touched with five o'clock shadow. He had a dimple in his chin, too, she noticed. Just like Charlie. She wondered if her son would grow up to be half as handsome as this guy. She'd have to teach him not to be a heartbreaker.

"Do you own the building, or just lease this space?"

The question seemed a little odd, but maybe the guy was into real estate or thinking of opening a shop in town himself.

"I own the building," she said simply.

Before she could say more, Charlie's sharp cry cut through the air. The man turned to listen, his expression shocked, as if he'd never heard a baby before.

"That's my son. He's taking a nap. Or was taking a nap. Can you excuse me, please? I'll be right back."

"That's okay… You'd better go check on him." The man watched her dash off. Still looking stunned. Surprised she had her baby with her? Maybe…

Sweet Marco!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MARCO!
I love you truly, madly, deeply . . . even though you are turning 44 today.
(Or is it 45?)