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Recently, I signed up for a volunteer program. The idea of it is to help adults who aren’t the strongest readers. This sounds like a noble cause to me, so on three separate days during April, I attended Zoom classes teaching me and the other volunteers how to be tutors. These people could need a variety of help, like reading, writing, grammar, and vocabulary. Our job is to do just that.
I’ve never actually been a tutor before. At one point, I considered being a teacher, but I never pursued it. No reason why, I just became an author instead. This volunteer program will finally give me the chance to see how good a teacher I can be. One interesting thing I learned was that we all have a different learning style. I’m a visual learner. I need to see something being written or demonstrated to understand it. The librarians in charge will try to pair me with a student with a similar learning style, but this isn’t a guarantee. I could be paired with an auditory or a tactile learner. Regardless, I have to teach based on the student’s learning style, not mine. It wouldn’t work if I tried to teach a tactile student visually or a visual student auditory.
All in all, this will be a new experience. I don’t even know who I’ll be teaching, just that this will last about four to six months. Whoever I help, I hope this will be fun and informative for both of us. Reading is a connection all of us share and I’m happy to share my love of books with others.

Early this month, my parents, brother, and I went to the Coachella Valley Preserve for a morning of hiking. It’s a wildlife refuge and botanical oasis out by the San Andreas Fault. The reason for the trip was that my mom has been enrolled in the local branch of the Master Gardener’s Program. Once or twice a week, she’s been logging onto Zoom classes and learning all about plants. At the beginning of the month, her teacher assigned a special lab to her students. Go out to the Coachella Valley Preserve and take pictures of the native species. We all jumped at the opportunity to go with her and get out of the house.

There were many people there enjoying the preserve, but we didn’t see a lot of people on the first trail. That was just as well, given that my mom had to keep stopping to identify plants on her list and take pictures of them. We even took a break in a small picnic area and found an active beehive on the outskirts. We didn’t bother the bees and they didn’t bother us.

The last trail we went on that day was on the opposite side of the preserve. While the first trail was arid, the second one made me feel as if we were in a jungle. It was more swampy and cooler in the shade. My mom found and recorded my plants on her list. It was a fun morning.

Like all churches now, the church I’ve attended since I was a baby, has been closed due to COVID-19. That’s not to say, there haven’t been services, but they are… different. In my church, there’s a pastor and a liturgist, someone who does some of the readings and gives the announcements. For the past year, the pastor and liturgist have been recorded separately and then everything is edited together to make a youtube video. It then goes up on Sunday morning.

I was asked to be the liturgist and just finished my readings. It was an interesting experience. I had done school presentations, taken a speech class, and even a theater class in college, but the setup at the church was impressive. The music director of the church is currently the film director and editor. He had me read the prepared material, thankfully no memorization, and filmed me on two different cameras, so he could get the best angles. We did the readings early in the week, so he had time to edit all the footage for Sunday. If I hadn’t been sitting at home, watching myself read, I would’ve thought it was live.

Hopefully, everything will go back to normal soon. I would love to walk around and go places without wearing a mask or worrying about COVID-19, but until then, it was an interesting and fun experience to record the readings for the church.

Hi, friends! I decided that it might be a good idea to give you a sample of Silver Rose. Enjoy!

Chapter 1 Strange Encounters

It all started when a bright red flash darted past the castle’s mullioned windows. I gasped, my hands flying to my mouth, which caused the water pitcher I was carrying to clatter to the floor, shattering to pieces and spilling water on myself. What was that? I thought, rushing to the window. I had glimpsed a triangular head, scales, and a long, tapered tail. It couldn’t be. I scanned the courtyard below. Something red by the ground caught my attention. I squinted, but I couldn’t see anything. Don’t be ridiculous, I told myself. They weren’t real. They were just a myth. They inhabited the mists of old tales. They were on the fringes of stories, stealing, killing, and wreaking havoc.

“Penelope! What is the meaning of this?”

Quaking, I turned and looked up into the face of the matron in charge of housekeeping, Mrs. Sophia Thompson. Her hands were on her perfectly starched waist and her mouth was a thin line of displeasure. I became fascinated with my black shoes, trying to ignore my hammering heart and the sodden hem of my handmaiden dress.

“Miss Bogg, kindly explain yourself.”

“I dropped the pitcher on the floor. My apologies,” I mumbled.

“Are you injured?” Mrs. Thompson asked, inspecting me from head to foot.

I shook my head. My cheeks were burning.

“Well, if you are positive, report to the Queen’s private chambers. She is expecting you.”

I waited until Mrs. Thompson had rounded the corner before gathering the pieces of broken pottery and placing them in a nearby rubbish bin. Satisfied with my work, though cringing at the damp spot that remained, I headed toward the queen’s apartments on the third floor.

A noise attracted my attention on the stairs. There was a lit torch burning off to my left, but it was too dim to make out any details. Just my imagination, I thought, when suddenly a dark red shadow detached and started toward me. I backed up hastily, my foot slipping on the step. I waved my arms wildly, trying to keep my balance, when something tackled me from behind, sending me sprawling to the ground.

“Lydia!” I grunted, as I righted myself and turned to see my younger sister. She helped me to my feet and the figure disappeared into the shadows again. “What are you doing here? You know you’re supposed to wait in your room while I’m working.”

My twelve-year-old sister pouted. “I was bored,” she said. “I was walking down the hall when I heard something break. I ran past Hazel going in the opposite direction. Are you all right?”

I stared intently at her, touched. She was tall for her age at almost five feet, no matter my four years and three inches on her. “Yes, I’m fine. Why don’t you visit Constance in the village?”

Lydia perked up immediately at the mention of her best friend. She took off running down the stairs, taking them two at a time.

“Don’t forget!” I called after her. “Malcolm will be home later today. Be back in half-an-hour.” Malcolm was our older brother and the captain of the castle’s guards. He had been gone for the last few days on a special mission for the queen. Something to do with werewolves.

As I started away from the staircase, footsteps could be heard heading in my direction. Thinking it was Lydia again, I turned, but it wasn’t her. Instead, the figure on the stairs stood watching me. It was difficult to tell whether it was a she or a he, but whoever it was wore a dark, almost blood red hooded cloak. The figure was at least half a foot taller than me.

We stared at each other for a full minute. The figure was completely still, except for the fingers of its left hand, which were drumming against its leg. Is this person going to speak or not? I thought.

I had just turned away, when the figure spoke. It had a raspy, yet feminine, voice. “Penelope Bogg, I must talk to you.”

“Who are you?” I asked.

“A friend,” she said, stepping forward, past another torch bracket on the wall. The torch inside was spluttering fretfully. “Please, Miss Bogg, you must help me.”

But, I heard no more. The girl had stopped near the sputtering torch, which had suddenly flared to life. My eyes widened with shock. “Magic!” I whispered. How did she get magic? I knew only two people with that kind of power: my late mother and the court wizard, Casimir. I took one last frightened look at the girl before I took off running down the hall toward the queen’s rooms. Stopping before the third door on the left, I knocked smartly on the wooden surface.

“Enter,” the queen’s voice said.

I yanked the door open and slipped inside, closing it with a soft click.

“Penelope, there you are,” Queen Alana said. She was a beautiful woman with long, black hair, piercing blue eyes, and a kind smile. She was wearing a green velvet dress with a white bow encircling her waist. She was standing in front of a full-length mirror decorated with carved roses.

The room itself was a pale turquoise. Several chairs and a couch decorated the center of the room. There was an old desk in the corner. I loved that desk. I saw it at least once a day. It reminded me of the desk my mother used to own. A portrait of a blonde-haired woman with Queen Alana’s blue eyes hung above the couch, staring out across the room. She was wearing a necklace shaped like a crescent moon. I smiled. This was Queen Rebecca, Queen Alana’s grandmother and founder of Kelton Castle.

Queen Alana had inherited her grandmother’s good sense. She was never rash or impulsive, but ruled the entire kingdom of Alsmora fairly. On her desk, I could see Malcolm’s latest report about the current state of the werewolf population.

“I don’t know, Malcolm,” the queen had once said to him, while I cleaned the room around them. “The werewolves are getting out of control. There are more attacks daily.”

“We could attack back, Your Highness,” my captain of the guards brother had suggested.

“No, they are normal most of the time, except when the moon is full. We must come up with another solution.”

Queen Alana had been agonizing over this for weeks, trying to decide whether to give werewolves more or less rights. She had finally sent Malcolm to investigate a werewolf attack in the west of Alsmora. While there, he was to arrange a meeting between an ambassador werewolf and Queen Alana.

I turned my attention to the rest of the room. Another handmaiden was there, buttoning Queen Alana’s forest green dress.

“Milady,” I said, with a curtsey.

The other handmaiden, Hazel, smiled at me, but it didn’t quite reach her cold, gray eyes. She had never liked me, ever since she had discovered that my mother, Alice Bogg, had been an old friend of Queen Alana’s. Hazel thought it was wrong for a handmaiden and the captain of the guards to have known Queen Alana since childhood.

“Precious Penelope,” she had once muttered loudly as I passed. “Thinks she can get away with anything, just because her mother was friends with the Queen.”

I averted my eyes, mumbling a greeting to Hazel.

“Penelope, hand me that shawl,” Queen Alana said, extending her hand.

I spotted the shawl in question, a dark red that complimented the green beautifully, but reminded me forcefully of the figure outside the room.

Handing it to the queen, I stood beside her, waiting for further instructions. I could see myself in the mirror. I stared at myself thoughtfully. Lydia and I looked the same. We both had brown hair, round brown eyes, and fair skin. Lydia’s hair was longer, though. It reached as far as her waist. Mine, on the other hand, fell to slightly below my shoulders. My handmaiden uniform was a dark blue dress and a white mobcap.

Hazel stepped back, her task complete. “I am finished, Your Highness.”

Queen Alana withdrew from the mirror and sat in one of the chairs. “Hazel, go find Viola and see how my dress for the gala tonight is coming along.”

“Yes, milady.” She exited through the open door.

I was left alone in the room with the queen.

“Penelope, find me the pale blue dress in the wardrobe.”

While I was searching, pushing aside at least three green dresses, the queen said, “Hazel has reported that Lydia was running in the halls. She shouldn’t do that.”

I turned around and saw that Queen Alana’s eyes were twinkling with humor.

“How old is she?” Queen Alana continued.

“Lydia?” I said, returning to my task, my hand slipping on some yellow fabric. “Twelve.”

“Has she shown any signs of magic yet?”

“No,” I said, looking through a dozen pale blue dresses. Which one did she want? “But, her birthday will be soon.”

I lapsed into thoughtful silence as I selected a pale blue with short sleeves. My mother had told me that thirteen was the age in which magic was said to appear in young children. She never knew why this was. It had never surfaced in me. At sixteen, I was much too old for it. Lydia, however, was the right age.

“If she shows, I would like to introduce her to my magical advisor, Casimir.”

“That is a great honor, milady. I thank you.”

Casimir was a mystery to most of the servants in the palace. He had appeared one stormy night two years ago, offering the king his magical services. King Marcus was Queen Alana’s husband. He had scoffed at Casimir, telling the wizard to take his bag of tricks and depart at once. Unperturbed, Casimir had used a spell to calm the skies of their wrath. Impressed, the king accepted him as his magical advisor.

A little over a year ago, the king had gone off to stop an invading army. He drove them back into the sea from whence they came, but died from a stray arrow in the process.

Queen Alana had been in mourning for a year afterward. She took over the kingdom and had been a fair and just ruler ever since. She kept Casimir around for his magic and because he had been on the field with King Marcus at the time. He had tried everything to save the king, but to no avail.

I tried to imagine Lydia learning magic from Casimir. At once, I could see Lydia becoming a witch. She would have the power to do whatever she pleased and wouldn’t have to work as a handmaiden.

“Thank you,” I said again, handing the pale blue dress over. “I will mention this to Lydia when she returns from the village.” Speaking of which, nearly half-an-hour had passed. Where was she?

The queen smiled and patted my hand as Hazel stepped back into the room, accompanied by the third handmaiden, Viola.

Viola curtseyed; her eyelids drooped over her tired green eyes and her brown hair had come undone from its bun.

“My Queen,” she said in a strained voice. “I am afraid your dress is not complete as such.”

“Explain.”

“The fabric is sewn and hemmed, but lacks lace.”

“How much is missing?”

“We are almost complete. All that is left is the neck, but all the lace has disappeared.”

“It is most peculiar,” Hazel said. “Your ladyship sent me to buy lace only last week.”

I frowned. I had been with Hazel during that outing and I remembered what at the time had seemed like a mountain of lace.

“Could we have used it up on something else?” Queen Alana asked.

“It is indeed possible, Your Highness,” Viola said. “The seamstresses have been hard at work on your dresses for weeks.”

“Penelope,” the queen said. “Go down to the village and buy more lace from Mrs. Wilkins’s shop.”

I curtseyed and departed, shutting the door quietly on the sounds of the queen’s continued conversation with Viola and Hazel.

I paused, staring down the hallway where I had seen the strange figure, but she had gone. The only evidence of her presence was the brightly burning torch. I skirted around it, making my way to the staircase and descending to the first floor. The pendant my mom had given me before she died two years ago thudded against my chest. The pendant was shaped like a star and in the center, like a large egg, sat a ruby.

I kept it on a chain around my neck, under my dress. The ruby must have cost a fortune and would have easily allowed me to quit my position as handmaiden, but I couldn’t do it. My mother’s voice echoed inside my head whenever I thought of selling it.

“This pendant is very powerful, Penny,” she had said. She had still been quite young, only in her mid-forties, but an unknown sickness had claimed her. “It cannot fall into the wrong hands. Keep it safe for me.”

I had for these last two years. Whenever I was sad or lonely, I would feel for the chain and smile at the pendant’s familiar weight.

The cook greeted me as I entered the kitchen and headed for the servant’s exit. “Morning, Miss Penelope.” A pleasant, plump woman, she smiled good-naturedly at me, handing me a bit of bread.

“Good morning, Mrs. Appleton.” I grabbed a basket from the table.

The air was crisp and full of the songs of birds as I made my way from the castle grounds. A black and fluffy cat watched me from a low bench. A paw was dangling over the edge. A pattern like an “M” could be seen on its furry forehead. The cat was rather small, unlike the old cat Constance Wilkins owned, who also had an “M” on her forehead, but Petals the Maine coon was at least twice the size of this cat.

I had always liked cats and this one appeared to be a stray, though a well-fed stray. I left the piece of bread beside it on the bench, noticing as I did so that the cat’s front half was raised slightly higher than its back, like it was lying on something. I shrugged and continued on my way.

I followed the cobbled street into the village of Kelton. Near the edge of the village was the tanner’s, where the smell from the cured hides assaulted my nose, making me cough. Beside the tanner, was the cobbler, his shoes visible through the window.

Rounding the corner, I stumbled to a halt. There, across from where I stood, was the figure in dark red that I had seen in the castle. A strange silver glow was coming from her right hand. My stomach plummeted. Not again.

A tense moment passed as we stared at each other. I took a deep breath and walked forward. The figure started across the street toward me as well.

“Who are you?” I demanded, stopping several feet from her. “Why are you following me?”

“I can see it now. You are definitely the right descendent, Penelope Bogg.” She turned her right hand slightly and I saw a mass of silver and black. Before I could ask what she was talking about, a voice hailed me.

“Greetings, Penelope.”

I turned to see the widowed owner of the general store, Mrs. Georgina Wilkins. She was a short woman, who was hardly taller than myself. She was watering her flowers in the window box in the front of her store. Mrs. Wilkins once told me that she thought the window box made her store feel more homey.

“Good morning, Mrs. Wilkins,” I said, turning back toward the girl. She had disappeared again.

“Are you here for anything, dear?”

“…Yes, the Queen sent me to buy lace.”

“Lace? I believe I have some in the back,” Mrs. Wilkins said, leading me into the store. Within seconds, she had brought out the same white lace that was supposed to adorn Queen Alana’s unfinished dress.

After I had paid for the lace and placed it in my basket, I left the store, thanking Mrs. Wilkins.

“Don’t forget, dear,” she called before the door slammed shut. “Constance and I will be in Dewdrop Village next week. Old Mr. Pewter will be looking after the store.”

As I crossed the square back toward the castle, I heard laughter from behind Mrs. Wilkins’s shop. It sounded like Lydia, so I decided to investigate.

Lydia and Constance Wilkins were standing, talking to a tall man with black hair and mismatched eyes. The left eye was brown, while the right was green.

“… and that, girls, is why you should never taunt a wild mushroom,” the black-haired man said. “Ah, the elder Miss Bogg. Welcome.”

“Greetings, Master Casimir,” I said with a curtsey.

Casimir smiled and gave a long, sweeping bow. “Your sister and her friend have been a most enjoyable audience.”

Lydia giggled. “I liked your story of the evil wild mushroom.”

“Did you really slay it with nothing more than an onion stalk and the dye from a flower?” Constance asked in awe.

Casimir winked at me. “Don’t forget the magic.”

“Lydia, its time to return to the castle,” I said. “Malcolm will be back soon and I have to get this lace back to the Queen.”

“Allow me,” Casimir said, pulling out his staff. He muttered something under his breath and the lace disappeared from my basket. “Queen Alana should be receiving it momentarily, along with a message claiming credit for you.”

“Thank you,” I said, frowning that he hadn’t asked me first.

“My pleasure. I must be going now. I told the Queen I would be joining her for the gala this evening. I will be seeing you shortly, Miss Bogg, girls.”

As he twisted and vanished in a gust of gray smoke, Lydia turned to me. “That was amazing. I wish I had magic.”

I glanced at the empty basket. Queen Alana would be expecting me soon. “You might,” I said. “You still have a few weeks. If you do show, the Queen would like you trained by Casimir himself.”

Lydia looked excited, but I couldn’t help shivering, even though it was a warm, clear, day.

2020 has been a difficult year. I think we can all agree on that. There have been too many deaths to count in this year alone, but there’s someone in particular I would like to honor, someone that I lost, someone who died of old age. That someone is my cat, Max. Max was one of the best cats I’ve ever had and I miss him everyday.

Fourteen years ago, my family and I took in five six-week-old orphaned kittens: two girls, three boys. This litter had lost their mom and their owner was too busy to care for them. Animal Samaritans put out an ad and we volunteered to foster them. It was the summer and I was only a kid, so we had plenty of time to look after them. So, in June 2006, I suddenly found myself sharing my room with the five kittens, which was fine by me. When my mom and I went to pick up the kittens, my mom filled out forms and talked to the vet, while I sat and watched the kittens in the pet carrier. At one point, I asked the vet what was the gender of one of the cats. She reached inside, pulled out a black and fluffy cat, and held him up. A moment passed before she answered, “Boy.” Soon afterward, my mom and I left with our noisy passengers and returned home.

Once we were in my room, I opened the carrier and waited for the cats to exit. They were all huddled in a little ball at the back, too frightened to move. Finally, the black and fluffy male slowly and cautiously left his siblings and started exploring my room. My first thought was to name him “Louis,” after Lewis and Clark, but that name didn’t seem to fit. The other four watched their brave brother, anxious for his safety. When we humans naturally didn’t attack, three more kittens exited. Only the tiny runt of the litter stayed behind, but we managed to coax that one out in the end. On that first day, the five found a hole in my mattress that even I didn’t know about. They all snuggled into their little nest and we had to use food to tempt them out.

Throughout all this, my parents told me that we wouldn’t be able to keep any of them, that this was only temporary, but I didn’t believe them. I was confident that we would keep at least one of them and began naming them all. All I had to work with, however, was the knowledge that the black and fluffy cat in the litter was male. Two were black and tan and striped like little tigers, one was tan on top and white on the bottom, while the fourth was a mix of white, tan, and black. I knew two were female and two were male, but beyond that, I just had to guess. I decided that the two identical black and tan mini-tigers were male and, because I couldn’t tell them apart, I named them Fred and George. Eventually, one grew twice the size of the other. The bigger one became Fred, while the smaller one was George. The tan and white cat was full of energy and would wrestle with Fred whenever she could, so I named her Skitty. The mixed color cat was named Jenny, after a cat in one of my mom’s favorite books.

The only cat without a name was the black and fluffy leader. I agonized over his name, trying to find the right one. I considered “Whiskers” and “Paws,” but they just weren’t right. I thought of “Louis” again, but it was still a bad fit. Finally, I decided on “Max.” I don’t know how that name came to me, but the name just stuck and the bravest little cat in the whole litter, the little explorer, was Max from then on.

Going to sleep with the cats was interesting. They all had their own personal favorite spots on my bed. Jenny would knock things off my desk; Fred and Skitty would walk on me and put their paws on my mouth, trying to wake me up; Max would lay right next to my foot, so I couldn’t move it without bothering him; and George would just sleep in the corner, away from his siblings.

One time, I was feeding the kittens from a bottle. I would offer it to the swarm of mewing balls of fluff and one of them would latch on, drinking furiously. After a minute, I would yank it out of their mouth, much to their annoyance, and offer it to another cat, so they would all get a turn. Afterward, they all converged on me, meowing for more. I had to go to my mom and ask for help. She was making formula for them. She was their best friend when she arrived with the food.

As they grew that summer, their personalities began to shine forth. Fred and Skitty would constantly wrestle and I called them “gladiators.” Max and Jenny would climb little cat trees and get stuck halfway up, causing us to have to unstick their claws. George just sat quietly out of the way.

In early August, my family and I were due to go on a vacation, so we had to give them back to Animal Samaritans. I was devastated. I didn’t want to say good-bye. Luckily, my parents finally agreed that we could keep not one, but two kittens. They said it would be for the best to keep at least two together, so they would always have a friend. Immediately, I zeroed in on Max and Jenny as the two we would keep. We took them back and I tearfully said my farewells to Fred, George, and Skitty. When we returned to from the week-long vacation, I was overjoyed to learn that Animal Samaritans wanted us to keep all five a bit longer. They also told me that I got two of the cats’ genders wrong. Max, Fred, and Skitty were correct, but it turns out Jenny was a boy and George was a girl. I changed Jenny’s name to Oliver and George simply became Georgie.

We continued to look after the five and my parents decided it would be a good time to introduce them to our other pets. Dinah and Tuffy, the two cats, were less than thrilled to meet them. They seemed aghast that there were more cats in the house. Martha, our dog, was super excited. After this, my parents took me aside and said that Max and Fred had stayed calm and collected around Dinah, Tuffy, and Martha, but Oliver, Skitty, and Georgie seemed more nervous. In the end, we gave back Skitty, Georgie, and Oliver and kept Max and Fred.

Now with only two cats in the house, Max and Fred became inseparable. They did everything together, or almost. Max was always an outdoor cat, while Fred preferred the inside. We introduced them to the outside slowly. I would go out with them and monitor what they were doing. One day, Max and Fred were exploring and I looked up and saw a bird. I’m not entirely sure, but I think that bird was a hawk. Panicking, I immediately shepherded them back inside. They allowed themselves to be herded. I think they knew something was up, given my body language, but instinct directed them to follow me when there was danger around.

As the years went by, things changed around the house. We lost Tuffy (I think coyotes got him), Dinah died, then Martha died, and about a year later we got a new dog named Dottie. My mom’s uncle and his two cats, Rufus and Sweetie Pie, stayed with us for a bit, but he died as well. Throughout all this, Max and Fred have been a constant in my life. Fred is my little shadow, while Max is the independent little explorer, who sneers at me when I hug him.

A year ago, as 2020 began, my family consisted of me, my parents, my brother, Max, Fred, Rufus, Sweetie Pie, and Dottie. Sweetie Pie started off 2020 unwell. She was a little food thief, but she was very small. The last time I weighed her, she was only about five pounds. In early June, my brother and I went off to Yellowstone to work. A week after our departure, my mom called and said Sweetie Pie was worse. She wasn’t really moving. The next day, I got the news that Sweetie Pie had died. The only cats left in the house were Max, Fred, and Rufus.

Life went on. The season at Yellowstone was shortened to four months, due to COVID-19. In August, right as we hit the halfway point, my mom gave me more bad news. Max wasn’t feeling well. He wouldn’t come out from beneath his favorite table and he really wasn’t eating. I froze in horror, sure I had misunderstood. We had just lost Sweetie Pie two months ago, and now, this? I spent the whole day in numb disbelief. The next morning, I called and immediately asked how Max was doing. My mom was crying. Max had died either late the night before or early that morning. I cried too. I never got to say good-bye to Max, or pet him one final time, or even speak words of comfort. Max was suddenly… gone and I couldn’t do anything about it.

Max went through a lot in his life. He lost his mom, was separated from three of his siblings, and was even injured by Rufus when they fought for dominance. Max was even once locked outside by accident. A gate was left open and I closed it, not realizing Max was out front, until I saw his paws frantically scrabbling under the gate. No matter what you threw at Max, he was always a sweet and intelligent little cat, who loved me despite my hugs.

I will always love Max, even though he is now far away from here. And I still have Fred, who is almost as patient with my hugs as Max, and who loves to snuggle with me at night.

Rest in Peace, Max. (approximately May 6, 2006 – August 4, 2020)

Thanksgiving came late this year. And I’m not talking about where it landed on the calendar. This year, my family and I celebrated Thanksgiving on Friday, November 27th. This was to give my brother Bill and nephew Grant time to visit us, since Grant was working on Thursday. They have not been having an easy time of it recently and they needed to be surrounded by loved ones.

We had a good visit with them. It was just myself and my parents there to greet them, since my other brother Daniel was at work. We talked about books, Grant’s job, opinions on video games, etc. My dad kept Bill and Grant entertained with stories about hockey while my mom and I were in the kitchen.

Things really picked up when Daniel returned home in the early afternoon. He, Bill, and Grant see eye to eye when it comes to video games and I could hear the three of them laughing and enjoying themselves from where I was helping out in the kitchen. It was really heartwarming to see. Amidst the chaos of the world today, my family still found reasons to be grateful.