A Day in June by Liz Flaherty

My mind is on the mushy side today. It happens a lot these days, but especially when I try to crowd more events and thoughts and things-to-do lists into it. So I think I'll meander. I hope you come on along.

My grandpa Neterer died in June. He was what everyone's grandfather should be. Kind, gentle, funny, and so full of stories about a life well lived that I could never get enough of hearing them. He'd grown up a farm boy, although he worked his whole adult life at what had once been Buescher Band and went through several names during his tenure there. But even as Elkhart, Indiana grew up around the home he shared with my grandmother, Grandpa still went barefoot and wore overalls when he was at home. They had city water, but they also had the hand pump in the yard, where he and the grandkids went to drink from the well. 

I was only 13 when he died, but I was able to save up a lot of memories from those years. 

Our county fair is in June. I was there yesterday, helping to sign in adult projects. The fair used to be in August, but since it managed to storm every year in addition to being punishingly hot, it eventually moved back to June. It's often still wet and hot, but inspiring to see the kids with their animals and their projects. They learn so much in 4-H, and they have a good time.

I'm doing revisions right now, on a Christmas Town novella and on a book I've finished. I always worry during revisions--Is this what they want? Is it still my story? Seriously--they want that?--and yet there's an adrenaline rush that goes along with them, too. The thought that the story will be better when I'm done, because usually it is. 

Our youngest grandson is here this week. He's 13, the age I was when my grandfather died, when the Beatles appeared on Ed Sullivan, when boys started looking really different and I put makeup on when I was on the school bus because I wasn't allowed to wear it. So many changes that year, and I can see changes in our grandboy, too. He's fun and funny and smart. Grandpa Neterer would have loved him like we do. 

Three birds are hanging on one suet feeder while a woodpecker keeps the other one to himself. I used to be amazed that my mother-in-law could spend so much time watching birds. Now, in my much bigger yard, I watch birds, deer, rabbits, and squirrels, and I understand Mom a lot better. 

In A Soft Place to Fall, Early and Nash and Nash's dad, Ben, sometimes sat on the porch. I imagine they were watching and listening, too. Some books are special. You love them more. This is one of those for me. 

Thanks for going along on my meander.