#1 NYT bestselling author Linda Lael Miller
Cozy Day With Rain

Today I’m writing on my laptop, in my “Uncle Harry” chair, by the fireplace, with the dogs curled at my feet. Life doesn’t get much better than that, folks.

The chair is so named–it is a Morris style recliner, very comfortable–because it reminds me of the chair my beloved uncle, Harry Bleecker, always sat in to read his newspaper and drink his coffee. My mother’s eldest brother, Harry was a gentle soul with a broad Bleecker smile. Although he was tall and skinny, he always played Santa Claus at the church Christmas pageant in Northport, passing out little bags with candy canes, oranges and nuts in them. My brother, Jerry, climbed up onto his lap one year, looked past the mop-beard to see that famous smile and those kind eyes and said solemnly, “You’re not Santa. You’re my Uncle Harry.”

He was sweet and funny and profoundly good, our Uncle Harry, and endlessly patient. We miss him very much, but his legacy of kindness lives on. He was an adult all his life, having grown up in the midst of the Depression, and as young as ten, laid awake nights wondering how he would feed his younger brothers the next day. Wherever he is, I know he is surrounded by laughing children, who undoubtedly know that, indeed, he’s not Santa. He’s Uncle Harry.

Allrighty, then!

The Geek Squad saved me, and now I can use the Word function on this computer. Imagine my chagrin this morning when I realized that Microsoft has changed the whole format! It’s always something, isn’t it?

The weather this morning is beautiful beyond description–blue-gold is this day.

The pool has been shocked and has turned, as if by magic, from green to blue. Sadie-beagle is eager to go for a dip, so we have to keep an eye on her. Bernice gives the pool a wide berth, but she’s a swimmer, too. When they were filling the pool in Arizona, and the shallow end was still dry, she waded out and started paddling around. Sadie is a comical swimmer–her ears float as she paddles diligently along.

So, much to do before I sleep.

Allrighty, then.

I’ll just push up my sleeves and dig in. It’s the McKettrick way, after all. And the Lael way, too.

The typical Pony Express rider was nineteen years old and made $100-$150 per month plus room and board.

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