
* * *
Grocery shopping is not my favorite pastime. I usually fly through the store, endangering the other shoppers with my risky grocery cart maneuvers. But for some reason, one day last summer I was in an easygoing mood, sauntering down an aisle, wondering where Kroger could possibly have relocated my favorite brand of English Afternoon Tea.
As I was plodding along, pondering the strange tendency of grocery store managers to confuse shoppers by reorganizing their stores, I spotted a young man at the far end of the aisle who was loading products on one of the shelves. When he finished his task, he walked toward me. He wore a Kroger apron over his clothes and had obviously been stocking the shelves with canned goods.
As he approached within a few feet, he nodded and said, “Hi. How are you?”
I responded, “I’m well, thank you. How are you?”
He gave me a wry smile and tipped his head toward the thousands of cans of fruits and vegetables on the aisle. “Livin’ the dream,” he said.
I chuckled at his cute reply. I supposed he was a high school senior or a college student who was spending his summer finding a spot for the Green Giant’s can of Niblets Corn instead of surfing the big waves in Australia or climbing Mt. Everest or joining an archeological dig in the Middle East. Or maybe just hanging out with his friends.
I wanted to tell him that maybe he was living the dream and just didn’t know it.
* * *
I suppose age has something to do with it. As I get older, I find myself identifying more and more things I have to be grateful for. Some of those are the big ticket items that we all dream about, but most are the simple everyday familiarities that are just part of our lives.
There are people who say that you should acknowledge a hundred things each day that you’re thankful for. I’m well aware of my many blessings, and a hundred isn’t nearly a big enough number. I thought I should list just a few from various aspects of my life, and I even wrote a little poem to introduce them.
A few are big. Others are small.
Some of them hardly matter at all.
But grateful for these I will always be,
For they’re some of the gifts that were given to me.
- The miracle of life
- My family
- A long marriage to a good man
- Health
- Friends
- Language
- Freedom
- Good books
- The time and resources to write
- Awareness
- Indoor plumbing
- Not having to get up at 5:30am to run three miles before work
- Music
- The end of summer in Memphis
- A good night’s sleep
- Running shoes
- Food (including canned goods)
- Peet’s French Roast Coffee
- Crossword puzzles
- Duct tape
* * *
In this season of Thanksgiving, the joy of writing ranks high on my gratitude list. The last few years of my life have been transformed by the desire to write mysteries. My days are structured around turning out a word quota, marketing existing works, writing TKZ posts 😊, maintaining my own blog, and continuing to educate myself on the craft of writing. It is both a focus and a fascination that I am continually grateful for.
I treasure the friends I’ve made in this writing space, and I’m indebted to many I’ve learned from. Thank you all.
Yeah, I’m livin’ the dream.
So TKZers: What are you grateful for?
* * *

Private pilot Cassie Deakin has a lot to be thankful for—like not being killed when she foolishly confronted a murderer while unarmed.
Available at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Google Play, or Apple Books.







For the past three weeks, a baby red-tailed hawk — let’s call him “Red” — visits every morning after I feed Poe (crow) and family, Navi (squirrel) and family, Hip (chippie) and family, and Meep (blue jay) and family.
It struck me as odd that Poe didn’t retaliate. Not once! I couldn’t figure out why. Did she feel bad about killing Red’s mother? Nah. That didn’t make sense. Poe protected her family. An adult red-tailed hawk will kill a crow fledgling, if they can catch ’em.
When Red got too aggressive, Poe let out an alarm call. Within seconds, her murder soared in.
The sharp-shinned hawk had a new fledgling, who must’ve been hiding in the trees. This little dude flew to the asphalt and attempted to drag his mom off the road before the crows could feast.
Another hawk hadn’t died in my presence till the red-tailed mother targeted Poe’s fledglings a few weeks ago. And again, the baby hawk (now known as Red) hid among the safety of the woods and watched his mother fall to her death.
Today, Red matches Poe wing to wing, head to tail. Edgar, Allan, and Thoreau still outweigh him but not for long. Red’s transforming into a dangerous predator who’s hellbent on punishing Poe.






