Hi everyone. We hope you had a great day yesterday. The Wickeds are in full recovery mode. Plus 2/3 of us are on the road at some point or other over this long holiday, visiting family up and down the entirety of the east coast.
So today, we’re rerunning a favorite post from the past. In this one, from just about a year ago, Jessie Crockett ruminates on why it is so meaningful to her that a special relation is contemplating murder.
In this most magical of seasons, I feel truly blessed. I am warm and dry and over-fed. There are people who love me and people who need me. I have energy for my work and time for my play. All of these things are worth celebrating. But today I am feeling most grateful for understanding.
Last night one of my beloved sisters phoned. She called to let me know that a friend of hers had inter-library loaned my latest book, Drizzled with Death, and to tell me which city had it in their collection. I was grateful that she thought of me and is helping to spread the word about my work. But the appreciation went deeper.
We chatted about other things and then she told me a about a walk she had taken at a nearby land trust. She told me that while she was there she had noticed how easy it would be to hit someone over the head and to hide the body without a trace. And that, of course, she had thought of me.
A couple of weeks ago the same sister called me to say she had been driving behind a cement truck and had thought what an ideal place that would be to hide a body and that, of course, she had thought of me.
When money goes missing from a trust fund, when men leave their families for parts unknown, when buildings burn mysteriously to the ground, my sister, of course, thinks of me. And I feel grateful. And I feel loved.
My sister doesn’t even like mysteries. She doesn’t read any except mine. Even so, her perspective on life has been altered by her desire to help me to live my dream. My highly moral, optimistic, glass is three quarters full sister, now finds crimes lurking behind every tree on a pleasant walk through the woods. She no longer thinks of how beautiful an uninterrupted expanse of unbroken snow appears to be. She thinks about how hard it would be to commit a crime in winter and to not leave a trace. Truly, I am blessed.
What makes you feel grateful, understood and loved this holiday season?