Author: Gina Wilkins

I have a weakness for estate sales. Not garage sales or tag sales, but those events at which an entire house is opened to the public and everything inside is tagged with little price stickers. Sometimes the homes are fairly new, the contents department-store tidy; perhaps the owners are moving away and either can’t take everything with them or want all new decor. I’ve been to quite a few of those, especially when I’ve accompanied my three kids as they looked for good, used furnishing for their first apartments. Sometimes I go with my woodworker husband on his never-ending search for tools. But that sort of sale doesn’t draw me often.

I’m especially intrigued by older homes that were occupied for many years by the same family. Often, they’re crammed full of “stuff” for sale. Furniture, appliances, kitchen items — including partially used boxes of food or jars of spices in the pantry. Bric-a-brac, books, yard tools, clothes, shoes, Christmas decorations. Wrapping paper, office supplies, linens. Half-used bottles of cologne, old gloves and hats and purses and costume jewelry. Creased black and white photos of unidentified men, women and children in clothes from the ‘forties, ‘fifties and ‘sixties. Old records and eight-track tapes, battered dolls and board games.  Unopened gift sets of body lotions and stationery, coffee mugs stamped with “Grandma” or “Papa.” Canes and walkers and shower benches giving evidence of the aging of the former homeowners. Even, once, a set of dentures hanging from a shoestring in the bathroom.

Several established estate sale companies operate in central Arkansas, and my husband and I are on the email lists, so that we’re notified of upcoming sales. We don’t go every week — more like every few months, when a particular sale intrigues us or we simply need a day out of the house. Still, we’ve attended enough of them that we’ve actually made friends among the other “regulars” who line up a half hour or so before the doors open and spend that time chatting and laughing, comparing notes on the other sales scheduled for that day, frequently checking their watches. Some are dealers looking to make a profit in flea market booths or on-line auctions, others are collectors on a never ending quest for their own personal addiction. I have a thing for cut-glass toothpick holders; I don’t know why, they just seem to jump into my hand and follow me home. My husband bee-lines straight for the workshops and garages.

More often than not, we leave the sales empty-handed. I’m not usually there to buy. I enjoy the camaraderie, the rare time away from the computer, maybe lunch out afterward. And I am fascinated by the history I find within those walls, especially in the old homes. I’m not seeing an old rocker marked with a bright yellow price sticker. I see a mother rocking the child who played with that old doll on sale across the room. The set of old China displayed on a vintage dining room table was carefully chosen by someone — was it a wedding gift? Or collected a few pieces at a time over many years? The jaunty, net-trimmed hat and short white gloves from the ’50s would have been worn with some of the glittering costume jewelry for a special evening out.

This past week, my husband, son and I attended a sale in an old Victorian house on the Arkansas Historic Register. There were actually two old homes, side by side, that had been owned by the same family. Uneven wood floors, very high ceilings with dangling, tarnished brass fixtures, narrow wooden staircases, small rooms arranged in rabbit-warren confusion, tiny bathrooms with rust-sprinkled iron tubs, layers of peeling, yellowed wallpaper, the smell of must and dust and decades. I could hardly tell you now what was offered for sale; I was too preoccupied wondering what it would have been like to live in that house more than a hundred years ago, what views the family would have seen from the oddly-shaped windows, how many generations graced those rather dark, high-ceiling rooms. I spent quite a while time drifting through those old houses. Longer than my son would have liked, I’m sure, though he waited graciously enough while I daydreamed, even though he was impatient to visit a couple of nearby furniture stores on his search for a few more things for his new apartment. He’s not really interested in dusty, fussy antiques at this point in his life.

Some people I’ve talked with about my estate sale habit tell me they find those sales sad, all those now-abandoned mementos of lives gone by, often for sale now because the homes’ occupants have passed on or can no longer live alone. While I agree that there is an element of sadness, and perhaps of simple voyeurism, I like to think I’m paying tribute, in a way, to the owners of those things now for sale. I buy, occasionally, contributing to the estate, and I try to view the contents with respect toward those who once used them. And I can’t help imagining my own home and possessions opened to the public someday. What would it say about me if all the closets and cubbyholes of my life were set out on display, the things I’ve collected or used or stashed forgotten in a drawer, the few shopping mistakes crammed at the back of the closet, the little gifts or souvenirs admired briefly, then tucked away somewhere in this home where we’ve lived for more than twenty years? How much of me is revealed in the things I’ve bought or displayed or chosen to keep wrapped in tissue in boxes of memories from my youth and my children’s lives?

I’ll never forget attending a sale several years ago in a 1940s era home in an older Little Rock neighborhood and being immediately enthralled by the lovely antique furniture throughout the house. In a back bedroom, an old four-poster bed was covered with a beautiful, hand-tatted lace spread. Always drawn to bookcases, I moved to a particularly nice one that appeared to be walnut. At first, I was too busy studying the bookcase to notice the books it held. Then I realized it was filled with paperback romances, carefully arranged by author — including a section of my books, displayed in chronological order. As far as I know, I never met the woman who lived in that little house, who read my books in the bed with the lace spread. I hope those stories gave her a few hours of pleasure. I know I will always treasure the crystal bell I bought from the top of that bookcase. I like to think it serves as a continuing connection between us.

You never know what you’ll find at an estate sale.

♥♥♥

A HOME FOR THE M.D.,  on sale now — click Books Available Now! for more details.

Don’t forget to enter the drawing to be held July 1. Click Enter to Win! for instructions.

As I mentioned earlier, our son graduated from college in May and will be starting medical school in the fall. In the meantime, he’s preparing to move out of our home and into an apartment. He lived on-campus during college, so this will be his first experience as a renter. We spent a couple of weeks touring every apartment complex within quick commute of his med school — and he soon realized that a student’s budget does not necessarily stretch to some of the higher-end amenities presented so temptingly by the most expensive options. Finally, he selected a nice, more modestly-priced place in a good location and reserved an apartment that will become available in a few weeks. Now he’s becoming aware of the expense of furnishing and stocking his new home. At this point, his only household furnishings are a raised-panel oak bookcase his dad made for his dorm room, a computer desk handed down from his second sister, and a used washer and dryer set he found on Craigslist last week. His older sister gave him a like-new set of dishes, we provided new pots and pans, and his aunt passed along a few kitchen utensils and a gently-used smoothie maker. We’ll make a discount store run for small kitchen items like a can opener and pizza cutter (two staples for a bachelor kitchen), and in the meantime he’s keeping an eye on the classified ads and accompanying me to estate sales in search of furniture. Being the youngest child, he has slim pickings from our extras — his older sisters already raided our storage room.

It has been rather amusing watching our son pricing new furniture for the first time in his young life (his excellent tastes lead him straight to the leather couches and mahogany tables his just-starting-out budget cannot cover). Remembering the hand-me-downs and garage-sale-specials that filled our first home, his dad and I smile in sympathy. Starting out isn’t easy and in many ways it’s scary — and yet, it’s exciting, too. So many possibilities lie ahead for him, so many adventures and choices.

This is why so many of my books feature women and men on the brink of change in their lives … new homes or jobs, new challenges and definitely new loves! Life is full of possibilities, and it’s fun for me to take my characters to a major fork in their life journey and follow along as they make their choice about which path to follow.

A HOME FOR THE M.D., my Harlequin Special Edition available in stores now, centers around such a choice for the heroine, Jacqui Handy, and the hero, Dr. Mitch Baker. Jacqui has been searching for a home of her own since her rootless, unsettled childhood, and she has settled happily in Little Rock, Arkansas. Yet now she finds herself falling for a man who is tempted by his own growing restlessness to take off for footloose adventures. Both Jacqui and Mitch are forced to determine what “home” means to them — and how much they are prepared to gamble in pursuit of their dreams. I hope you enjoy their exploration of all the possibilities open to them as they stand poised on the brink of change.

Don’t forget to enter the drawing on July 1! Details can be found by clicking the Enter to Win! tab above.

My newest book, A HOME FOR THE M.D., is available in stores and on-line this week. It’s the second in the Doctors in the Family series, but it’s a stand-alone story, so it won’t be a problem if you missed the first one, THE M.D. NEXT DOOR (which should still be available from eHarlequin.com). For a synopsis of the story, click on the Books Available Now tab above.

You should notice something new about the cover of this book. Special Editions are now being published under the Harlequin imprint (formerly Silhouette Special Edition). I’ve always been extremely proud to be a Harlequin author and I’m pleased with their decision to consolidate all their lines under the long-respected Harlequin name. So look for A HOME FOR THE M.D. wherever Harlequin books are sold.

The final book in the Doctors in the Family series, DOCTORS IN THE WEDDING, will be published in January, 2012. I wrote most of that story while I was in Seattle, sitting at a cozy little desk in a University of Washington library. That book will mark a milestone in my writing career that I’ll reveal in a later post.

Now I’m brainstorming ideas for the following book. Coming up with new ideas is the fun part of my job. I tend to sit in my chair for several hours, staring into space while various possibilities float through my mind (and trying to convince my family that yes, I know it looks like I’m completely zoned out and lazy, but I’m really working!). Character names are very important to me. I can’t get to know the people in my story until I know their names. I skim through lists of baby names in books and on-line until certain names jump out and me and feel right for the still-vague personalities developing in my head. Naming my heroine and hero is always the first step in writing for me, and sometimes I change the names a couple of times before I find a “match” and can move on with the story.

Once I know the characters a bit, I start to outline their adventure. What do they do for a living? What do they want most in life — and what’s holding them back from having it? What have I recently heard, seen or read that inspires a new storyline? A song? A news article? A funny anecdote told by a friend or family member? Several years ago, someone gave me a shirt that read: “Careful, what you say may appear in my next book.” I’ve always gotten a laugh from that, because it’s so true. It’s rare that I use real events in my books, but often something I’ve been told plants a seed of an idea that grows into a full-blown scene. My friends and family are long accustomed to seeing me get distracted while scenarios buzz through my head. “There she goes again telling stories to herself.” I’m so fortunate that I’ve been able to share those stories  through my books.

So, back to work. There’s an occupational therapist named Kim who’s tapping at my shoulder, whispering suggestions into my ear. No one but me can see her just yet, but I hope to introduce her to you sometime next year. In the meantime — be careful what you say around any writers you happen to know!

After being away just over two months helping my daughter, I returned home from Seattle on the evening of May 5, where I was greeted at the airport by my husband and son. I have to admit it was a disorienting drive home. I left in winter and returned to the heat of an early Arkansas summer (though the moderate temperatures have been absolutely perfect for the past few days). All during the drive home, I saw signs of the stormy spring I’d missed — mud lines on the foliage where flood waters had risen, huge trees uprooted by tornadoes, scraps of insulation still caught in treetops from the houses that were hit on the Little Rock Air Force Base, which is less than a mile from our home. The tornado that hit the base went directly over our rooftop, depositing debris in our yard. My husband said he heard the twister go over, but fortunately we sustained no damage. Several in the storm’s path the next time it touched down were not so fortunate. The nearby town of Vilonia was hit hard, and lives were tragically lost.

The day after I arrived home, my husband and I made the forty-minute drive to the University of Central Arkansas in Conway for our son David’s presentation of his UCA Honors College senior thesis, followed by the Honors College banquet honoring the graduating seniors. We returned to Conway again the next day for the graduation, itself. More disorientation — my youngest child is now a college graduate. He will begin medical school in the fall, and is even now beginning the search for an apartment. The nest will truly be empty.

Immediately following the graduation activities I had to get back to work, finishing and polishing a book that was due for Special Edition (more about that in the next post). Along with laundry and grocery shopping and dusting (my husband kept the house tidy and vacuumed while I was gone, but dusting is not his strong point) and other catch-up chores, I hardly had time to even look out a window. Needless to say, I feel like I’ve been running hard for the past few months!

So, after I finally delivered the book, folded the last clean towel and put away the dust cloth earlier this week, I realized to my surprise that May was already half over! Before it’s gone completely, I want to make sure you all know that May is National Stroke Awareness Month.

According to the American Stroke Association website, stroke is the number three cause of death and the number one cause of adult disability in the United States. Those of you who read this blog know that our older daughter suffered a stroke on October 30 of last year at the age of 30. Almost seven months later, she still has to use a power wheelchair for traveling more than about a hundred feet (her maximum distance with a walker at this point), and she has still not recovered the use of her right hand. She was extremely fortunate in many ways, especially in that she has no cognitive deficits, but she still has a long way to go toward full recovery. She is documenting her journey in a blog, mostly for the benefit of other young stroke survivors and their caregivers. I’ve put a link to her blog here.

Courtney had extremely low risk factors for stroke; no definitive cause has yet been determined for the clot that caused her attack. She was a healthy, slender, active nonsmoker who did not drink and had never done recreational drugs, and she seemed like the least likely candidate for an ischemic stroke. Still, it is important for everyone to be aware of the known risk factors and to minimize those risks as much as possible. Many of those risks can be modified or treated — by losing weight, quitting smoking and managing cholesterol, among other measures. Having seen what Courtney has been through, as well as all the other stroke survivors we’ve met during the past seven months, trust me, it’s worth the effort!

Courtney was at her apartment alone when she became aware that something was wrong. As a medical researcher, she knew some of the warning signs, yet even then she hesitated before calling for help, telling herself she couldn’t possibly be having a stroke. Looking in the mirror, she saw that her pupils were different sizes and one side of her face was drooping. We are all so grateful now that she took those signs seriously and called a friend immediately to take her to the hospital. Her heart rate crashed after she arrived at the emergency room. Had she still been at home alone, I don’t even want to think about what might have happened.

For Stroke Awareness Month, please familiarize yourself with the warning signs of stroke:

Sudden numbness or weakness of the face, arm or leg, especially on one side of the body.

Sudden confusion, trouble speaking or understanding.

Sudden trouble seeing in one or both eyes.

Sudden trouble walking, dizziness, loss of balance or coordination.

Sudden, severe headache with no known cause.

Much more information is available at http://www.strokeassociation.org. I highly recommend you check out this great site.

The winner of the drawing for May was Robin Carroll-Mann of New Jersey. Congratulations, Robin!

I’ll be back at home next week, and I’ll make an announcement for the next contest along with an update on my next book  when I’ve settled back in. In the meantime, I hope you find a few moments of tranquility in this spring which has proven to be so stormy and dangerous across the country.

My thoughts and prayers are with all who have suffered from the tornadoes and floods of the past few weeks, both in my home state of Arkansas and across the midwest and the South.