Jenn McKinlay's News

One winner SEVEN books!!! Enter HERE.

ONLY ONE DAY LEFT TO ENTER!!!

We could talk about the Hallmark+ adaptation of my novel PARIS IS ALWAYS A GOOD IDEA, but honestly, I am still processing the pure, undiluted thrill I felt when seeing my first screen credit, and I don’t want to sully it with a lot of blah, blah, blah about the show, except to say…Holy Banana Balls! This show is so great! I love, love, love it!

Also, I am a walking spoiler — whenever the poor Hub watches a movie/show with me, I am in full writer mode, predicting the outcomes and essentially ruining all shared viewing experiences. So, I will keep my lips zipped because, having read the scripts, I actually KNOW the outcome.

So, beyond all the book/show stuff, the thing I’ve been ruminating about this week is the faded house number on the curb in front of my home. When I took out the trash bin the other day, I noticed the number, which had been painted more than twenty years ago, had faded. It made my heart hurt as I remembered how that number had come to be.

It was an early autumn day, warm but not hot, and the Hooligans were home from pre-school. We were in the midst of playing “clean up the toys” when there was a knock on the front door. I answered it, with an assist from our dog Lucy, and found an elderly man, tall and thin, a bit stoop-shouldered, with thinning white hair and kind eyes. He had a red wagon with him and I braced myself to gently refuse whatever he was selling. What he said next, stopped me.

“I’d like to paint your house number on your curb,” he said. “I only charge five dollars.”

On closer inspection, I realized this man had to be in his eighties. The boys joined me at the door, lured by the wagon no doubt.

“Uh…” I hedged, knowing there was more to the story but not wanting to be a big old buttinsky, which I usually had no problem with, but something about this man brought forth my better manners.

He met my eyes and said, “My wife has cancer, and I’m trying to earn money for her medical bills. I’m her caregiver so I can’t leave her all day for a job, so this is what I can do.”

I nodded, feeling his plight in my soul. “Please paint our curb. I would really appreciate that.”

The Hooligans naturally wanted to “help” him and, bless his heart, he let them. I watched from the front porch as he showed them how to tape off the curb, paint it, and then use stencils to paint on the numbers. When the three laborers were done, I gave them water and cookies. Thankfully, I had his fee on hand as well as a very healthy donation for his wife’s care.

When he left, the Hooligans and I watched him go and I said, “You learned a valuable skill today.”

They agreed that learning to paint numbers was fun, but I knew in my heart that they had learned so much more, because I also knew that as they grew up, we would talk about the day the man came to the door with the red wagon. On the face of it, they learned that you can always find a way to make extra money — I believe they’re called side hustles these days — and both Hooligans have had several over the years.

But to me the bigger lesson was what this man was willing to do to take care of his partner. (Yes, cynics will tell me I got hustled and that the man didn’t have a wife with cancer, but I am not a cynic and reject that noise). You see, I have a theory. I think you can judge the character of a person by how they execute their tasks and care for things—their own and other people’s.

I believe the amount of consideration that man put into taping the curb, prepping the cement, painting the numbers, while gently instructing my Hooligans in every bit of it, and then sealing the numbers so that the numbers would last a long time for me, spoke to the person he was at his core. He showed such attention to detail for a task he was only charging me five dollars for, truly, I’d never witnessed anything like it.

It occurred to me then that his wife was a lucky woman to have a spouse who took such care with that small task, because — and here’s my big theory part — I suspect that how a person deals with the small stuff is indicative of how they manage big stuff like their relationships.

Do they see value in chores, helping others, maintaining the things they own? Or do they neglect their possessions, slack off on their tasks, and let them fall apart or remain unfinished? Obviously, not everything warrants the same attention to detail (I have a laundry pile giving me side-eye as I type), but I do think there is an essential truth here. And I silently thank that lovely gentleman for teaching my boys and me to mind how we manage our tasks, our possessions, and our relationships.

Last week’s newsletter winner for a Paris bookmark is:

Congratulations! Message me your address, Tammy, and I’ll mail your bookmark.

Wishing you all a cold beverage, an excellent read, and a day with no have-to’s!

XO, Jenn