#mugmonday 4.24.2023

I felt the need to be a little literary today, LOL

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Voting starts today in Week 3 of the #RoneAwards SASHA’S SECRET SANTA

If you read my blog yesterday, you know that voting begins today in WEEK 3 of InD’Tales Rone awards to determine the finalists. This is round 1 and SASHA’S SECRET SANTA is a nominee in the Contemporary Steamy Category.

I am boldly asking for your vote!! If you’ve read the book and loved it ( thank you!!!) please vote for it to move on to the nominee round. All the voting in this preliminary round is done by the public – you, the readers. You have a great deal of power – first, you buy or don’t buy our books! Second, you get to decide who moves up to the next round here. And I sincerely hope you liked Sasha enough to vote for the book.

Here is the way you vote – and please read all the instructions because you need to do every one for your vote to count.

  1. SIGN IN to your IND’TALE ACCOUNT or Register at InD’tale magazine: www.indtale.com if you don’t have one. They will send you an email to confirm your registration. Click on that!
  2. Go to the drop-down that says RONES/CONTESTS in the upper right corner of the main page.
  3. A graphic will pop up with all the nominees. Locate the CONTEMPORARY STEAMY Category in WEEK 3 APRIL 24- MAY 1 and find SASHA’S SECRET SANTA by PEGGY JAEGER
  4. click VOTE next to it and submit.
  5. You’re done!!!!

Thank you never seems like enough to say when someone goes out of their way to do something you ask, but I really mean it. You have my undying gratitude!!!

Thank you and be well. ~ PEg

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SASHA’S SECRET SANTA is a #RONE nominee and needs your votes! #contemporaryromance #steamyromance

I’m tickled pink ( and Christmas red!) That SASHA’S SECRET SANTA is an InD’Tale Rone Award Nominee!! This industry award is like to authors what the Golden Globes and the Oscars are to actors. You become a nominee if your book garners a 4.5 or 5 star rating in the magazine and Sasha did!!! Here’s the review that got me the nomination: REVIEW

To become a finalist, the public needs to vote for their favorite nominees and today I’m doing a shameless ask for just that! LOL.

Starting TOMORROW you can vote. Here are the instructions -and please read them carefully because there are steps you need to take ( yes, I’m sorry, I know!!!!)

  1. SIGN IN to your IND’TALE ACCOUNT or Register at InD’tale magazine: www.indtale.com if you don’t have one. They will send you an email to confirm your registration. Click on that!
  2. Go to the drop-down that says RONES/CONTESTS in the upper right corner of the main page.
  1. A graphic will pop up with all the nominees. Locate the CONTEMPORARY STEAMY Category in WEEK 3 APRIL 24- MAY 1 and find SASHA’S SECRET SANTA by PEGGY JAEGER
  2. click VOTE next to it and submit.
  3. You’re done!!!!

And you have my undying gratitude!! Please share this blog with your friends because I need all the help I can get, haahaa. This is a very prestigious award and authors really want it — just like I do!! I’ve been a nominee several times and a finalist several years in a row, but I’ve never won my category and I’m hungry to.

Okay, enough self-serving. Thanks for your vote ( I could never be a politician!!!)

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I’m not the only one suffering…

So, it’s been 5 weeks since my mother died.

She passed on a Saturday and the very next day my stepfather fell again at the nursing home. He was so distraught about my moms’ death that when he tried to get up from his wheelchair to go to the bathroom, he forgot to lock the wheels and the chair slipped out from under him when he stood. This caused him to fall to the ground and he landed – hard – on his freshly postop left hip. The one that had necessitated this entire lifestyle change for both my parents barely 2 weeks prior.

The nursing home called me to tell me he fell and they were sending him back to the hospital for xrays. He was filmed, then sent home.

For the next two days, he lay in bed, alternating between crying about my mother’s loss and the pain in his hip. They finally sent him back to the emergency room, and a CAT scan was done. Long story short, he’d broken the rod holding his leg to his hip and shattered the ball joint.

The surgeon who performed the first surgery did not want to repair it because the repair was too involved, so my dad was shipped to the nearest tertiary care hospital in Hartford, CT.

Can you imagine what it was like for him? Already infirm due to the first hip break, he’s just lost his wife, very unexpectedly, and now he’s heading to a strange environment for another major surgery, less than 2 weeks after the first one.

The poor man was so despondent, especially because he was all alone in the hospital, with no family, no one who knew him. I drove four hours every day for a week while he was there ( 2 going, 2 coming back)just so he wouldn’t feel so alone.

All he did was cry.

In pain. In grief. In loss.

Once the leg was finally repaired and he was sent back to the nursing home, his depression was stark on his face and in his voice.

Whenever I visit him or talk to him on the phone, he cries about my mom. More than once he’s said, “I just want to hold her one more time.”

My heart breaks anew every time. Every. Time.

In the span of two weeks, this poor man lost his physical independence, his home, his wife of 57 years, and his way of life.

I’d cry too.

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#firstlinefriday CHRISTMAS & CANNOLIS #holidayromcom #survivingloss #adoption

The third book in the San Valentino family is today’s First line Friday – CHRISTMAS & CANNOLIS

Regina’s tips for surviving in a big Italian family: #1: Ignore behavior that will never change.

With Christmas season in full swing, baker Regina San Valentino is up to her elbows in cake batter and cookie dough. Between running her own business, filling her bursting holiday order book, and managing her crazy Italian family, she’s got no time to relax, no room for more custom cake orders, and no desire to find love. A failed marriage and a personal tragedy have convinced her she’s better off alone. Then a handsome stranger enters her bakery begging for help. Regina can’t find it in her heart to refuse him.

Connor Gilhooly is in a bind. He needs a specialty cake for an upcoming fundraiser and puts himself—and his company’s reputation—in Regina’s capable hands. What he doesn’t plan on is falling for a woman with heartbreak in her eyes or dealing with a wise-guy father and a disapproving family.

Can Regina lay her past to rest and trust the man who’s awoken her heart?

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#wednesdaywisdom 4.19.2023

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April 19, 2023 · 12:43 am

WINDOW OVER THE SINK: A Promise Fulfilled spotlight #PNR #ghoststory #Romanceanthology

I’m visiting with writer friend Liz Flaherty today as she spotlights my newest book, A PROMISE FULFILLED, part of the GHOSTS OF NEW ENGLAND: LAST LIGHT POINT anthology.

You can check out the post here:

https://windowoverthesink.blogspot.com/2023/04/a-promise-fulfilled-by-peggy-jaeger.html

And get the book here: GHOSTS OF NEW ENGLAND: LAST LIGHT POINT

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#mugmonday 4.17.2023

Rainy days…Mondays…April showers. See a theme here? LOL

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#sundaySnippet New in #audiobooks #romcom #NYCsocialitesseries

So the little snippet from today’s selection is from my NEW YORK SOCIALITES series, IT’S A TRUST THING, which was just released on APPLE AUDIO!

Nell Newbery has trust issues.

It’s hard to trust when you’re the daughter of a fallen financial scion who bilked people out of billions. Nell’s done everything in her power to keep away from men who see her as their ticket to fortune and fame. All she wants to do is run her ultra-successful business, HELPFUL HUNKS, in peace. But it wouldn’t hurt to find a guy who doesn’t know a thing about her father’s felonious past; one she can give her heart to and trust it won’t come back to her battered, bruised, and broken.

Is Charlie Churchill that guy? On the surface he seems perfect, all polished manners and quiet mirth. Nell’s convinced he knows nothing about her, other than she likes superhero movies and views junk food as a food group.

Can she trust him to be what he appears to be? Or is he just pretending?

For Nell, trust is everything in life…and in love.

SNIPPET…

That old expression if you want something done, give it to a busy person describes my life to perfection.

I was already late for the two-hour lecture I’d agreed to give at Columbia Business School. And I say agreed with my tongue in my cheek.

When Dean Arnold Dietrichson, an old friend of my mother’s from her cotillion days, emailed and asked me to fill in for a professor who’d requested time off to visit a sick parent, I ignored the missive. And the two follow-ups he’d then sent. When he called me directly, I couldn’t come up with an excuse fast or truthful enough to squeak out of it. Public speaking is the last in a long laundry list of things I never want to do. Having my fingernails removed one by one without anesthesia and shaving my head supersede public speaking, so that tells you how much I didn’t want to do what I was about to do.

A scheduling issue had disrupted my afternoon and I found myself two men short for a moving job I’d booked weeks ago for an extremely influential client. It took me two and a half hours, seven pleading phone calls, the promise of an extra day off, plus time and half for the two guys who finally agreed to come in.  I toyed with the idea to add sexual favors to the asking price if no one agreed.

That would have been an empty promise, but desperate times…you know?

My business, Helpful Hunks, rents gorgeous twenty and thirty-something between-jobs male actors and models by the hour to do all the things you can’t—or don’t want to—do.

Are you a woman living on your own and need shelving put up but don’t know the business end of a hammer from a screwdriver? Call me. Are you relocating from one small New York apartment to another and don’t want to pay the exorbitant cost a commercial moving business charges to move the meager stuff you own? Check out my website. Need heavy furniture rearranged? Boxes brought in from storage? Someone to help relocate mom’s belongings from her home to her new assisted care facility? Send me an email.

The idea for the business came to me in college. I was my first client. At a spit above five foot, and with a mother residing in a psych facility and a father who was a guest of the state, I had no one to help me lug all my stuff into the dorm room I’d be living in for the next four years.

When a group of upperclassmen who were involved in a project offered to help me in order to gain service points for their frat house, I readily agreed. Flirty, fit, and hunky-hot, the guys got all my crap moved in one one-hundredth of the time it would have taken me on my own. While I watched them heft and heave my trunks, luggage, books, and bed linens, a little idea wormed its way into my entrepreneurial brain.

Despite my father’s mortifying public trial and his subsequent incarceration, Dennison Newbery’s business acumen-laced DNA flowed through me.

Before sophomore year began, I’d already hired a few classmates over the summer break to aid anyone who needed help moving into dorms and student housing. For a nominal fee, of course. My profits that year paid for the next two years of my education.

Business school, a business loan, and a solid marketing plan after I graduated, and here I was.

And you can listen to a selection here: AUDIO

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1 month…

Today marks 4 weeks since my mother died.

People keep telling me the pain, the sorrow, the shock, will fade.

When?

When will I wake up and immediately not remember she’s gone? When will I stop crying at the most inopportune times? When will I be able to feel like myself – whole – again?

No answers come back. I understand that. Grieving is different for every person.

I was thinking last night about the differences in how my mother and I were raised.

My mother was the middle child of three girls. The oldest was the shining star of both her parents. Smart, Dependable. Independent. Loyal.

The youngest was my grandmother’s favorite. Why? Only the old woman knew, but after my grandfather died, it was the youngest upon whom she bestowed her smothering love.

My mother, the middle, was her least favorite, something my grandmother told her – actually spoke words to her about – often after her husband passed on. I think I can answer this one with ease: Why did the old lady dislike her so much? Because my mother was my grandfather’s favorite and he made no secret about it. From everyone I ever talked to back then who knew them all – namely the old aunts and uncles in the family when they were all still alive – my mother was the apple of his eye.

She wasn’t smart like her older sister.

She wasn’t as pretty as the youngest.

What she was, was funny, outgoing, sang like an angel – just like him – and thought the man hung the moon.

Apparently, my grandmother was jealous.

I can’t conceive of how a wife would be jealous of a child, but the old lady was, and kept being so, until her dying day. Which, was when she was 86, exactly 53 years after he died. Yup, she was 33 years old when he had a major heart attack and died on his way to work.

Since my mother was raised with the knowledge she wasn’t loved by her own mother, and basically ignored, my mother raised me in the exact opposite way. My grandmother’s way certainly wasn’t healthy for a child’s psyche.

But my mother’s tendency toward her own version of smother love wasn’t either.

She went out of her way, every single day when I was under her roof, to – in her words – protect me from the world. That meant I wasn’t allowed to bring any friends I may have made home after school because she didn’t want other kids corrupting what she was trying to teach me.

Subsequently, I never invited anyone over to our house, even as a teen and then as an adult. I had no close friends, no boyfriend, never had a sleepover at my house and didn’t attend my very first one with a “friend” until I was a senior in high school.

She called the friend’s house three times the first night and then bright and early the next morning to find out when I was coming home.

As a seventeen-year-old, I was mortified, and believe me – a huge fight ensued once I’d gotten home about how embarrassed I was. My mother counter-attacked with the “I’m trying to keep you safe” argument. Like my friends were dope fiends, or thieves, or something equally as nefarious. Which they weren’t. They also weren’t my friends for very long because they thought my mother was crazy and their mothers thought she was rude.

With the advent of maturity and age, I can understand why she acted this way. I still don’t agree with it, but I get it now that I’ve had my own child.

And I bet if you ask my daughter, there were more than a few occasions where I performed my own version of smother love.

Truer words were never written than we are all products of our upbringings, whether good or bad, abusive, or apathetic.

I tried to break the cycle when I had my child. Apparently, it’s harder to break than I realized because there are still some days when I hear my mother’s voice and words blow between my lips – as my daughter is quick to point out. LOL.

Mothers and daughters. Thousands of years of evolution haven’t changed them much, has it?

I miss you, Mommy. Every hour of every day…

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