Anne McCarthy Strauss's Blog

There’s a great new book out and I hope many will have the chance to read The Many Faces of Love Collection. The book is a collection of nice novels of the many aspects of love – heartbreak, passion, true love, and everything in between. The Many Faces of Love features: Arielle Immortal Passion by award-winning author Lilian Roberts, Another Tomorrow by Julie Farley, Between Heartbreak and Happiness by multiple award-winning author Sarka-Jonae Miller, Flirting With Magick by Leigh Bennett, The Heiress of Santorini by #1 best-selling author Angel Sefer, Is This What I Want? by Patricia Mann, Rydin’ the Storm Out by PJ Fiala, and Trigger by Jill Meengs, and The Passion Thief by yours truly Anne McCarthy Strauss

Editorial Reviews of the Individual Books

“In this honest and thoughtful exploration of a marriage coming undone, author Patricia Mann offers no easy solutions. Instead she takes us into the heart of what love and family is all about and reminds us there is no one-size fits all. A thoroughly satisfying read.” – Eileen Goudge, New York Times Bestselling Author

“This novel (The Heiress of Santorini) was very daring, dashed with forbidden romances and served with a great amount of hatred, revenge, and regrets… Sefer entertains the readers with a series of entanglements that gives the novel a chilly air of suspense. She shocks the readers with the cruelty of the acts of violence that occur within supposedly bold Greek families where pride, tradition, and legacy are revered. The message on forgiveness and maintain strong family bonds despite conflict and tragedy is what really makes the novel spectacular and heartwarming.” – San Francisco Book Review

“I do not know where to start with this book, except to say that I loved it!” (Between Heartbreak and Happiness) – Lustful Literature

“Jan, the much lovable yet so far from perfect anti-heroine of this refreshing novel, seems to be plumbing new depths at each turn of the page, as her fairy-tale like, easy going world gradually crumbles around her… Revivifying and fun… this novel is a comforting reminder that it isn’t all that easy to be a young woman discovering that most of the time the only prince charming who can save us is our own little selves.” – San Francisco Book Review

“Meengs has a descriptive yet eloquent style that illuminates the adventures of the characters in Trigger… there is just enough clandestine spy, European romance, mystery and self-discovery to make Trigger a very intriguing read.” – Christina B. Steele, Readers’ Favorite

“The Passion Thief (Anne McCarthy Strauss) is an excellent story of finding one’s self amidst the chaos of life. As we age, for women in particular, all of the variables in life that are beyond our control seem to culminate, leaving us to question where our priorities lie. While it is a work of fiction, the book is a testament to that. If anything, the book serves as a cautionary tale that the grass is not always greener on the other side.” – San Francisco Book Review

“Lilian Roberts (Arielle Immortal Passion) has an almost poetic way of writing… There was this lovely flowing way about the words that I haven’t seen in sometime. This book is definite MUST read and you don’t have to love paranormal stories to read it.” – Joe Cool Review

“Julie is a beautiful writer with a warm heart and this is evident from page one of book one and it flowed through to Another Tomorrow.” – Whairigail Adams, All Things Books

I’m proud to have my book included in this collection by such talented authors. You can find it on Amazon at http://amzn.to/1WdLRwM.

I dated a boy in college who, with his long hair and granny glasses, was exactly my physical type in those days. We both majored in communications, putting us in the same circles. We attended a university in the Midwest, and, in retrospect, probably the only thing we had in common was that we were both from New York. @ Blog Mondays

He smoked pot every day and, as the child of an alcoholic, I was certain his daily use of a mood-altering drug would turn him into a lifelong drug addict or an alcoholic like my dad. So when he told me he had spent his time at a party I had missed talking with “Carol,” I was ready to leave the relationship. (Names and details have been disguised to ensure anonymity – even though everything about them can be viewed on “Carol’s” Facebook account.) She was from New Jersey, close enough to his geographic sweet spot. I respected his honesty for telling me he’d spent time with her, but I was ready to let him move on. Seeing him and Carol on campus from time to time was painful but not gut-wrenching. Eventually he married her and they moved out west. End of story. Or end of story until the Internet.

I admit to being an Internet stalker. Not in a conniving, interactive way, but when information is at my fingertips, it’s difficult for me to avoid the temptation of checking it out. While LinkedIn makes it possible to see the work history of anyone you know or knew, and Twitter lets you follow the mindless drivel of anyone you opt to follow, it’s hard to avoid being nosy when it can be done at the click of a mouse.

Exes are the prime target of Internet stalkers such as me. The key that best fits the lock to your old flame’s life history is his wife’s unprotected Facebook account. Sure enough, thirty years after this couple moved across the country, I’ve learned their wedding date, the number of children and grandchildren they have, and where they all live. I’ve seen their wedding picture as well as shots of their children from toddlers to adults. Pictures of them snuggling with their grandchildren. It’s fascinating, but it’s just not right.

It’s no surprise that my ex’s wife and I have similar tastes in books, movies and TV shows. What’s creepy about it is that I know what she likes to do for entertainment. I shouldn’t know this.

While I’m not especially proud of having stalked my old boyfriend’s entire life through his wife’s public Internet account, with three thirty-something children, I can’t imagine how one of them hasn’t told Mom to simply go into her Facebook settings and click on “private.” Except that none of them has done so with their own account either, all of which I’ve thoroughly checked out. I have no right to this intimate information about the life they’ve built together but, as long as it’s accessible, I’m going to take a peak every now and then. God knows who else is going to take a peak. And that’s where the Internet gets really scary.

My old flame and his wife appear to have many common interests and an extraordinarily happy decades-long marriage. Because this fellow wasn’t the major love of my life, this conclusion warms my heart. I am happy for both of them because so few couples are “in love” after forty years of marriage. I’m grateful for all of us that I stepped out of the way because he and I were simply not a match that would have built the same life together that they did. But I should not have access to the details about the beautiful life they have.

Now, readers, go directly to your Internet accounts. Click on the icon near the upper right that looks like a gym locker lock. From there, proceed through all the steps from which you can select what from your Facebook account can and cannot be seen by others – everyone, friends, close friends, etc. If you still don’t get it, go to https://www.facebook.com/about/basics/ where you can learn how to take control over who sees what you share on Facebook and other social sites.

How do you feel about all the information that may be available about you or others on the Internet? And remember that not all old girlfriends are over it. And even if they are, do you really want them knowing about your personal life? I wouldn’t.

 

The Passion Thief

By Bestselling Author Anne McCarthy Strauss

What makes a love story more enticing than a love triangle?

The Passion Thief by *Anne McCarthy Strauss is the author’s second novel about an uncertain woman caught up in the habit and security of long-term good love and the passion and temptations of bad love. @MondayBlogs

Betty Boomer is a globe-trotting journalist whose job is as exciting as her marriage is dull. When she’s home between assignments in Europe and on the West Coast, she attempts to seduce her husband with alcohol and lacy lingerie. More often than not, Betty’s husband Stan falls asleep from the exhaustion of hard work before Betty even enters the room.

Stan has created a secure upper class life for Betty and their daughter Chelsea in a sprawling Connecticut suburb. When Betty reconnects with her college boyfriend Michael, she learns he dropped out of medical school, became a casino manager in Las Vegas, and has three ex-wives. But just hearing his voice curls her toes in a way nothing her husband ever did has.

Betty must make a choice – boring security, uncertain passion, or something completely different and new.

Is This All There Is?

By Writer and Professor Patricia Mann

In *Patricia Mann’s Is this All There Is? Beth Thomas’ seemingly perfect life is about to take a turn. Married to her college sweetheart with two precious kids, she enjoys her part time teaching job at the local university. But on a rare night out with friends, Beth has too much to drink. Add to that, she runs into a handsome former student – a chance meeting that changes the course of her life. Loud music and alcohol combine to make her feel young again and lead to an unforgettable kiss that was never supposed to happen.

When Beth succumbs to what many wives and mothers do at a certain point in their married lives, the bigger concern is whether she will be able to come back from the indiscretion. Or has her marriage be damaged beyond repair?

*Patricia Mann does an exceptional job navigating these waters for this family and all the people involved, including the children, who are always the ones who get hurt.

Between the Sheets (The Between Boyfriends Series Book 2)

By Award-Winning Columnist, Publicist and Novelist Sarka-Jonae Miller

Between the Sheets is *Sárka-Jonae Miller’s excellent follow-up to Between Boyfriends. When the book begins it’s been three years since protagonist Jan Weston swore off men, and her resolve is wearing down. It is during a lonely semester abroad in Bangkok studying the unlikely combination of international business and Thai massage, that Jan finds herself studying her teacher as well. Jan also meets an athletic and irresistible Italian man and a Thai man who says all the right things. Surrounded by three sexy candidates for love, can she continue to swear off men? And if she can’t, how can she choose which of the three she wants between the sheets?

*Sárka-Jonae Miller is an award-winning novelist, publicist, and journalist. Her novel writing career began with Between Boyfriends, an edgy chick-lit book for women who’ve been ‘between boyfriends.’

 The Necklace: The Dusky Club 1962

Part One of a Trilogy by *Linda S. Rice

When Susan meets the mysterious Mika who claims to have mystical powers, she agrees to have Mika send her back in time to meet James, the man she has dreamed about for decades.

The man Susan meets is based on a celebrity we all know of. Although the portrayal centers on “James” who is in a band in Brighton, England in 1962, the action and narrative clearly parallels Paul McCartney before Beatle fame has struck. 

Mika has told Susan she will learn a valuable lesson about herself. SPOILER ALERT. In essence, everything Susan imagined in James already exists in her own husband. Our idols are best left as fantasies.

I purposely did not mention the ages of the protagonists in these novels. They range in age from 25 to 62. I’ve not mentioned their ages because when it comes to being head over heels in love, every one of us is sixteen.

Take a chance on winning these four great novels at *Rafflecopter.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Today, on the fourteenth anniversary of September 11th, the day millions of Americans vowed to never forget, I looked around for signs that we had remembered. Maybe because it’s the first September 11th I’ve spent outside New York since that awful day, the signs of remembrance seemed less. I moped about it until I saw a posting on Facebook by one of my neighbors in our old Long Island neighborhood. Her son was having a replica of the well-known photo of first responders raising Old Glory over the rubble of the Trade Center tattooed on his arm. Someone had remembered – and would be forever unable to forget.

My thoughts drifted again to my son Chris’s college roommate, Paul Battaglia. Back in 1997, they and three other boys had scored the best suite in their dorm at Binghamton University. With three bedrooms and a good-sized living space, the five boys were thrilled. Except Paul. When I first met Paul, it was in the room he would share with another boy. He was going from one wall to another, pounding as if in an effort to push the walls out, and yelling, “It’s too small!”

Future encounters with Paul were less intense, making him among my favorites of my son’s friends. He was a brilliant kid from Brooklyn who had graduated from Regis High School, a tuition-free Jesuit college preparatory school for young Roman Catholic men from the New York metropolitan area who demonstrate superior intellectual and leadership potential. Binghamton, considered the best and most competitive of New York State’s public colleges, is another academic feather in its students’ caps. The school is famous for the quality of education given the affordable price. For many years, it has been ranked as one of the top 10 best-valued public colleges.

I met the other four boys, but the one who stood out in my mind was Paul. When Chris was panicking over a particularly hard test, Paul was always willing to study with him.  When my son was clueless over how to purchase his first suit for his first job interview, I simply said, “Ask Paul to go with you. You’ll be fine.” That was sixteen years ago. Chris still has the suit.

I remember Paul visiting us at our home on Long Island. When he was ready to drive home, it was very foggy. “You can stay as long as you like,” I told him. “Wait until the fog lifts. Be safe.”

Paul was very proud of his job on the 100th floor of the south tower. His cubicle was set beside a window, and he posted pictures on his primitive website of planes flying below his window and views that went on forever.

Paul was in that cubicle the morning of 9-11-01. I wondered if he pushed against the windows trying to increase his space. I know that the darkness that surrounded him made the fog that hung over our neighborhood when he visited beyond insignificant. I wondered if he jumped.

A lot has happened since 9-11-01. The wars in Afghanistan and Iraq. The human tragedy of Syria. The horror that is ISIS. So much more death and disfigurement. The building of a “freedom tower” on what I feel is hallowed ground that should never again be used for commercial purposes; a tower that silently screams “Hit me again.”

On this anniversary of that terrible day, I wonder where all those who swore they would never forget have gone.

 

 

 

 

I don’t remember sibling rivalry between myself and my sisters when we were kids. @MondayBlogs Because they were five and seven years older than me, they went their way together and I was somewhat akin to an only child. My parents referred to them as “the girls.” I really didn’t know where I fit into this picture. I do know I often felt lonely and excluded because the interests and activities they shared were more often than not of no appeal to a sister who was so much younger. But sibling rivalry? Perhaps they experienced it with each other, but not with me.

‎ My problem was that they were companions. All I had was my imaginary friend, Pokie. My most frequently used expression as a kid was hands down, “The girls won’t let me play with them.”

My mother would explain that they were “big girls” and liked to do things I’d enjoy in a few years. Other times, she would insist that they include me in their activities. That was probably worse because, without a word, they made it obvious that they didn’t want me around.

Decades passed. They both married and had babies while I was still in high school. By the time I became a mother, the cousin closest in age to my son was ten years old. It really wasn’t until I became an empty nester that we had similar lifestyles. All of us had grown children and lived alone with our husbands. And that’s when the gloves came off.

Because we all lived in different parts of the country, our visits were infrequent. There is no question that my sisters and I love each other. But, unfortunately, we often have a difficult time being together. Maybe because they were long gone from the family home before I hit puberty, we never really learned to live together. Maybe not wanting me around when they were kids had developed into an unbreakable habit.

It was only at this point in our lives that my sisters expressed how they had felt about me in childhood. A few simple quotes should convey the message.

“You were the favorite.”

“You could do no wrong.”

“You got away with murder.”

Despite the fact that spending more than a day or two together appeared to be our limit, I developed a habit of joining Sister #2 on one of the numerous vacations she took each summer to a beautiful island off the coast of New England. Despite the fact that one year our visit went particularly poorly, I expected to return the following year. When the time came, she told me, “You’re not coming to the island the week I’m going to be there. The island is mine that week.”

The island was hers? Like a child with a toy. Or without one.

I stayed home. I never like to be where I’m not wanted, and it wasn’t worth the risk of the sisterly explosion that was certain to occur.

On a recent visit with Sister #1, she told me that when she was nine, “Mom never had time for me because she was always taking care of you or playing blocks with you.”

“I was two!” I retaliated. “I’m sure she played blocks with you when you were two! And, seriously, did you want to play blocks with Mom when you were nine?”

My sister directed her gaze toward the evening news, indicating the conversation was over. I wondered how a 65-year-old woman could still be carrying such a grudge.

Our greatest dichotomy is our struggle to achieve the Worst Husband Award for our mates.

“(My husband) is driving me out of my mind since he retired. All he does is play golf and drink at the clubhouse,” Sister #1 said.

“Are you kidding? At least he has interests that get him out of the house. (My husband) spends most of his time blasting FOX News. It’s unbearable,” Sister #2 retorted.

“Well my husband has had early onset dementia for years,” I chimed in. “I don’t know how you can possibly complain when I’m the one who has to take care of him and every household responsibility.”

“Oh, please,” said Sister #2. “No doctor ever gave him that diagnosis. It’s just your opinion. He’s fine.”

“You don’t live with him,” I snapped,

“You don’t live with (name of respective husband)” they responded in unison.

When it comes to sibling rivalry later in life, nobody wins.

Financial security (or lack thereof) is another major issue. While we enjoyed a comfortable lifestyle while growing up, we’ve all had our financial ups and downs as adults. The three of us seem to be fighting a contest in which the winner is the one whose life is the hardest – waiting for the applause meter to rise as it did on the 1950s TV show Queen for a Day.

When I told Sister #1 my husband and I were planning a weekend getaway, she responded, “We don’t go on vacations. We’re not rich like you.”

I wondered how she could possibly consider us “rich” when we both lost our jobs in 2008 and our income today is my husband’s Social Security and what I’m able to make as a writer, a profession that falls into the category of starving artists.

I love them and I’m glad I have them. But I wish we had gotten the sibling rivalry out of the way as kids. Sibling rivalry as adults far exceeds miniscule issues like fighting over a toy, a friend, or what to watch on TV. It seems we’ve grown older, but we’ll never grow up.

 

MondayBlogs Today my extended family buried my Aunt Kate. My father’s little sister, Kate was his youngest sibling, and the last to pass away. Now, all in the generation that preceded my baby boomer family generation are gone.

Mercifully, all of my sixteen first cousins are still living. And, so, my oldest sister, the first female born into my family’s generation of baby boomers, assumes the position of #family #matriarch – the oldest living woman in generations of relatives.

Kate was a woman of her day. She married young, raised five children, and cared for her house and her husband. When the children were older, she took a part-time job. She never drove a car; she never had to. She was gentle, kind, caring – truly a person who never said a bad word about anyone.

Our generation that has now replaced the one that went before us as the elders is very different than they were. Most of the women had careers. Some of us divorced. Others don’t go to church anymore or lead tradition lives.

When we were children, we all lived in the New York City borough of Queens, within ten blocks of each other on the numbered streets of the city’s grid. The whole extended family lived on these blocks. Nana and PopPop, our grandparents, Aunt Mary, a single lady referred to in hushed tones as an old maid, in the vernacular of the day. A nameless funny uncle who there was nothing funny about.

One by one, each of our families moved to the suburbs of Long Island for what our parents believed would be a better life. Still, we all lived in the same county, close enough for large family gatherings at Thanksgiving, Christmas and Easter, weekend visits, and family friendships.

As children, the four families who included the sixteen first cousins, our extended aunts, uncles and second cousins were the core of our universe. The Catholic Church was also a focal point with First Communion and Confirmation parties constituting much of our social life, at which all the cousins gathered. The older cousins all went to the same Catholic School. Sunday Mass followed by dinner at Nana and Pop Pop’s were a given. Today, three generations of Kate’s relatives gathered in a Catholic Church for her funeral. There’s no telling when the last time some of us had been to church had been. It may have been last Sunday; it may have been years. This suspicion was evidenced  by the fact that some of us weren’t certain when to kneel or stand.

We cousins who once shared the energy of youth together now range in age from 51 to 70. Some of us are now a bit hunched and paunchy. Each of us has either gray or dyed hair. Some have a thickness around our middles, and verifying degrees of lines and age spots.

My generation was the first to scatter across the country. But no matter what the distance, we always continued to come together for wakes, weddings, and rare gatherings in between.

We were gifted by the importance of family as demonstrated top us by Aunt Kate and her generation.  The gift of family is priceless, and there is nothing that can replace it.

I thank Aunt Kate and all in her generation and those who preceded them for that gift. Sometimes families may be tempted to write off a relative of or all of their family members. But their blood still runs through your veins. Few if any things are important enough to break that divide.

Rest in peace, Aunt Kate.  How can we possibly fill your shoes?

 

The number of Baby Boomer sites and blogs increases daily. They tell millions of post-World War II adults that forty years spent with the same person can be exciting. That sex in our sixties can be better than it was in our youth. That we can weigh the same amount as we weighed in our twenties with little effort. And we can take steps to improve our health and live full lives well into our eighties. Our grandchildren will flourish and bring us nothing but joy.

The Authentic Baby Boomer blog is here to tell you what you already know. Unless you are a rare and fortunate person, you know that all of the above is hogwash. At some point in midlife, you and/or your partner are likely to get sick. You’ll play the difficult role of the caregiver or the more difficult role of the cared-for. One of you may even die. If you are a Baby Boomer, you definitely have friends and family who grew ill and others who have passed away too soon.

If you’re married, odds are you haven’t had sex with your spouse in some time, even if you’re still in love. Chances are, if there’s a spare room in the house, one of you is sleeping there. And know this. Senior sex can be uncomfortable if not downright painful. Keeping ourselves in shape requires a calorie cut to match our slowing metabolism, and an amount of exercise our already aching bodies are wont to endure.

The grandkids may be treasures but they may also have disabilities, develop addictions, get pregnant or get sick. I’ll encourage you to love and savor every moment with them – until they decide you’re too old and uncool to be seen with.

However, the Authentic Baby Boomer is not intended to be a depressing blog. It’s simply a truthful one, an authentic one. It will tell the truth about growing older, without sugar-coating it.

I’ll encourage you to savor each day – especially the good ones. I’ll acknowledge that all days are not going to be good. I’ll encourage you not only to write your bucket list but to live it. If not now, when? Along the way, I hope to give you some good belly laughs, a tear or two, and an acceptance that you’ve – incredibly – arrived at a point in your life you never imagined back when you didn’t trust anyone over thirty.

Join me at The Authentic Baby Boomer and you’ll be glad you didn’t die before you got old.

Carpe diem,

Anne McCarthy Strauss

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When you’re an author, you put yourself out there as much as any public figure – maybe more.  When the reviews – both professional and from readers – are good, you’re over the moon. The occasional bad review hurts. Your initial instinct is likely to want to lash out, to ask the reviewer when the last time s/he wrote a book was, or to point out any inaccuracies the review may contain.

Professional advice is to do none of the above. It’s hard to do nothing if you’re seething, but it is your best course of action. Console yourself with a chocolate binge, and wait for the next great review to come along.

I’ve been fortunate that both my books have averaged four stars. I love to read a review from a reader who really “got” one of my books and was touched by its message. All my books have a message, perhaps because I’m a frustrated psychologist.

Recently, my book marketing manager told me she was sending “The Passion Thief” to The San Francisco Book Review. Given the number of inquiries they receive, there was no guarantee that they would review the book. But, sure enough, we got word that a review would appear in a March issue.

I was terrified. What if the reviewer was one of the few who didn’t like the book? What if s/he trashed it for all the world to see? All I could do was wait and see.

When the review came out, my hand shook as it hovered over the link to the review (http://sanfranciscobookreview.com/2015/03/the-passion-thief/).  I was terrified as I scrolled down to see the rating. My heart leapt to my throat when I saw the rating: 5/5.

 

No matter what you do, do your best work. Not everyone will always like it. But when the ones who matter most like it the most, all your effort was worthwhile.

When you’re an author, you put yourself out there as much as any public figure – maybe more. When the reviews – both professional and from readers – are good, you’re over the moon. The occasional bad review hurts. Your initial instinct is likely to want to lash out, to ask the reviewer when the last time s/he wrote a book was, or to point out any inaccuracies the review may contain.

Professional advice is to do none of the above. It’s hard to do nothing if you’re seething, but it is your best course of action. Console yourself with a chocolate binge, and wait for the next great review to come along.

I’ve been fortunate that both my books have averaged four stars. I love to read a review from a reader who really “got” one of my books and was touched by its message. All my books have a message, perhaps because I’m a frustrated psychologist.

Recently, my book marketing manager told me she was sending “The Passion Thief” to The San Francisco Book Review. Given the number of inquiries they receive, there was no guarantee that they would review the book. But, sure enough, we got word that a review would appear in a March issue.

I was terrified. What if the reviewer was one of the few who didn’t like the book? What if s/he trashed it for all the world to see? All I could do was wait and see.

When the review came out, my hand shook as it hovered over the link to the review (http://sanfranciscobookreview.com/2015/03/the-passion-thief/). I was terrified as I scrolled down to see the rating. My heart leapt to my throat when I saw the rating: 5/5.

No matter what you do, do your best work. Not everyone will always like it. But when the ones who matter most like it the most, all your effort was worthwhile.

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The first time I went on a cruise was decades ago – a few months after my father died. A certified agoraphobic, I reacted to my father’s loss with the conviction that I would no longer be afraid of life. I’d rather go down in a blaze of glory than linger in a hospital bed for months beyond my time.

 

Inspired by this new attitude in life, I suggested to my mother that she and my ten-year-old son join me on a cruise that headed north from New York, stopping at Newport, RI, and Peggy’s Cove, home of Arcadia National Park, then heading into the St. Lawrence Seaway and terminating in Toronto. Although I suspect that my mother had the misguided notion that cruising after Dad’s death appeared like a celebration of his death, it actually was a celebration of his life and of our lives. It was the acknowledgement of how much bigger our lives could be if we threw caution to the winds.

 

Each of us had a wonderful time in our completely separate ways. Mom sat by the pool, swam and read. I, being a single mom, scoured the ship for single men in their thirties. My son joined the kids’ club and played at sea with kids his age for a full week. It was the best vacation I’d ever had.

 

Twenty-five years later, my mother’s soul is cruising in the clouds, and, although not old, I’m older than any child of the sixties ever imagined s/he’d be. My son is in his thirties with a lovely wife and two exquisite little girls. Imagine my thrill when they recently asked me to join them on a cruise to the Bahamas.

 

A cruise is the ultimate family reunion. There are activities onboard for every age level. And, although you’re all floating on the same vessel, it’s easy to get away from each other and enjoy your separate interests. And just as easy to reconvene for a gourmet dinner or a splash in the pool.

 

I think that anyone fortunate enough to have the means to take a cruise with their family shouldn’t hesitate. A cruise takes you away from your everyday life while keeping you with your loved ones. It’s a vacation you’ll never forget. If you’re able, do it because you can. You need no other reason.

 

Remember to bring a book or Kindle. But chances are you won’t have time to read it.