Amanda Lauer's Blog

A year or so before my husband John retired in May of 2024, we started watching YouTube retirement videos. Our favorites are Joe Kuhn; Happy on Monday; Holy Schmidt; Erin Talks Money; Retire This Way with $500K; Merit Financial Advisors; Streamline Financial; Think Retirement; Retire Early $500K; James Conole, CFP; Ari Taulieb, CFP; Tae Kim – Financial Tortoise; Retire with Julia; Retirement Transformed, This is Our Retirement, Eric at The PeakFP; and Buzz’s Retirement Garage.

The topics cover the gamut from portfolio management and withdrawal strategies to healthcare costs, Social Security timing, lifestyle adjustments, and the emotional side of leaving work behind—proving that a fulfilling, slower-paced retirement is achievable whether you’re retiring with $500K or several million.

As we get close to the second anniversary of John’s retirement (and my semi-retirement—I’m still writing very part-time), we are getting in the groove of the retirement lifestyle…doing what we want, when we want, and with whom we want.

I would say it’s been an easier transition for John than for me. For the past 45+ years, I’ve been on overdrive, constantly multitasking. From school, to working full-time, to being a stay-at-home mom with our four children for 13 years, to going back into the workforce part-time, to starting a home-based health and wellness business, to creating a new career as a proofreader, copy editor, and ultimately, an author.

No matter what era I was in, there was one common denominator. I was in a hurry. It’s taken close to two years, but it dawned on me recently that I’m finally learning to slow down. To sit still. To do nothing. Just like our friends in the retirement videos have mentioned.

That thought led me to consider all of the day-to-day things I rushed through. Even when we were empty nesters, my days started with a bang and ended in exhaustion. I rushed through getting out of bed, exercising, showering, eating, playing my daily mind-exercise games, phone calls, texts, emails, to-do lists, conducting interviews, being interviewed, outlining, writing, rewriting, cleaning, doing the wash, planning trips, helping my parents, coffee meetups, chatting with people I’d run into here and there, running errands, cooking, cleaning, brushing my teeth, flossing. Heck, I even rushed through my prayers, whether it was the meal prayer or my daily rosary (which I listened to at 1.5 speed while doing the dishes every night).

Car advertisements always talk about going from zero to 60. What about going from 60 to zero? It’s a shock to the system. But you do eventually get used to it. What used to be considered wasting time is now considered living in the moment. It takes a while to acclimate to silence and stillness. The stillness where you can actually hear and ponder your thoughts. It’s crazy how much we’ve slowed our days down. We used to do our whole morning routine, including hydrating, rebounding, strength training, a 40-minute sauna, showering, and dressing before 8:00 a.m. Now, we seldom make appointments before 10:00 a.m. We just don’t want to be rushed anymore.

We can allot as much time as we’d like for any activity we want to pursue in the day, whether it’s reading, biking, or chilling out on our front porch or patio. Generally, we eat a light breakfast and have our main meal in the middle of the day. It seems healthier to consume the bulk of our calories early in the day. And, if we’re eating out, we avoid the crowds. Running errands and having appointments during the middle of the day helps us avoid crowds and the heavier early-morning and late-afternoon traffic. Traveling in the off-season allows for a more relaxed pace as well.

I used to consider being busy and having jam-packed days a badge of accomplishment. Now I consider every day successful, no matter what I did or didn’t do. John and I continue to say how lucky and blessed we are, and we look forward to seeing how the rest of our retirement will unfold. John Lennon said it well for us, “Grow old along with me, the best is yet to be…”

The post What’s Your Hurry? appeared first on AMANDA LAUER.

If you’re not a fan of Fiddler on the Roof, you may not get this reference, but regardless, the thought of traditions came to mind at a women’s luncheon that I attended in December. We were doing an ice-breaker event at our table, and one of the questions was, “Does your family have any holiday traditions?”

A couple of women thought of a thing or two, but the others couldn’t think of anything. When it was my turn to speak, I rattled off a half-dozen things that we do as a family, but that was just the tip of the iceberg. The Lauer family is all about traditions, especially at Christmastime.

No judgment here, please, but our traditions start as early as November 1 each year. That’s when John and I start listening to Christmas music on Pandora at night for an hour or so when we go to bed. (This tradition started in my childhood when my mom would start listening to the Reader’s Digest Christmas records in late fall, particularly on cold, blustery days.) Every year, on the day after Thanksgiving, we put up our tree and all the indoor and outdoor Christmas décor. With three of our grandchildren helping us now, we can get the whole job done in about three hours. That’s also the day that our son comes over and makes our annual batch of Chex Party Mix.

When our four kids were at home, and we were living on a shoestring budget, on Thanksgiving weekend, we had our annual family trip to the movies, splurging on not only six tickets, but a bucket of popcorn and one large soda to split (free refills, so enough to keep everyone happy). We saw the classics, from Harry Potter to The Lord of the Rings. We don’t do the Thanksgiving weekend movies anymore, but we do go with our grandkids to the annual Fox Valley Festival of Lights.

For 25-plus years, the first week of December, we’ve gone to see the annual production of Christmas Stars at St. Francis Xavier High School. In December, we start watching our favorite Christmas movies (old-school DVDs and Blu-rays), including such classics as Jingle All the Way, Christmas Vacation, The Holiday, Christmas in Connecticut, Family Man, Miracle on 34th Street, A Charlie Brown Christmas, The Grinch (various versions), A Christmas Carol, Four Christmases, Elf, Arthur Christmas, and Santa Clause I, II, and III. Most years, it takes us through January to finish them all, especially now since we’ve added Hallmark, Netflix, and Amazon Prime Christmas movies to the queue.

When our grandkids start Christmas vacation, we devote a day to Christmas baking, which always includes Christmas cut-out cookies, using my mom’s recipe from 1957, and peanut butter balls. We have other recipes that we add to the list some years, ranging from molasses cookies to peanut butter cups, Seven-Layer Bars, and peanut/cashew clusters. We usually reserve the cookie frosting and decorating for Festivus, December 23.

Each year, everyone, particularly our grandkids, looks forward to Reindeer Games, which are games played in our basement: darts, foosball, and ping pong. It’s amazing how competitive we all are, and how good the grandkids are getting at these games. No one’s letting anyone win, that’s for sure!

Puzzles, most in the 1000-piece category, are put together each holiday season. When our daughter arrives from Ohio, we play games every day, either at our house or at our son’s house. Kid-friendly ones during the day, and games for older players at night, once the kids are in bed. Some of our favorites are Settlers of Catan, Code Names, Ticket to Ride, and Dominoes. But every year, new games are added to the mix.

We can’t forget the food! When everyone is in town, we try to eat together once a day. These meals include anything from cookout fare to JD’s Drive-In to Stuc’s calzones to ham on Christmas Day. Before our youngest daughter goes back to Ohio, we celebrate her late December birthday a couple of days early with takeout from Gingerootz.

The whole group is together for Christmas Eve day, then we go our separate ways. Everyone at our house attends Mass in the evening. On Christmas Day, we give the grandkids time to enjoy their gifts at home and head over to our son’s house after lunch to exchange gifts.

This was the first Christmas Eve in my whole life that I didn’t spend part of the evening with my dad. Traditionally, he and my stepmom had John, me, and the kids over for a light dinner and gift opening after we got out of 4:30 Mass. Unfortunately, my stepmom passed away on March 9 of this year, and my dad passed away six months later on September 11. I like to think they were enjoying our Christmas celebration from Heaven this year.

On New Year’s Eve, John and I have the house to ourselves and watch the movie It’s a Wonderful Life. Most years, we make it up until midnight, but when we don’t, we figure it’s midnight somewhere in the world and celebrate early. We’ll do a kombucha toast and reflect on the previous year and what we’re looking forward to in the coming year.

When Christmas vacation winds down, and everyone is back home safe and sound, then it’s time for John and me to settle down for our long winter nap. Just kidding! In early January, we had the grandkids over to take down the Christmas décor and the tree, and then they decorated the house for winter with my snowman collection. At the end of January, they’ll come back and switch out the snowmen for Valentine’s décor. On February 2, John and I celebrate the day by watching the classic movie Groundhog Day.

All these traditions may sound like a lot, but they fit our family well, and we look forward to them each year. What about you? Do you have as many holiday traditions as we do? What are your favorites?

The post Tradition, Tradition… Tradition! appeared first on AMANDA LAUER.

Today I saw a post on Facebook, asking readers to submit their Thanksgiving memories. Thinking back, my Thanksgiving memories may be different than most people’s. My dad was in the military, so we lived on or near Air Force bases until I was a junior in high school. That being the case, the closest we ever lived to any relatives was 500 miles away. While we could make that trek easily enough in the summer, it wasn’t so easy during the holidays with snow and/or ice issues that northern Midwest states deal with that time of year.

The one Thanksgiving that we did go to my grandparents’ house in Michigan. I was around 5 years old, and we drove from northern Wisconsin through Illinois and up to central Michigan. The trip there was fine, but on the way back, my parents decided to take the ferry across Lake Michigan back to Wisconsin, rather than driving through Chicago. Unfortunately, the ferry got stuck in the ice in the middle of the lake, and we were stranded overnight on the ferry. We lived for 24 hours on vending machine food, and for entertainment, we were gifted two decks of playing cards. Both had pictures of cats on them. I can still see them in my mind’s eye. An ice breaker came to our rescue the next day.

That was the end of trying to attempt that trip during the cold-weather months, so our family created our own Thanksgiving traditions. Dad was in charge of cooking the turkey, the dressing (the best ever), and the mashed potatoes, and Mom took care of the sides dishes (canned corn, sliced jelled cranberry, and pumpkin pie). I can remember the kitchen being steamy all morning as the cooking progressed.

For me and my two older brothers, Thanksgiving started with the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. Mom and Dad would poke their heads into the den to check out the parade every now and then. Mom was particularly interested in the band performances because she had played the clarinet in marching band when she was in high school. She even had her parents open enroll her to a high school in another neighborhood so that she could be in their marching band, because they had a trip on the docket to New York City, which turned out to be one of the highlights of her high school years.

Dad loved every bit of the parade. He grew up in the Bronx, and had seen the parade in person several times as a child, so it was a special memory for him, particularly since he lost his dad when he was only 5, and his mom when he was 14.

Our Thanksgiving meal was a feast. Dad reigned over the turkey, using his electric knife to precisely slice it. He was the only one interested in the gizzards, neck, etc., so he got those parts for himself.

Unlike me, the person whose food was segregated on my plate, Dad created Thanksgiving Mountain on his, starting with the turkey, then the dressing, the mashed potatoes, the corn, the cranberries, all topped off with a generous serving of gravy. I always asked how he could mix his food like that, and he told me that it all got mixed in the end when it went into his stomach, so why not start that way?

After lunch, the guys watched football while Mom and I handwashed the dishes (no dishwasher for our family in the 1970s) and packed away the leftovers. When I finished, I joined the boys in the den. I didn’t know much about football at that time, but I liked being part of the camaraderie.

When the game ended, around 3:00, it was off to the bowling alley. Back then, there were no bumpers, so it was a challenge for a scrawny kid like me to get the ball down to the pins without hitting the gutters. I don’t think I ever even got near 100 (or 50, for that matter). Dad and Mom were both on bowling leagues, so they were solid bowlers. But, one day a year, we had this special time together as a family. (If you read my book Anything But Groovy, you can discover more about our holiday traditions, including Thanksgiving and Christmas, but with a time-travel twist: think, a combo of “Back to the Future” and “Freaky Friday”.)

Christmas had a similar vibe. Mom was the queen of creating magical Christmases, even if Dad took credit for buying and wrapping the gifts (a family joke that went on for decades). This year will be my first Thanksgiving without my dad, but I treasure the memories we created back then. It may have been just the five of us, but we were a team and made the best of what we had.

Happy Thanksgiving, Dad! I still don’t allow my food to intermingle on my plate, so I won’t be creating Thanksgiving Mountain, but I’ll be thinking of you!

The post Thanksgiving Memories appeared first on AMANDA LAUER.

Maybe it’s because of my Irish roots, but I feel I have the ability to be a professional mourner. When someone close passes away, or even someone I don’t know personally, but whose life story touches my heart, I don’t just cry, I weep — in genuine sorrow — potentially for days. I’d make the ideal guest at an Irish wake, which can last two days or longer. Even if I didn’t know the deceased, seeing other people (particularly men) cry sets off the waterworks.

I’ve often said that I could never recite a eulogy, do a reading, or offer a personal reflection at a funeral. Through the years, I’ve come to realize that I can cry or talk, but not both at the same time.

With my father’s passing, I’ve experienced a sorrow I’ve never felt before. In the five weeks since he died, I’ve kept myself busy from sunup to sundown, doing all the things it takes to plan a funeral, set up the interment of his ashes with military honors, settling his estate, etc. Anything to ward off the tears that are ever on the verge of falling.

To my profound relief, Dad’s funeral went off without a hitch. Multiple people mentioned afterwards what a beautiful Mass it was, how moving and beautifully performed the songs were, how the display tables and the photographs really gave a glimpse of the man my dad was. Our son did the reflection on his grandpa’s life admirably. He had us laughing and crying. I know Grandpa would be proud of him.

If I’d tasked myself with presenting that talk, it would’ve had a more somber tone, reflecting on my experience of having Kieran Purcell as my father for 63 years. Here’s the eulogy I never delivered…

I’ll admit, I was always a daddy’s girl. One of my earliest memories was stepping on Dad’s shoes and dancing with him at the NCO club on the Air Force base where he served during my childhood. Neil Diamond’s song Cracklin’ Rosie always brings me back to those days.

Being in the military wasn’t a financial boon, by any means. Dad would tell me that the best times of his life were (before I was born, go figure!) when he was stationed in New Jersey and would come home from work and give Mom a break from taking care of my brothers, Gordon and Rodney, who were nine months apart in age. He’d take them along the boardwalk on the Jersey shore. It saddened him that he didn’t even have a nickel to buy them an ice cream cone, but he and the boys loved every moment of those late afternoons together (and I’m sure Mom was happy for a break from two rambunctious toddlers).

When Dad was stationed at the Air Force base in Antigo, he took on a second job, tending bar at Riverview Country Club. That’s when his legendary 50-year love affair with golf began. No hole-in-ones, but he got close a couple of times. His best score was 72, scratch golf.

In my eyes, Dad was the big fish in the little pond in that small town. He was charismatic and had the charm, accent, and good looks to give any Kennedy a run for his money. When he wasn’t working, he and Mom would host card parties, he enjoyed grilling and making his amazing from-scratch spaghetti and meatballs on the weekends (while listening to Broadway tunes or Herb Alpert & the Tijuana Brass), he golfed, he bowled, he lectored at our parish, and he was a loyal and active member of the Antigo Elks lodge.

When he and Mom split up before my junior year of high school, I made the difficult decision to stay with my dad. I felt like I’d have a more stable living situation with him and that I could finally have more time with him.

We had a few months together on our own before we moved from the Air Force base in Minnesota, where he was working, to Wisconsin, for the beginning of his career with the National Weather Service. Six months after we got here, he married my stepmom, Mary. I lived with them for my senior year, and then left home when I went to college.

By that Christmas, I was engaged (to the man whom I just celebrated 44 years of marriage!), so I moved back home again. John and I were married on September 11, 1981. Side note: When my dad had his last hospital stay, he said to me, “I’m glad you fell in love and left college. It turned out great!” It sure did!

On March 8, 1985, I gave Dad and Mary the best gift they could’ve ever asked for — a grandchild! Over the course of the next six years, we added three more children to the brood. Dad was an incredible grandpa. He loved his grandchildren fiercely and gave so much time and attention to them, especially after he retired in 2000.

Living less than two miles from Dad and Mary, we saw them regularly. They watched the kids at times, came to their school programs and sporting events, and were at all the family celebrations. Every Christmas Eve, John and I and the kids arrived at their house after 4:30 Mass concluded and enjoyed finger foods and sweets, and then opened gifts. The running joke with Dad was watching the kids open a gift from him and Mary and telling everyone how much work he’d put into buying that gift, when we all knew that Mary did the shopping and wrapping.

Our lives were busy during the child-raising years and beyond, when John and I were empty-nesters and became grandparents ourselves. Those eight grandchildren, Dad’s great-grandchildren, were the joy of his life. He encouraged the grandkids to call him Elder Grandpa, because their Grandpa Lauer was truly a great grandpa; he thought John deserved that title.

One constant in my life was wanting to have more time with Dad. Several years ago, I joined the Fox Valley Catholic Bible Study group that Dad had belonged to since 1980. That gave us every Friday morning together, a time we cherished.

Two years ago, my wish was truly granted, in an unexpected way, but it turned out to be a blessing. In September of 2023, Dad was diagnosed with metastatic melanoma. He didn’t tell me about the diagnosis until November of that year, after our youngest child was married and our youngest grandchild was born.

I was devastated by the news, but did what I could to support Dad. We spent more time together than I ever could’ve imagined, but the bulk of that was at the cancer center for his checkups, radiation, and immunotherapy appointments. But we also had coffee dates, lunch dates, a night at the PAC watching his favorite Broadway musical, Les Misérables, trips to Ohio to visit the kids and grandkids, and lots of drives in between.

After Dad had his first serious fall in January, and then when Mary passed away in March, our time together ramped up significantly, because he needed help with day-to-day living. I was grateful to be there for him, and he constantly expressed his gratitude to me for anything I did for him. Over that time, I really got to know him on a deeper level and saw a vulnerability in him that I’d never seen before. I heard stories from his growing-up years in the Bronx, his days in the military, school days, what his hopes and dreams had been, and the regrets he had along the way. What inspired me the most was how his faith deepened as he went further along in his cancer journey.

Dad never did get to ring the bell at ThedaCare Cancer Center that would declare to the world that he was cancer-free. But he did accomplish something even bigger than that. His greatest wish was to live long enough that his great-grandchildren would remember him. They do, and they always will. Who could forget someone as memorable as Elder Grandpa Kieran Purcell?

The post The Eulogy I Never Gave appeared first on AMANDA LAUER.

For some reason, I jumped on the cool mom bandwagon in January and chose a word to focus on for 2025. I generally don’t do this, but the word SERVE kept coming into my line of sight, so I thought it was a nudge from God that this should be my word for the year.

Well, the word SERVE certainly was appropriate. So appropriate, that I doubt if I’ll ever choose another annual word to focus on again. I feel like I’ve done nothing but serve so far this year. I’m more than happy to help my family and loved ones, but this year has been more than I bargained for.

My stepmom had surgery on January 6, which didn’t turn out as planned. She went into hospice on January 31 and passed away on March 9. By chance, on January 31, my dad failed to show up for the hospice meeting, and when John and I went to check on him, we discovered that he had fallen in his bathroom and had been on the floor for nine hours.

Our winter was spent driving back and forth between the hospital, the rehab center, and, when my dad was finally released from care, his house. Add to this, looking after my mom, who’s in assisted living under long-term hospice care for Alzheimer’s dementia. After my stepmom’s passing, there were countless tasks to be taken care of, including planning her funeral.

We had a smooth stretch for a while, where my biggest job for my dad was bringing him to various appointments, including his monthly immunotherapy for his metastatic melanoma. There were fun things as well, like soccer games for our grandkids, Bible study, errands, etc. Our biggest adventure was in August when we took him to Ohio for four days to spend time with his great-grandchildren, who live in Ohio, and the ones who traveled to Ohio from Seattle for the week.

The day after we got back, life got more complicated. I had to bring my dad to the ER for what turned out to be COVID. After a few days in the hospital, he was released, but then had a fall the following Friday. No major issues that day, but the following Thursday, he fell in his bathroom once again (for some reason, the fall detection alarm didn’t detect the fall, so we aren’t sure how long he was down before he was able to reach the pendant trapped under him and push the alarm).

He’s been in the hospital since, first in ER, then on the floor, then in ICU for four days, now back on the floor. His ailments included MRSA, severe sepsis, three broken ribs, pneumonia, a kidney injury, heart strain, rhabdomyolysis, and critically low blood pressure (69/35). If the MRSA responds to the antibiotics, and the infection hasn’t gone to his heart, he’ll be released to rehab this week.

While he’s in rehab, we’ll be figuring out a plan going forward that will provide the most comfortable and safe life for him. Lots of things to consider, facilities to visit, plans to make. But, at this moment, we’re taking life one day at a time.

Meanwhile, my sixth and final book in my Heaven Intended series was going through the publishing process for the last several months. A Hero Such as Heaven Intended was published today, Monday, September 8, 2025.

There was no formal launch, as I’ve been just doing what I can to keep my head above water, so I’ve passed this along to my agent, the Blessed Mother. This year of “service” has been a bit overwhelming, but numerous people have stepped forward to help me on my journey, particularly John, our kids, and some amazing friends, including Leslea Wahl, who put together memes for social media for this book and wrote a heartwarming review for the book that brought me to tears. (See below.)

A Hero Such as Heaven Intended is the sixth and final book in Amanda Lauer’s Heaven Intended Civil War romance series. From the opening pages of the first book, A World Such as Heaven Intended, I was hooked. I’ve always had a fascination with the complexities surrounding the Civil War that tore the nation and so many families apart. The premise of the story might have been what first attracted me, but it was the witty dialogue, engaging characters, and elements of faith that really drew me in.

Lauer is a gifted storyteller, perfectly blending history, intrigue, romance, and faith, keeping the reader eagerly turning the pages. Each book in the series focuses on a different young couple, making it easy to pick up any of the books. While the stories can be standalones, Lauer uniquely connects each of the storylines, making them even more appealing to readers.

Trapped in Atlanta, during the final critical months of the war, Theresa Lundgren’s life is far from what she’d hoped it would be. And then, in a split second, everything is turned upside down. A tragic event sparks the catalyst for Theresa’s journey of self-contemplation, renewal of faith, and even altering her values and life goals. This strong-willed Southern belle had set plans on how to ensure her future, but all that changes when she meets Sergeant Joseph Laurent at the scene of a crime. While resisting her new circumstances, Theresa soon discovers skills she doesn’t realize she possesses, unexpected feelings of compassion, and a fortitude that no one would have expected from this slightly self-centered woman.

When I discovered this was the last book in the Heaven Intended series, I was disappointed it was coming to an end, but I must say this was the perfect story to end on with an intriguing connection to the very first book in the series. Lauer brilliantly revisited a critical scene from that first novel, this time telling it from a completely different viewpoint. I eagerly went back to A World Such as Heaven Intended to reread and truly appreciate those superbly written passages.

This final story was such a joy to read, and while I dreaded the ending of the series, the last few chapters were so fulfilling, giving readers a chance to reconnect with all the various characters we’ve grown to care about during this literary journey. Thank you, Amanda Lauer, for this incredible series and the truly satisfying conclusion. You are a gifted writer, and I believe you were led to write this special series, making you an author such as heaven intended. 

I don’t envision the rest of the year being any less busy, but the words of Christopher Robinson to his buddy Winnie the Pooh resonate with me at this moment. “You’re braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.”

To that point, I’ll keep moving forward. My dad and mom could use any prayers you’re willing to offer. If you’d like to support my writing efforts, please consider ordering the paperback or the Kindle version of A Hero Such as Heaven Intended today. If you’d like a signed paper, I make local deliveries, or I can drop a copy in the mail.

Thank you for being part of this journey with me!

The post It’s Been Quite the Year… appeared first on AMANDA LAUER.

Here’s a bit of trivia about me. If I ever get famous for my books or movies, maybe someday it’ll become a DJ Trivia question. I went to three high schools. No, it wasn’t because I was expelled for poor behavior; it was because of job transfers for my dad.

My dad was in the Air Force, and after his service ended, he took a position as a radar technician working for the U.S. government on an Air Force base. That necessitated a move from sunny California to Northcentral Wisconsin. We lived off base, and I attended a public school for kindergarten (Catholic schools didn’t have kindergarten classes back in the day), I attended a Catholic grade school for first through eighth grade, and then went to the local public high school for my freshman year.

At the end of that school year, the base my dad was working at was closed, so our family packed up and moved to Northern Minnesota, on the border of Canada, to another Air Force base. I spent my sophomore year and the first two months of my junior year on the campus of a public school that housed kindergarten through 12th grade.

That based closed, and my dad switched jobs to work for the National Weather Service, which brought us back to Wisconsin, this time in the northeast part of the state, for the remainder of my junior year and my entire senior year. I graduated from one of the public high schools in the area.

Not all that intriguing, but it does explain the three high schools. Regardless of how little time I spent at each high school, I’m a faithful attendee of class reunions. I liken class reunions to wedding or baby showers. If people are willing to put in all the work to throw them, and I’m invited, the least I can do is attend. Having graduated from Appleton High School-West, I make it a priority to attend their reunions every five years. Having only attended for part of my junior year and half days for most of my senior year (my afternoons were free so I could work), I can’t say I know a ton of people from that class, but I do have some friends who are still near and dear to me. Even though we see each other throughout the year at various other venues, it’s still fun to connect at the class reunion.

Baudette, Minnesota, is a nine-hour drive from here, so the chances of my ever attending a class reunion there are slim. I’m only in touch with one classmate from my sophomore year. To be honest, I’m not sure if Lake of the Woods High School even holds class reunions. If they do, they’ve never tracked me down.

That leads to my first high school, Antigo High School. Even though I didn’t graduate from there, I lived in Antigo for 12 years, and I’m relatively sure I know more members of that graduating class than I do from the other two schools combined. For sure, I remember every member of our 8th-grade class who graduated from St. John’s School together.

Last month, I had the pleasure of attending our 45th high school class reunion. John and I made the two-hour trek to Northcentral Wisconsin. That morning, I gave a talk about my writing career at the Antigo Public Library, had a book sale, then spent the afternoon with my forever-friend Julie and her husband John, after which we headed as a group to the local bowling alley for the reunion.

I would guess there were fewer than 100 people there, but we sure had a great time. There was socializing, reminiscing, a nice buffet for dinner, and a live band. A group of us spent most of the night on the dance floor, dancing to songs from our high school years and beyond.

It was so fun catching up with everyone. I had great conversations with my classmates from St. John’s and people from high school that I didn’t necessarily know that well back then, but know a lot better now. It was great hearing how life has treated everyone.

The interesting thing for me is that this trip confirmed what a great group of guys and girls I went to school with. We all remember the angst of middle school and high school. I don’t know that any one of us was at our best in those turbulent years, but we all turned out well. The reunion was a time of laughter, support, healing, and hugging. Every person I talked to that night is genuinely a decent human being, and I am proud to call them my friend.

It was an event I’ll remember for a long time. God willing, all the people in attendance at the 45th reunion (and maybe some more) will be able to make it to the 50th reunion. I wish everyone the best as we settle into our retirement years.

The theme song for our 8th-grade graduation was “Times of Our Lives” by Paul Anka. He puts the emotions I experienced at our reunion and in the weeks since into better words than I can.

Good morning, yesterday
You wake up and time has slipped away
And suddenly it’s hard to find
The memories you left behind
Remember, do you remember?

The laughter and the tears
The shadows of misty yesteryears
The good times and the bad you’ve seen
And all the others in between
Remember, do you remember
The times of your life? (Do you remember?)

Reach back for the joy and the sorrow
Put them away in your mind
The mem’ries are time that you borrow
To spend when you get to tomorrow

Here comes the setting sun (comes the setting sun)
The seasons are passing one by one
So gather moments while you may
Collect the dreams you dream today
Remember, will you remember
The times of your life?

Gather moments while you may
Collect the dreams you dream today
Remember, will you remember
The times of your life?

Of your life
Of your life

Do you remember, baby?
Do you remember the times of your life?
Do you remember, baby?
Do you remember the times of your life?

The post Reunited, and it feels so Good appeared first on AMANDA LAUER.

“Sisters, sisters, there were never such devoted sisters…”

Anyone else enjoy the movie White Christmas as much as I do?” Before I ever had a chance to see the reruns of that holiday classic on TV, I had the pleasure of being in the presence of sisters — as in religious sisters — on a daily basis when I was in grade school at St. John’s in Antigo, Wisconsin. Or God’s country, as we like to call it.

I started school there in first grade (I’m old enough to have lived when Catholic schools didn’t have kindergartens; if your parents wanted you to start school before first grade, you went to the local public school for a year — in my case, East Elementary). My first-grade teacher was a member of the order of Franciscan Sisters of Christian Charity, based in Manitowoc, Wisconsin, who were assigned to our schools.

Sister Leonita was what we called in the ‘70s “old school.” I remember feeling intimidated by her. Maybe it was the religious habit she wore, or the fact that she was no-nonsense when it came to teaching. It provided a solid base to my education, though. In second through fifth grades, I had lay teachers. Here’s a shout-out to Mrs. Calmes, my second-grade teacher. She was even cooler than Carol Brady from the Brady Bunch, and she made me love going to school each day. I don’t want to say that I was the teacher’s pet, but the two of us are still friends to this day, and she buys signed copies of my books each time a new one comes out … and sends me a little extra money for a cup of coffee.

In sixth through eighth grade, our class moved up to the second and third floors of the old St. John’s school building. We had assigned seats in our classrooms, but rather than having one teacher for the whole day, we had different teachers who came to our classroom to teach our core subjects.

By this time, Sister Frances Ann was our principal and librarian, and we became pals. No one loved reading more than I did, so we spent a good deal of quality time together. I’m not sure how many times she checked out my favorite book for me, A Wrinkle in Time, but it was a lot. I should mention that Sister Frances Ann and I are still in touch! She’s the librarian at the motherhouse in Manitowoc, and I make sure to send her copies of my signed books for the library each time another one is published. Such a sweet lady!

Part of our crew of teachers in junior high (what we called sixth through eighth grades) were three more religious sisters from the same order. Sister Jolene was our music teacher. We regaled her with our version of the Dolly Parton song “Jolene” almost every time she met us in the music room to start class. She was always a good sport about it.

Then there were Sister Cheryl and Sister Georgellen. Our class had them as teachers all three years of junior high. As a group, we loved those ladies. They were outstanding teachers and genuinely wonderful people. They shared with us the laughter and the tears that go along with being pre-teens and early teens. Sister Georgellen was even a chaperone when the girls in our class attended Camp Vista, a Catholic girls’ summer camp in Campbellsport, Wisconsin.

I look back at those years with fondness. I even based my book Anything But Groovy on that pivotal time in my life. There were good times and bad times, but our class felt like a team. When we graduated from eighth grade, those wonderful sisters and our lay teachers were there in the audience cheering us on, and probably shedding a tear or two like us girls as we listened to the song, “The Times of Our Life,” by Paul Anka.

In the past 10 years, not only did I reconnect with Sister Frances Ann, but I also reconnected with Sister Georgellen. (Sister Cheryl has passed, God bless her soul. I’m guessing she was on the fast track to sainthood, having to put up with the 35 rambunctious kids in our class for three years straight.) It turns out that Sister Georgellen was raised in a town 10 minutes from where I live and she goes back home once a year for a week of vacation.

Now, when she’s in town, we get together for coffee and reminisce about the good old St. John’s days. And, of course, I give her signed copies of my newest books. I owe so much to her and the other religious sisters that taught me, the least I can do is gift them my work. If it wasn’t for them, who knows if I ever would’ve become a writer. While the Sisters may have been strict at times, they were exemplary teachers and made a huge difference in my life. I’ll forever be grateful for them!

Do you have a teacher, perhaps a religious sister, who made an impact on your life? Have you been able to contact them and let them know how special they were to you? If you can, I’d highly recommend reaching out to them!

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It’s the end of an era, the Civil War era, to be exact. Earlier this week, I emailed the copy-edited version of the sixth and final book in my Heaven Intended Civil War series to my publisher. A Hero Such as Heaven Intended is slated to be published this fall.

It’s surreal saying goodbye to the characters whose lives I’ve created, engineered, refined, and become so fond of over the last 17 years. Doing the math, I couldn’t believe that this series was conceived that long ago. From my recollection, I wrote the first chapter of A World Such as Heaven Intended in January of 2008, when our youngest child was a junior in high school.

That book was meant to not only be a stand-alone, but also the beginning and the end of my career as an author. The blood, sweat, and tears that went into its creation convinced me that I never wanted to write another book again.

Until I started getting feedback on the book. This story resonated with so many people—women, men, and teens, both girls and boys. I had readers from middle school through their early 90s who read and loved the book as much as I did. One of those readers happened to be 93 years old. After she read it, her niece asked, on her behalf, when the sequel would be coming out. A moment of panic set in. Yet, who would I be to tell a nonagenarian (thanks, Google) that there was no sequel? Lo and behold, my career as an author began.

Make that my career as the author of a trilogy. Two years later, in 2016, the second book in the series, A Life Such as Heaven Intended, was released. In 2018, the third, and what I thought would be the final book in the series, A Love Such as Heaven Intended, was released.

Then, in 2020, Cary Solomon, one of the writers and producers of the movies “God’s Not Dead” and “Unplanned,” expressed interest in making A World Such as Heaven Intended into a movie. Thanks in part to the global pandemic, that project never did see the light of day, but his suggestion for a fourth book in the Heaven Intended series did. A Freedom Such as Heaven Intended, featuring an enslaved young woman as the protagonist, was released in 2021.

The suggestion for the fifth book in the series, A Faith Such as Heaven Intended, came from Brad Birkholz, the photographer who’d shot the cover models and some of the background pictures for books two, three, and four. He wanted to see his daughter Autumn featured on the cover of one of my books. How could I say no to a request from the proud papa of a young lady who was as beautiful on the inside as she was on the outside? I’m so glad I took on that project. The photo session with Brad’s daughter turned out to be the last one he ever did, as he died unexpectedly in 2021.

Between writing Civil War novels, I had five other books published, including my two time-travel tales, Anything But Groovy (a cross between the movies “Back to the Future” and “Freaky Friday”) and Royal & Ancient, two books with fellow Catholic Teen Books authors, Treasures: Visible & Invisible and Ashes: Visible & Invisible, and my latest book and first foray into contemporary romcom, A Very Chapel Falls Christmas, (Yes, as a matter of fact, this would make an amazing Hallmark-style Christmas movie. If anyone reading this has a connection with anyone from Hallmark, Great American Family, Netflix, etc., have your people call my people. Or make that call me. I’m representing myself at this point unless I can connect with a literary film agent).

At almost every book signing, someone will approach me and ask which book is my favorite. That’s like asking a mother which child is her favorite. It’s almost impossible to answer. But, if I have to pick, it’s A World Such as Heaven Intended. That’s the book that started my writing career, so it’s near and dear to my heart. Seeing as it was the first book I ever wrote, I wouldn’t say it’s the most well-written. As a person who has had no formal education in this field, I have learned so much along the way. Particularly from my editors, who’ve been so patient with me through this learning process.

That being said, I can say with certainty that this is my last Civil War book, and, after my current manuscript is published, Lucky & Blessed: A Tale of Forbidden Love in the Court of King Henry VIII, I will be done writing historical fiction. As much as I love this genre, the amount of research it takes for each book nearly equals the amount of time it takes to write the book. At this stage in my career, and with my husband retired, I’m looking at projects that are lighter reads and take less time and effort to produce.

Not to worry, I’ve still got a full slate of projects I’m excited to work on. During the warm-weather months here in the Midwest, I’ll be spending a good deal of time enjoying the great outdoors with my husband, whether it’s e-biking, golfing, enjoying outdoor concerts, or hiking. But when the cold weather hits, you’ll find me at my computer most days, working on one manuscript or another.

Thanks for being along for the ride! I’ll see you at the next book signing!

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It was a challenging winter. My stepmom Mary had surgery on January 6, 2025, and things went downhill from there. With no recovery in sight, she was admitted to hospice on January 31 and passed away on March 9.

Due to various circumstances, including weather, travel, and the impending birth of Mary’s great-grandson, we scheduled the funeral for a month later on April 12. My dad was concerned that it was so far off because he was looking for closure after everything that had gone on in the last couple of months, but, in the end, it turned out to be the ideal day for the Mass and celebration of Mary’s life.

The weather was beautiful, all the folks traveling the day before or on that morning had ideal driving conditions, Mary’s great-grandson Arthur Joseph was able to attend with his mom and dad, our daughter Stephanie was able to fly in from Seattle, Mary’s grandson Jon was able to make it from California, and my dad’s younger brother Frank, who is my godfather, flew in from Texas.

Our youngest daughter Elizabeth flew home a week early to spend time with us ahead of the funeral. My Uncle Frank arrived Thursday and was able to have one-on-one time and a nice dinner out with my dad that evening. Our son-in-law Richie was able to pick up Stephanie at the airport in Milwaukee on his way driving in from Ohio.

Friday night there was a Lenten fish fry at our parish, so we had a group of our guests, including our three daughters, and two of our grandchildren, join us there for dinner. There’s nothing like a good ol’ Wisconsin fish fry. Everyone enjoyed the meal and comradery.

After dinner that evening, my husband John and I had the chance to have a nice conversation with my dad and my uncle. Across town, three of our children and two of our in-law children got to spend time together hanging out as well.

The bulk of the funeral planning—with input from my dad, John, the funeral home, staff at our parish, and a few other helpful people—was relegated to me. There was some anxiety when the day of the funeral arrived, but thankfully, everything went as planned. It was a beautiful and memorable Mass. Mary’s grandson Alex and our son Nick did the readings, our daughters Samantha and Elizabeth took up the gifts, and Stephanie read the Prayers of the Faithful. We were blessed to have two priests residing over the Mass, Fr. Don Zuleger and Fr. John Kleinschmidt, and the sermon that Fr. Don gave was poignant and humorous. Mary Kinderman played the piano and beautifully led the songs that our Mary had requested for her funeral Mass, including “On Eagle’s Wings,” “Be Not Afraid,” “Here I Am Lord,” and “How Great Thou Art.”

After Mass concluded, we had time for fellowship and lunch. It was so nice visiting with Mary’s sisters and brother-in-law, and nieces and nephews of hers that we hadn’t seen in years, plus friends and neighbors who were mourning her passing. The food catered by Van Abel’s of Hollandtown was delicious and the service was outstanding. There was more than enough food to serve the crowd, and the leftovers were packaged up and sent home with us.

That evening John and I hosted a pizza dinner at our house, which included not only our children, in-laws, and five of our eight grandchildren, but my uncle, my dad, my oldest brother Gordon and his son Jack. Eighteen people all together. It was a bit chaotic with the kids running around having fun, but groups of people did manage to carve out the time and space to chat, including my brother, my uncle, my dad, and me who got the dining room to ourselves after dinner.

Sunday saw the departure of almost all our relatives except Samantha, Ryan, and their children, as they chose to stay in town another week to spend Easter with us. Our last guests said goodbye on the Monday after Easter. That adds up to 17 days of guests, which is a lot for two empty nesters, but we always enjoy having company—particularly when it’s our children and grandchildren.

Who knows when we’ll all be together again. It seems that at this stage in life, there are more funerals on the horizon than weddings. But, regardless of the circumstances, we love spending time with our children who are scattered from the West Coast to the Midwest, and it’s a joy watching our grandchildren interacting with each other.

While it wasn’t the ideal situation to connect us, we certainly made the best of it. Which may just be a good way to look at any situation that life presents us. I have a feeling that Mary was watching from Heaven with laughter on her lips and a smile on her face. Thank you, Mary, for this gift of family and fellowship!

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We’ve all heard the expression, “It takes a village to raise a child.” There is truth in that, but recently I’ve come to learn that it takes a village to care for the elderly too.

The Emergency Situation
My 86-year-old dad had a fall while stepping out of the shower at the end of January. By chance, that was the same day that his wife, my stepmom, who’d had major complications following a surgery earlier that month, transitioned from rehab to hospice care. After four days in the hospital, my dad was moved to rehab too. Thankfully, it was the same facility where my stepmom was receiving hospice care, so they could see each other almost daily.

After three weeks, Dad was discharged. If he’d been open to it, we would’ve found an assisted living place for him to move to. However, he really just wanted to go back to his home and the life that he enjoyed, even if his wife wouldn’t be able to join him. Even though my stepmom had health issues for a number of years, the two of them looked after each other. With my dad going through cancer treatment for the last year and a half, he’s had a number of falls, and my stepmom was the one to call the neighbors for help or to reach out to me and my husband to run over to assist him back to his feet.

It was somewhat frightening to bring my dad back to his house when I knew I could spend some time with him every day, but I couldn’t be there with him 24/7. He was so frail after all he’d gone through (not only the fall but subsequently pneumonia, gastrointestinal issues, and Influenza A all over the course of 21 days). I was concerned how he’d make it through his day-to-day activities.

Our Family’s New Normal
I’m overwhelmed by the number of people who have stepped in to help. Before we even got my dad to his house, my stepbrother’s wife spent a Friday evening and most of the day Saturday cleaning the house top to bottom. I could’ve cried when I walked in and saw the house in pristine condition.

While Dad was in the rehab facility, his next-door neighbor took charge of snow blowing and would run his vehicle every few days to make sure it would still start after a month of sitting in the garage during the cold month of February. Now that my dad’s home, this gentleman and his wife bring his mail up their steep driveway and hand-deliver it to him every day. Plus, that neighbor is a handyman and has done a few minor projects around the house that needed to be taken care of.

The lady across the street, who loves to bake, brings over treats and a share of healthy food, and gives my dad the daily paper to read after she finishes it. The family next door brings their 1-year-old and 3-year-old boys over to visit every so often. Their energy really brightens my dad’s day.

The couple two doors down brought their two teens to visit last weekend. One of their children will be mowing my dad’s lawn this summer. Other neighbors have stopped in to see him and sent get well cards. My aunts and uncles have been checking in on him and offering whatever help they can from where they live.

All these acts of kindness, whether big or small, add up. Honestly, I don’t know how my husband and I would’ve handled everything that’s been going on the last couple of months without this demonstration of neighborly love, most from people we’ve never even met. I truly hope, after this experience, that when we recognize someone in need in the future, we’ll step up and do something tangible to help them as well. It takes a village to take care of all of us.

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