Don DiMarco has a very good life– a family he loves, a comfortable lifestyle, passions and interests thatkeep him amused. He also thought he had time, but that turned out not tobe the case. Faced with news that might have immediately felled most, Donnow wonders if he has time enough. Time enough to show his wife the romancehe didn’t always lavish on her. Time enough to live out his most ambitiousfantasies. Time enough to close the circle on some of his most aching unresolvedrelationships. Summoning an inner strength he barely realized he possessed,Don sets off to prove that twelve months is time enough to live a lifein full. A glorious celebration of each and every moment that we’re givenhere on Earth, as well as the eternal bonds that we all share, TwelveMonths is a stirring testament to the power of the human spirit.
Steven Manchester is the published author of Pressed Pennies, The Unexpected Storm: The Gulf War Legacy and Jacob Evans, as well as severalbooks under the pseudonym, Steven Herberts. His work has appeared on NBC'sToday Show, CBS's The Early Show, CNN’s American Morningand BET’s Nightly News. Recently, three of his short storieswere selected "101 Best" for Chicken Soup for the Soulseries.
steven.h.manchester@sunlife.com
http://www.StevenManchester.com
http://www.facebook.com/#!/AuthorStevenManchester
Excerpt From Twelve Months:
On Sunday morning, we decided to spend the second half of our getaway in Oak Bluffs
and Edgartown. My wife insisted, "We have to visit the gingerbread houses in Oak Bluffs
first." Known by the locals as "the Cottage Colony," this cliquey community is famous
for its storybook gingerbread cottages, three hundred thirty in all, encircling Trinity Park.
With rocking chairs on the front porches and candle-lit Japanese lanterns glowing at
night, names such as Time Remembered, Rose Crest and Alice’s Wonderland made Bella
coo. Many of the gothic resort cottages – adorned with their ornamental scroll work,
decorative shingling, porch aprons, arched double doors and candy cane colors of pink,
blue and green – contained miniature gardens behind white picket fences.
“They look like doll houses,” I said.
She nodded. “They’re wonderful.”
Rising out of the center was the Tabernacle, an open-air cathedral with dominant
wrought iron arches, colored windows and an octagonal cupola. The Trinity United
Methodist Church was just next door. It had a classic New England spire that had been
hit three times by lightning. With blown-glass windows and a stamped-tin interior, I
remembered visiting it as a kid. "It's still my favorite," I told Bella.
Beyond the summer cottages that rented for more than it would have cost us to
put both Madison and Pudge through college, the Annual Oak Bluffs Harbor Festival
beckoned.
It was a junk-food junkie’s paradise. The air was thick with the distinct aromas of
cotton candy and fried dough. While a live band played on the dock and young children
competed in a chalk art contest on the cement walkway, we ate as we walked along and
looked at the boats. I'd given my belly a rest, so we shared a pulled pork sandwich from
a local Bar-B-Q smokehouse, and then an expensive lobster roll overflowing with claw
meat. I’m dying, I figured, but I’m not dead yet. At the end of the dock, a heavy-set
woman dressed like a rag doll yelled out, "Strawberry shortcakes! Get your strawberry
shortcakes here!"
We stopped and I turned to Bella. “Oh, good…fruit!” I said, excitedly.
She laughed, and we bought one and split it. It was made with fresh strawberries,
a real shortcake and sweet whipped cream. Two bites in, I almost told Raggedy Ann that
I loved her.
As we strolled further down the pier, I stopped and gave Bella a hug. I was
starting to understand that it wasn’t so much about doing anything; about feeling or even
thinking anything. It was about being; being who I was, and being with the woman who
owned my heart. I looked into her eyes and kissed her again.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Nothing,” I said. “It’s just that I love you.”
We hugged for a while, swaying together on the dock, while the crowd milled
around us. Sometimes all we have to do is breathe, I thought. The rest is out of our hands.
and Edgartown. My wife insisted, "We have to visit the gingerbread houses in Oak Bluffs
first." Known by the locals as "the Cottage Colony," this cliquey community is famous
for its storybook gingerbread cottages, three hundred thirty in all, encircling Trinity Park.
With rocking chairs on the front porches and candle-lit Japanese lanterns glowing at
night, names such as Time Remembered, Rose Crest and Alice’s Wonderland made Bella
coo. Many of the gothic resort cottages – adorned with their ornamental scroll work,
decorative shingling, porch aprons, arched double doors and candy cane colors of pink,
blue and green – contained miniature gardens behind white picket fences.
“They look like doll houses,” I said.
She nodded. “They’re wonderful.”
Rising out of the center was the Tabernacle, an open-air cathedral with dominant
wrought iron arches, colored windows and an octagonal cupola. The Trinity United
Methodist Church was just next door. It had a classic New England spire that had been
hit three times by lightning. With blown-glass windows and a stamped-tin interior, I
remembered visiting it as a kid. "It's still my favorite," I told Bella.
Beyond the summer cottages that rented for more than it would have cost us to
put both Madison and Pudge through college, the Annual Oak Bluffs Harbor Festival
beckoned.
It was a junk-food junkie’s paradise. The air was thick with the distinct aromas of
cotton candy and fried dough. While a live band played on the dock and young children
competed in a chalk art contest on the cement walkway, we ate as we walked along and
looked at the boats. I'd given my belly a rest, so we shared a pulled pork sandwich from
a local Bar-B-Q smokehouse, and then an expensive lobster roll overflowing with claw
meat. I’m dying, I figured, but I’m not dead yet. At the end of the dock, a heavy-set
woman dressed like a rag doll yelled out, "Strawberry shortcakes! Get your strawberry
shortcakes here!"
We stopped and I turned to Bella. “Oh, good…fruit!” I said, excitedly.
She laughed, and we bought one and split it. It was made with fresh strawberries,
a real shortcake and sweet whipped cream. Two bites in, I almost told Raggedy Ann that
I loved her.
As we strolled further down the pier, I stopped and gave Bella a hug. I was
starting to understand that it wasn’t so much about doing anything; about feeling or even
thinking anything. It was about being; being who I was, and being with the woman who
owned my heart. I looked into her eyes and kissed her again.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Nothing,” I said. “It’s just that I love you.”
We hugged for a while, swaying together on the dock, while the crowd milled
around us. Sometimes all we have to do is breathe, I thought. The rest is out of our hands.
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