Tara Mayoros teaches guitar, paints, occasionally bakes, and loves working with plants. She's an avid collector of globes and maps, as they help with her incurable case of wanderlust. The Rocky Mountains are her home and they call to her whenever she is in need of inspiration. She explores them regularly with her husband and three children.
Connect with the Author here:
Christmas is already going to be tough for Marie and her family. When a series of events is set in motion long before a Christmas Eve tragedy, she is too occupied to notice God's grace. An emergency letter to Santa sets her on a quest for a Christmas miracle. With time running out, she prays for the first time in a long time. A miracle does happen, but it is not what she expected.
~ Amazon Canada ~
Q & A with the Author:
1. Describe yourself in 50 words or less.
* As an author, artist, baker, music teacher, gardener, and nature lover â I the beauty in the process, and the miracle, of creation. The Rocky Mountains are my home and they call to me whenever I'm in need of inspiration.
The Christmas Bike is my third published novel. I have 10 other books I'm working on, and most of them have a fantasy element to them.
2. What do you love most in the world?
* My husband and kids. I love how supportive they are to me. I love to create - whichever way possible. It makes me feel like a Goddess.
3. What do you fear most?
* Scorpions - I hate them! They are the spawn of Satan. We killed over 50 one summer while living in Phoenix.
4. What is your largest unfulfilled dream, and what are you doing to reach it?
* Travel - I want to see the world and do humanitarian work. My first novel was about cleft palates and orphanages in China. My dream is to start a Non-profit to help them.
5. What is the hardest thing you've ever done?
* Running half marathons are always hard, but I'm so happy to have done them. Also, publishing books have been pretty dang hard - but worth it :)
6. Now that we've gotten to know each other, tell me a story. It can be long or short. From your childhood or last week. Funny, sad, or somewhere in between. Just make sure it's yours. What's your story?
* I will tell a true story of when someone gifted me a guitar for no reason. I entered this story into a writing competition and it won an award! Here ya go:
MY BEST GUITAR LESSON EVER!
I can be cynical. :
So, yesterday when I went to a local guitar shop, my mind was churning over a cynical situation that had been really bothering me. I grabbed my old guitar out of the trunk, walked into the store, and placed it down on the counter. I breathed deep, because this was hallowed ground. The smell of wood and lacquer and musicians reliving the good âol days, rested my mind. I smiled as the shop owner stopped jamming with the only other customer in the store and then walked behind the register.
âWhatâs this?â he asked, eyeballing my ratty old guitar. His gaze skimmed over the not-so-sexy lines of my unusual guitar.
I pressed my lips, feeling a wave of protection flood over me. No one makes fun of my blue guitar. This instrument was bought in China for $5 US dollars. It had been my companion on the dirty, rancid forty hour train rides through rice fields and bread loaf mountains. I was stopped and searched at customs in Malaysia, Thailand, and Macau because I as too stubborn to leave this guitar.
I told him these things. He played it and confirmed what I already knewâ¦ My guitar had died, but I still clung to our memories in hopes that the shop owner could resurrect life into it again.
No, he couldnât.
I stared down at it a long time, looking over the doodles and the collected stickers and stamps, which mirrored my old passport. What would I do with it now? I couldnât just throw it away, or donate, or keep it as a decoration. Maybe I could just hang it on the wall for display, but I knew the o.c.d. decorator inside me would never let me do that. I had even written this guitar into and considered it a character. My heart clenched and I strolled over to the wall of guitars to hide the emotion on my face. Who cries over a buried guitar, one that would most likely end up collecting dust in the back of my closet?
The new guitars with their shiny wood and shimmering metal strings, sang to me, beckoning. Their voices rich and full. So much different than my humid warped, aged guitar. I caressed the lines of the beautiful instruments with jealousy and longing.
I stopped. There it hung. An acoustic electric that I had always wanted. Not so extravagant, and yet it would take me a while to save for. The shop owner pulled it down, selling me all the bells and whistles. Yet, I had already been sold. I just couldnât get it yetâ¦ not for a while yet.
âSit down and play. See how it sounds, how it feels,â he urged.
I pulled up a cushioned stool and sat down. It was like meeting a new friend. Iâd like to imagine that my fingers flew up and down the frets with fluidity and grace, but Iâm sure they werenât, as I was still a bit frazzled. Picking and strumming, getting a feel for its song.
I began to tell the shop owner and other customer about an amp I had in the basement that wasnât working anymore. We chatted. Small talk about how I was sad about my guitar and maybe someday Iâll buy this one. They were nice people. Iâd hung around enough music shops to know that they are all generally nice people.
I continued to play. Time stalled as it usually does when I create music, or art, or novels. The walls faded away. I was falling in love.
A tap on my shoulder and a show of a receipt. âItâs yours.â He pointed. âThe guitar.â
I stood, almost dropping the instrument. âWhat? No. Iâll have to come get it another time.â
âNo really. He wanted you to have it.â He pointed to the only other customer who was getting ready to leave. The man was unassuming in his faded jeans and t-shirt.
I wondered whyâ¦
Right hereâ¦ Here is where my makes an appearance. What did he want in return? What were his motivations? I looked down to see what I was wearing. Turtle-neck sweater, no make-up, and hair in a bun. I had my wedding ring on and I had talked briefly about my kids playing guitar earlier.
âWhy?â I asked.
The customer paused, then said, âbecause I have money and it has caused me nothing but heartache. I want to do something nice with it.â
I refused â even went to hang the guitar back on the hook.
The kind man just shook his head. âItâs already been paid for. Itâs done. Just be happy.â
I was happy. I was ecstatic!
Tears welled in my eyes. Nothing like this had ever happened to me before. âI donât know how to thank you.â I struggled for words.
âYou just did.â
I stopped him from leaving. âWell let me get a picture with you.â
He refused this time. He didnât want any fan fare.
âLet me at least give you a hug.â So I did. It wasnât strange or awkward. It was a meeting of similar hearts, bound by the innocent love of music.
Driving home, I felt both joyous and inadequate. What to do with such an unrequited show of generosity? People are good. He restored my faith in humanity. I thought of the many ways I could pay it forward because I knew Iâd never see him again. And I also knew thatâs the way he would want things to end.
I learned a lesson yesterday. Yes, there are tough things that we go through that can turn us cynical, doubtful, and hopeless. But little miracles happen everyday. It doesnât have to be something as big as this to make you see the good in people. Look around. It seems everyone is in a funk. What can you do to brighten their day? I promise it will make your day better in return. It will make you feel rich with happiness. I think back to that man and how he said, âmoney gave him nothing but heartache.â
When I was leaving the guitar shop, with my old lifeless guitar in one hand and my new hope-filled guitar in the other, I looked back. The kind man had a huge smile on his face and I knew that the act of givingâ¦ is where the treasure truly lies.
Has there ever been a time when you were the recipient of unrequited generosity?
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