Hahaha very funny dream

Kieran. It’s clear how to pronounce that name. My dream decided to play a joke on me though. The characters in my dream kept insisting that it said Keanu.

Never a dull dream moment.


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December 8, 2016 · 6:46 am

Current Kindle Bookcase


Sherlock Holmes: The Ultimate Collection by Sir Arthur Conan Brown.— An all-time favorite. Re-reading because I finally got the ENTIRE collection.

Greensmith Girls by Raven SnowStill—Gotta be honest. I’m 73% Done and am wishing she’d slow down a bit and let me enjoy the story. It’s too rushed and a bit too samey as other similar books. I will finish and give a fuller review later.

My Viking Vampire by Krystal Shannan

(Have not read yet)

Til Death Do Us Part by Stacy Alabaster

(Have not read yet)

Pumpkintown Peril by Aubrey Law

(Have not read yet)

Redemption: League of Vampires by Rye Brewer

(Have not read yet)

Must Love Ghosts (A Banshee Creek Romance) by Ani Gonzalez

(Have not read yet)

Hidden Spark (Book 6) by Al K. Line

(Seriously love this series. It’s gritty, it’s funny, it’s just perfectly balanced. Cannot wait to read. I’m putting it off because I cannot read it and not read the entire book in one go. Will read on a day off)

The Witch Squad (A Witch Squad Cozy Mystery #1) by M.Z. Andrews

(Have not read yet)

The Trouble With Witches by Amanda Lee Book 9 (Obviously another favorite series. Bay, Tillie, Clove, Thistle, Landon, Marcus and Sam are all back for another hilarious Witchy Romp Mystery. I love the humor, the interactions between characters and, of course, Aunt Tillie’s Antics. Yes, we always capitalize Antics..if you read the series you know why.

Am almost done with this one and so far I am really enjoying it. Landon with his bacon references never cease to make me giggle.🙂

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December 7, 2016 · 10:55 pm

Favorite Poems #1

One of my favorite poems is by Edwin Markham.

It’s called:


“He drew a circle that shut me out-
Heretic , rebel, a thing to flout.
But love and I had the wit to win:
We drew a circle and took him In !”

What I love about it, is that it showed up when I was questioning my own path as a teenager. There it was, in a textbook.

I was rebelling against soo many things. The way people decided who I was based on outward appearance. How value was placed on things I didn’t agree on. How I worried about being my own person and how annoyed I was at everyone for not seeing me as a someone with something to say.

Of course this came with an extreme case of fear that nobody would ever understand me. That I would never be accepted by others just as I was.

This poem made me feel that someone, maybe, would. That maybe someday someone would draw a circle around me, take me in. I’d get to be an independent circle, but I’d still be part of something bigger. Yes, this poem made me feel like I wasn’t alone..and a teensy bit hopeful that I would somehow find my way to wherever I belonged.

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December 6, 2016 · 10:38 pm

Favorite Files #3


I was poor as a kid. It wasn’t a big deal to me growing up (mom always found ways to teach us to just be more creative and less materialistic.) but it was a fact of life you couldn’t miss. Other kids wore shoes all year long. We had “School shoes” and went barefoot most of the summers. Coats for Winter were a big deal. I often fussed over my sister’s clothes more than they did because they were gonna be my clothes once they grew out of them.

As kids we knew the value of imagination.

A tree with an old tire tied to it was endless fun. A ball and a garage roof made for an excellent 3 hours entertainment. (If you have never rolled a ball on and off a garage roof you have not lived.)

If you’ve never climbed a tree, skinned up your knees, or ridden a bike to get candy at the corner store, you have missed out (Big Time).

For a poor kid, the best moments in life came at Christmastime. Santa made magic. I remember everything.

Mom would threaten us with our lives if we stole Candy-canes off the tree, it was like a battle of careful theft planning. (Of course we still stole them….DUH! NO normal kid could ever hold off on free candy!) It was all about the strategy. Joey D and Shell got caught way more than me. I’m totally bragging here, but it also just happens to be true.

Step one: Identify the Canes that are on the Window-facing side of the living room. What mom can’t see won’t be discovered missing right away. (An easy 2-3 canes are generally obtained this way)

Step two: Wait and lie on the floor watching television. Innocent little you.

Step three: The absolute minute mom leaves the room you move a few inches closer to the tree with your pillow. (If she goes to the bathroom immediately go to Step four!) repeat Step three until you are under the tree.

Step Four: Casually reach up, snag a Cane and place it in your jeans pocket.

Step Five: Don’t get cocky and attempt a second cane. (The real secret of my success)

At Christmas everything was magical . We had decorations just for Christmas. Mom had us help and every year the tree was more awesome. That’s because every year a new project from school or something mom helped us make went on it. We had felt Christmas trees, snowflakes made of plastic beads, and reindeer made of pipe-cleaners and plastic canvas. We got to choose what ornaments we put out ourselves. Everybody got a turn.

They played the best programs on tv too! Snoopy and Charlie Brown, Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer and mom’s favorite George Bailey in It’s a Wonderful Life.

There were Christmas lights and Maple Snow. There were special secret shopping expeditions and threats of murder if anyone peeked while we wrapped their gifts.

There were Christmas Carols and Gingerbread cookies cooking in the kitchen.

For a poor kid Christmas was the most wealthy time of every year. We were rich for three months every single year. It helped that my birthday was in January, it meant I could stretch out the feeling just a few weeks more every year.

For me, Christmas wasn’t about presents. I can barely remember a single toy, even though I know I got tons. What I remember is knowing a sense of quiet peace and wonder. The sound outside muffled and strangely reverent. I respected Christmas and Jesus, because I decided he was the reason I got all these amazing magical things each year.

I thought he must be bigger than the sun because he made Santa, Magic, Christmas trees and beauty happen every single year.

I fell in love with Christmas because it loved me. I wasn’t poor at Christmastime. I was small and joyful. I was seen. God saw me.

He gave me Christmas.

Now, as an adult I love Christmas even more. I savor the silent evenings when the world is muffled by snow, and the sky is dark but clear. When lights are twinkling and Candy-cane plotting is being made. I love to decorate and share moments with people. I love to fill them with cocoa and laughter. I love Christmas.

It lets me show people I love them, no money required.




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December 6, 2016 · 10:07 pm

Fist of fire

This is Z’s Leadership Skills Development Program entry the theme is “Reach for the Stars!”


She’s also working on a wooden carving, which she says is my Christmas present. She was intrigued when I suggested she might enjoy sculpting as well.

She told me she wears finger-less gloves to protect her hands and uses a flat-head screwdriver and a pocket knife to carve.

I’m just gonna pretend she didn’t say knife


UPDATE: OMG! Just realized I have THE perfect poem to match Z’s art piece.


All Rise

Believe in the possible.
Believe in the journey
the effort,
the continuous attempt.
To overcome
To withstand
To rise.

There will be moments
of helpless fearing,
gut tearing,
soul sharing.
Keep going.

Let faults
become feats.
Let setbacks become
Let tears of pain
become tears of joy.

Raise your face to the sky
and be knowing faith
in yourself
in your path
in your humble hopes.

Rise and become.
Rise and embrace.
Rise and discover
The true future within you.

Rise like the sun
challenging the night.
Rise like a fist
that fuels the fight.
Rise like a windstorm
and show us your might.



All Rise.

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December 6, 2016 · 9:06 pm


The battle for the timepiece

that ended in a mess.

The upside-down and


of Murphy in her dress.


The quickly covered feeling

that flickered across his face

keeping time with her blushes,

A moment touched by grace.


Heated words and heaving chestnuts.

His obsession with her hair.

Her twitchy ways,

and straightforward stays

That made him seek a chair.


The battle for the timepiece.

Now food for Koi and man

he strives to see

but fumbles blind

He can’t because he can.



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December 6, 2016 · 12:04 am


I don’t mean to insult you

But this poetry is not about you.

Though, my heart is open to your view,

it was never once written to impress you.

Connect if you feel it

understand if you can see

But do not convince yourself you are clever

just because you can read.

True understanding comes after

when the line somehow resonates

and lingers

touches forgotten parts of you

like ghostly fingers.

Echoes like a truth that slices deep.

The real poetry

lies in what is written

without expectation

of ever being read.


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December 5, 2016 · 11:50 pm

Getting ready for work

Mumble mumble….

{Bangs into things as she has her shirt caught over her head}

Need coffee.

{Remembers there is no sugar.}

Says first curse word of the day.

Checks email.


{Comment from blog}


I have tomorrow off. Focusing on that to get through coughing fit day.

{Dresses in as many layers as humanly possible without rolling down the street}

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December 5, 2016 · 6:53 am

Random facts because I’m bored

I’m doing this thing I saw online because I’m lying here dying of boredom and coughing.

10 Random facts you probably didn’t know about me:

I use to talk to the moon as a child.

I had to take special classes to overcome my Dyslexia. I learned really well and only run into problems when I process information or am distracted.

I am left handed and wear watches on my left wrist because I don’t like giving others visual clues about who I am.

I once adored Rainbow Bright soo much I wanted the doll, mom got me Patty-o-Green and I was so disappointed I threw it across the room (in my defense/non-defense I was sick at the time) Have apologized so many times since that day (30 years or so) for that behavior that my mom begs me to forget about it already.

I once got my knee sliced open by a coffee mug that was thrown at me by my mum’s boyfriend . I got 22 stitches on my left knee and thigh. My sister was so freaked out by seeing it cut me that she can’t even talk about it to this day.

I was able, through researching my genealogy, to locate my grandfather’s long lost sister who was adopted as a baby. I discovered her name and told him about her just before he died of throat cancer. I am extremely proud of giving him that gift before he passed away. I miss him so much it consoles me.

I cannot bear to wear socks at home. Once I get in my own room the socks are off my feet. My bed is a no-sock zone.

I know a few words in about 8 languages, but only a few words or phrases, thus making my knowledge useless to anyone but me.🙂

I helped open Animal Kingdom, Harambe Village and placed a Newsletter I created into the time capsule they created when they opened the park. I helped make the story-line theme we shared with new trainees to help them interact with guests to the park. My particular favorite is the sound effect of a woman washing dishes. The cast-member casually mentions she/he just hired them as a new maid and that if they drop one more plate she/he is going to have to fire them. They then walk away. 2-3 minutes later a plate dropping and breaking is clearly heard. (Much laughter ensues from startled guests)

I wear a promise ring on my right hand. It is a promise to myself that if I ever re-marry, it will be to someone who loves me as I am, this me..the me I have finally come to love and express. The ring  belongs to a man I haven’t met yet. I will give it to him the day we marry. It is old and faded, but it means much to me.


December 4, 2016 · 9:10 pm

Chest cold (gorilla)

Get this gorilla off my chest! He not only weighs a ton, but apparently he set fire to himself too.


I keep having these deep conversations with myself.

You will not cough….

{Feels a scratchy tickle in throat}


{Throat burns}

Dammit!!! Don’t cough.

{Coughs like she’s about to heave a lung}

Dammit. Sigh.

I will post again once this gorilla goes away.

Go away Gorilla, go away!

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December 4, 2016 · 7:50 pm

Learning how to say goodbye

I guess I am healing from my twice broken heart. Once when I broke up with someone I’d been with more than 7 years, and the second time, when it became too painful for him to remain my best friend.

Sometimes healing is a process. I don’t speak of private matters very often but, I feel I am finally ok again and wanted to acknowledge it, given the many poems dedicated to M, it just felt like a proper thing to do at this time.

The poems are a reminder of love. They don’t hurt so much as remind me that love exists, even when it’s hard to let go and let it be a memory. A good one. A happy one. I will remember.


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December 3, 2016 · 6:57 am

Chest cold blues

I sound rather interesting with this cold lodged, “Oh so elegantly!” in my chest & throat.

Anyone wanna hear my “Whiskey” voice?

No? Me, neither.


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December 3, 2016 · 6:48 am

Jonathan Littlefoot

As I write my book I find myself falling in love with each character for different reasons.

I love Braxley’s inquisitive nature and mischievous antics that are slowly giving way to a heart that wants to do good things for others.

I love Miss Templeton’s feminism mixed with femininity. She is like an amazing puzzle.

I love the triplets for how they each are their own personality.

I love Miss Dorton for her cheeky busybody nature and slightly quirky sense of humor.

I love Hamilton for his deep heart and quiet steadiness.

And, I love Johnathan Littlefoot. Love him. Here’s the reason why:

He walked forward and handed the dusty dirt-covered carrots to Hamilton while he examined Hamilton’s hat critically. He lifted it from Hamilton’s head glanced at the brim and replaced it back once he had done so. He stepped back and retrieved his carrots.

“You have not worn it since you got it, you keep it on a metal nail, but not a rusty one, and it hangs on the entrance to your apartment catching sun from the window by your armchair. Most likely you have a photograph above it of your father wearing it, in remembrance, but near the front door instead of elsewhere, because you don’t like to think about him. Your decision to wear the hat was an emotional one and you took it from the wall and rushed from the apartment before you could change your mind.”

Hamilton, well use to this attention to detail nodded. “The state of the hat tells you I don’t wear it, and the fading tells you what side of the room it sits on, but, how did you know the rest? The photograph and the emotional part.” Hamilton cleared his throat, embarrassed. He looked at the ground. He did not like talking about his father, but he was curious as to how Jonathan had known where he kept the hat, and most especially, how he’d known about the photograph. Johnathan had not once been to his apartment.

Johnathan smiled. The white of his teeth clearly in evidence. “I know because your hat told me.”

“It’s dusty, but the dye has held up well, no broken threads, but there is some fading on the left side. There is a tear in the brim and the brim leather is not worn. This tells me that the hat has not been worn, but gets some sunlight on the one side, but only the one side, which means it does not move. The hole in the brim is from the nail sitting against it. Since the tear has threads that are not as faded as those around it, I can tell it tore recently, probably when you took it from the wall as you decided to wear it and rushed in the procedure, because you did not want to see the person in the photograph, which explains how it became torn, as you usually take more care in taking things down, but were not looking when you removed it this time, catching it upon the edge of the nail head as you did so.”

He regarded Hamilton quietly and kindly. “I guessed about the photograph because I know you, and I know your heart. You may be deeply angry or deeply sorrowful regarding your father, but you still love him, you cannot help but love him, though your heart still grieves the lack of understanding. You, Hamilton, are a warrior that has not tended to his wounds.”


I think, all writers fall in love with their characters. Even my villains are delightfully dorky.

Jonathan is a combination of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson if they were one person. I can’t help it, I was reading the Ultimate Sherlock collection when I wrote this character.🙂

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November 30, 2016 · 6:37 pm

Chapter 14-17 teaser quotes

Chapter 14:

“I have it in the trunk of my car Miss Templeton. I have already spoken to the police, but they seem to be fixed on the idea that the protesters are the ones responsible and wouldn’t even hear of my suspicions. Of course, I know more now, but I am still quite certain that the police would be unwilling or unable to tackle the secrets of this particular puzzle. Once I give them the object Braxley entrusted me with, I know they will put it aside certain as they are about their own conclusions of the nature of this abduction. I would much rather follow the clues it contains and attempt to assist the police by finding answers to the questions they do not yet know they need to be asking.”

Chapter 15:

Hamilton turned and found Johnathan Littlefoot standing at the right-hand corner of his house regarding him calmly in the manner that others commonly associated with him once they came to know him. He was dressed in red dirt-stained jeans and a blue chambray shirt. He held some vegetables in his hands and atop his head was a Stetson, very similar to the one Hamilton wore upon his own head. Extremely similar, an exact match, in fact, for it had been made the same day as the one he wore. A gift from Johnathan to his father. The two dark brown braids that extended down onto either side of his rust fur covered head were streaked with grey these days, but it was Johnathan Littlefoot, no mistaking. Hamilton smiled shyly, he felt like a kid again.


Chapter 16 “Hamilton waited a beat, for his shameful blush to retreat, before continuing. “I went there to get Miss Templeton, because I wanted her to see me do something dashing. I worried she had not been told about Braxley, certainly, but really, I just wanted to see her again and have her come with me to give the book to the police. I thought it might impress her to see me save the day in some small way.”

Chapter 17 “Hamilton and Johnathan stood quietly for a moment, just accepting the moment as it stood. Then, shaking the mood off at the same time, they laughed self-consciously at one another. The air felt somewhat lighter for it and it was with a determined concentration that Hamilton pulled the leather coat on while Johnathan proceeded to pack the materials into saddle bags and packs.

“Let’s get you loaded onto a Grasshopper!” Johnathan muttered clearing his suddenly tight throat at the sight of Hamilton in his father’s leather jacket, so familiar and personal.

Hamilton paused in complete shock and stared at Johnathan desperately hoping he had heard him incorrectly “Gra…Grasshopper?”

You can see the previous chapter teaser posts here“.



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November 30, 2016 · 6:02 pm

There are stories

There are stories you don’t talk about. Ones that you are taught incite pity and thus, should be kept to oneself.

I had a really crappy childhood. There I said it. I broke the unwritten code.

Thing is, I also had a really happy childhood too.

Mostly, because I was completely unaware that it was crappy.

These bits. These bits make up me. They are mine and they are me. I don’t really think anyone goes through life without any scars. I think you just accept that they are there and learn to heal them with your choices.

I choose to forgive.

Now, these stories are just stories. They aren’t painful so much as reminders.

They tell me where I came from.


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November 29, 2016 · 9:17 pm


These truths crowd my head.

Bits of knowledge that can’t be shared

with just anyone.

Bits of pain that have been around

so long

they no longer hurt so much as remind.

These patches are my skin.

These stories are my own.



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November 29, 2016 · 9:08 pm

The Vroom and vacuum dream

Just woke from a dream. I seem to never sleep straight through. I wake up often because I am very light sleeper. I’ve only been asleep an hour darn it!

The dream was kinda funny. I was driving  a company car and talking to my sister (Joey D) about being scared of braking and having someone hit my car,  because I don’t have insurance. She was all matter-of-fact and said that if I get in an accident it is known that my job would fire me. Weird.

Then I dreamt about a vacuum and though the memory is fuzzy, she told me something about something  to do with the operation of the vacuum (maybe specs or something) and I rushed ahead of her around the corner, only to hear her telling someone I was probably going to sneak a look at the instructions on the vacuum, to see if she was right (basically calling me out on my ingrained personality traits) and I chuckled because I was completely busted as that was exactly what I had been doing. I shut myself in the bathroom with the vacuum to hide while blushing. I am so dorky.


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November 25, 2016 · 10:56 pm

Pinocchio tantrum

I’m not supposed to rant

I’m often told I can’t.

I froth, I moan, I pant

but still your gaze recounts me.


I want to complete my screaming

You calmly ask the meaning.

I am not so subtly leaning

against this baseball bat.


You quirk a brow in humor

You pain me like a tumor.

Having a conscience was just rumor.

If only it had remained so.


I’m not supposed to falter.

Lay my sins upon this altar.

Around my head a halter.

You lead me right to water.


You make merry at my cursing

laugh at my lips now pursing.

This fate is not reversing.

This firmament seems familiar.


You test me and employ me.

Will either save me or destroy me.

But just now you annoy me.

(Yea wee bastad.)


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November 25, 2016 · 9:07 pm

If I could empty out my worry

If I could empty out my worry.

Put aside my fear.

I’d fill the jars

with paper stars

and dance straight by

the moon.

I’d wash my hair

of every care

delight the wind with whistling.

I’d rest awhile

inside your smile

struck by wonder,



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November 25, 2016 · 7:14 pm

A letter of false confession

My heart feels like moldy brisket
broken up like a biscuit.
I would take care and fix it
but the pieces flushed away.

I can’t believe a crumpet
would dare call me a strumpet.
Your condescension like a trumpet.
That withers my wick away.

No more to tinkle merry
Over cheeks that burn like cherry
Your echo is so very
You have forgotten how to love me.


Note from the poet:

This poem is an attempt at a novel idea. Writing the feeling of a novel intrigue, in the shortness of a poem. Hope you like it!

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November 24, 2016 · 1:17 am