On the heels of National Dog Day I’d like to shared this update on a former post:
The disgruntled residents of Tibroningham may rest easier tonight knowing that Self Appointed Pooper-scooper Sherri M. is hard at work making our world a cleaner place to live. Earlier this week, quite unexpectedly, the girls and I chanced upon a sizable plump plastic sack resting on the side of the trail. Continue reading
It’s been over a week since shrill sirens screamed their way around the back end of the peninsula. Did you hear them too? Or were you already gone – spirited away on a breath of wind? Continue reading
I seldom leave the confines of my home. Since the fever, I’ve lost all sense of time—minutes slip into hours, day turns to night, summer to autumn. Oftentimes, I’m too weak to open a window on my own. Occasionally, the help does it for me, but I’ve noticed that I can’t feel the breeze that rustles the curtain. Nor do I detect even a hint of salt or pine that typically clings to the wisps of the morning’s mist and drifts about the room. The village carpenter, whose name somehow escapes me but shouldn’t, smelled of both. I long for the love I felt for him when he’d sit at my bedside, combing my hair with his slim, sap spotted fingers. Invariably, they would catch a strand and I would try my hardest not to wince. He doesn’t visit anymore. Continue reading
‘Twas the first day of class, suspense flooded the room,
Yet, my stomach gurgled a wee sense of doom.
For I’ve been to enough workshops to know what to expect:
A roller coaster of emotions, which inevitably reflect
Anxiety, frustration, embarrassment and fear,
Joy, pride, and laughter, with an occasional tear.
And so there I sat, one beaming face amongst twelve, Continue reading
I’m finally on my way to the Southampton Writer’s Conference. Since this event is back East, I decided to stop and visit family and friends along the way. First stop, Brooklyn. Continue reading
When Mr. Man was given the gift of a balloon ride by his co-workers for his 50th birthday I was immediately transported back in time to my eleven-year-old bedroom. I saw myself lying in bed, pillow fluffed behind my head reading Jules Verne’s “Around the World in Eighty Days.” Captivated by Phileas Fogg’s flight in a hot air balloon with his valet Passpartout, the dream of one day circumnavigating the earth with my manservant took root.
Nearly forty-five years later my fantasy materialized – maybe not the part traveling completely around the world, but certainly living the rest of the dream… Continue reading
It’s 5:10 a.m.
The race is on.
Who will be the first to announce the dawn of a new day? Mother Nature slashing a blaze of dazzling light across the horizon just before she catapults that blinding orb into the sky? No. She’s not scheduled to wake up for another thirty-six minutes.
The birds lilting twitters, tweets, and peeps shaking off nighttime dreams of worm breakfasts and gnat snacks? No. With their wee heads tucked under their wings, they’re still snoring – snuggled in tree cavities and dense vegetation, waiting for Mother to flip on the lights. Oh, and yes, birds do indeed snore… Continue reading
If you’ve ever played RED ROVER, SIMON SAYS, or RED LIGHT, GREEN LIGHT, then you are not a stranger to TAG – a fast and furious game where one kid in a group is deemed IT and runs around the yard trying to touch someone else thereby dubbing them IT until it gets dark and the fireflies come out signaling it’s time to go home, or in Stephen King’s case, to write a horror story whose evil character, IT, still prompts a rain of heebie-jeebies down my back when I see a clown.
Now that I’m grown, well sort of, and Continue reading
With so many weddings and anniversaries coming up, I’d like to share Red’s grandparents’ advice. My favorite is number 6 1/2…
At my grandparents’ golden wedding anniversary party, my new fiancé, Mac gave an impromptu toast to the happy couple. Fifteen years later, we never imagined we would once again be celebrating with Joe and Dot for their 65th anniversary. Last month, we were lucky enough to do just that.
My grandparents are part of The Greatest Generation.
He, a World War II Navy veteran saw The Battle of Normandy in the Atlantic, Okinawa in the Pacific, and lost his parents and almost his own life in a tragic accident all before the age of twenty-one. A devoted husband and well-meaning father with a strong work ethic who can fix anything, Joe greets life with a smile. My grandfather is a youthful, spirited song and dance man, musician and opera lover who has serenaded and entertained generations of children.
She, a family and community matriarch who experienced divorce, fierce sibling…
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A return to my alma mater, State University of New York Stony Brook, for any reason was the last thing I ever expected to do until an acquaintance, picture book author Julie Gribble, told me about a Children’s Book Writers Conference to be held at the university’s Southampton campus in July. I attended S.U.S.B. when a bridge went nowhere and the university hospital consisted of two bricks in someone’s imagination.
Fond memories are few, but how could there be many when all my energy was spent on figuring out how to stow away aboard a United States battleship to be with my boyfriend rather than concentrating on my studies.
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