|Posted on August 27, 2019 at 7:10 PM||comments (5204)|
This Friday, my family and I will be traveling from N.Y.C. to Myrtle Beach, S.C., to spend time with loved ones. This includes a return (years later) book signing at a store whose manager and clerk are already like family.
It will be a road trip. Our Grand Caravan can hold nearly a houseful of goodies and necessities. She wouldn’t mind our “throwing in the kitchen sink.” That’s one of the great features of the road: not worrying about keeping one’s suitcases light enough to carry and missing out on some simple pleasures.
This time, for the first time, I do not know our date of return or where we will go after Myrtle Beach. Much depends on my physical stamina: whether or not I’m strong enough to drive throughout the country. The rest depends on when the money runs out! And so, add “spontaneous” to the road experience.
Strength allowing, a drive on an old U.S. highway off the interstate will be one choice. And somewhere outside St. Louis comes a landmark intersection between said highway and the Mother Road, Route 66. Go left, and you’re on 66. Stay straight ahead, and this lesser-known highway holds its own for astonishing slices of America.
“I chose the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference”? Hardly. They’re both ‘roads less traveled by.’ LOL.
The road we choose to travel by will season the path of our life; the one we embrace will make a difference, as will the one we let go.
Now, writing this, I look on my future: all of it unknown including one minute from now, all in the hands of GOD, and ask: Would I want to know everything? Walking through a yellow wood, choosing between paths, should I expect to learn all that lies ahead before I make decisions?
Robert Frost ‘looked down one as far as he could to where it bent in the undergrowth.’ It was enough; the unseen preserved intact, still alive, seasoning and all.
|Posted on July 11, 2018 at 8:50 PM||comments (422)|
Hello again, folks!
Wish to clarify, here, that I do have a publisher: his name is Reagan Rothe of Black Rose Writing.
Nice people. Like family.
They will publish my third book this January!
|Posted on May 7, 2018 at 12:35 AM||comments (0)|
There are times in this life when I (speaking for most all of us) want to withdraw into a cocoon for an undetermined length of time and not be bothered. By anything. The problems arising from it, I have also learned, are manyfold:
A cocoon is the natural habitat for the larva during metamorphosis; he/she spends this time alone with the Creator, a time of solitude, mystery and growth. It is normal, fulfilling and peaceful. But not the end result.
The end result, the butterfly, possesses the present of wings. Mature, he goes to find other creatures with whom to join. An interdependency develops. They feed on pollens and become pollinators. It can be said they have a stewardship towards the earth as do humans.
Were the butterfly to forsake his life-bearing gift it would affect those in his path.
So instead, methinks I’ll behave myself and take short naps, recharge my batteries and fly.
|Posted on March 18, 2018 at 1:10 AM||comments (3049)|
|Posted on March 17, 2018 at 11:55 PM||comments (2)|
|Posted on December 17, 2017 at 10:40 AM||comments (7)|
|Posted on December 13, 2017 at 12:35 AM||comments (2)|
This is the link for Author Jessica Scott's recent interview of me, in which we discuss The Geyser Girl of Yellowstone Park, how I brought this baby to the birth after a long-ago conception!
|Posted on December 11, 2017 at 4:50 PM||comments (1)|
|Posted on February 27, 2017 at 12:20 AM||comments (2)|
|Posted on December 30, 2016 at 7:00 PM||comments (7)|
Howdy, Folks! Happy, Happy New Year.
Well, in case you didn't know, this city gal with the Western heart is still a city gal. So, in honor of my first home, New York City, I've
returned to an old manuscript, Copyright 1995, which I shelved until I felt ready to do it justice. It's a book of ten stories about
miraculous events in the lives of everyday people like me. I've nicknamed it: "Tales from the Bright Side (as opposed to that
wonderful "Dark Side" TV series)." So... what happens in 21 years' time? These stories I worked on during my lunch breaks as a
Postal clerk, some of them on the overnight shift? A lot of hard labor. Every word needs weighing. It has to count. It's amazing to
learn how I've matured as a writer and editor. It will take time, all of it precious like the polished gems I intend to set in print. It was
188 pages. Now it's 181. And I've just started. Now don' feel sad, Lil' Darlin's: my heart has a permanent reservation west of here: no
changing' that. But I've come home to roost.