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One could call my home a relaxation prison. I don’t go anywhere or do anything of consequence to anyone but me. I plant and water flowers and watch them flourish along forest paths. I write in solitude. I prepare and eat my meals in solitude. I do everything alone. My warden, Norris, demands his cream.
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In the midnight hour, when no one else is around or listening, the story I tell myself is that I didn’t fall off the turnip train yesterday. That the voice of Linda Ronstadt still rings true in my heart and head. I’m still the woman I was forty years ago even though I have silver
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I’m still not used to the Fourth of July without the indignity of the sumptuous feasts my mother concocted on her birthday. They had everything but bursting fireworks against the black sky. They weren’t necessary for her celebrations. Everyone was too tired for them by dark anyway. The family would have had to replenish its
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“Do you remember when we had dinner in that old house in the woods on the farm?” Ruby asked as she took the pan of lasagne out of the oven. Alan smiled. “Yeah, you wore your prom dress and I wore my sport coat. Mom made lasagne for us. We took it to that little
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Image generated with AI Being home in my forest among my flowers allows me to be me. The old people said “tending violets cures melancholy.” There’s something about digging in dirt to plant my begonias and impatiens that does the same thing. It restores my soul from working all fall and winter. Every morning of
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Image generated with AI. “I’m making goulash for dinner tonight. I’m going to use Mom’s recipe too.” said Janice. Mason hoped she remembered the recipe. Sometimes her memory of her Mom’s dishes were sketchy and turned out awful like the soup. He was skeptical of this goulash stuff. It had a weird name to it
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Image generated with AI. In the old stories, when life went sideways, the princess had to go to the haunted forest to find the oracle. Diane thought she might as well give it a shot. It was a hundred degrees outside. The creek was ankle deep, the shade dappled and dark. She’d start looking here.
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The dusty journals
Image generated with AI. Junebug looked at the stack of dusty handwritten journals in the corner. Like hell she wanted them. That’s all she needed, a stack of hundred year old books piled up beside the toolbox in the laundry room. Maybe they’d be better next to the washer, between the shelf where the charger Read more
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Flutter
Above the trees wings spreadBlack and cawingOn the breeze What’s left of theLeavesAs they race to flyHigherIn swirls and in whirlsBend to the groundAnd I dipThen upBefore I touch and soarAnd dive down againAlmost to the groundFallingWings spreadBlack and cawingOn the breezeBefore fall Becomes Winter again. Read more
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Today’s Expectations
Today is a day that I have lots of unexpected things on my mind. I’m not feeling particularly creative as much as documentative about it. There’s flour all over the kitchen because there’s no point in cleaning it up yet. I’ve yet to make the pastry for the pasties. I expected to have that done Read more
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Unexpected Thanksgiving Visitor
“Room for one more?” Shelly said with that sideways grin of hers and Wisconsin accent. The daughter of my mom’s estranged sister was at my door. I’d recognize her anywhere. She had the same stringy hair and bangs she did when she was nine, and her mom left her with my parents for the summer, Read more
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This year I am Thankful
This year I am grateful for so many things, but what swims to the top of mind are my live-in son, Ian and his girlfriend, Norris, and of course my writing group. Ian and Katelyn have gone out of their way to be nice to me. I appreciate being included in their plans and lives. Read more
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One could call my home a relaxation prison. I don’t go anywhere or do anything of consequence to anyone but me. I plant and water flowers and watch them flourish along forest paths. I write in solitude. I prepare and eat my meals in solitude. I do everything alone. My warden, Norris, demands his cream.
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In the midnight hour, when no one else is around or listening, the story I tell myself is that I didn’t fall off the turnip train yesterday. That the voice of Linda Ronstadt still rings true in my heart and head. I’m still the woman I was forty years ago even though I have silver
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I’m still not used to the Fourth of July without the indignity of the sumptuous feasts my mother concocted on her birthday. They had everything but bursting fireworks against the black sky. They weren’t necessary for her celebrations. Everyone was too tired for them by dark anyway. The family would have had to replenish its
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“Do you remember when we had dinner in that old house in the woods on the farm?” Ruby asked as she took the pan of lasagne out of the oven. Alan smiled. “Yeah, you wore your prom dress and I wore my sport coat. Mom made lasagne for us. We took it to that little
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Image generated with AI Being home in my forest among my flowers allows me to be me. The old people said “tending violets cures melancholy.” There’s something about digging in dirt to plant my begonias and impatiens that does the same thing. It restores my soul from working all fall and winter. Every morning of
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Image generated with AI. “I’m making goulash for dinner tonight. I’m going to use Mom’s recipe too.” said Janice. Mason hoped she remembered the recipe. Sometimes her memory of her Mom’s dishes were sketchy and turned out awful like the soup. He was skeptical of this goulash stuff. It had a weird name to it
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Image generated with AI. In the old stories, when life went sideways, the princess had to go to the haunted forest to find the oracle. Diane thought she might as well give it a shot. It was a hundred degrees outside. The creek was ankle deep, the shade dappled and dark. She’d start looking here.
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I Did a Thing…
https://www.amazon.com/s?k=Norris+tales+ii&crid=3A2N1W43XCPVA&sprefix=norris+tales+ii%2Caps%2C87&ref=nb_sb_noss Available in paperback, hardback, or Kindle Unlimited or Kindle.
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Alpine
Alpine forgot all about the presentation due in Ethics 101 in two hours. He had a conglomeration of photos on his computer. A mix of people, places, and things, nouns he could mash together like words to spew out in front of a PowerPoint that would make him sound like he’d been up all night…
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What color is “E”
What color is the letter “E”? It’s red. E is the most used letter in the English language. It should stand out. E encompasses everything. It’s one of the first letters children learn. For some reason, they even learn the term “schwa e” in first grade. I know I did. I still don’t know what…
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You can see me?
Image generated with AI Elsa had flour all over the kitchen and her fingers were sticky with dough. It would take more minutes of finger work, squeezing, kneading and molding the dough to get it to stick together for pastry. It would come together, get less sticky, then she would have to work her magic…
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Clementine’s Parchment
Image generated with AI. “I hate this tradition. It’s dumb. Why can’t we be like normal families and roast ducks and wear stupid hats?” said Janice. She was eighteen and didn’t want to write a sentence on her scroll this year. “Write what you feel. If you think it’s a stupid tradition, write about it…
Devonne Brown 