Wednesday, September 21, 2016



The manager led me around the office floor I’d work on should they hire me.

“We love open floor plans with glass walls. Less claustophic for our employees, and the glass reflects natural light. Small areas look  bigger.”

As she prattled on about advantages of glass offices, I sorted my thoughts.

The glass separating the desks reminded me of a prison where visitors and inmates talk through glass. The managers’ glass offices afforded them a clear view to study their monkeys every move. Or a hospital ICU where rooms with glass walls are built around  nurses’ stations so they can observe patients. No plants, no pictures, cold and all business. No privacy; everyone can watch you leave to go to the bathroom.

“Thank you so much for considering me for the position but I don’t think this company and I are a good fit.

Walking away, I shuddered.

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Wednesday, August 24, 2016



I dug in the dirt, prepping the soil with fertilizer. As I worked, my thoughts wandered. Everything I knew about gardening was through  my grandfather’s teachings. Working by his side as a child had always been such fun. That is until as a teenager, I’d rather hang at the mall with friends than be sent to my grandparents house while my mother worked.

On one such occasion, we were planting flowers in front of the newly painted farmhouse. Grampa rambled on. I’d barely listened.

“If you paint an old house white it looks clean and fresh. And if you plant bright red flowers against the white walls, the house pops and looks new.”

I’d rolled my eyes and promptly forgot his words...until now.

Standing in front of my freshly painted white home, with the newly planted trailing red blooms and red roses, I smiled.

“I miss you, Grampa.”


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Wednesday, August 17, 2016


I've been scarce the past few weeks with my flash fiction post. Blame it on summer, family, and visitors. Now I'm back. Enjoy!


First came the sorrow, then the pain of loss, followed by the anger.

In the end, it was the depression that engulfed me.

Know that I’m surrounded by caring and loving people. But there are no words or actions to take away the emptiness within. They worried about me but they didn’t understand. He was the love of my life, father to my children, best friend, lover and soul mate.

Then one day, I saw one; soon they appeared everywhere. I picked up the soft, fluffy white feather. It would join the others in my little jewelled box. You see, he sent them, all of them—to let me know he was still around.

I looked out to sea, took in the sunlight dancing across the waves, the blueness of the sky, and heard the cry of the sea gulls.

For the first time in months, I smiled.


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Wednesday, July 27, 2016


Good morning everyone. Wednesday again. The summer is just flying by. Soon it will be September 1st and my third book of The Georgia Series will be released. More on that next post. Meanwhile, hope you enjoy my story for today. It is really a true story not fiction, based on my memories of raising my son.


I arrived to pick up my twelve-year-old from his first job; babysitting a boy after school until his mother arrived from work.

A difficult kid but my son handled him well. Whenever his mother showed, his charge acted out.

Cleaning up the playroom, my son stooped to pick up darts on the floor. In a tantrum, the boy threw a dart as he stood. It  wedged in my son’s back beside the spine. My son hit the floor, turning white. “Mom, I can’t feel anything in my back.”

The kid’s mother smiled at her son, telling him he shouldn’t do that. Furious, I took mine to emergency. The dart penetrated a muscle, causing a spasm that left him numb. Otherwise, all good.

Driving home, my son said: “I’m sorry, Mom but I’m quitting my job.”

I smiled. “Good call.”

I wonder whatever happened to that Social Worker’s kid?


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Thursday, July 21, 2016



I stared at the pictures, the younger twins, my brother and me (the older twins), and our mother. The pictures told our story in a way none of us wanted to.

It was all in the eyes. Look close and you’ll see ... the haunting, blank stares that hid our secrets and our pain.

But today was special. Today, our lives would start again.

“You ready?”

I turned towards my brother. He stood with his hands on the shoulders of the younger ones who were now ten years old.

Eight years is what our mother served for killing our abusive, alcoholic father. She’d paid the ultimate price to protect us from his rage. They released her for good behavior. My brother and I had raised our younger siblings, struggling through school and working two jobs, living for this day.

I smiled at him. “Let’s go bring Mom home.”

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Wednesday, July 13, 2016

The Raven

The raven flew above the humans, entertaining them with somersaults, diving downward, only to fly up to the sky and sour in the wind. She stealthily watched the human below open a bag and scatter morsels; recognizing the man as a regular. Ravens never forget a face, regardless of the fact that humans can't tell one raven from another.

Oh come on, moron! Don't you know we aren't vegetarians? We eat worms, nice, insects, We love crickets. Frogs and lizard are good. And how about a little fruit once in a while, huh?

The man's offerings sucked, but beggars can't be choosers. The raven landed and picked up a hard chunk. She flew to a puddle and dropped it in the water. The humans shook their heads and laughed like she was a dummy.

What? Just softening it up here. Stale bread and crackers? Tasteless ... yuk!


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Wednesday, July 6, 2016

Writerly Wdnesday Picture Prompt - Writer's Dream

Writer's Dream

I stood in the dirt track staring at what was to be my home for the summer. My heart sunk. It was nothing like the advertisement.

“Something is wrong?”

I glared at the agent who’d brought me from the airport and pointed at the structure.

“Look at it. The door and windows are boarded up and painted, the wall is crumbling, the grass hasn’t been cut. This isn’t what I paid for.”

“Please, follow.” He disappeared around a corner.

I stomped after him, stepping surprisingly into a new world of groomed floral gardens, repainted pink stucco and brightly painted trim. Standing on the veranda, I looked down into a beautiful valley of vineyards, surrounded with green rolling hills.

“Back of house still in renos. This and inside complete. Is okay?”

I smiled. “Is okay.”

My dream to spend the summer writing at an Italian villa was a reality.

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