Stories and glimpses of my crazy life

Stories and glimpses of my crazy life

Saturday, January 2, 2016

A haven

 I cleaned my room yesterday, so that I would have a peaceful spot to retreat to. It should help my productivity in the coming year--to have a very separate, ordered space for refreshment.
books and notebooks close to hand

color restoration

reading spot



Friday, January 1, 2016

to remember in 2016

And a Happy New Year to You!

It's so very interesting how each year is so vastly different, and yet whenever the New Year comes around I find myself in a woefully familiar feeling of apprehension, as if somehow I aught to magically get my life in order every January 1st. (You may have noticed, keeping my sentences short was not one of my resolutions this year.) Every year of course has enough trouble of its own, not to mention the fact that around these holidays I'm also doing a lot of sleeping-in and other forms of vacational lolling, which do not precipitate an inordinate amount of organization. So I'm telling that silly part of me (that feels ambiguous anxiety at the sight of a blank-slate year ahead) to be quiet and have a cup of tea, while I get out a pen and paper in an attempt to discern my actual priorities for the coming year.

First of all, Jesus please take my new year. I cannot handle it on my own, even a little. Take last year too, and all its successes and blunders... that were somehow not the successes and blunders I had anticipated this time last year. Help me make the right goals and resolutions, and continue to give you my every day. But mostly, may I grow in You.

Friday, December 11, 2015

Feeling stressed?

I recommend these things for this busy season:

Read a few verses: Like these

Do some yoga: yoga with Adriene is my favorite, and here's one just for stress relief.

Read a seasonal book: Shepherds Abiding by Jan Karon, or The Dark is Rising by Susan Cooper
I listen to both on unabridged audio every year at this time.

Fold some paper: whether it's these fun origami stars, or wrapping presents while watching a holiday episode of your favorite show, a bit of 'paperwork' can be good for the mind.

Watch a Christmas movie: old classics, cheesy new ones, or obscure ones like this: A Child's Christmas in Wales, based on a Dylan Thomas poem. It's delightfully cozy and atmospheric, with a nostalgic sense of place, and has found its way into my personal Christmas traditions.

Light a candle or two, or eight: Today is the sixth night of Hanukkah, and while I don't always get around to lighting the menorah, I love to remember God's work in that story, his promises. An extra reminder, as we light our Advent candles too, in wait, but also in joy that our Messiah came.

Thursday, December 3, 2015


For to us a child is born,
to us a son is given;
and the government shall be upon his shoulder,
and his name shall be called
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
 Of the increase of his government and of peace
there will be no end,
on the throne of David and over his kingdom,
to establish it and to uphold it
with justice and with righteousness
from this time forth and forevermore.
The zeal of the Lord of hosts will do this.

Sunday, November 29, 2015

En route

 over snow

Monday, November 9, 2015

Microfiction: poetry: triolet pt. 2


A while

It’s been a while
Since I’ve seen your face
I miss your smile
It’s been a while
It seems a mile
Since you needed space
It’s been a while 
Since I’ve seen your face

Microfiction: poetry: triolet pt. 1


Cresting a wave
Chasing the sun
Tomorrow to save
Cresting a wave
Sailing as brave
As the maiden run
Cresting a wave
Chasing the sun

Sunday, November 8, 2015

Microfiction: Poetry: Clerihew

some non-winning entries of mine from the writing contest. DEFINITION OF CLERIHEW HERE.

Jane Austen

Writerly Jane Austen
Didn’t live in Boston
But England, writing books on gents
And ladies of romantic bents


Teddy Roosevelt

The mighty Teddy Roosevelt
Went on safari, procuring a pelt
Rose to president, but went on to bungle
By dying of fever he caught in the jungle

Monday, November 2, 2015


November is the pearl-grey month, the changeling between warm crimson October and cold white December; the month when the leaves fall in slow drifting whirls and the shapes of the trees are revealed. When the earth imperceptibly wakes and stretches her bare limbs and displays her stubborn unconquerable strength before she settles uneasily into winter. November is secret and silent.

Alison Uttley

Saturday, October 31, 2015

Microfiction: twitterfiction

Week 4 of the writing contest was 'Write a story in only one tweet-length sentence: maximum 140 characters! Give us a setting, actors, actions, a narrative arc, and an climax—all in less than the length of this prompt!'

Some of my entries placed in the popular vote category (they will later be published in an e-book), so I'm only  posting my other entries here.
This post is late, so weeks 5 & 6 are also done, and I will be posting my non-placing entries here when I can.

Under the Bed
Where I come from, the monster beneath your bed is your greatest protection, teacher, and chance for success in life; I am one of them.

Cecily blew in on a wild autumnal day, taught me to see beauty in stars, in books, in people’s eyes; my Mary Poppins, please don’t go.

She was afraid he would learn the truth about her; but when he did, he became the truest friend she’d ever known.

Walker & Walker
In the heart of London, Elsa deciphered code and Jim read the people; some landed in prison, others became family.

of mysteries and downpours...

“Nothing goes so well with a hot fire and buttered crumpets as a wet day without and a good dose of comfortable horrors within. The heavier the lashing of the rain and the ghastlier the details, the better the flavour seems to be.” 

Dorothy Sayers, Strong Poison

Tuesday, October 13, 2015

Tea Quote Tuesday

“The cup of tea on arrival at a country house is a thing which, as a rule, I particularly enjoy. I like the crackling logs, the shaded lights, the scent of buttered toast, the general atmosphere of leisured cosiness.” code of the woosters Wodehouse

Sunday, October 11, 2015

Here be dragons (Microfiction Week 2)

Hey guys, I entered a 6-week writing contest! Week two is over, so I'm sharing my story here. This one got honorable mention. Check out this link to see how it works, or to enter or vote. Stay tuned for more!
I will go

Months this dragon has laid waste my country. At night he comes, plundering, taking our young, and burning villages with his fiery breath. We cast our arrows against him in vain. His hide will not be penetrated. The foul creature doubtless then returns to its lair, storing up treasure of metals and gems. But we care little for this hoard. Let him even take it all, only let us alone. But he will not. 

My people grow weary of this torment. Each day we clear rubble and bury our dead. Already we have lost nine mighty men of war in battle with this dragon; countless others in defense of home and family. With each dreaded onslaught I ponder ways that I might end this. My bones ache within me as my people fall.

At last my scouts return, having discovered where the dragon rests his filthy scales by day. I send my men away that I might think. Later they will lead me to his lair, but for now I must decide how to best use this knowledge. For armies are of little use against such an enemy, and I will not lead man after man before this beast to die.

Perhaps only one warrior, without armor to weigh him down, might be swift enough. One with a hefty sword, and a heart full of grief to keep it aloft, might make it through. A quick mind would be needed, with no alternative to this end. This warrior would have to carry each mourner for his reason, and would need every villager as his cause, with no thought for life or limb until each wife and new-child and tree were safe from plunder. I will go.

At daybreak we march, the smoke from last night’s raids still burning in our nostrils. As we approach the mountain cave, I order my men back, but they will only retreat a bow-shot’s length. For them I stand, they must not see me quake. The dragon comes forth.

Long into the day I needle and bait him, relying on my swiftness, until he has belched forth all his fire and there is no more. But still I must contend with his champing jaws and pronged tail, and with every lash I tire. I parry and strike, each for the kingdom. Have I strength for another? 

I have blinded him now. He roars in defiance, but as I dodge his armored spikes I see my chance at last and plunge my sword.

I am utterly spent, but beneath me lies the dragon, my sword buried to hilt in his maw. No longer will he be the Destroyer, nor He who spells fire and doom

Firm hands lift me from my scaly bed, wrapping my blistered sides and bathing my wounds. Another severs the monster’s head as trophy. They tell me they will not be without a ruler, and bear me home. I will again see my people smile.