The Saturday Breakfast Serial

This week I’m taking a break from the Serial.  :)  I may start a new one next week.  If you haven’t read the Desk, you may find all 8 chapters under the label “Saturday Breakfast Serial” in the side bar.

Have a great week end.

Tea for Tue: Our Lady of Guadalupe

Two years ago today, I painted this picture on the feast day of Our Lady of Guadalupe.  Here is the story that goes with the painting.

The Prayer

Three of us stand with canvases and easels in my friend's tiny home.  Her plush black cat looks on with ancient wisdom shining behind her benevolent and mildly curious gaze.  A stool in the corner holds brushes and paints.  I have never painted before.  Not on canvas.  We begin with a story and a journey.  And we begin with a prayer. Which writes itself in charcoal on my canvas.  We drum the canvas and we bathe it in rose water to invite the prayer in.

Did I mention?  It is the feast day of Guadalupe.

The Vision

I see her in my mind's eye.  She fills the cosmos.  She is woven into the fabric of the universe.  She is so big, I can only see her face and shoulders.  She is too big for me to see all of her.

The Painting

Over the prayer, the painting begins to emerge.  The face takes on shape from the prayer and the rayos, the corona around her, takes on a color I did not expect.  The Roses explode from her dress in all directions, merging with the cosmos.  And her hair...most surprising of all to me...her hair is white.

the Saturday Breakfast Serial-The Desk-Final Chapter

Well, at last we come to the final chapter of The Desk.  If you're new to this feature, or if you just need a recap, you can read all the previous chapters before coming back here to read part 8.

The Desk - Final Chapter

        I put my hand out, and cautiously opened the small drawer inside the desk.  I pulled out the packet and set it on the desk in front of me.  I was remembering what the journal had indicated about the herbs.  There was nothing here that would harm me.  And the words came back into my mind, “There is wisdom of a sort if you will allow the consciousness of those plants to speak to you.”   What did that mean? 

        I had been sitting with the herb packet for 5 minutes and hadn’t felt any strange reactions, so I took the next step, which was to carefully unwrap the packet.  The paper was thick, but soft.  Obviously handmade and it was intricately wrapped and folded around the herbs to make a secure bundle.  There was no fastener.  Only the folds in the paper tucked in on themselves.  Once I discovered the trick to unwrapping it, without tearing the paper, I was able to expose the contents.  The herbs lay in their little paper nest, and again I waited.  I could smell a faint aroma, which seemed to grow stronger within a few minutes.

        I stood up and walked a few steps from the desk.  I wanted to think.  I realized I was more than a little afraid of what might happen.  I began to pace.  Walking helped me to work through my nervous energy and calm my thoughts.

        What does it mean, to allow the consciousness of the plants to speak to me?  I wondered.  I stood a short distance from the packet on the desk and gazed at the mixture of herbs and flowers.  The fragrance seemed to grow stronger, and I felt a memory opening up.  I remembered drinking this tea.  “Oh, it’s tea,” I said aloud.  And I was certain I had loved this tea.  I picked up the packet taking great care not to spill any, and carried it into the kitchen.

        I carefully measured out a small portion of the tea into a small teapot, while the water boiled on the stove.  I sat at the kitchen table while it steeped and poured a tiny cup after a few minutes.  Holding  the cup in both my hands I brought my face close and breathed deeply the fragrant steam.  I took a tiny sip and the memories came flooding back as a door in my mind unlocked and opened up to show me visions of the past.

        I had been the writer of the journal.  The contents of the desk had belonged to me.  I had taken a trip through Europe and after, was scheduled to meet up with a group of scientists in central Asia.  I had been a botanist and part of an expedition to catalogue the plants of the mountain region in Pakistan.  The herbs had been given to me by a holy man we had found living alone in the mountains.  He was a wise man and a healer, and had shared his knowledge freely with me about many of the plants in the region.

        I had wanted to stay.  There was years of work that could’ve been done, but there was unrest in that part of the world, and we were ordered back home.  None of us wanted to go.

        All of these memories surfaced in rapid succession, like watching a movie montage.  I put the cup on the table.  Now I understood why I had lost those two hours.  My mind had not yet been ready to remember, and so it had gone blank.  

        I took another sip of the tea.  I had much to sift through in my memory, and I looked forward to reading the packet of letters tucked away in the desk.

The End

Thanks for reading The Desk on the Saturday Breakfast Serial.  Check back next Saturday.  I haven't decided if I will start a new serialized story or if I'll take a break from it for now.  Let me know your thoughts.  

Winter Whimsy Holiday Arts & Crafts

If you're in the Olympia area on Saturday the 9th, come on downtown to Gallery Boom for the Winter Whimsy Holiday Arts & Craft Show.  I'll be there sharing a table with my friend Sage Adderley-Knox-Author of Invoking Nonna and owner/operator of Sweet Candy Distro & Press, as well as Sage's Blog Tours.

If you're not familiar with Gallery Boom, it plays host to local artists to display their wares in an antique-mall-like setting.  If you're looking for great gifts look locally.  Why not support a local artist! 

Crowd Sourcing for Permaculture Project

Aren't they cute?  Every year, one of my hens does me a favor and decides to go broody.  These are my latest batch of chicks hatched out in August.  They're 4 months old now, and almost as big as the full grown hens.

I have been putting permaculture practices to work on my place and it has made an incredible difference to the land.  

Now I am in the process of getting my certification as a Permaculture Designer.  I will be designing Permaculture Systems to help people provide their own resources sustainably and to help rehabilitate the planet.  I think it's pretty noble work, and now it has called to me.

I'm reaching out to do some fund raising, so I can afford to take the course for this coming year.  A year long permaculture design course, very detailed and very in depth.

Please go to my fundraising page on Go Fund Me, if you'd like to contribute.

Thanks for reading.

Tea for Tue: Tea With Whimsy: Flashes of Insight

Another excerpt from Tea With Whimsy.  This post was from October 20, 2013 and I see that I posted it at 3:38 am.  I guess, I just wasn't sleeping much in those days.  Thankfully, I don't seem to have that issue anymore.  This post was titled...

Flashes of Insight

Yes, it's after 2 am.  This is another of those nights I guess.  At least it's been awhile since I had to write myself to sleep.  I've been sitting here wondering where this story is going.  I'm usually really punchy when I'm writing it, and it comes sometimes like a dream.  That's how I've been writing it down anyway. 

Reading it back, I know it's not that well written...I've done better, but there's just something about having this experience.  I guess you could say it's good medicine.  I suppose I'll keep going and be grateful for it.

So to get back to the story.  I seem to remember we were in the garden looking at the moon...


Her brightness lights the yard and I can feel my cells absorbing the reflected rays, just as the plants all around us are drinking in that marvelous light.  There is a sense of a collective sigh of contentment and it feels like my heart is shining as brightly as that moon.

And then a shudder runs through me, and I feel the air suddenly charged as the world around us lights up with a blinding flash and the explosion of Thunder rips through the air.  The smell of rain comes to us as the wind picks up, and we run for it bursting in through the kitchen door seconds before the heavens open up to drench the land in a mud spattering  downpour.

"My lantern's gone out", I observe aloud.  I set the lantern on the table.  I can't stop shivering and I feel cold all the way into my bones. 

"Your hair!" exclaims Whimsy.

"What about it?" I touch it and hear the crackle of static electricity.

"It's practically standing on end!"  Whimsy declares with a touch of awe in her voice.

My attention is drawn to the window just then and I peer into the blackness which has settled in between flashes.  "Oh look at it pouring!  I'll be drenched if I try to go home now.  You said the storm was hours away"  I chided her.

"That was HOURS ago!" she laughs, and I realize she's right.  That happens every time we get together...it's impossible to keep track as the hours fly by.

"Come over here by the fire!  You haven't stopped shivering since we got back inside."  We stand around the kitchen stove rotating to warm first one side then the other.

After a while I finally stop shivering and I look at the cuckoo clock on the kitchen wall.  "Good Heavens Whimsy!  It's almost 3 am.  I'll bet my cats are in a tizzy with all this thunder!"

"What about your husband?  Does he know you came here?"

"No.  But he's out of town until tomorrow."

"Well then, I guess you'll stay here tonight.  You can go home in the morning, after the storm lets up."

"If the storm lets up by then", I reply.

"Come on", says Whimsy.  "I'll get the cot and set it up here next to the stove and you will be warm as toast.  Then you can go home after breakfast."

In less than 20 minutes I'm snuggled down on the cot, wrapped in wool blankets.  The fire pops a little.  I listen to the creaks and noises of Whimsy's house.  The clock ticks rhythmically and sounds its cuckoos at 3.  The storm continues outside as I relax and the dreams begin before I'm fully asleep.

Thanks for reading.  Join me next Tuesday for a little retro Tea With Whimsy.

Momentary Magic: A Story Excerpt from Hearth & Heart 2017 Winter

        I couldn't tell at first that it was snowing. It just looked like a ripple in the fabric of reality, and the tiny flakes were more like mist than snow.
        The fire in the hearth flared up and burned brighter, and within seconds the ripple had become a full swirling snow storm, driven by the North Wind.
        I bundled up in layers of wool and dug out my pruning shears, intending to cut some greenery for the approaching Midwinter holiday. Then stepping out of my door into the swirling snow, I headed to the forest along the back end of my property, where years ago I had planted a Holly tree.
        I threaded my way carefully through the field, not wanting to even leave a footprint to disturb this work of nature as the snow began to transform the landscape. And as I drew closer to the wooded area, a curious thing happened. The swirling snow seemed to go into slow motion, and the North Wind seemed to calm. The world became very still. The usual local sounds had ceased, and even my footsteps seemed almost completely silent.


Full story available in the 2017 Winter edition of Hearth & Heart at Pegana Press

the Saturday Breakfast Serial: The Desk part 7

Welcome to another installment of the Saturday Breakfast Serial.  We continue with part 7 of The Desk.  You may read the previous chapters here on the blog.  And now...

The Desk part 7

        I slept deeply and soundly, and was aware upon waking that I had been visited by many dreams.  Twice, I had wakened in the night to scribble notes in a dream journal while still half asleep, having cultivated the skill of writing in the dark so as not to come into full wakefulness by turning on the light.
        I slipped my hand under the pillow to make sure the little leather journal was still in its place.  Drawing it out, I laid it on the night stand, then sitting up in bed, I opened my dream journal to review the notes from the night before.
        The first scribbled notes jogged my memory.  The dream had been vivid and involved.  As if I were reliving a memory of traveling to a remote part of the world.  In the dream, I traveled by train, by ocean liner, by train again, and eventually on foot.  It had seemed like I was meandering, in no particular hurry, but that I had been irresistibly drawn to a remote and primitive part of the world, high in the mountains.  I had seen many interesting places along the way and met many people.
        What struck me most about the dream, was that it had seemed to be a memory.  A memory which I had no difficulty in recalling now that I was awake.  As if I had really lived it.  I could remember snatches of conversations, food eaten, hotel rooms, inns, and hostels, each with their own vivid sights, sounds, and smells.
        The second part of the dream had mostly been about a summer hiking trip in a mountainous region in what seemed to be somewhere in Asia.  In the dream I seemed to be part of a small entourage.  This part of the dream was not as clear in my memory as the first part had been.  But I had the distinct impression that the journey took place over the course of months, rather than weeks and that we were well guided and well protected.
        Whatever else I had dreamed, if there was anymore after the second waking, was lost to me.  And I felt like I had gotten a very good night’s rest in spite of the adventurous content of my dreams.  In fact, I felt deeply peaceful and content, though I couldn’t say why.
        I put the dream journal back on the night stand and got out of bed.  Quite a little time had passed while I had been pondering last night’s dreams, and I was beginning to feel hungry.
        I went into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee.  The chilly house made me long for a hot shower and warm clothes and so I put off having my first cup until I was showered and dressed.
        After breakfast, I took my second cup of coffee into the living room.  I drew the curtains to let a little of the weak morning sun filtering through bare branches into the room and stood surveying the contents of the tea cart.  The desk had been left open, but I didn’t notice any fragrance from the herbal packet still tucked into its drawer.  I put the cup down, and drew up a comfortable chair to begin going through the sorted piles of memorabilia.
        Among the pile of trinkets I had sorted the day before, was a small jewel box containing a small gold watch on a stick pin.  Such a delicate watch.  Obviously it had belonged to a lady.  I set the jewel box back into a cubby in the desk, and continued replacing the items I had taken out the day before.  There were bottles of ink with pens and stationary of fine paper.  There was a packet of letters tied with a ribbon, which I placed back into the desk hoping to read after I finished with the journal.  There were miscellaneous foreign coins, a small ledger with some expenses noted, and a thick packet with maps and itineraries in a paper document sleeve fastened with string.
        The maps were of interest.  There were maps from all over the world.  One in particular showed the mountainous region in Central Asia, with the map folded open to reveal the Hindukush range.
        One of the last things I placed into the desk was a sketch book which contained artistic details of plants including roots, leaves, flowers, and seeds; each accompanied by its botanical name.
        I wondered about the packet of herbs and flowers stored in the small desk drawer, and which had been referred to in the journal.  I remembered my first encounter with these herbs and how it had affected me.  Was I ready to investigate further?


Thank you for reading and please join me here next week for part 8 of The Desk on the Saturday Breakfast Serial.

Saturday Breakfast Serial update

Due to some scheduling conflicts the Saturday Breakfast Serial will be posted later than usual today.

The next installment can be read here later today.  Thank you for your patience.

Tea For Tue: Tea With Whimsy Continued

To continue from last week.  This was originally posted on Tea With Whimsy on October 10, 2013.  The post was called More Thunder, Toast and Tea

So now, where was I?  Oh yes.  I am lighting the lamps in Whimsy's front room.

Whimsy lights this room with 3 oil lamps.  In fact she doesn't have electricity in her home at all.  Why should she?  She lives simply.  She considers electricity a distraction.  She does her dishes by hand with heated water from the kettle, She has a wood cook stove.  She has a fire place in the front room, and she uses the oil lamps throughout the house.  It's just 3 rooms.  Like I said simple.

I raise the glass chimney on the first lamp and light the wick, and one corner of the room glows into existence.  I see books lining the wall, some have worn spines.  There are a few paper backs, but mostly they are old and bound in cloth and leather.  There is an arm chair here with a foot stool and a small oak table with an almanac on it and a pencil.  There is also a basket nearby with a pair of wooden knitting needles and some soft wool yarn in a light color.  It's hard to tell in this light--maybe light gray?  The wick in the lamp is smoking a little, so I adjust the wick before moving to the next lamp.

With each lamp lit, more of the room comes to life.  And as I am lighting the third lamp Whimsy comes in wheeling her cart before her.  It's one of those old tea carts, and it's filled with what promises to be a small feast.  There is a low round table in front of the fire, and we fill it with the contents of the cart before wheeling it back into the kitchen.  Then we seat ourselves as comfortable as aching joints will allow on a chilly night and warm ourselves by food and fire.  We wrap ourselves in shawls and sit on large soft cushions and talk and laugh and hold bread on toasting forks over the fire and drink tea, and maybe a little port.

A short time later, I'm laughing so hard my sides ache and my throat hurts, and the tears are literally streaming from my eyes while Whimsy tells a particularly earthy story passed down to her from a favorite Aunt.  Dark humor.  Sometimes it's good to laugh at dark things.

Another flash of light outside and still Thunder seems very distant.

Eventually the conversation winds it's way back to where it began earlier in the evening as I declare how very good it is to laugh with a dear friend.  "I really needed that".

Whimsy nods in agreement.  "Yes.  How are you holding up with all this extra activity you've taken on?"  She is referring to the fact that I am simultaneously working 3 jobs at once.

I pour myself a little more tea, still miraculously warm under its cozy.  I take a moment to answer, stopping to breath in the bouquet of the tea, an amazing blend of herbs and flowers, and to sip it appreciatively.  Contemplating my teacup in this moment I can not think of a single thing wrong with my life...and yet I'm not sleeping. 

She gets it, of course.  At least the gist of it, without me having to say a word.

"Not sleeping, eh?"

I shake my head..."Well -- some.  A little.  About 4 hours.  There is just so much to do.  I'm loving doing it all, but I'm bone weary." 

"And I have to pee!"  I announce emphatically, changing the subject.  "All this delicious tea."

We get up and go into the kitchen, grabbing lanterns on the way out the door.  It's very late, but not as bright as it was when I first arrived.  The Moon is now being partly obscured by fast moving Clouds, flying past her face and veiling her from sight for long moments.  A gust of wind, sends my long hair whipping over my face, and we quicken our steps to the small building used as a work room and laundry.  She also has a composting toilet out here.

"Ah! There's nothing like an empty bladder" declares Whimsy after taking her turn.

Then we step back outside into a fully lit landscape and are both stopped in our tracks by a breathtaking view of the nearly full moon surrounded by clouds,  and for the moment not obscured.  Her brightness lights the yard and I can feel my cells absorbing the reflected rays, just as the plants all around us are drinking in that marvelous light.  There is a sense of a collective sigh of contentment and it feels like my heart is shining as brightly as that moon.



And since I just caught myself asleep at my computer once more, I guess it's time to shut this thing off and go meet up with my pillow.   May your dreams be sweet.


And that was another installment of Tea With Whimsy revisited from 2013.  These early versions of the story were the foundation of a much more detailed work which evolved over time.

Thanks for reading.

Momentary Magic i.e. Hearth & Heart 2017 Winter Edition

Ah, there you are!

Hello Reader.  Let me introduce you to Hearth & Heart volume 2   2017 Winter Edition.

A little book filled with short stories written in the spirit of Winter Tales.

It begins with a little flight of fancy called Yule which forms the prelude to the book.  It sets the mood for what's to come, and it begins, thus...

The season of Yule approaches! A light in the darkness. I hear it in the sound of sleigh bells and the tinkle of wind chimes tossed by the north wind. The muted sound of snow falling, a sound so faint there is nothing else like it...

What follows is a story called City of Embers.  A cousin, you might say to The Voice of Fire, which appeared in Winter Tales in 2014.  City of Embers was written that same year, and recounts a story of a city which appears in a fireplace.  Pure fantasy.

After that comes Road Work, a brand new story I wrote this year.  It was written to appear in Hearth & Heart Vol 3 2018 Autumn edition, but I have decided to suspend that publication for the time being, and wanted it to appear in what is perhaps my last edition of Hearth & Heart.

It tells the story of what happens when a bridge is opened up between heaven and earth.

The final short story is called Holly Magic and is a true story that reads like fiction.  To me those are the very best stories.  It brings in all the elements of Winter imagery.

There is one final story - a micro story called La Befana in honor of Epiphany, which appears on the back cover of the book.

I hope these stories find their way into your heart to warm you in the cold of the long dark nights of winter.   They are at Pegana Press.

May they bring you good cheer.

the Saturday Breakfast Serial part 6

Welcome to the Saturday Breakfast Serial.  This is part 6 of a continuing story which appears every Saturday morning on this blog.  You may read the first 5 installments of The Desk here.

The Desk  Part 6

       It’s possible that my heart skipped a beat in that moment.  My hand went to my chest and I drew a sharp breath as I came into contact with the key on its ribbon hanging around my neck.  It was the key that I had found weeks before in the front garden.
       I slipped the ribbon over my head, and held the key poised to unlock the box.  My hand was shaking and was at first unable to fit the key into the lock.  Taking a deep breath, I managed it on the second try.  With a sharp click the lock turned and I withdrew the key.
       The next stage wasn’t so easy.  It wasn’t a matter of opening a lid or a drawer, there appeared to be a trick to getting the box to release.  I examined it from all sides.  There was a small metal disc on one side, near the back of the box, where the keyhole was.  It had a little design which I took to be a logo of the manufacturer of the desk.  I was rubbing my thumb over the metal disc to see if there was a name on it, when I felt it move slightly.  I wedged the nails of my index finger and thumb under the metal and pulled gently, drawing out a long slender metal rod, measuring the width of the box.  It might have been a very sturdy hat pin, but for the blunt end.
       I set the rod aside and now the box seemed to float freely.  Appearing to be a larger box inverted as a lid, over a smaller box which fit just exactly within it.  I lifted the top one from the bottom box, which was well padded and lined with white silk.  Nestled securely within was a thin leather book and I recognized it to be the journal from my dream the night before.
       I carefully lifted it out, fearing it to be fragile and brittle, though no such thought had occurred to me in my dream.  The leather was supple and showed very little wear and the pages did not crumble away as I leafed through it.  The little book gleamed at me, inviting me to read.
       I turned my back on the desk and it’s contents spread out on the tea cart and wandered into the kitchen with the little journal clutched to my heart in both hands.  “I found you,” I whispered, though I don’t know why, and it felt like this treasured possession had once belonged to me and had long been lost.
       In the kitchen, I set it down only long enough to make a cup of tea…ginger tea, I decided in honor of my dream.  I was almost afraid to let the journal out of my site for fear that I might even now be dreaming.
       While the tea was steeping, I picked up the journal and wandered from room to room closing the drapes as twilight gathered, and locking the doors for the evening.  I went back to pick up my tea and then headed for my room.
       It was a large room at the back of the house, and it doubled as a small sitting room.  It felt cozy and secluded.  I wanted to settle down for the evening with the journal and not be disturbed.  I set the journal and my tea cup on a small table next to a large comfortable chair and slipped out of my work clothes and into a chenille bathrobe.  It’s not silk, I thought to myself, but I love it.
       I seated myself in the comfortable chair, put my feet up and pulled a hand knit afghan around me.  Then I took a sip of tea and reached for the journal, caressing the soft leather bound cover.
       I opened it to the first page and began reading, savoring every word from the beginning.  It contained the same sense of intimacy that it had shown in my dream.  Some of the words came back to me as I read.  When I got to the part about the herbal packet, I reread those lines twice. “I want you to know there is nothing in the desk to harm you.  The contents of the packet are a mixture of rare flowers and herbs that I picked up in my travels in 1931.  I keep them to remind me of what I learned on my journey.  There is wisdom of a sort if you will allow the consciousness of those plants to speak to you.”
       There was a ribbon in the journal and I placed it on that page and closed the book.  I had a lot to think about.  Not least of which was the dream I had.  I sat absentmindedly holding the journal and stroking the leather with my thumb, while I pondered having found and read this journal, up to this same point, in my dream.
       I thought about the herbal packet.  I had lost nearly two hours the last time I came into contact with it.  What had happened in that time?  The herbs were still tucked away in the small desk drawer.  I didn’t quite feel ready to try that experience again, but I was curious.  “Not tonight.”  I said firmly, setting the journal on the table.  I took another sip of tea, which had grown cold.
       I picked up the journal and tucked it under my pillow, before getting into bed.  “Not tonight,” I whispered to the little book through my pillow as I reached for the light switch.


Join me next week for Part 7 of The Desk, here on the Saturday Breakfast Serial.

Tea for Tue another Tea With Whimsy Story

Back in the Autumn of 2013, I began writing blog posts when I couldn't sleep.  Sometimes the posts would be short like this one, and sometimes they would be longer.  Over time, the individual posts became a story, which were the very primitive rough beginnings of a story called Tea With Whimsy, which eventually, I started to polish up as a full length story.  I am reposting them here, every Tuesday, in their original form.  Here is another installment.

I remember I wrote it during a season when we had very unusual thunder storms.  One in particular just seemed to keep rolling through like a slow moving train, and lasted the whole night long.  I kept referring to these posts as a Bed Time Story I Tell Myself, because I would get tired while I was writing and then I could sleep.

This post was written on October 9, 2013 and was titled, Wait A Minute...Am I Still In This Story?

I guess I'm still in this Bed Time Story...I'm still in Whimsy's kitchen...

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a bright flash of light through the window which lights up the garden.  Long moments later comes the low rumble of very distant Thunder.

"Oh--you know, I should get going" I say to Whimsy.

"I thought you were going to have some toast".  She begins slicing bread with a long knife.  "Would you get out the butter?" She gestures at a cupboard in the corner, she calls the cold cupboard.

"It's going to storm" I say reaching for the butter.

"That's hours away."  She says and she sets to work loading up a cart with cups and plates and slices of bread.  I help in the gathering together of tea and honey and toasting forks.  I am lost for a moment in the music of tinkling cups and saucers and silver as we bustle around her warm, fragrant kitchen, with it's smell of fresh herbs and bread and overtones of spicy apple pie, (which turns out instead to be pineapple upside down cake...the pineapple being a gift from a friend who just got back from the islands).

"I haven't lit the lamps yet in the other room.  will you do it.  The fire is already going so you should be able to see well enough" and she tosses me a box of matches.

On the way to light the lamps, another lightening flash can be seen through dark windows, but still the Thunder is very far off.



Okay, I can see I'll have to stop for now, I just fell asleep writing this at my computer.  But that's the whole point of telling myself this story.  So my mind will quiet and I can go to sleep.

I hope you sleep well too.

Micro Stories

Every Monday on Patreon I post a Micro Story for my Patrons.  These stories are usually between 70 and 350 words.  They're short and sweet, and they show up like johnny on the spot.  Another word to describe them would be flash fiction.  So if you like your fiction tiny, head on over to Patreon and check out It Pays to be Prepared.

If you like what you see, you can become a patron of a story teller (me) for as little as $1 a month.  And for that you get 5 to 6 micro stories a month.  Sure, if you think about it, every three months there are 5 Mondays.  If you do the math, that's 52 Micro Monday story posts per year plus 12 mini zines mailed to you.  64 thought provoking, entertaining little stories a year for only $12?  Who could resist that?

Thanks for reading my pitch and enjoy the story.

Hearth & Heart 2017 Winter Edition Preview

I spent almost the whole day yesterday, working on the template for this edition.  I'm close enough to say that it will most likely be ready to go to the copy shop on Monday.

Here is a photo of the main illustrations for City of Embers.  In three dimensions, the title illustration looks amazing.  Unfortunately, it will flatten out during duplication.  Hopefully it won't lose too much in the translation.

the Saturday Breakfast Serial part 5

Read parts 1 through 4 here.

The Desk Part 5

       I searched the night stand, the floor and even the bed thoroughly.  It’s probably in the pocket of my silk robe, I thought.

       With that thought, I froze in mid step.  “I don’t have a silk robe!” I said out loud.  I sat down hard on the bed and tried to piece together the hazy fragments of what happened the night before.

       I remembered the knocking sound which woke me up, but there hadn’t been anyone there.  I remembered putting on a silk robe that I didn’t own.  I could still feel the warmth of it and the way it felt on my skin.  I had never come into contact with silk fabric of that quality before.  I caressed the skin on my arms at the memory of it.

       I remembered finding the journal and…”Ginger Tea,” I said aloud. There was no cup on the night stand.

       I hopped up off the bed and strode to the kitchen.  I knew it!  There was no cup in the sink waiting to be washed, nor in the dish drainer.  Only the dishes from breakfast this morning.

       I went into the living room and opened the desk.  There was no journal lined up with the other books and papers and no space where it may have been.

       Closing the desk, I went back into the kitchen, poured myself another cup of coffee, and sat down at the kitchen table staring out of the window.  I was in a bit of a daze.  Was it really all just a dream?  If so, it was the most vivid dream I had ever had.  I grabbed a nearby notebook and pen and began writing down everything I could remember from the night before.

       Closing the notebook, I looked at the clock and realized it was about the time I usually start my work day.  Working from home has its advantages and I went down the hall to my office.  Checking my appointment book, I realized I was due at a conference call in about 10 minutes.  “Just in time,” I muttered under my breath gratefully. 

       I spent the morning on business and didn’t break for lunch until later than usual, wanting to wrap everything up before breaking off.  I knew once I left my office, I would be far too distracted to get any more work done this afternoon.

       At 2:30, I closed things down for the day and went in to make some lunch.  I was ravenous, but made myself a quick sandwich with a little left over soup from the night before.

       I took a deep breath and forced myself to focus on the food.  I have the rest of the afternoon to spend with the desk, I thought to myself, and settled in to enjoy my lunch.

       Twenty minutes later, as I was clearing the lunch dishes, I found myself confronted with a sink still full of unwashed breakfast things.  I sighed.  Filling the sink with hot soapy water, I got down to the business of washing dishes.

       With all my work out of the way, I felt free to tackle the desk.  I brought the empty tea cart with me, having in mind to clear out the entire contents and spread them out on the cart so I could see everything clearly.  I pulled up a chair, opened the lid and began pulling out packets and ledgers one at a time.  As I leafed through each one, I would set it aside on the tea cart.  

       When I was finished, I had an almost empty desk and an assortment of curios and papers sorted into piles on the cart.  

       The last thing to come out of the desk was a wooden box which fit exactly under the shelves of cubbies.  It looked like the rest of the built in features of the desk, only it slipped right out of it’s spot with an ornate little pull that matched the other drawer pulls.  Because of the pull, it looked like a drawer when it was in place, but it appeared to be a solid box.  Perhaps it was just a wooden riser, to place ink bottles on when one was writing letters, I mused.  It had every appearance of having been used for that purpose, judging by the stains, rings and other discolorations on the surface.

       An inspiration came into my thoughts which caused me to slide the box all the way out of its cubby.  Still nothing revealed itself to my eye.  I leaned over to get a good look inside the space it had come from thinking maybe something was tucked away behind it.  I sighed in disappointment at the empty recess.  

       I don’t know what caused me to want to look at the back of the box.  Just a whim perhaps, but on the back of the box was a small key hole.

Join me next Saturday for another installment of the Saturday Breakfast Serial.

Throwback Thursday: Winter Tales

In 2014 I found myself in the unique position of having the time to write.  My life had been busy and chaotic as I scrambled to learn the book binding trade and to make space in our small home to house Pegana Press, the Bindery, my energy medicine practice, and SoundChaser Productions.  As the living space became smaller and the space we needed to conduct business in our house grew larger, I found myself growing more overwhelmed and disorganized.  All the boundary lines between work and personal time became blurred.

But then something happened to change all of that.  I injured my shoulder and could do nothing.  The pain was intense, and I would sit in front of the fire for hours.  Those days spent in front of the fire allowed me to quiet my mind, and stories began to come through.

Mike ended up printing three of them in a letterpress chapbook titled Winter Tales.  Below is an interview conducted by Mike which contains two short readings...one from The Voice of Fire (at the beginning of the recording), and one from Cup of Cheer (10 minutes and 33 seconds into the recording).  During the rest of the interview we talk about the stories.

I share this interview here in the spirit of the coming winter season.  Thank you for listening.  Winter Tales letterpress chapbook available from Pegana Press. 

Winter Edition of Hearth & Heart

The race is on.  I'm hoping to release Hearth & Heart Volume 2  2017 Winter Edition on November 17th.  Stay tuned.

Tea For Tue : Another Story from Tea With Whimsy

Three weeks ago, I posted A Bedtime Story I Tell Myself, which became the beginning to a story called Tea With Whimsy.  Here was the next installment originally written as a blog post on September 30, 2013 and titled Gathering Herbs in the Moonlight.  If you'd like to read the first post, just click the link below.

Gathering Herbs in the Moonlight

(Continued from A Bedtime Story I Tell Myself)

She straightens up and hands me her basket, and without a word bends over and goes back to cutting herbs.  She's never surprised when I arrive.  Whimsy is always expecting someone to show up, and of course they always do.

I stand shivering in the moonlight holding the basket, which fills up as Whimsy continues to snip herbs crooning softly as she works.  And I notice, that she seems to be singing a love song to the plants, like a mother singing a lullaby to a beloved child.  A small sigh of contentment seems to ripple round the garden, and I begin to feel not so chilled as before--as if someone just pulled a blanket up around my chin and tucked me in.

When the basket is over flowing, she straightens up and onto her toes, raising her arms over her head and stretching hugely.  She beams at me and invites me to come inside.

We enter through the kitchen door, and the warmth and the smell of fresh baked bread wrap around me like a soothing embrace.  I look around at the tidy kitchen and think about my own never quite clean kitchen, with the dishes in the sink, the crumbs on the counter, and unswept floor.

"And that's why you can't sleep at night!"

"Hey", I protest weakly.

"Well...your thoughts are very loud." 

I know they can be at times, and so I just nod and cock my head to one side raising my eyebrows, while she continues.

"It's true, though.  You've got a lot of..." and here she searches for a word and gestures, flourishing her hand around over and around my head.  Into my mind's eye comes a picture of a black tangled ball like a scribble on paper when someone is trying to get the ink to flow in a sluggish pen.  "...snarled energy", she finishes.  "You've got a lot on your plate right now.  Why do you want to be such a glutton and take on so much?  Are you sure you're not biting off more than you can chew?"

"Stop with the food analogies, you're making me hungry!"

Her eyes sparkle.  "Let's have some toast." 

And now my eyes are sparkling, and I nod my head enthusiastically in agreement.


That seems like a good stopping place for now.  (I think I'll have some toast--more later).


After all these years, I still remember that it was nearly midnight when I posted Gathering Herbs in the Moonlight.  I ended with "I think I'll have some toast..." and just as I was shutting down my computer, my husband Mike came out of the bedroom.  He had just woken up hungry.  The first words out of his mouth were, "Did you say something about toast?"

At that time he still didn't even know I was writing Tea With Whimsy, nor that I was having insomnia.  But somehow, he picked up on the suggestion of toast.  I love that form of communication.  And it figures prominently in Tea With Whimsy.

Momentary Magic i.e. Hearth & Heart part three

Thank you for joining me for this final installment of a three part post which introduces Hearth & Heart, a quarterly short story zine.  Part one, introduced the 2015 Summer edition and in part two, I write about the 2015 Autumn edition.  Which brings Hearth & Heart into the present...

Having finally released Hearth & Heart 2015 Autumn Edition retroactively, I felt free to move into the present and begin work on a brand new zine.  On September 22, 2017  Hearth & Heart 2017 Autumn Edition was released, which is a blend of very old stories and very new stories.  This issue stretched my writing muscles a bit, but I also had to dust off my artistic skills as an illustrator, which had grown very rusty.

Conversation With A Prince was written in 2017 for this edition of Hearth & Heart.  It's one of those stories that is 99% true.  The frontispiece (pictured here) is my one and only pastel which I did in 1992.  It seemed appropriate to use here.

On the Way Upstairs was a fragment of story from 2015.  I had stopped writing it just as the character takes the first step on the staircase.  I was intrigued with how the story began, so was really happy to pick up the threads and finish it.  This is 100% fiction, and in fact found myself facing the challenge of writing about something I had no practical experience with.  It was a fun one to write.  Sort of a time travel yarn with a nautical flavor.  The illustration for that was part pencil sketch and part collage.

The Dream Catcher was a story written in 1990.  I was very young and it shows in the writing style.  Still, I liked the message it conveyed.  There are elements of my childhood in it as well as some elements of a grandmother of mine.  I've been in love with the idea of flying ships since I was 4 years old.  This story has all of that.  The illustration was a pencil sketch of a flying ship against the moon and is mounted it on a background photo of stars taken by the Hubble Telescope.

Getting the Boot - A Story in Elfland  was another fragment of story begun in 2010.  I picked up the threads for this story because I didn't have enough material to release this edition of Hearth & Heart.  Once I began writing it again, it was difficult to wrap it up.  This story seemed to want to go on and on, and really had to stick to a specific number of pages in order to make it into this issue.  It ends with a touch of humor.  I had started an illustration for this story, but as I said before, my skills were rusty and I ran out of time, choosing instead to use a watercolor painting done in 2013.  Oddly enough, it works very well with this story.

The final essay appears on the back cover and is called A New Story.  It's a descriptive little piece that describes the life of a story.

I really had fun writing the stories for this issue and putting it together with the illustrations.  It pushed me out of my comfort zone, and I was surprised at how enjoyable it really was.

To find out more about Hearth & Heart Volume 2  2017 Autumn edition, go to Pegana Press.

Join me next Monday when I'll be introducing Hearth & Heart Volume 2 2017 Winter Edition, scheduled for release later this month.

the Saturday Breakfast Serial part 4

Read parts 1 through 3 here.


The sharp ring of the phone bell startled me out of my thoughts.  I closed the desk and hurried to answer it.
  I missed the call, and saw that it was from a number I didn’t know.  I shrugged and went back to get the tea cart.  I hadn’t touched the food and the coffee was cold.
This desk is taking up a lot of my time, I thought to myself.  I went into the kitchen to heat up some soup to go with the croissant still left from the lunch I never had.  As I stirred the soup, I wondered idly about the packet.  I knew someone who worked at the university chem lab and considered asking if I could have the contents analyzed. The fragrance was pleasing, but I was troubled that I had lost two hours of consciousness and suspected the contents of the packet might have something to do with it, although for the life of me, I didn’t know what.
I ate my supper without much enthusiasm, even though I hadn’t eaten since breakfast.  I was still feeling a little dazed, so I bundled myself up and went outside to look at the stars.  The cold night air revived me somewhat and the quiet rustling of the wind through the few remaining leaves yet to fall, soothed my nerves.  I sat in the darkness on my front porch and watched my breath mingling with the near freezing air in ghostly clouds.
Before long, the cold became too much for me, but I felt that I was relaxed enough now to fall asleep, and decided to make an early night of it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I dreamed that someone was knocking at the front door.  It was so real, it woke me up and I waited tense and alert listening for the knocking to continue, but I heard nothing more.  My bedside clock read 3:33.  Not again! I thought to myself.  I calculated that I had been asleep almost 7 hours and decided to get up.  I wrapped up in my favorite long warm robe of soft thick silk and went out to double check that no one was at the front door.
On my way I passed the desk.  I stood gazing at it in the dim glow of a nightlight.  I cautiously opened the drop lid, thinking that now might be a good time to look into some of the contents.  A thin leather book stood out from the other items and I slipped it out of it’s place and tucked it into the pocket of my robe.  I closed the desk quickly, in case I might encounter the strange fragrance once more.
I made myself a cup of hot ginger tea and decided to take it and the book back to my room.  Sitting up in bed with the book on my nightstand, I warmed my hands on the cup, taking small sips and breathing in the spicy steam.  I set the cup down, and took up the book.
It turned out to be a journal.  I leafed through the pages and saw that it was a masterpiece of beautiful handwriting and skillfully written observations.  I settled in to read from the beginning.
As I read, I began to feel as if the author were writing directly to me.  As if I were reading a letter from a friend.  The words were warm and intimate.  At one point, I ran across a passage that read, “I want you to know there is nothing in the desk to harm you.  The contents of the packet are a mixture of rare flowers and herbs that I picked up in my travels in 1931.  I keep them to remind me of what I learned on my journey.  There is wisdom of a sort if you will allow the consciousness of those plants to speak to you…”
I closed the book and pondered the words.  I had already been reading about an hour and I was beginning to feel drowsy.  Setting the book on my night stand, I snuggled down and reached out to turn off the light.  It was still a couple of hours before sunrise.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the morning when I woke, the sky was just beginning to brighten and feeling refreshed I took a shower and dressed for the day.  I went into the kitchen to make coffee and some breakfast.  I was feeling very hungry, not having eaten much the night before.  The day promised to be fine, if that bright blue sky was any indication.  I felt a cheerful optimism, and hummed a tune as I stirred cream and honey into my hot cereal.
I finished breakfast and went into the living room to open the drapes to allow the morning sun in.  On the way out, I passed the desk and remembered the journal.  I headed back to my room eager to read a little more before beginning my work day.  But the journal was gone!

Momentary Magic i.e. Hearth & Heart part two

On Monday I introduced you to my collected short story zine, Hearth & Heart, Volume 1 2015 Summer Edition.  Today I'd like to turn the spotlight onto the 2015 Autumn Edition.

As I mentioned on Monday, I was having trouble getting the Autumn Edition printed out.  It looked like that edition was simply not meant to be.  With other projects requiring my time and attention, I forgot about it for the next two years.  In fact I even stopped writing during that time.

One day, this past August, I decided I needed to find a way to convince myself seriously that writing was a priority for me.  I had gotten into the very bad habit, of relegating story writing to last place on the list of things that needed done.  Which of course meant that it never got done.  My days were filled with growing food, book binding, seeing BodyTalk clients, cooking, cleaning and doing a thousand things required of me daily.  Plus I was taking two classes.  I wanted to include writing in there, but I couldn't seem to make it happen.

Patreon seemed to be the answer.  If I set up a creator page at Patreon, then I would make a plan, and be able to hold myself accountable.  By creating rewards for the Patrons supporting me, I ended up writing daily out of necessity.  

For my first goal, I decided I would finish Hearth & Heart Vol. 1 2015 Autumn Edition, once and for all.  I used my Patreon creator page to keep myself focused by posting daily progress reports.  And even though I didn't have any Patrons, I posted updates as if I had dozens of Patrons cheering me on.

I still had a lot of trouble with it.  But this time I refused to give up.  The book had been finished for two years, it didn't make sense not to print it, even though it seemed like everything was conspiring to keep me from releasing it.  For example, I made three very confusing and discouraging trips to the print shop, before I finally got what I needed.  I wasted time, gas, and money working with them, but finally, it happened.  I walked into the copy shop with my finished  zine and walked out with 30 copies.

On September 1st 2017, I released (retroactively) Hearth & Heart Volume 1 2015  Autumn Edition.  I know it confused some people for me to do it that way (mostly my husband), but that book was born in 2015.  Besides, I already had a 2017 edition started, and I didn't want to combine them, because three weeks later I released Hearth & Heart Volume 2 2017  Autumn Edition.

The 2015 Autumn Edition of Hearth & Heart was such fun to put together, in spite of the fact that it felt like I was being blocked from printing it.  It's got some quirks to be sure.  For instance the table of contents page had to be glued to another version of the same page.  Here's what happened.  The copy machine I was using made an acceptable image of the photo I was using for my table of contents, but did not make a successful copy of the illustration on the back of that page.  You couldn't even see the pencil sketch illustration, and so I had to have them set the machine to make a darker image.  This time the sketch came out very clearly, but the photograph lost the definition I wanted it to have.  I used a technique that I use when sewing an illustration into a book and then, to make a single page of the two sheets glued them together.  It added time and expense to the project, but it seemed to be the only way to get acceptable results.  Over time, the sheets might separate if the glue becomes brittle, but it will be easy for anyone with a glue stick to fix.

The fun part of this edition of Hearth & Heart for me was the lunch box pocket I made to go with A Fairy Tale from 1969.  Since this story was inspired by an experience I had when I was 7 years old, I wanted to include an image of the lunch box I used when I was that age.  I no longer had the lunch box, but I was able to find a great image of it online.  I used the color image to create a pocket to not only hold a tiny book containing a micro story, but also to hold some other surprises.

But it's the stories that are the reason for Hearth & Heart.  Besides A Fairy Tale from 1969, I also included an essay titled A Hallowe'en Recollection.  Both of these offerings originally appeared in my blog Tea With Whimsy.  They were written a week apart in October of 2012.  They both seemed to be appropriate material for the kind of stories I wanted to offer in an Autumn edition.  And both were inspired from my childhood experiences.

Smile! was a story written about an experience I had in the late 90s.  You never know what may be lurking in doorways.  That story is about 70% true life and 30% flight of fancy.  I leave it to you to know fact from fiction.  Better yet, I leave it to you to just enjoy the story without needing to sort fact from fiction.  We get enough of that in the real world, right?

There Be Giants.  That story was based on an actual experience.  It's a Hallowe'en story with witches and giants.  Again that is a story that is about 50% real life and 50% flight of fancy.  (You may be surprised to learn that the giants are the real life part of the story, not the witches.  I know I was surprised!)

Sky is a short offering that I encased in an illustration, which is pictured at the start of this post.  Yes, it's another door.  I had visualized it being a window, but after all the trouble I had been having reproducing images, and constructing the zine, I decided to go for a simple door effect.  Both Sky and The Witch's Children (a micro story which appears as a tiny book included with this zine) were gleaned from a micro story journal I wrote in 1991.

This edition of Hearth & Heart was my most complicated zine to assemble, but it sure was a lot of fun to design.  If you'd like to check it out go over and take a look at Pegana Press.

On Monday I'd like to talk a little bit about Hearth & Heart Volume 2  2017  Autumn Edition.  I hope you'll join me.

Winter Whimsy at Gallery Boom

I'll be there tabling at this event with my friend Sage Adderley-Knox.

Tea For Tue: Tea With Whimsy--Who is Telling the Story?

In Tea With Whimsy, the story takes place through a narrator.  But who is this person?

When I first began writing this as a blog, it started out as the fictional ramblings of an insomniac.  But the story took on a life of its own, and I had to start writing it more seriously, editing and developing characters and so on, which is why I stopped blogging it.

The narrator of the story introduced herself to me as Annwyl.  She pronounces her name like the words,  Anewil to rhyme with A-jewel.  I looked up the name and found out it was of Welsh origin, and that it meant beloved one.

Annwyl eventually told me that she and Seren are Whimsy's sisters, which wasn't clear in the early blog posts, but the more I wrote, the more the characters told me about their personal lives, just as it is when you meet someone.  They don't tell you everything all at once.  The longer you know someone, the more personal details that someone shares with you.  And so it is with this story as well.

So Annwyl began telling me things about her life, and a funny thing has happened.  Even though Annwyl is not me and I am not her, she and I have similar things that we do in life.  After all I have to have some point of reference from which to present the story.

While I do have three cats and I am a book binder by trade, I don't have 3 sisters, and I don't know anyone who can communicate the way Annwyl and Whimsy do, although I believe anything is possible.

Whimsy's lifestyle fascinates me, and I've had people tell me they want to be Whimsy and live like she does.  Whimsy's lack of modern conveniences stems from my disillusionment as a householder caused by my own plumbing and electrical problems.  I'd rather just do without all those built in "conveniences" that become so inconvenient when you have to tear out a wall or replace a floor.  Whimsy's cottage is small and simple.  She is a minimalist.  She lives off her land.  She is mostly self sufficient.

She's really old school.

She lives the way my parents did when they were kids, and the way I would like to live.  That life is hard work.  But I think it's even harder work to go to a job you have little or no feeling for everyday, working for someone else just to make money to buy your food.  Why not just grow it?  Work is work.  There are 24 hours in each day whether you spend it working for yourself or someone else.  There are ways.  People all over the planet are finding ways to live life on their own terms.  With a little creative thinking, it can be done.

That is something Whimsy and I agree on wholeheartedly.

(This post originally appeared in Tea With Whimsy as a blog post on January 12, 2015)

What is Patreon?

What is Patreon?  Patreon is a platform that connects Creators with Patrons.  Everyone knows how difficult it is for the majority of artists of any kind to make a living from their art form.  Most painters, musicians, writers, sculptors, etc., find themselves working at least one full time job, (or as in my case-multiple part time jobs), to earn a living because  the art they are devoting themselves to creating, doesn't pay the bills.

We don't value artistic achievement highly enough in modern America.  We want to be entertained, but we don't want to pay for it.  And yet we do pay for it.  In many ways.  For example, most people pay a premium to get 100 channels or more on TV, but how much of that does anyone watch?  Who even wants most of it?  Why not pay for something you do want?

If you had the chance to encourage the artist of your choice...someone you believe in, who hasn't been discovered, but you really appreciate what they do, would you do it?

Patreon allows you to pledge a monthly amount (as low as $1. or as high as you want to go) to help an artist succeed.  In return, it frees up some of the artist's time and resources which allows them to create.  And they share those creations with their patrons!

The zines pictured above are the Rewards I sent out this month to my Patrons at the  $1. and $5. levels.  Those Patrons also have access to a micro story that I post every Monday on Patreon that I call Micro Monday.  Typically the Micro Story posts are for my Patrons only, but occasionally, I share one publicly.

If you would like to read an example of one of my micro stories, just follow this link to my Patreon page and feel free to leave a comment.

https://www.patreon.com/posts/it-pays-to-be-15245549

Regardless of the amount of economic support I get from Patreon, I benefit in other ways.  As a writer, I want to be accountable to myself and with my Patrons watching, I feel compelled to write constantly.  Before Patreon, I only wrote when everything else on my to do list was done, which meant I got very little writing done.  Since joining Patreon, I've written over two dozen short stories in the last 8 weeks, and I'm feeling ready to return to writing the full length story I started two years ago.

I invite you to head on over and read the Micro Story, maybe let me know you were there.  And check out the rewards at the different levels of support.  If you like what you see, I'd love to have you cheering me on as a Patron at any level.  (Also take a look at the "Goals" in the side bar as a special incentive to sign up as a Patron.)

Thanks for reading and I hope to see you on Patreon.

Momentary Magic i.e. Hearth & Heart

Getting to know Hearth & Heart

Hi, It's great to see you again.  I'm here with a friend and I'd really like to introduce you.

Reader, this is Hearth & Heart.  

Hearth & Heart, may I present Reader.  

I knew you two would hit it off.  I hope this will be the beginning of a long and lasting friendship.

About Hearth & Heart

Hearth & Heart is an illustrated quarterly collection of original short stories compiled into a half page zine format.  The stories are often seasonal, and are a blend of fiction and real life.

After writing Winter Tales in November of 2014, I wanted to publish more stories.  Winter Tales was a limited edition letterpress chapbook from Pegana Press, and it wasn't practical to continue to offer the works of an unknown story teller like myself in that same format.

I wanted to self publish and make the stories accessible to a wider audience so I decided upon presenting them as zines.

I published the first Hearth & Heart as Volume 1 2015 Summer Edition.  The stories are a blend of reminiscences, day dreams, and flights of fancy born from ordinary experiences.

For example:  this edition of Hearth & Heart begins with a story titled May Baskets and Spring Flowers.  Originally titled  A Story of May Baskets, it appeared as a blog post in Tea With Whimsy April 30, 2013 and was revised 2 years later to be included in Hearth & Heart.  I still can't decide which version I like better.  The original almost seems more intimate to me.  

Stories To Be Carried, Reading To The Faeries, and The Spider were all written within a two week period during the summer of 2014.  Stories To Be Carried came to me during a walk on a country road.  I made a special illustration for it which appears on the back cover.  Not great, but it was the first time I had drawn anything in about a decade, and I was delighted that it even resembled what I had in mind.  Reading To The Faeries came from actual observations made while in my back garden and appears as a micro story in a tiny book which you will find in a pocket on the last page of the zine.  The Spider is a story of perception and I think it would surprise most people.  It was told by observing the interaction between a fly and a spider.

A Conversation With The Moon came to me after spending the pre dawn hours communing with the full moon in November of 2014  I made a special illustration for this story by putting in a door that opens onto the story.  Under the illustration are a few lines (placed there as a caption) from a blog I used to write called Heal Earth Now.  Posted on  January 16, 2014, it goes like this...With my feet on the Earth, I stand in the silver light of your radiance, wrapped in wool against the cold night.  We watch one another.  And we tell each other stories...  It seemed appropriate under the circumstances.

I was so excited to finish my first zine that I immediately got the next edition ready.  Hearth & Heart Volume 1 2015 Autumn Edition was written, compiled, designed and had all the art work chosen, but the problem I kept running into was that I couldn't get any of the images to print clearly no matter where I went.  It looked like that edition was simply not meant to be...

Please join me here this Thursday as I continue to tell the story of the 2015 Autumn edition of Hearth & Heart.  

Take Heart

I love her work and I love this quote!

the Saturday Breakfast Serial part 3

Welcome to the Saturday Breakfast Serial where every week I post another installment of a serialized original story.

Read part one of The Desk here.

Read part two here.

Part Three of

The Desk

       “No, no, no.”  I reached my hand out and peeled off a piece of tape.   

A piece of tape which held an iron key firmly fixed to the underside of the drawer. Removing the tape, I sat on the floor in front of the desk laughing weakly at the irony of searching for something so long which had been right under my nose all the time.  I gazed at the key resting in the palm of my open hand.  Quite a bit bigger than the key I had found weeks before, I knew this one would fit the desk.

I shook off my shock, collected my wits, and rose to stand before the desk, peering at the locks.  There were two.  One on the desk top and one on the single drawer resting below.

“Here goes.”  I whispered.  I took a deep breath and put the key into the lock of the desk top.  It fit!  Slowly turning it, I felt the lock release.  Then I moved the key down to the drawer and heard a little click as that lock released.  Carefully, I placed the key in my pocket, and patted it, just to make sure it was really there.  I could feel my heart beating against my chest and I expelled my breath in a long exhale and tried to shake off the stress through my shoulders all the way down to my hands.

My fingers carefully traced the outline of the scalloped desk lid and I wondered what I would find within.  Somehow, now that the desk was no longer locked to me, I was almost afraid to see inside.  “Oh come on,” I chided myself.  And with that, I opened it.

It was by no means empty and though it was quite small, inside were rows of cubbies and a small drawer.   There were books and envelopes, and pencils and pens.  There was even a wooden box nestled under the cubby holes.

I could go through all those things later, I decided and was eager to see what was in the drawer below.  I closed the drop lid slowly and the long brass lid stays sighed as they slid back into the recesses of the desk rustling folders and ledgers.

I decided to pull over a chair resting against a nearby wall.  Might as well be comfortable, I thought to myself as I imagined lingering over each one of the potential treasures inside.  Seated in front of the desk, I allowed my hands to rest on the ornate drawer pulls, savoring the moment of delicious anticipation.  Then I slowly and deliberately opened the drawer.

“Oh,” I exclaimed in disappointment, for the drawer was completely empty.  Then I laughed at myself for getting caught up in the drama and turned my attention back to the contents housed above.

  This calls for coffee, I thought and went into the kitchen to make some.

I took note of the time because the clock read 3:33.  My stomach gave a little growl and I realized I hadn’t had lunch.  I got out my tea cart for the coffee and added a plate with a croissant, butter, and a little cheese.  Returning to the desk, wheeling the tea cart, I sat down and got down to business.

I opened up the desk for the second time and surveyed the layout of the interior.  The first thing that caught my attention was the small drawer, whose pull was a tiny version of those on the drawer below.  Opening it I found nestled inside, a paper packet tied with string.  Even more intriguing was a fragrance which emanated from the drawer and permeated the packet.  It smelled like a combination of exotic spices and flowers.  The fragrance was quite intoxicating, and I found myself being drawn into a reverie.  

Feeling a chill in the air broke the spell for me.  I put the packet back into the drawer unopened, and took a sip of coffee to revive me, only to find it had gone stone cold.  “What?”  I said aloud.

It was then that I noticed the room seemed altogether too dim and raising my eyes to the window, I saw that outside, it was nearly dark.  I must have been sitting there for two hours!

Come back next Saturday for another installment of the Saturday Breakfast Serial.