Some Houndstooth Hall photos


Cleaned up this side patio yesterday. When our neighbor died, her family put several items on the curb, including these red chairs. I don’t know how things are where you live, but in Houston, when you put things on the curb, you know they will likely be taken long before garbage or heavy trash days. It’s one of the things I like best. Through our decades here, we’ve put all kinds of things on the curb outside the various houses where we’ve lived, and those things are almost always gone by morning. Anyway, she and her daughter used to sit out on these red chairs while we hollered conversations across the street to each other. I miss them both very much; sometimes I like to sit out here and watch my dogs play and roll in the grass, or I catch up on social media on my phone. This is where the Hall dogs’ water buckets stay, because it’s shady there. I pulled out a tree that was so damaged in our winter storm last year that it couldn’t recover. Because of the patio’s location on the property, Lynne advised me that it would be a good place to put the pop-up greenhouse we’re planning to buy to save the plants we potted this year when cold weather comes.


Like our Kalanchoe plants, which have done very well and bloomed more than I expected them to.


And the row of potted knockout roses, lemongrass and other grasses, bougainvillea, and lantana. I swept leaves from the patio and this walkway to the Fox Den for Tom to bag last night.


This is one of Tim’s herb gardens that he can water through his kitchen window without having to deal with his nemesis, Jack. This is part of the patio that was full of leaves. They’re about to start falling again, so I thought it was time to get rid of the remainder of last year’s. Tom doesn’t clear our beds of leaves because they provide a healthy, safe environment for bugs, bees, butterflies, etc.


I missed some leaves on Tim’s other area of potted herbs and plants. Can you see Jack looking through the gate on the left? Always hoping Tim will come out so they can express their feelings about each other.


This is across from those plants (I think Tim washed this inside door mat, and it’s drying on the bench). The area was inches deep in leaves yesterday, and it was very gratifying to clean it up.


This wood has been bagged or piled up in a couple of places for a long time. The crate was another “curb gift.” My neighbor’s dog Zeus died within a few days of her. I took his crate specifically to gather and hold the wood on the carport for our chiminea. Not a conventional way to stack wood, but it adds a little of Zeus to Houndstooth Hall.

I also cleaned up Aaron’s Garden yesterday and added some new plants. Here are some shots of that.

Part of my clean-up effort was because our weather is nice and I want to sit outside and enjoy it while I can. Also, we expected a visitor this week. More on that later.

This should be fun

Mercury went retrograde with a lot of drama around here. Two days before, then stretching into the day before, we had a nine-hour power outage. We realized the power outage had (once again–this usually occurs) caused problems with our Internet connection. Tom made a quick dash to our cable provider’s closest storefront before they closed to get a new modem. That worked… until it didn’t.

So the Hall had no cable, and even using 5G on our phones/devices was sketchy. The cable guy came late afternoon Friday, the day Mercury formally went retrograde, and after working outside, putting down new cable (which he said another crew will have to come back to bury in a few days), and installing yet another new modem, things seemed to be okay. He left.

Things were not okay. They are still not okay. Access is sporadic. Often, if I disconnect from Wifi and reconnect, I can get a few minutes of access. I’m being very bold here by trying to create a blog post, especially one that requires both this site and Flickr to work. Fingers crossed!

In our long hallway that leads to our bedrooms and both bathrooms, we used to have quite a lot of art and photos hanging. All that came down and was boxed after the Harvey flood in 2017. Over the long Labor Day weekend, Tom tackled getting that redone. We didn’t even try to make it the way it was. But here are photos to show mission: accomplished. I may attempt better photos of some of the items at a later date.


Just outside our bedroom, we have rehung the cross-stitched (some with beads included) angels that Lynne made for me through the years. They’re so beautiful and a great source of happiness and good memories. At the far end on the top, hangs a print that I thought I’d mislaid forever. It’s called “The Ramparts of God’s House,” painted by John Melhuish Strudwick possibly in 1891. I was drawn to it because of the angels, but one of them looks very much how I envision a character I wrote a long time ago. She’s in the same world as the Neverending Saga, but a different series. If I ever finish the story of this group of characters, I hope to also rewrite her book(s). Here’s the painting.

Finding that print stored with the things from the hallway makes me believe some of the other items I’ve misplaced may still be found.


On the opposite side of the hall outside our bedroom are these two items. The top is an angel plate that my mother gave me during my angel years. And the bottom is a piece I gave to her, though I can’t remember when. The words around the crafted angel that I gave her are “Angel–Another Word for Mother.”


At the opposite end of the hall, between the bathroom and a closet and close to “Lynne’s Room,” are a drawing of my grandparents along with various photos of my grandparents and parents and Tom’s grandparents and parents. I guess we can call that the Ancestors Wall, though some of us are still living!

Across from those, Tom rehung photos of family and friends that were there before the flood. I’ve changed a couple out for different photos, and there may be more of that when I get back to the photo organizing that’s one of several ongoing projects.

At the far end of the photos are fabric art by Tom’s mother, a piece of his father’s woodworking art, and a glass, tile, and mirror mosaic done by a Houston artist (I have another of her works over our fireplace).

Finally, on the section of the wall I can see from the Writing Sanctuary when I’m writing (or blogging, like now), I hung three of my old bottle cap paintings that were never for sale, but done for me.

The top one is titled “Friends: Before And After.” I used Coke caps because of several of the Coke campaigns (It’s the Real Thing, Coke Adds Life, I’d Like to Teach the World to Sing) that evoke friendship. Four of the caps with logos represent our friends who died from complications related to HIV/AIDS, Steve R, Jeff, John, and Tim R. One is solid red to represent all those lost. The caps I painted white are because in the old days, white balloons were released at the funerals and memorial services of many of those lost to AIDS. (I think the last time I released balloons of any kind was with Tim on the first anniversary of Aaron’s death in 2013. I’ve since learned how bad this is for wildlife and the environment, so I don’t release balloons anymore.)

The middle painting, also using Coke bottle caps, is titled “Tom Is the Real Thing.” That needs no explanation, I hope, but in a world I’ve populated with imaginary characters, he’s the reality I’m grateful I chose.

The bottom painting, using ram bottle caps from Shiner Bock, is titled “Aries Friendships Are Built Tough.” If you’ve been part of my life for decades, through all the good and bad things of human experience, including long absences and silence, you know it’s true. (And if you’re reading this and you wonder, one of my super powers is forgiveness; it works both ways.)

If this actually publishes after the many attempts I’ve tried—and the cable guy actually coming while I was composing it to bury the cable, though he’s not the cable guy who can fix our cable–SCORE!

Some things are in my DNA; some things are not

Lindsey’s shirt, featuring Al, Michael, Ed, and Sammy

Last Sunday, The Brides came for what Lindsey called “old people’s dinner”; that is, we ate earlier than usual since it was a school night. Unfortunately, Debby couldn’t join, but a fun time was had by the five of us. I was looking through my photos earlier and thinking about all the things at the Hall that were changed just before or after that dinner.

Side note: I told Lindsey I kept expecting her to say, “My eyes are up HERE, Becky,” because I couldn’t stop staring at Eddie on her old Van Halen t-shirt. I’m never going to stop missing Edward Van Halen.


We were talking about housekeeping and the time Lindsey and my mother came to clean at The Compound after our remodeling was done (December 2007). My mother was a fierce housekeeper and had a systematic approach to cleaning. Every month, she tackled one BIG job: things like washing windows, defrosting the freezer or refrigerator, polishing the silver, cleaning the oven, or laundering, ironing, and rehanging all the curtains. Shit that I do…every few years (thank goodness for frost-free appliances, self-cleaning ovens, and windows without curtains, meaning three jobs are automatically eliminated, and do NOT look closely at the blinds, please!).

Mother’s weekly housekeeping was also rigorous. She vacuumed the entire house at least once a week, but also any day on an as-needed basis. Dusting, vacuuming, cleaning bathrooms, mopping–every week. There were never dirty dishes in the sink, and if a house had a dishwasher, it was used only for full loads when the whole family was there, and it was emptied as soon as the load was finished. Cleaning house usually happened on Saturdays when Debby and I both lived at home, because I always got stuck with dusting, and I don’t remember what Debby did–maybe she handled changing the bed linens. She wasn’t allowed near the vacuum cleaner just like I wasn’t allowed near the sewing machine. I can neither confirm nor deny there was a method to our ability to break those two things.

The day that Lindsey and Mother both came to help clean my house before we moved everything back in, Mother saw Lindsey heading for the living room windows with cleaner and Q-Tips.

“Are you going to use the Q-Tips to clean all around and under the latches and locks?” Mother asked.

“Of course!” Lindsey said.

With a nod, my mother said, “It’s official. I hereby hand over my crown. You are the Queen of Cleaning.”

I like a clean house, but other than bathrooms (toilet bowls, at least, are cleaned daily), I’m pretty relaxed about things. Which is why every visit from anyone involves night-before or day-of flashes of Tom and me sprinting through the house with the Dyson, mops, dust cloths, and various other brushes and cleaners. But as I commented at dinner last Sunday, I always wanted a welcoming home. I wanted people not to be afraid to spill, to make messes, to put their feet up and be comfortable. I didn’t fret over people’s kids in the house, because I put things I’d never want broken out of their reach. I don’t sweat scratches or scuffs, and handprints can be removed.

So whatever that strand of DNA that Mother and Lindsey both got, I guess I didn’t. But there’s another gene that is definitely part of my makeup. I can only endure clutter for a limited time. Everything has a place. If it’s dirty, put it in the sink or the laundry basket. If it comes off your feet, put it in the closet or a set place (e.g., yard flip-flops by the back door are allowed). Dogs get a little leeway with their toys, but sooner or later, I’m going to sweep through and put them all in their toy baskets. Books go on shelves, as do records and DVDs. I have CD cases inside the stereo cabinet.

There are shelves for sewing, coloring, and painting supplies for crafts or projects. I have containers for everything. I may not finish an organizing project for a long time, but if you come in my house, it will almost certainly be out of sight. I can’t write, read, work, or relax if there’s clutter. If I leave a project out overnight or for a few days, I’m always aware of it, and have to breathe through my self-reassurance that it’s okay to stay where it is until I’m finished working on it.

While most of my recent projects are ongoing, here’s how things look right now.


The purged and reorganized trunk with many of my parents’ things. This trunk stays in our living room as an end table for the sofa. I was delighted to find my father’s college diploma inside; I didn’t remember I had it. I remain aware that there’s a bin (shelved in the home office) and a footlocker (in the storage room on the Hall grounds) with the rest of their things, but this amount of organizing got rid of one box and a sizable bin of paper and other stuff. Progress.


Tom and I had this cabinet custom-built either just before or just after we moved into The Compound. It moved between several rooms there, but here, at least since the Harvey flood, it’s been in our bedroom. This is where my many diaries and journals were stuffed in so tightly they were barely accessible, and it had some other memorabilia in it, too. On the wall:  The art was painted and given by Timmy; the photograph is one Lindsey took when she, Rhonda, Tom, and I went to Galveston on the spur of the moment in August 2009.


Now: Easy to access journals and datebooks on the top shelf. The bottom shelf contains separately organized boxes with 1) copies of Riley’s poems, songs, some artwork, and letters, and 2) copies of my poetry and short stories mostly written in the 1980s, along with a folder of Timmy’s poetry, some of it with hand-written notations by me.


The box on top of the cabinet was a gift to me from Debby. It now holds the remainder of my diaries, day planner pages, and other little books of one type or another.

One reason I wanted all of that organized and more accessible is because it can be used either for future blog posts about writing, or I can use work by either Riley or myself in my fiction (fully credited to Riley in his case, of course).


You’ve already seen a photo of my recently reorganized coloring pens and pencils. For now, they’re on these two tavern tables just inside our front door. The two baskets on the far left contain the cloth masks that Tom and I use when we go out or when workers come here (e.g., the exterminator, plumber, etc.), plus a box of N95 masks for our use in public places like retailers, grocers, medical buildings, etc.

To the right of the coloring supplies, I’ve put the combination coloring book/journal that Lynne gave me on the table. When I color or write in that journal, I’m looking out at Aaron’s Garden. It’s a peaceful place and that journal is a peaceful activity for me.


The last big project involved the Barbie Doll Closet in Lynne’s Room. There are a few bins on the right side of the closet, but space remains for a guest (mostly Lynne!) to hang clothes or store shoes or other items inside the closet. Absolutely no space remains on the long closet shelf, which is full of boxed dolls. (Loose dolls are mostly individually wrapped in tissue and all are stored in plastic bins. I have a record of the contents of each bin. To be able to put my hand on a specific doll with a minimum of effort saves time and makes me happy. It’s like being the Old Woman Who Lived In A Shoe and knowing exactly where all my children are all the time.

I had a little over two years worth of dolls to catalog, photograph, and either unbox or shelve boxed. I refuse to justify or apologize for my doll collection. It has brought me joy and fun since the summer I was nine years old, and I’m a shit ton older than that now. So many of my dolls are gifts, including other people’s collections, and as long as I’m alive, donors like Lynne, Susan W., Nancy J., Cari, Rhonda, and Marika will know how cherished their dolls remain, as are the dolls given to me by the late Linda Raven Moore.

I had all the doll clothes separated in plastic storage or freezer bags depending on their function (Barbie skirts, Ken swim wear, etc.) and piled into a bin. The lack of organization and the amount of space they took up was a time waste and offended my sense of organization. Enter this lovely storage solution hanging from the closet rod.


The clothes remain in their labeled plastic bags, but the clothes inside each have been better placed and the air removed so that they take up a lot less space. Plus maybe some of the wrinkles will go away now that they’re lying flatter. If not, does anyone out there like to iron as much as my mother did? (Every week!)


A better look at the floor, the available space for guest use, and that full top shelf (which goes much higher than the door frame allows you to see).


To the left, more boxed dolls on shelves, plus vintage doll cases labeled with their contents, and in any of these photos, any bin you see, whether orange, green, blue, or clear, holds dolls (and in one case, Monster High doll accessories; in another, fun Barbie accessories like a boat and car–Lisa!–bed and closet–Chris and John!–horses, and motorcycles).

Here is an offering of my experience-based wisdom. I believe Lindsey, who organizes people’s home and work spaces as her career, will likely agree with me. I’m not an organizer of other people’s places, but I have done energy space-clearing in their homes. I freely admit to appropriating some of the methods and customs used by Balinese, indigenous North American, and Chinese feng shui practitioners in my own version of energy work. Without fail, every client who ever asked for my help listed one or more of the following reasons:

I don’t enjoy spending time at home.
I feel overwhelmed by all the things I can’t get done.
I’m not comfortable in my house/apartment/dorm room.
There’s a bad energy inside my place.
I feel like the former occupant (or an ex-spouse/boyfriend/girlfriend/friend/roommate) left all their problems here.
I mean to exercise or cook a good meal or do something creative, but I feel drained once I’m at home.

I’d never give suggestions or answers until I actually worked in their space, and you would be amazed by all the trapped, negative, or sad energy I could feel within their walls. I worked alone, without them present, and I made notes of all my impressions. Every single time I noted a specific place that felt off or wrong, the resident later could tell me a story of that space, what was there or had been there, or of some item placed there that made them feel a sense of shame, remorse, guilt, fear, or loss. Also present in places where a person lacked energy or contentment, or they felt a sense of helplessness about their time, productivity, or appearance, their space was full of stuff that served them in no way. It didn’t give them happiness. It didn’t give them good memories because of sentimental value. It didn’t even matter if the stuff was valuable. They felt weighed down, overwhelmed, and trapped.

I helped them identify things they could purge. I’m a good helper, because I KNOW how hard it is to let go of things. I had a mother who moved more times than I could count, and she owned SO MUCH STUFF, as do I, because of its connection to someone else. On her last day in her last apartment, before she moved into a care home (and later, hospice), I asked her if there was anything special she wanted to look at, hold, or even take with her. She looked around from her wheelchair, waved an arm, and said, “It’s all…just stuff.”

That can be a point we get to, but until it is, I’m getting rid of, and advise anyone to do likewise, as much of the stuff I can that doesn’t serve me or my family. My categories: If it’s trash, throw it away. If it can be donated or recycled, do that. If it would mean more to someone else (a friend, family member, collector, colleague, a person in need, or an ex), GIVE IT TO THEM. (Except one time, when I recommended an item be given to the police instead of the ex, and I know I was right.)

You can clean. You can declutter. If you think or have been advised that hoarding has become an emotional or psychological problem for you, and you accept the validity of this, get counseling, if you’re able. Or research online the workable steps others have used to make good changes. You’ll be amazed at the sense of control you’ll regain over your life.

Decluttering often coincides with many people losing weight, better managing their mental health, making more positive social connections, and feeling more like the people they want to be.

I may never be the housekeeper my mother was. The organizer Lindsey is. The purger Lynne can be. The minimalist that other friends are. But I keep letting go of things (especially when I began the “if something comes in, something goes out” habit). The things I hold on to will change when they no longer make me or Tom (and our dogs, too!) feel happy, nostalgic, comfortable, or creative. I’ll know when I’m ready to let them go, and I’ve proven I can do it.

So can you, when you know it’s time or you’re ready to take that first step.

Painted Rock

Late afternoon/early evening, we got rain–glorious rain!–and the wind was blowing so hard it flipped open the top of our recycle bin that was waiting on the street to be picked up. Tom went out to close the patio table umbrella (because of the wind), and then he went to close the recycle bin so it wouldn’t fill with water. He found this on the street: someone’s painted rock.

I thought it was interesting because back in June, I blogged about wanting to add memorial painted rocks to Aaron’s Garden. Looks like we just got our first anonymous donation. No plan yet for whose name will go on it.

Tiny Tuesday!

I painted and Tom installed a couple of letters in Aaron’s Garden. They resemble the tattoo I got back in 2014 on a night out with Timothy and The Brides. Rhonda told me if I’d get it, she’d pay for it, because she knew how much it meant to me. I’ve never regretted it.

Here’s the more colorful version that is now on the wall over Aaron’s Garden.

Subtle from a distance, but our way to show this little section of Houndstooth Hall is a place to remember him.

Today is the thirtieth anniversary of our friend Steve’s death. I remember that I once intended to get stones etched with the names of those friends we lost to HIV/AIDS for one of our flower beds at The Compound. It was the bed where we had the small sculptures of the Winnie the Pooh characters, and I called it Pooh Garden. Those were damaged long ago by time and weather and are gone, but I started considering smaller rocks, maybe even painted stones, that we could place in Aaron’s Garden. It’s something for me to think about, and maybe enlist some friends for help. A creative effort that becomes communal is my favorite kind.

Tiny Tuesday!

All of us here at the Hall have been trying to do a little gardening and yard work/cleaning to spruce up the place. I’ll be sharing photos now and then, but for today, I wanted to share a tiny find.

After last year’s freeze, we lost botanicals that I’d been nurturing for thirty years. We had a lot of pots filled with nothing but dirt. After more than a year of being bothered by those plant-less reminders, and prompted by a couple of other things (mini health crisis; finally getting to see Lynne’s new home and her always-gorgeous gardens), I got Tom to help me brainstorm what we could do to provide a more pleasing place to enjoy our yard (when the heat and mosquitos will allow it).

One of the first dirty jobs he did was dumping the old soil from all those pots. There’s a certain section along the fence where some dogs like to dig (notably, the late Penny, along with Anime and sometimes Delta), so he used the soil to fill in there. A lot of it was tangled in old dead root balls that he had to break up. In doing so, he found a ceramic frog that my mother had used in one of her potted plants. Don’t know how it ended up there, but if she were here, she’d remind me that if I maintained my plants better, the frog would never have been lost. (I’ll say it again: ONLY David and Debby got the plant-growing gene from her.)

We’d bought some new aloe for small pots on the back patio because I usually have good luck with aloe. However, there’s one aloe plant in Aaron’s Garden on our front porch that has always struggled. I transplanted it to a new pot in the backyard with a thriving aloe plant, gave it some succulent food, and took one of the new plants for Aaron’s Garden. And that’s where I put the frog, so now his garden has a little gift from a grandmother he loved and who loved him so much.

Aaron and Mother, 2008

Mood: Monday


Hope, mixed media on canvas
Becky Cochrane, 2000

Our family is thinking of Aaron, who died of suicide on this day in 2012. Each year, I clean up the little garden I keep in his memory. It’s raining, but the garden is a protected bed on our porch. Incense is burning out there, the plants are living, and fresh stones and shells have been added. Several things in the garden are gifts of friends and family.

To meet Aaron was to recognize a beautiful soul, filled with compassion toward others, who could also be playful and liked to hear people’s stories. He loved dogs. He played the violin. He was interested in photography. He liked the band One Republic and The Hunger Games Trilogy and along with those, got me hooked on “The Vampire Diaries.” He’s survived by his parents, his brothers and sister, and many cousins, aunts, uncles, and friends.

So loved all his life; so loved now.

We miss you, Aaron.

Bonus New Moon post


Because it’s a New Moon, I wrote down my intentions, circled them with citrine, diamond, and aquamarine, and added an amethyst cluster to keep them company. New Moons are a great time to set goals, and since it’s a New Moon in Aries, and I’m a ram, this one’s a favorite. Find the gemstones that are right for your sign if you want to add them to an intentions ritual today.

This plate is an old one that belonged to my mother. I love cardinals, as did she. The appearance of a cardinal is said to be a message from a departed loved one. Having lost several beloved people in past Aprils, I hope this one may help you hear words of love from someone you’ve lost.

Tiny Tuesday!

I decided to take a backpack when I went to the art festival, and that’s when I discovered that I’d gotten rid of all my old backpacks. The only one I could find is my gym backpack, which I used less often after we moved farther away from our gym downtown, and certainly not any time from 2020 through now.

I got it down and began pulling all the things out of it that were for my use in swimming, working out, or showering at the gym. There are so many little pockets inside and outside the backpack, and I kept finding things I don’t remember keeping in it. No wonder it was so damn heavy; hauling that around was like more exercise.

Then, oddly, I found these shells tucked away in a little pocket.

The last time we went to the beach was to Gulf Shores in early summer 2017, where we got pummeled by Tropical Storm Cindy. I doubt that I collected any shells that trip. Prior to that would have been our trip to Destin in 2013. That means for nine years, those shells have been tucked away and forgotten.

Now they’ll go into Aaron’s Garden with all the other shells when I next clean it out and add new plants.