Tag: friends

Button Sunday


Found this button online, a steampunk theme with cursive writing. I do so little writing by hand these days that my penmanship is atrocious. But I do know how to write that way, and I well remember all the handwritten letters I received in my younger years (truth be told, I still have most of them, though I hope all the males to whom I ever sent letters have thrown all of mine away–or could send them to me, so I can roll my eyes at my younger self).

I already had journals and journaling on my mind when I was looking at buttons today. Yesterday, as I searched for my original essential oils inventory list, which I never found (finally just started a new one and input it to a computer doc, so I’ll know where to find it when I need it again), I opened a file folder that contained a tangle of embroidery thread and a ticket stub. I suspect the embroidery thread went with a cross-stitch piece I started back in the 1990s of a white cat sitting in a window (you can read about that in an old post here).

When the stitching remained unfinished, I finally wrote a poem about it and put the partially finished piece in a frame with the poem. It hung on my wall at The Compound for years, and now I have no clue where it is. I added it to my list of inexplicably missing items.

In the same folder, I found a ticket to a matinee showing of Star Wars: The Last Jedi from February 2018. That faded ticket, at least, I could put inside my current Moleskine.

As you can see, I’ve rarely used my Moleskines for capturing my sloppy cursive writing.

Like the one above, the Moleskines (and some are Moleskine knockoffs) are filled with mementoes of all kinds, and they get very fat; too fat for shelving. So they have a bin they go into when they’re full. I do still journal from time to time, but I mostly scribble a day’s events or thoughts in whatever kind of day planner or daily appointment book I keep.

Do you still handwrite your letters? Do you journal or keep a datebook or diary?

P.S. I have now reread all five of the TJB novels. I was amazed at how many things I’ve forgotten and how moved I could still be by those characters and their stories. This book, in particular, required a box of tissues right next to me. I kept having to close the book and cry.

Now I need to get back to The Musician in the Neverending Saga before he writes mean songs about my neglect.

On writing and looking back

Something else I did while the power was out was unplanned but not unprovoked.

From time to time, readers of the TJB books mention to its four writers, or on social media or book sites like Goodreads, that they’re reading the five Manhattan novels again (the fourth of those isn’t set in Manhattan but is connected peripherally with two or three cameo appearances by or references to the Manhattan characters). There are also people who say they reread my two Coventry books (especially A Coventry Christmas during the holiday season). There are still people who tell me Three Fortunes In One Cookie (written with Timothy) is their favorite of all the books I’ve cowritten (and some who contend that in The Deal, the main character chose the wrong man at the end, which always tickles me; as readers, we bring our own histories with us to the books we read).

I understand this compulsion to reread, because there are novels I’ve been rereading since I was a kid. They’re comfort novels, or novels connecting me to childhood, or funny novels that still make me laugh, or novels with love stories that I never tire of. There’s nothing like a satisfying ending to a love story. One set of novels I’ve reread more times than I could count, written in the 1940s/50s, is a series that tracks a family from the American Revolution to World War II. It connects me not only to my joy of reading as a young teen, but to my mother and sister, who also read, treasured, and reread the series. (Note: The last time I read these, I said, “Debby, these novels would be problematic now,” and she agreed. I guess they’re like early love: recalled with affection, but with awareness that it probably wouldn’t appeal to you at a wiser age.)

Additionally, beginning around 1990, I read a lot of gay fiction (and non-fiction, for that matter), much of it recommended by my late friend Steve, a bookseller and avid reader. It was Steve who said to me, “One day, when you write, please tell our stories. Please don’t let all these things be forgotten.”

In the early to mid ’90s, every attempt I made to do so (mostly in short stories) felt flat to me. It could be because I felt flat. There was a lot of loss to take in over a few short, intense years. I knew I’d rather write nothing than write it badly.

And then into my life came very much alive men who urged me to write those stories, and the three men who began to write them with me, with the outcome of that: books on bookshelves.

About those novels I wrote or cowrote: I read them so much when writing, editing, and proofreading them, that by the time they were released (usually about a year after the final manuscript was submitted), I didn’t have a lot of interest in revisiting them. As soon as a novel was released, I’d read it once, for two reasons: I looked for any errors that made it through all those sets of eyes (ours and our publishers), and I wanted to refresh my memory before I read industry reviews and reader reviews, and before I/we started getting reader email.

Not including short stories in anthologies, the nine novels I’ve written or co-written were released over the years 2001 to 2007. I likely haven’t reread any of them since their publication year, other than quick checks to ensure continuity (since characters are shared in the TJB books and they are linear, and the same is true of the Coventry books).

Upon the release of the TJB novels, I could say with pinpoint accuracy which of the writers wrote what scenes, as well as recall discussions of what edits were made by us to all of us. And now… I have discovered that’s no longer true. While the power was out, during daylight hours, I picked up the first Manhattan novel, It Had To Be You, and read it again. I was amazed by all the things I’d forgotten. I knew the general plot and how it would end, but mostly it was like reading it for the first time. The most startling thing was that I COULDN’T REMEMBER WHO WROTE WHAT.

All that made for a much more pleasurable read. I’d worried about a couple of things over the years: that the books would be dated (especially with how technology has changed); and that some things might seem insensitive, because we understand or are learning so much more about LGBTQ+ lives and issues in 2024 than we did when that first book was written (beginning in 1998 and up until publication in 2001). All of those concerns melted away as I got to read that book with fresh eyes. Would I rewrite the book? No. Are there word choices I might edit? Sure. Always. But none of that took away my enjoyment of the characters, the humor, the pathos, and the drama–because some characters are actors, female impersonators, or drag queens, of course there is drama. Drama is their profession. And after all, outside of novels, we are each of us the main characters/heroes/villains of our own ongoing stories.

I don’t know if I’m ready to reread all of the novels I’ve written or cowritten, but I don’t mind admitting that when I closed the back cover on this one:

I immediately returned it to the shelf and took out this one:

In both novels, though I couldn’t say for sure who wrote exactly what, there are points when I said, “OH, this sounds like me, and I hope I wrote that. Either that or part of it.” And points when I realized there are connections/similarities between things in those first two novels to things I’m currently writing. That leads me to believe those things were written by me, or if not, as I texted Timothy and Jim, “Don’t sue me.”

Tiny Tuesday!

I was putting something away in the living room display cabinets when this caught my attention. A small silver box, in the shape of a star, that’s badly in need of polish. (I will take care of this.)

I had a vague recollection of its contents, so I pulled it out, opened it, and first found this disk, about the size of a quarter.

Not sure where I got this, although my friend Sarena, whose business had “serenity” in its name, could have given it to me. Trying to help people find serenity was a big part of both our businesses in the 1990s, and remains so for her. (Not that I wouldn’t still like to give people serenity, but I no longer operate a business for that purpose.) On the back side, the disk says Peace Of Mind.

I’m also not sure where I got the star box (Lynne?), but it did contain what I thought it did: this necklace.

The pendant on the right, containing a quartz crystal with amethyst and small bands of smoky quartz, has a little compartment on the top (with a tiny amethyst set in its top) that opens. I may have bought this in Yellow Springs, Ohio, on a family visit. I remembered there was once a note in the compartment. It’s still there, and it reads: Forever in my heart…Steve and Jeff. Steve is the first friend I lost to AIDS, in 1992.

The pendant on the left, with a small stone of either smoky quartz or topaz, also once contained three green tourmaline sticks. The sticks symbolized, to me, Steve, Jeff (who I met through Steve), and me. I was at work one day in 1995, looked down at the necklace, and realized one tourmaline was missing. This was when Jeff, from whom I was estranged (his choice), was really ill, and I felt like the missing crystal was a harbinger of bad news. People at work searched, with me, offices, the atrium, and other rooms I’d been in, but the crystal was never found. Not too many days later, our mutual friend Tim R called to give me the sad news that Jeff was gone. Several years later, I went with my friends Amy and Richard to the house that had been Jeff’s, where I’d spent so many happy times, and buried the remaining two tourmalines, which had been cleared then programmed with love and good energy, in one of Jeff’s flowerbeds.

I no longer remember where I got the middle pendant: an amethyst, with a unakite disk above it that has a small garnet in the middle. I’m sure it had significance connected to these friends–Steve, Jeff, Tim R, and John–but some memories remain more vivid than others.

The love, however, endures.

Button Sunday

Speaking of unicorns, it’s Timothy J. Lambert’s birthday today! Wishing him a happy one and looking forward to celebrating it when we can all convene. Thought I’d share photos from most of the birthdays we’ve celebrated with him since he moved here in late 2001. Missing years are likely photos inaccessible on a maimed computer; if he was in town, we celebrated on or around his birthday.

2002, 2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009, 2011, 2012, 2012 cake, 2013 (Saints & Sinners), 2014 (Saints & Sinners), 2016, 2017, 2018, 2020, 2021, 2022 cake, 2023

It’s all about where the dogs sleep

Sugar, Rex, and Guinness watch Tom cut the grass.

This was our living room sofa at The Compound. It was a sofa bed, so we could accommodate guests. Besides the master bedroom, we had only one bedroom with twin beds for guests. This sofa opened to a queen-sized mattress, and it was used when family and friends visited and our guest bedroom spilled over.

Mother lived in the garage apartment (the Dollhouse), and she used the space upstairs for her bedroom and living area, and the downstairs had her dining room table in the open space that included the kitchen.

After Mother moved (several times, to many places in three states), and Timothy moved to Houston, the Dollhouse became his. That’s when couches began moving around. I’d given the twin beds and the hutch that matched them to Lynne, and moved an off-white sofa (that my mother left) into that bedroom.

Guinness, Margot, and River playing chase on the off white sofa.

There were also two workspaces in that room, turning it into an office for Tim and me (we were at that time writing books together, and it was very efficient for us to office in the same space).

Tim with Rex, the silent TJB partner, in the office he and I shared.

Tim bought a leather sofa from Amy for the Dollhouse living room. And we eventually got rid of Mother’s off white sofa and bought a smaller blue sleeper sofa to put in The Compound’s second bedroom. It, too, was used a lot, so it was very convenient.

Rex and Sugar, napping on the little blue sofa bed.

We didn’t NEED any more couches. They were everywhere. But one day, shopping for something else, I found an antique love seat and chair. IMPULSE BUY.

Penny and Pixie, deciding the antique love seat is just right.
Queen Margot chooses to sleep alone on the antique chair.

The big brown sofa bed went downstairs in Tim’s apartment. And then Tim got a sectional sofa group from a friend, and Amy’s old leather couch came to The Compound, and damn if I remember where we put the antique love seat and chair.

AND THEN WE ALL MOVED TO HOUNDSTOOTH HALL in 2015, where there was so much more room, inside and out, for dogs. And for the sofas they sleep on!

The little blue sleeper sofa was in our library along with the antique love seat and chair. Amy’s leather sofa was in our living room. And the big brown sofa bed was in the spacious office.

Anime, deciding she’ll take this bedroom, please.

Tim had his sectional in Fox Den; Debby brought her furniture from Ohio when she moved into Fairy Cottage; and all was well. Until…. the 2017 flood. Goodbye, Debby’s chair and couch. Goodbye, Tim’s sectional. Goodbye, Becky and Tom’s brown sofa bed and little blue sleeper sofa. And thank goodness for flood insurance!

Amy’s leather sofa was undamaged in our living room. Then we had the antique love seat and chair reupholstered (along with a chair Lynne had given us and a chair Sarah had given us years ago that were also flood damaged). We were in no hurry to replace the brown sofa bed.

Debby and Tim replaced their furniture first. Then Tim decided that his replacement sofa (almost the same color blue as our old sleeper sofa) wasn’t durable enough for his large dogs, so we took it and he got something a little tougher.

Jack and Delta: New Blue Sofa is ours.

The blue sofa worked, but look where Jack is.

“I need a lot of mattress so I don’t feel the pea.” –The Princess Anime

And look where Anime is.

Those two and Delta always wanted to sleep on those back cushions, often all three of them at the same time, which I knew would gradually break the cushions down. I was constantly plumping them and making the dogs move. Finally, I made a decision. Years ago, Tom and I had a daybed in one of our guest rooms (pre-Compound), and I’ve always missed it. I decided I wanted another daybed in the office, and we could donate the blue sofa while it was still in very good condition.

Pollock is one of the reasons I wanted something that could be slept on in the office. Back in the old days, before the flood, Pollock and his sisters would hang out in our house while I worked from home and Tom and Tim worked elsewhere. But all the dogs were apart for a month after the flood, and when Tim and his dogs returned, Delta and Jack didn’t like Pollock coming over anymore. It was fine. Pollock, Pixie, and Penny were cool in Fox Den, and Debby was nearby with Harley and Stewie.

In the seven years since, a lot of things changed because of aging dogs. Harley went to the Rainbow Bridge. Then Penny. Then Pixie. Then Stewie.

After pandemic restrictions eased, Tim’s work schedule got very busy, requiring him to be away occasionally several nights in a row. After Stewie was gone, Pollock would hang out with Debby. When Debby scheduled a couple of months away on her current trip, I decided if I went ahead and got a daybed for the office, Pollock and I could sleep back there. The Dutch door would keep him and our dogs apart and avoid any drama. (It’s not bad drama. There’s no fighting. But there’s a lot of trash talking, and Tom and I both like to sleep.)

After a suggestion from Lynne, I checked Ikea’s site for daybeds and found exactly what I wanted, and they had it in stock. Tom went to get it. The idea was that he’d put it together weekend before last, and he and Tim would take the blue sofa in Tim’s new truck to Goodwill.

Oh. Did you know Tim has a new truck? His ten-year-old car had served him well, but it had a LOT of miles and was at the point where repairs would be needed.


He’s happy with his purchase, but neither man nor beast will be sleeping in the truck.

Then I read that rain was forecast last Wednesday and Thursday, and since Tim was pressed for time, he and Tom packed the blue sofa into my SUV and Tom took it to Goodwill on Tuesday. That evening, he decided to assemble the bed instead of waiting for the weekend. (He’s one of those people who likes to put things together from diagrams, and they always turn out right. This is not a skill I understand at all.)

So. Daybed was in place. I had plenty of time to get linens and maybe some new dog-friendly throw pillows, and change the room around a little before Debby left and Tim would be away at night, leaving Pollock free to come over for slumber parties with me.

Except as we all know now, we got that rain that was forecast and WAY more drama from wind than dogs ever cause. Without electricity, I ended up sleeping on that daybed days before intended. It was right by windows that let a breeze into the room. Our four dogs could go between sleeping with Tom and with me; there wouldn’t be four hot dogs and two hot humans in any one bed.

When the power came back Wednesday, I was finally better able to ready the new setup for when Pollock sleeps over.

I ran off dogs so I could take this photo of the new daybed and the old quilt.

See ya later, Pollock!

Holding out for a hero…

These are things that might have been posted on Tuesday, May 21, when we still had no power, and then Wednesday, May 22.

When I woke up Tuesday, I knew two things. We probably wouldn’t be getting our power restored today, and yet I still felt better than I had the day before. An appointment Debby had on Monday was canceled because the building had just gotten their power back, so they rescheduled her for this morning. Tom took her; he’d scheduled a vacation day for this appointment and because the two of them would be leaving sometime after noon to go to the airport. A couple of months ago, she booked a trip to see her kids and grandkids. Two of the grandkids are graduating from high school, and one graduated from college. What a perfect time to be leaving town (if she’d known we were going to be without power, she’d have preferred to leave last week!).

There are a couple of other good things I haven’t mentioned. First, is that unlike when we have power outages in winter and our pipes freeze, this outage doesn’t steal the joy of running water (also, our hot water heater is gas, so a lack of electricity doesn’t affect it). Taking a shower every day (maybe even two, especially when there’s no air conditioning), helps my morale a lot. Also, our stove is gas, as are Tim’s and Debby’s, so we can continue to use our stovetops. Even though we lost the food in our refrigerators and freezers (except for some of our food that Rhonda and Lindsey are keeping in their freezer), we have canned food, pasta, crackers, etc., in our cabinets (or pantry, here at the Hall). Once many of the nearby businesses had power restored, we supplemented what we have on hand with breakfasts or light evening meals. This also means we can get coffee (not Starbucks, the closest of which are closed). Tom drinks a lot more coffee than I do, though I never turn down an iced mocha from anywhere. Because we were buying ice every day, Debby could still brew tea and drink it cold over ice. One of my meds that requires refrigeration was stored by one of Tim’s clients in their home until Monday. When Tim brought it home, I took the last dose, and the refill is safe at the pharmacy until I pick it up after our power’s restored. I’m so grateful for people who help.

When I think of the deprivations being experienced in other places torn apart by war, revolution, and climate disasters, I recognize how minor this incident is by comparison. I have better details now: Two confirmed tornados struck Houston last Thursday: one with winds of around 100 mph, the other 110 mpg; the path lengths were .71 and .77 miles; path widths were both 100 yards. Damage was to homes or other structures, and trees, with no fatalities reported. That feels like a miracle. They’re also saying now that the area experienced a derecho, a term I’d never even heard until one a couple of years back in the Midwest affected the area where our friend Nurse Lisa lives. I’m not about to attempt to explain the science, but it’s basically a long path of surface wind that causes a lot of damage.

I saw some of that damage when I left the house for the first time on Tuesday while Tom and Debby were at the airport. The road near us where Lynne used to live, once you get out of the heavily residential section, is lined with dense, majestic trees–you almost feel like you’re in the country for part of it. As I drove that road, I finally understood why I’ve heard the constant sound of chainsaws for almost a week. The curb is thick with the remains of downed trees and branches. I’m glad I didn’t have my camera with me; I’ve taken too many photos of damaged and felled trees after past disasters. Tom said the sight is the same on one of the other roads (opposite direction) we frequently travel. That mid-century neighborhood is beautiful with gracious old trees. I’m not eager to see it now.

After taking care of my errands, I came home, hugged my dogs, and felt nothing but gratitude for our house, with or without electricity. I started coloring again to help manage my thoughts, beginning with this one.

From the Uplifting Inspirations book, with the quote that went with this page:

We can complain because the rose bushes have thorns, or rejoice because thorn bushes have roses.–Abraham Lincoln

Then I really cheered myself up by coloring this horse.

I gave her a name: Sunflower, out of Daisy, by Sheridan. Sunflower’s sire is a horse in the Neverending Saga, and her dam is connected to horses briefly mentioned a book or so previous to the one I’m writing now. My newly imagined Sunflower is a gift made to one of my major characters. Even though I’m not writing at the moment, my characters are always busy somewhere in my brain, so Sunflower is also a gift to me.

Sunflower came from this book. Though my dreams might have been a little random and crazy, and it was really hot, I managed to get a few hours of sleep Tuesday night.

Tom was back in the office for a half-day Wednesday, and Tim was home with Pollock between dogwalking and housesitting gigs. I’ve been cleaning the house as I could with no power–we have this dust mop kind of thing that really helps grab dust and dog hair, with an easy-to-clean attachment, and I’ve been relentlessly mopping our tile floors in the library (also known as Eva’s favorite place to leave wee puddles). After I cleaned, I looked for a coloring page that would make me happy. This one, with an affectionate couple, animals silhouetted in the distance, fit my requirement. I couldn’t understand what all that was at the bottom of the page. Whenever I looked at it, I heard Sebastian singing “Under The Sea” from The Little Mermaid. It made no sense, but I decided the couple is standing between a sea-themed fountain and nature’s panorama of sky and wildlife, and went with that idea.

The page came from this book.

Then, IT HAPPENED. The sounds I’d hoped to hear for six nights and five days. It began with men’s voices, calling to each other. I looked up from the desk where I was coloring, then through the office windows, and I saw this.


Visible over the roof of Fox Den, at the condos behind our house: THAT is a bucket truck, or cherry picker, used by utility companies to repair power lines.

I went to my group text with Tom and Tim, telling them what I overheard: “See them wires laying on the ground over yonder from those trees? Them wires need to come up.” You may question the grammar, but that is the language of the two regions where I’ve spent my life, and it was pure music to my ears. Especially when Tom texted, “Only wires they’d be talking about are from our poles,” because he’d actually gone over and surveyed that area in the days before. Tim said, yep, they’d just moved the truck to directly behind Fairy Cottage, so I joined him at Debby’s and we watched the worker, in the bucket poised over her fence, as he lifted those two power lines out of her garden. At one point, he yelled something about the poles they were handing him being like frog-gigging, and I asked aloud, “Did I used to be married to you?” to make Tim laugh.

They then shifted the bucket to approximately the mid-point of our back fence, where he reconnected those two wires to the two lying in our backyard, and began lifting them toward the sky and their poles.

After more time, all those wires were straight and taut, back in their right places. We didn’t have power yet, but we knew there was hope.

Best of all, Anime, Delta, and Jack, along with Pollock, could run outside to explore their yard, UNLEASHED, without fear of downed wires, using the bathroom wherever they wanted, and Eva got to lie on the patio and bake for the first time in days. (It is the way of chihuahuas; we call it her pizza oven.)

Tom finished his half day of work and came home with Starbucks. I’d known he was bringing coffee, so the next (and final!) page of the No Electricity Coloring Frenzy was this one.

From a coloring book Marika gave me long ago.

I’m not as strong as I used to be, but neither is my coffee. It all evens out somehow. Tom talked to the guys as the utility trucks in front of the house were leaving, sometime around three, and they said they hoped power would be back tonight. Then, around 4:15, Tom and I were sitting in the living room talking when lights began to flicker on, then off. This repeated a few times, then they came on and stayed on. THE ELECTRICITY WAS BACK. We started texting family and friends to let them know–now that the phones’ battery power was no longer too precious to squander. Tim went through Debby’s and turned off everything that had been on when the power went out last week, and closed her windows, because the air conditioner was back in business.

Then, I took on my first project and got this ready to refill.

I think that refrigerator’s cleaner than it’s been since it was new back in 2007. It has been in two homes and known some crazy times, and the light in the refrigerator part hasn’t functioned in years, but like the rest of us, this Frigidaire’s still humming.

For dinner, Tom got us takeout from our favorite restaurant because I’d have a way to refrigerate half of the huge salad I can never eat in one sitting and its extra Ranch dressing. The edges of normalcy had returned…

We interrupt this litany of weather and household matters…

Thank you so very much, Mark, for asking if I’d pull a random card from the Haunted Cat Tarot that I posted about in January. I’m delighted to do something fun to kick off the weekend!

I shuffled the deck, kept my citrine point and a bracelet of rainbow stones nearby, and randomly pulled this card from the face-down deck.


The Three of Chalices! I’ve taken the following information from the deck’s guidebook, compiled by creators J Edward & Heather Neill.

Upright Keywords: Celebration, Collaboration, Friendship
Celebrate! The Three of Chalices is about gathering with people who love and support you. You might be looking forward to a big social gathering with family and friends, such as a wedding or a reunion. You could soon find yourself collaborating on a creative project with others who inspire you and bring out your creativity. The Three of Chalices reminds you to relax and spend time with those you love.

Great card, right? Seems on point considering recent activities. Keep up those interactions and feed your creative spirit.

Thinking and waiting and waiting…

These are things that might have been posted on Saturday, May 18 through Monday, May 20.

Here are some of the good things that happened after the storm and tornado on Thursday night. The skies cleared as if nothing had ever happened, and it was still quite a while until sunset. The streets drained. We did what our neighbors did; we went outside to check on each other and know we were all okay. We started clearing tree debris and branches from our yards and the yards of others. We talked and laughed and wondered when we’d get our electricity back.


I realized the beautiful flowers and blossoms from our magnolia tree were strewn up and down the street and into our neighbors’ yards. On one side of Houndstooth, where lives Carl the dog, the wind had blown little branches from our driveway tree and lots and lots of magnolia flowers into their yard. I wasn’t sure if Carl and family were home (I did hear their generator the second night, so they were home at some point), but that first night I moved the mess our trees had made in their yard to the curb. Then Tom and I began picking up the mess in our yard, and he helped neighbors coming from the side streets deal with some of the larger limbs and tree debris in the yards on our street. In this way, we learned we were one of at least three houses with power lines down in our back yards. We figured eventually, we’d be keeping a utility crew very busy.


As we all talked and cleaned up what we could, neighbors often brought tools to help saw off hanging limbs. We know our neighbor on our other side (not Carl’s), though she doesn’t live in the house now, one of her family members does. We got to meet her and apologize for our little dogs trying to fence fight her big dog and her big dog’s friend who sometimes visits. She apologized for the frenzy her dogs cause by barking at ours. We realized that we both felt to blame for dogs just being dogs, as dogs will. Now we can feel better in the future that we all get it and aren’t upset with each other about it.

Neighbors across the street, who had a lot of tree damage, including a big limb on their roof, were out in force cleaning up their yard and helping others. A couple of doors down, they found two fledgling blue jays in a nest in a huge fallen limb. By keeping close watch, they finally spotted the mama, who seemed to be injured but really wanted us all to stay away from her babies. Over the following days, we could see that she was able to fly again and was taking care of her family. A couple of days later, I would spot a bird (to me, it looked like a corvid, but Tom said it wasn’t) that hadn’t made it through the storm. Tom wrapped him up and made his goodbye gentler than his death.

Because of no AC, we kept our windows open at night. The storm left behind one gift: cooler weather. It was pleasant to sleep with those breezes flowing through the house. Once it got dark, there really was no reason not to go to bed early. We split up, Tom in the master bedroom, and me in the office, to give the dogs choices so no bed would have six of us in it at a time. Staying cool and comfortable enough to sleep was the goal. (In a future post, I’ll explain changes we made in the office/craft room in the two or three days before the storm surprised us.)

We had to figure out creative ways to get our devices recharged. We didn’t waste battery power or try to get enough signal to find out what else was going on in the city or the country or the world. As we’ve learned from past weather events, our families and friends who don’t live here know more from their news than we do about what’s going on in Houston. We find out from them when we start getting worried texts, calls, and emails. We’re fine. The dogs are fine. The house is all good. We just want these power lines removed from our back yard so the dogs have freedom to burn off energy.

I would wake up in the mornings before dawn, a dog or two sleeping next to me, appreciating the cool air and listening with happiness to the mourning doves. As the sky lightened, the other birds joined the choir.

In the day, with our windows open, mostly what we heard were tree crews and their chainsaws dealing with all the fallen trees and tree limbs, and the noise of people’s generators. And always, always, we listened for the sounds of utility trucks and the voices of workers who would make life normal by restoring our electricity.

When there was only silence were the hardest times. We marked the twenty-four hours without power with an acknowledgment that everything in the refrigerator was garbage. Maybe tomorrow the crew would arrive and prevent the same fate for the freezer’s contents. Businesses were closed. Some stations had ice but no gasoline. We ended up buying two bags of ice a day, but the time came when we accepted that the freezer contents were garbage, too.

We bagged it and Tom made a trip to RubinSmo Manor, home of The Brides, who heard the storm that night (terrifying to poor Pepper), but didn’t get its full impact and kept power. They offered us whatever we needed: beds, bathrooms, power for phones, washer/dryer, anything. We have a history of opening our homes to one another during these kinds of events, but this time, other than just knowing they were there, we only wanted to put the trash from three kitchens (we weren’t sure if our garbage day would be on time) in the dumpster used by their condo.

I missed my characters and writing. I missed keeping up with family and friends on social media. I colored because that is my calming, good thinking time, always. I think I did two pages on Friday. This one:

From this book.

And this one:

From this book.

On Saturday:

From this book:

Sunday became a hard day. We’d received a message that our power should be restored by end of day. It didn’t happen.

Because Anime always lifts my spirits, I colored this dog who looks a little like her.

From this book.

I started another coloring page on Monday that I’ll share in a different post. My mood was the flattest it had been since the tornado/storm. There was still no power. I used the daylight to read the two Michael Thomas Ford novels (one a re-read; the other its sequel) that I had mentioned in this post. It was a very good sequel, and because of the number of years between Ford’s writing of the books, he was able to make his characters more current and therefore more relevant, even though only a few days had passed in the novels’ timeline. I have never once been disappointed in anything written by him, and having had the chance to get to know him through the years, he’s one of my favorite humans. Can definitely give all the stars to Every Star That Falls.

Tiny Tuesday!

nickel provided to show scale of small canvas

Mountain Man, acrylic on canvas, 2023/24

Another of my tiny bottle cap paintings. This cap is from the Wasatch Brewing Company and features the state shape of Utah. It’s the only one I have, likely given to me by David and/or Geri.

Today’s my brother David’s birthday. He has spent many decades of his life hiking, climbing, camping, and living among the mountain ranges of Colorado, Utah, and Nevada.

Happy birthday, David! Much love from all the humans and canines at Houndstooth Hall. Come see us–there’s always a brew in the fridge for you. (And birthday cake. Banana pudding. Or all of the above. Maybe not at the same time.)

J’aime la France


Oh, a hundred years ago, or thirty-something, I created a character and made him French. I think because I wanted to use the surname of my college French teacher who’d taught me a few years before. Her class was when I got those two books. (There’s a third book, but I must have stuck it somewhere else.)

This is my experience with other languages.

I had six weeks of German in tenth grade before I was moved to another school, where German wasn’t taught. It didn’t matter. I was born in Germany, but my only real interest in taking the class was because Lynne and other friends did, and I wanted to take classes with my friends. Didn’t we all?

I’m not sure which year of high school, junior or senior, I took at least one semester of Spanish. It was, as I recall, the only option for a foreign language in that school. In hindsight, learning Spanish would have been a great choice, and I did very much like the teacher, but here’s my problem with language classes. I was never one of the students who volunteered answers in ANY class. I never asked questions. I couldn’t stand to draw attention to myself. Giving any kind of oral report (even book reports, though I always read and loved reading) or reading anything out loud: absolute torture for me. Being called on for an answer? I usually pretended I didn’t know so the focus would quickly shift elsewhere.

So speaking aloud in a class using a language I was trying to learn? You might as well have escorted me to the guillotine.

ETA: Look! When I went to return the other two books to my reference shelves, I found this very thin volume (24 pages, which means a mere 12 pieces of paper) tucked among some other books. I took pronunciation seriously! Now, I can hear native French speakers teach me pronunciations online. Students these days have no idea…

Over the years, I’ve taught junior high and college students. I’ve read out loud to students. I’ve presented work-related seminars in several companies where I was employed. I’ve given talks at retreats, moderated discussions among small groups of people on various topics, and led guided meditations. I’ve spoken at book signings where my novels were being sold. I’ve done all that, but inside, I’m still the girl who didn’t want all eyes on her. And I STILL will almost never speak any of the phrases/words I know in any foreign language because I’m so uncomfortable about possibly bungling pronunciations.

And yet I love the country and the language. I don’t know a lot of French history, but I’ve done research on specific topics because… I still have that same character taking up real estate in my brain, and he, and France as a setting, play larger roles than they once did in his initial appearance in my fictitious world.

I have friends who speak French. Friends who love France. One acquaintance who is French, French-born, probably living in France again. I know when the time comes, there are people who can beta check what I’ve written, and who can make sure the online translator I’ve used when my characters (infrequently) speak French has done right by me.

Something that amuses me: I borrowed my character’s first name from a novel set in France that I read decades ago. (I liked him so much that I’d have fallen in love with him, too, just as the female character did, yet my character who bears the name isn’t a romantic lead in my series.) People I know who are familiar with the Spanish version of his name have questioned me, but I’m correctly using the French spelling. His name is the only thing I borrowed from that novel.

In addition, for the past few years, I’ve read a mystery series set in France, and I’ve tried very hard to use NOTHING from those books. (I recently realized that although I’ve bought and downloaded them, I’m two novels and one short-story-collection behind in this series. I need to spend more time reading.) I’ve met the author at book-signings and seen his online discussions of book releases during lockdown, and somewhere along the way, I was lucky enough to glean one bit of true information from him on international relations that vastly helped my plot. But other than that, my France and my French characters are all mine (with help from Google and Wikipedia), and all inaccuracies or unlikelihoods rest squarely on my shoulders (let the researcher beware…).

Though my writing brain right now is firmly in the U.S. because of the section I’m laboring over in the Neverending Saga, France is never far… And I’ve already chosen my next coloring page when the right character returns to getting page time.


Vive la République!