My computer crashed.  I’m just up and running again day before yesterday.  I think it was a good thing not to rush out to buy a new one.  Since I don’t have a television and semi-boycott our local newspapers and get my news via several internet sources,  I missed the daily T-uck news.  Lovely to be back and running in time for next week’s episodes.

Then, just now, I saw this cartoon –


(created by Cynthia Sousa (@theamat) and Sam Machado (@samscenarist) and originally published on Cartoon Movement.)


Red – Fiction

Time again for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers So grateful to PJ for hosting this weekly challenge.  Please follow little froggy for more stories.

Here is the photograph and my story:


I’d waited  hours for my big sister, Sunshine, to get back from her best friend’s wedding. Anxious moments spent wondering about  Rainbow’s wedding dress. There had been rumors of the local flower shops selling out of red roses. All ordered up and delivered to the church.

“So what did she wear?” I asked when my sister finally made it home.

“She wore red.”

“What do you mean she wore red?”

“Red .  As red as the front of Mamma’s Restaurant.”

“Oh my goodness! What did Stanley wear?”

“He wore red too!”


This week’s photo prompt is provided by Singledust. Thank ‘s for your photo:)

King’s Day – Fiction

Time again for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers So grateful to PJ for hosting this weekly challenge.  Please follow little froggy for more stories.

Here is the photograph and my story:

King’s Day

As usuual, we were sitting at the bay window each in our comfy winged back chair. Below, at ground level, workmen were hauling away December’s Christmas tree. Dead needles laid a path before and behind them.   It was King’s Day.

“What do you want to discuss today?” he asked.

“I remember one year,  I was 6,  pitching a fit when Mom started taking the tree down on King’s Day.” I smiled and glanced his way. “That was the last Christmas I believed in Santa Claus.”

He nodded. That was his job. To listen and nod and repeat my words back to me.

“I cried for a real long time that day. Probably because I was letting go of Santa Claus.” I reached for a tissue. “When I stopped crying, Mom and I made a King Cake.  After it was baked, we tucked in the porcelain baby.” I smiled again. “My brother chipped his tooth on the baby.”


(This week’s photo prompt is provided by Shivangi Singh. Thank you Shivangi for our photo prompt!)

He Said…


I was debating back and forth about what to share about my recent absence – here on WordPress – so I moaned:

Me:  I haven’t a clue how to explain it all.

You:  Just don’t make it sound too serious.

Me:  How can I make a lump in your scrotum sound not serious?

You:  Just say we had a medical emergency that ended up not to be one.

Me:  OK.

You:  OK.  I’m off to the pottery studio.

Kiss.  Kiss.

I don’t want to get any more personal than that about my recent absence  from Word Press.  I’m just telling everyone, here and now, that this has been one of the worst months since I married the man.

Here’s a toast to the New Year…may it kick the old one soundly out the door.



The Truth About Absinthe Fields

Today is the first day, in a week, that I’ve not only been out of bed but also able to somewhat function.  A cold?  The flu?  My everyday trips – taking my best friend for her radiation – were turned over to the loving care of others.  I think I’ll be up and well by Monday.  Yay!

I came online and saw this week’s photograph for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers.  It reminded me of a poem I wrote about three years ago.  The poem was originally titled The Places We Go For Comfort  and other parts of it have been reworked as well.  Since I’m still not up to feeling too creative, I’ll post this and hope I’ll be back to writing stories again next week.

So grateful to PJ for hosting this weekly challenge.    Our photo is provided by Jade Wong.

Please follow little froggy for more stories.

The Truth About Absinthe Fields

I’d hardly advise
to take the first offer
into his bed.

How could I be
more honest
than that?

And yet,
if you must,
go on and take it
– during the cocktail hour –
before those naughty green fairies
come out to play.


Those Old Nomadic Ways – Flash Fiction

Time again for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers So grateful to PJ for hosting this weekly challenge.  Please follow little froggy for more stories.

Happy Thanksgiving to all who celebrate the day!

Oh my goodness!  I want to try this again.  So it’s a story born from a poem I wrote a while back.   What I’m attempting these days.   Story is first and poem follows.

Here is the picture and my submission for this week:

Those Old Nomadic Ways

The Story:

She spread a deck of tarot cards on the table.  Our eyes met.  I was but a traveler attending a week-end concert.  She was but a link to something unknown to me.  I met her gaze and watched her lay down the cards of my life.

Boats on the river passed by.  From one there sounded a calliope whispering the past to me.

I was a lost soul.  She drew me in.  She touched me.  The sun set golden.  Images of hope appeared.

End of story

The Poem:

A tiny camper
rushing by on the freeway
passed other cars
and realities

put me in that camper
on some sparse land
surrounded by silence
and blue skies

searching for anchors
and reasons
to come


My Blue Kitchen – Prose & A Short Poem

Ever since May, I am driving my best friend to her breast cancer treatments  Last week, we started the every day radiation – and hopefully last – part of her treatment.

I view life in a different way these days. My friend really needs my care. She needs this time to be all about her and helping her keep going with her treatments and to encourage her. And I intend to stand by and be there for her.  Her life is teaching me so much about my own.  And she says mine is teaching her.

On the other hand Ive been examining my own life. I don’t have children and live far from my family of origin. There has never been anyone in my life who has really needed my care before. Nonetheless, I have taken good care of those, close to me in my life, more – I believe – than was necessary or healthy for anyone. It’s become tiring, actually. And I have decided not to do that any longer.

I don’t know how I will carry out this or exactly what I want to accomplish in order to put myself first. I just know that something will be accomplished. My friend has another month of radiation. That gives me four weeks to feel my way through this. I, along with many others, wasn’t raised to take care of myself. I’ve heard about the concept and embrace it…living it will change my life.

There are such fragile balances to work out in life. I don’t doubt I can work them out, I just hate chaos.

If you’re still here,  here’s a poem I wrote about this:

My Blue Kitchen

We morph into something
someone unknown to us
and no one notices
until we are caught in the kitchen