Crazy Cat

Zip into the kitchen

Stare at your bowl

Meow for a treat


Tear into the living room

Skid on the tile

Take an urgent bath

Spot your tail

Make a run for it

Around and around

Stop and scratch

Behind your ear

Take another bath

Find the highest point

Make the leap

Pace lion-like above the fray

Before jumping from

Counter to floor

Attack your sister

Act alarmed at her hisses

Raise a paw to ward her off

Take another bath

Collapse on the rug



Our cat Patches is an odd mixture of paranoia and sweetness. She’s sure that every thing and everyone is out to get her, but she is convinced that I am her Mama. It’s a pretty cool gig.

Peace, people.

Bourbon Ball Recipe

Dang these sound good! Reblogged from

Shirley's Heaven

a bourbon balls

As promised, here is Shirley’s secret bourbon ball recipe I wrote about in my recent Writing 101 post.

Straight from my sister’s e-mail to me:

The recipe is simple. Here it goes (from memory): 1 stick butter, 1 lb. confectioner’s sugar, 1 cup chopped nuts (soak in bourbon for at least 24 hours up to a couple of weeks – (I’ve gone up to a month before), a pound or so of semi-sweet chocolate squares (doesn’t hurt to have extra), paraffin wax (grated), extra pieces of chopped nuts for tops of candy

• Drain nuts, reserve bourbon.
• Soften butter and mix with confectioner sugar.
• Mix in nuts; add in a tablespoon or 2 of bourbon until you can make balls that will hold together.
• Roll mixture into about 3/4″ balls, putting a toothpick into center of each ball immediately.
• Refrigerate balls until they are firm and…

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Out in west Texas

On the wide open prairie

Thunderstorms are fierce.

From miles far away

One can observe their approach


But in Florida

Surrounded by lush forest

Lightning surprises.

Rains pound all around

Drumming in relentless force

Crashing thunder booms.

There is no telling

When the next crack will occur 

Heart stopping each time. 


Blurry photo of a medium sized turtle. I spoke to him and he scurried back to the safety of the forest.   


Third World?

I. Third World you might say,

Or developing country

Depends on viewpoint.


II. Looking at my world

With fresh eyes and open heart

What might our guests see?

Saint Augustine, FL

III. Our ruins are fresh

Compared with Antigua’s own;

Centuries apart.


IV. Yet ruins abound

And for many life is hard.

Poverty lays claim.

United States

V. Third World existence

Among First World convenience

Which is most honest?

Spring is in the Air

It must be spring because…

I feel the need to clean something–anything, but preferably something that isn’t too dirty.

My allergies are more active than my bladder. (I’m a post-menopausal woman, so that’s saying a lot.)

Creative urges are tugging at my heartstrings. I picked up a knitting instruction manual, yarn, and two art prints at the farmer’s market this morning. 

I’m actually going to organize at least one closet this week. Maybe.

Love is in the air. Love of napping, that is.


Songbirds are busy competing for mates.

Studly made three trips to Lowe’s in one afternoon.

Rainy days abound.

Winter clothes get put away. Of course, in Florida that means I’ve traded my capris and tees for shorts and tanks.

Teachers begin seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. Much drinking is done.

bring me spring on a platter

Flowers don’t bloom for us

Bird songs aren’t meant for our ears,

But isn’t it lovely that we benefit

From the beauty of nature’s ways?

How do we return the favor?

Nourishment, care, and yes,

Appreciation for the gifts we’re given.



Worrywart, worrywart

When will you learn?

Worry does nothing

But lead to heartburn.

Worrywart, worrywart

Will you stop, I wonder?

Perhaps someday when

I’m six feet under.

I spent quite a chunk of the past 48 hours worried that my son and daughter-in-law hadn’t made it safely home from Guatemala. They’d stayed to hike one of the volcanoes, and instead of flying home to the U.S. on Sunday with the rest of the family, they had plans to fly out on Wednesday. 

The last message received was a Facebook post saying they were enjoying a final meal in Antigua on Tuesday night. Then nothing. So last night I began texting. Nothing. This morning I began calling. Nothing.

I have a vivid imagination. Women with vivid imaginations should never be left alone for too long. Here’s one of the many scenarios I imagined:

Following that final Facebook post my son was knocked senseless in trying to thwart a kidnapping attempt on his wife. The kidnappers had my daughter-in-law and had taken my son’s phone, identification, passport, and all of his money. When he awakened he had amnesia and was wandering around Antigua begging for spare change.  

I called the airline and learned that the couple had boarded their flight. Of course then I wondered if perhaps someone had stolen their passports and flown home in their stead. 

There was no rest for me until my daughter-in-law’s sister sent a message saying the couple had returned and were thoroughly buried under piles of makeup work.

Now my imagination is working on ways to torture my son for not getting in contact with me. Let’s see, thumb screws ought to do the trick.

This was the photo I could have shared with the authorities.


Daughter-in-law Liz with Fuego in the background.
Son Jason holding up thumbs for the torture device.

Peace, People

Ode to Bed

Oh my bed, you dearest place

You cradle me with skill and grace.

How sad I am to leave your charms

When my clock sounds strident alarms.

Please let me be with you all day

For sound asleep I’ll gladly stay.

Safely within your covers wrapped

I have the perfect day all mapped.

Sleep ’til noon, and then I’ll wake

To eat a bite for my health’s sake.

Then back to you for afternoon’s rest

Snuggled deep in blanket’s nest.

Awaken to read a chapter or four

When my eyes droop I’ll sleep some more.

By evening I’ll be fresh as a daisy

Having spent my day being oh so lazy.

Oh bed how sad that we must now part

Just know you’ve a special place in my heart.


Peace, People.