I Think I Can Hear Sleigh Bells. Beware of the Dark Path. The Spirit of the Garden. DIY Internal Maps and Line Drawings.

A few weeks ago, Henry and I headed for cooler climes, visiting Mt. Rainier, Seattle, and San Juan Island. Wherever we travel, we look for gardens to enjoy, and San Juan Island did not disappoint. Since my own garden looks rough due to the drought, please allow me to share the pleasure of my visit to the Pelindaba Lavender Farm. Thankfully, my friends at Urban Harvest.

Ryan of late has begun calling me Dad. Dad this, Dad that,. Like the way some guys overuse dude. Hey dad, check it out. Dad, are we almost there. Dad, are we going to cuddle tonight? I glanced at his special ed teacher. Can I sit with him? At recess a surprise came when I saw Ben hop on.

Grandpa and the Pocket Knife. One summer, when I was a young teen, I bought a pocket knife with my birthday money. I was proud of my knife. You never keep a pocket knife in your pocket. What if it came open, and you cut yourself? The stone was a constant pocketed remin.

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My Greatest Challenges Writing Creatively. At times like this, I usually take a break. Most often it occurs by re-reading some books on writing such as. The Naive and the Sentimental Novelist. At the end, no matter the perils and the hardships of the writing craft, one always keeps on writing.

Stepping Stones and the Zen Master. I kept walking in the great expanse of old broken sticks, fallen trees, dead fern and dried up riverbeds. There was nothing left to this side. It was dead, and with each step came a deep sadness. I shuffled along the dry earth looking for a way to escape it. I walked for several hours, head bowed and heart broken before I reached the churning clean river.

A Hall of Keys and No Doors. Or not, you do you. Check out the snazzy nav bar to explore! Or jump to the blog. You have the power here. And hey, if you use that power to sign up for my newsletter. You can snag a free ebook! Images of the Carina Nebula are from here. Heart and Soul Nebula here. CC License, Wikimedia Commons, which is a wonderful world of spaaaaaaaaaaaaaace.

Fake Stories from a Real Person. The rain fell in occasional droplets. The falls were ended by sharp pokes at their targets. And I sat still, full of dirt and stone. In the rain I was moved by my master. I leaned forward as my arms stretched out behind me, and he, grabbing my hands, pushed. The rain pinged against me, my skin hard against its lurid violence. I sat, and I started to shine.