gets written. That’s what I’m supposed to be doing today. Not a whole novel, but editing one I’ve already finished. My third. It’s almost ready for its close-up. There are just a very few more lines to double-check. I’ll have it done before close of business tomorrow. Read more about How a Novel
I never knew that Houston was built on bayous. That it is called the Bayou City. That when the rain came down like jets from a thousand fire hoses, there were so many banks to burst. That’s when Houston began to drown. Read more about Our Dunkirk Moment
We found the dream house, my daughter and I, sometime in January of 2003. It didn’t resemble a dream house at first glance. Didn’t have what House Hunters likes to call “curb appeal.” The front yard was somewhat overgrown behind an ugly chain-link fence. The blue paint was a little shabby, and when I peered into the living room window, it looked dark and forbidding. But while I was doing that, Caroline had gone around the house, and when she returned she dragged me back there with her. Read more about The Dream House
Thirty-two years ago, a girl walked into a bar. This is not a joke.
That was my one-liner from my Farewell to the Moon party last night. It contained two minor falsities. I actually arrived in late September, 1985, and at age 42, I was hardly a girl. But moving on – there wasn’t much more I came prepared to say. Once I started digging into the memory files, there was a good chance the band would just have to go sit down. And nobody, not even me, would have been happy at that. Read more about Blue Moon
Sometime over a year ago, at a suggestion from Stephen Colbert, I logged into Donors Choose and chose a project to fund. The cool thing about Donors Choose is that anyone can contribute for any amount - fund a project in full, or contribute to an ongoing project. I found Ms Szarko's project entitled "The Tale of Unorganized Chapter Books," asking for $30. Read more about Thank You Notes
or What We Did Before the Interwebs
Books, radio, TV. The lines of communication – of story-telling – from Homer to The Walking Dead. All of which have been referenced, at one time or another, in the pixilated pages of barbarasbookhouse.com. The beginning of which is to be found in the good old days in idyllic Iowa. Read more about Idylls of Iowa II
There’s an old nursery rhyme by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow that my mother often told to me:
Read more about Idylls of Iowa I>
I had just turned into a sleeping position when the cat jumped up on the bed.
I could feel the soft impact, feel each paw as it explored the duvet for its own perfect place to lie, and then the solid sense of a cat settling down to sleep beside me.
I don’t have a cat.
I did, at one time, have five cats, but slowly their number was whittled down until my last cat died in bed with me one New Year’s Eve a few years back. Read more about Ghost Cats
I went to the Soup Party on Saturday Night. I’ve been going to this Christmas season kick-off party for years now, and generally I show up with a steaming pot of lentil soup with Polish kielbasa. Generally, I’m dressed to the nines – well, maybe the sevens. My one seasonal holiday outfit – green velveteen pants and pullover with a festive trim. This year I went in gray sweat pants, my “Winter is Coming” tee, and the festive touch of a red corduroy shirt from L.L. Bean. It had been a long day, but I had to go.
It was my last Soup Party. Read more about The Long Goodbye