Believe what? asked Shadow. What should I believe?
Everything, roared the buffalo man.
—American Gods

All the fairy tales are real and all the myths are true. Didn’t you know? The Year of the Crow (rephrased by author). Read more about I Believe in Christmas

I’ve been a Charlie Rose fan since the old Night Watch days, well, nights. I was dating a bartender, and we’d come rolling home about 2 or 3 in the morning, and there was dear Charlie talking to some comedian or actor or somebody like that. A veritable life preserver as we were coming down in the wee hours. Read more about Sorry, Charlie

It’s four months since I rode into Madison with my son in a Rav 4 full of belongings. Almost four months since the Pod arrived in my new driveway with the rest of ‘em. I think I'm beginning to settle in.

Things I Like

My House:. Read more about Settling In

Cows! We got cows! Read more about Disaster Porn

Time to go. Read more about Used to be finding the 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:

There was a little girl who had a little curl
Right in the middle of her forehead
And when she was good she was very, very good,
And when she was bad she was horrid.

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