Heptadecagon

Author's Note: On September 29 of this year, I informed my readers and friends that I'd be taking a break from blogging--a pause, if you will--until the insanity of my life calmed down. I had, I said, taken too much on . Part of that too much involved keeping careful watch over our beloved Shadow. But writing helps me deal with grief, so I put together this post and decided to share it.  The shrill yelp wound up the stars and woke me. My eyes popped open and I lay there, breathing quietly in the still air of my bedroom, waiting for another sound. A quick yip followed. My fingers fumbled for my glasses and I padded as quietly as I could down the stairs. The creak of the wood floor announced me to Shadow, who stood in front of the back door. His large eyes glistened in the moonlight that filtered through the glass panes. "You need to go out buddy?" I asked him. He snorted in reply. After I shut the door, I lowered myself into the recliner and placed my head agai...

We're at the end of week six for the semester and I'm hanging on by a thread. I've taken too much on . Let me repeat that: I've taken too much on . I have Literary Mama duties, an anthology I'm trying to put together, home school religious education for two of my children and two friends, plus five classes to teach. I'm also still mother to these four lovely darlings we have here and trying to maintain a blog. Add the animals into the mix and, as I said, I've taken too much on . I'm not complaining, I'm just stating a fact. Since this is my blog. I can do so. I've taken too much on . (Don't you wonder how many times I can write that same sentence? Am I starting to sound redundant? Yes, I am. Even to my own ears.) So what's going to give? The teaching? Ha! As much as I teeter on the edge of making that decision to say goodbye (and I say it every year),  I can't give that up. Of course, I can't give the kids up, either. Which mean...

Our 20th installment and we have a guest kitty... We met this little guy when we attended a local Autumn Fest. Only six weeks old, he and his brother had been brought to The Learning Tree Farm to serve as resident mousers. As of Saturday, the kitties were unnamed, but our friend Brooke said she might name this little one Ferdinand, in honor of one of our favorite feline friends (a guy I still miss).

To read Part I of this story, go here . Hands had always been important to Caroline. Adam had large, warm, capable hands. Unlined, palms slightly calloused. When they first started dating, she'd never have described his hands as capable , but she'd read that description once in a romance novel and she realized that yes, her Adam, did have capable hands. Sappy, but true. Now, she looked at their intertwined fingers and wondered exactly what his hands were capable of. Did they harbor the capacity to cheat on her? Had his fingers trailed down the arm of that girl her friend had told her about? When he said he'd been at work, which lately, he'd been doing more of, had he really been out with her? The girl? She clutched his fingers tightly against her palm, afraid to let go of them. Caroline knew, if she did, she might float away from this world, never to come back. "Seriously, Caro. Let's go. I want to show you something." "What is it?" Car...

1. Marveled at the complexities and awesomeness of the written word (not mine). 2. Marveled at the atrocities of the written word (mine). 3. Set up a time next week to see an old friend for lunch. 4. Explained a concept to a student, who seemed to understand it better after we spoke (fingers crossed). 5. Looked at the dry grass on the front lawn and was struck by the fleeting nature of life.