May 16th, 2024 No comments


I recently entered a contest for very short writing and came up with two, fun pieces. Enjoy!


She sat at the diner, coffee cold, muffin half eaten

And wondered where to go next.

He hadn’t even sent a note or called

But she knew it was over the way you know

When a storm is coming and is about to break

Over your head.





He leaned in and she felt the heat of his face

The stubble of whiskers

His eyes on hers and she couldn’t help

But lift her face, her heart

Because just at that moment in the dark alley

They shared their first kiss. 



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A short story about an impossible job

March 21st, 2024 No comments

Check out my short story, “Restrained”, published in the online journal, “Literary Heist.” https://www.literaryheist.com/. Scroll down to short stories and you’ll find it.



. Restrained

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December 12th, 2023 No comments

My desk is next to this bed where my two dogs love to take a morning nap in the winter sunlight. I glance over at them and can feel how warm their fur is, can feel relaxation. They’re quiet. Right up against each other.

My favoirte Christmas Carol is “In the Bleak Mid-Winter” and I sing it as I walk the dogs in the cold air. But there is nothing bleak about these two creatures even as the days shorten. I sing in a church choir and this season is advent–a time of waiting. Waiting for the darkness not to win. Waiting for light to return. Waiting for miracles.

I never thought of sleep as the best way to wait, but Rudy and Dixie, my two dogs, know best. They say:  find a sunny spot, close your eyes, let go of whatever you think you have to do and just be here. See what happens.

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October 19th, 2023 No comments

Celebrated my birthday yesterday and went to a good friend’s house for tea and cake. It was great, and then sitting on the couch with her bulldog, Lucy, I got the best present ever. IMG_3085. Watch it and I dare you not to laugh!

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Yes, you can teach an old dog new tricks!

August 15th, 2023 No comments

My therapy dog, Rudy, and I will be at the Lyme Public Library, for a free talk on what makes therapy dogs special and how they’re trained. Rudy loves to meet new friends and does some fun tricks. P.S.That’s  not  us  in  the  second photo.

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June 13th, 2023 No comments

It’s easy to get discouraged, especially when you’re doing something difficult like writing a book or a song, taking on a new project, caring for a sick person. I’ve been writing a nonfiction book for the past 2+ years, tentatively titled:  Through a Dark Ravine:  The Way of Disobedience. I’ve done my best to make this personal story honest and compelling, I’ve had readers help me, and I’ve emailed a strong pitch to a number of literary agents. What’s come back is either silence or a polite  “No thanks.”

I’m stubborn and motivated, but this got to me and I had to take a break from writing. Had to step back and gain perspective. And in that pause, I picked up a wonderful book by Joyce Carol Oates:










She gave me a new perspective and helped me see that “the writer… is a curious melange of wildly varying states of mind…indecision, frustration, pain, dismay, despair, remorse, impatience, outright failure….the writer, however battered a veteran, can’t have any real faith, any absolute faith, in his stamina (let alone his theoretical “gift) to get him through the ordeal of creating, to the plateau of creation.. The artist, perhaps more than most people, inhabits failure…”

Wow! So instead of hoping for easy or depending on recognition from others, the task is tricky and full of discouragement and yet, if this is something I and others choose to do, then we do it. We do it with our eyes wide open. We do it knowing it’s hard, knowing we’ll get lost, knowing that there are endless deadends but that as we work, we improve our craft. Thank you, Joyce Carol Oates.

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Not the first sign of spring

March 13th, 2023 No comments

These beautiful snowdrops have been up for a few weeks here in coastal Connecticut. They’re elegant little flowers with drooping heads that look like clusters of fresh snow. But weeks before these brave plants bloom, skunk cabbage arrives in the streams and muddy places in the woods. They are spirialed, cone-shaped, in purple and green with a sharp tip that can cut through snow or ice. And better yet, they produce heat so they can actually melt the snow that covers them. (The technical term for this it thermogenic.)

Both of these early spring visitors remind me of my mother. She had a sharp eye for wild flowers and also kept track of the birds, writing down when she heard the first robin and the haunting call of a wood thrush. It was her way of marking the seasons, and I think a way of hope, too. Look what has just emerged from the frozen ground. Isn’t it wonderful? I think so.



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January 7th, 2023 No comments

Having a therapy dog never gets old. Here’s Rudy at almost six years old–he’s been a certified therapy dog since he turned one and he’s amazing. One of the places we visit is a special education class at our local high school, and the students made him a card and bought him a few toys. I wish you could see the faces of the students as Rudy prances into the room. He knows he’ll be adored. Given treats. The students all told him what they had done over the Christmas break, and although Rudy doesn’t understand the words, he knows they’re happy to see him, knows somehow that it’s important for him to be there.

One boy likes to play hide ‘n seek with Rudy and although Rudy cheats and watches him as he gets into his hiding place, they both have a blast. Another student, who used to be afraid of dogs, sits quietly beside Rudy and with a little encouragement, pats his black, shiny fur. Some keep their distance but are fascinated. We stay about a half hour. When it’s time to go, everyone says goodbye and after we sign out at the front desk, Rudy gets into the back seat of my car and closes his eyes. It’s hard work being adored, but it never gets old.

Here’s the inside of the card:

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“In the Bleak Mid-Winter”

November 29th, 2022 No comments

One of my favoirte carols is “In the Bleak Mid-Winter” with words from the beautiful poem by Christina Rossetti, music by Gustav Holst. Once I start singing this carol, it haunts and comforts me, making the short days less bleak. Last night I was speaking with a friend whose husband died a few weeks ago, and one of her neighbors gave her an amaryllis bulb. She didn’t know what it was and told me that it was an ugly stump in a large pot. That made me laugh. As we talked, I looked at the amaryllis on my kitchen counter–one that had sproutetd quickly from a similar undistinquished bulb. It has a long, green stalk and a fat bud, promising me future color. I sent her a photo of it.

Then I looked back in the photos on my phone and found one from last Christmas:

Now she was excited. Ready to hang in there. Willing to water it and wait. And that seemed to me exactly what this season requires: water and wait. Get expectations out of the way. Invite silence to visit. Or as Christina Rossetti put it:  “Snow had fallen, snow on snow,
Snow on snow, In the bleak mid-winter, Long ago.”


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September 29th, 2022 No comments

Okay, I get it. It’s lovely to sit on a bench by the harbor and watch the sun set, my dog, Rudy, happily sniffing around. That kind of waiting is fun. Relaxing. It doesn’t matter when the sun dips down below the horizen, when it gets dark, when the clouds go from light pink to deep crimson. But other kinds of waiting are awful, whether that’s being held in suspense until you get the results of medical tests, or waiting in a crowded airport while your flight is delayed, or in my case, sending off a new book to an editor, caught in a trickly balance between hope and despair.

I give myself lectures. I tell myself, “Listen up. You can’t give that kind of power over your future to someone else,” and it sounds smart and reasonable. But if you’re doing something you love, and if getting it out into the world is dependent on other people, then the waiting is dark and heavy. I’ve learned tricks over the years:  start a new project, get readers to help you see the work more clearly, tell yourself in the words of T.S. Eliot to “care and not to care.” But I do care. Especially when I’ve put the best of myself into it for several years, then it’s more than a project, it’s me and not me, a best friend. And what kind of friend would I be if I didn’t care whether or not it was knocked over, trampled, forgotten?

If you feel brave, share with  me and others what has helped you wait. Maybe you practice deep breathing. Maybe you sing or pray. Maybe you just watch your dog the way I watch Rudy, the late sun glinting off his dark fur. And just maybe, that is enough.

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