The Day After


It’s the day after. 

I have a vendor space at a local Farmer’s Market every Wednesday.

It’s the day I have the most fun all week, and get to clown around, show off, shout, laugh, give free hugs, make acquaintances, make people happy, listen to the “Mmmmmmm,” and maybe even offend by accident.

I work hard all week to prepare, and the long hours are getting to me. 

I miss the time in my garden, time with my animals and time to enjoy this beautiful place I live in.

It all started when my daughter asked if I wanted to start a cupcake business with her.  I said, “Yes!”

So, we started, invested, promoted. We had some regular customers, did a few big events, and offer free delivery.

  Fast forward to the day after.

I’m running the business alone, and always trying new things. It’s hard for me NOT to try new things. The cupcakes, though organically made, weren’t the big hit we had hoped for. 

I added French Macarons, for which I have developed a small following. 

Then came the organic, vegetarian, real fruit turnovers, cookies, breads,

all home made with love and the finest ingredients.

I do offer my homemade preserves and other canned delights every week, and fruits, when in season.

In between, I am sewing retro aprons, in a signature style, and quite wonderful, too.

This year, I have donated 50% of all proceeds from my apron sales

to the North Coast Marine Mammal Center here in Crescent City.

It’s getting to be too much.  My dreams of writing are sliding around like a kid on roller skates for the first time.

It doesn’t feel good.

People ask for things and never come back.  I believe they are being truthful when they make requests,

and they are likely, just talking to talk.

Today, the day after,  I have made a decision to stop making breads for the public, keep my eye on the macarons, sew a little more, offer my signature organically made cupcakes and turnovers, offer fruits in season and that’s about it. 

There is so much creativity in me that it’s screaming to get out. 

I have never been fond of baking sweets, but I am fond of making people happy. 

I do enjoy making the macrons, though!

Macaron shells waiting to be filled.

Macaron shells waiting to be filled.

This situation reminds me of my thoughts of not finding readers, reaching people, with the big difference of time.

If I spend as much time writing, as I have in the kitchen each week, I’d have a book finished in no time.

After an exhausting week, and the realization that I am just not going to have the resources (financially) or regular assistance, (an extra pair of hands) besides my dear husband,

I am not going to have much of a business in rural Del Norte County.

There, I’ve said it.  Ouch.

I’m certain that if I lived in a metropolitan area, my clientele would develop quickly.

Everything tastes SO GOOD!

Just before bed last night, I received three inquiries for my French Macarons. 

I will follow up, and expect nothing.  There will be no disappointments. 

And writing and creating art with paper, fabric and other media, will feed ME, deep inside.

What are your thoughts? 

I would love to hear from you. Thank you for taking the time to read and comment.


Whoa, Nelly!


My, oh my, oh my! How much things have changed here on WordPress.

It’s time to resurrect my blog. Has anyone stayed with the classic mode or moved forward into the new and exciting WordPress?


A Measurement of Self


At six a.m., I woke to hear noises of splashing, thrashing in water.  As it continued, I became concerned that one of the rabbits had escaped, found her way into a large bucket of water in the bathtub.  We use the bucket to collect water while it warms, for our showers.

I didn’t interpret the sounds to be life threatening, but I decided to get up and make sure all my creatures were safe.

It’s cool in the early mornings and the horses were running, playing, as the sun had already risen.  All the little creatures were in their proper places, and the water bucket untouched.  Likely, my daughter’s cat had found an activity in the next bedroom which sounded quite the same as water play.

I went back to bed, to rest my weary back.  The price for weeks of gardening and yard work is terrible back spasms.   The warnings are waning, and for the rest of the season, I hope to be smart enough to pace myself.

Surprisingly, I fell to sleep again and dreamed a theme I’ve visited throughout life, for as long as I can remember.

I walked into a large, crowded restaurant.  For the large number of people present, it was fairly quiet.  I looked around and decided to fly above them, to show them, perhaps, that it can be done.  

I used my take-off technique –  a little bounce to get off of the ground.  I felt gravity release me and as  I moved forward, covering about 15 feet,  kept my legs bent behind me at the knees.  Successful on my first attempt, I  gained altitude and sailed above the crowd, under my own power of thought and technique.  I was aware that I could crash down at any time, and had to hold my technique in the forefront of my thoughts.  I recalled other times I had flown for long periods or could not get off the ground at all.

Most folks didn’t notice or, if they did, they remained quiet, unchanged.  Though it was a restaurant, I noticed no food on any of the tables during my flight.

Time to come down, I suppose.  I decreased my altitude and came down to the ground/gravity in a somersault position, with a slight bang. I didn’t execute the somersault, simply used it for protection upon landing.  The entire process, quite fluid. 

The restaurant continued in quiet status. 

As I was back on my feet, I felt pleased that I was able to fly, so effortlessly this time. 
I experienced a sense of peace, knowledge of self and power.

Have you ever dreamed of flying?

If so, what did your dream say about you? What was it telling you?

What do you think of my dream?

I would enjoy hearing from you!

They call me the Pusher.


I’m a comfort pusher.  Comfort is a sense of physical or psychological ease.

While raising my children, comfort was an integral part of the unrelenting nurturing.

When I receive guests, their comfort, as well as mine, is paramount.

How do I assist folks in being comfortable, when they exhibit discomfort, squirming, tension, dis-ease or lack of peace?  Start here –

  • Take up the chatter.  Fill the empty, awkward space with friendly, softly spoken words.
  • Offer a seating position in which s/he can see everything.  Be sure there are no surprises from behind.
  • Smile a lot.  Put the twinkle in your eyes.
  • Give the person something to do with their hands and thoughts.  A beverage or snack is fine for some. Don’t ask, just give.  I may shove forth an ice-breaker, such as a polished stones or a small, framed, antique photograph from my collection.  Occupy the mind, and the dis-ease will dis-appear.
  • Keep it intimate.  By focusing on one person or small group, you can quickly build rapport.  Everyone becomes comfortable, secure.
  • Touch.  A touch on the shoulder or arm, lets ’em know you care.
  • If things seem sticky, take the spotlight off of him/her and share something of yourself.  I may offer to visit with my horses or look at the something wonderful in the garden.

Wondering what brought this on?

While at the Farmer’s Market, I noticed that half the vendors don’t acknowledge my presence, look me in the eye, seem interested in a sale, or even know I exist!  I wonder if the problem is their discomfort with me, or some kind of misplaced uneasiness with the selling process!

If the mood strikes me, I test, or play little games.  I’ll stand at the booth to see how long it will take for the vendor to acknowledge me, or even make eye contact with me. Some never do!

If I really want something, I’ll wave their vegetables around in the air – “HELLO!!”  No one can ignore a crazy lady.

Mind you, I’m not uncomfortable when someone ignores me, and it’s kind of amusing when I get ignored for more than 30 seconds.  That may not seem like a long time, if we two are the only ones standing there! Tick-tock, tick-tock…  I’m staring at you!!

Did I say I was big on comfort?  I’m also big on entertainment.

I’m planning on becoming a vendor at our local Farmer’s Market next year and everyone who takes the time to stop by will be comfortable. I’ll have a chair ready for those that need it, recipes, smiles, clean food, and cool stuff and someone who cares about the customer’s comfort.

Come on in!  We’re open!

There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home…


English: Woman sewing on old treadle machine

English: Woman sewing on old treadle machine (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Miss me?

I missed you.  I’m due to write my monthly blog post about writing, and feel a bit lost without you.

Being active in the non-GMO movement takes time, as if I had any extra to begin with.

The garden has kept me very busy, and I’m working on saving my neighbor’s old greenhouse.   It’s a small one, will need new fiberglass panels, but I’ve cleaned it out and it’ll make a great seed starter for next season and many more.

We haven’t moved it to our place, yet.  Dry summers push us outside most every day, wet and soaking winters, indoors.  Today, it’s about 68° and sunny, with humidity around 80%.  It’s a fine day, though very windy. I wouldn’t mind a bit of rain, though.

I’ve started practicing hand quilting again, and though I’m no master, I find it quite relaxing and challenging.  Quilting and sewing are both hobbies I’ve learned on my own.  With my new vintage sewing machines, I’ve figured out that each one is good at something, much like people.

I’m ready to start on my genealogy again, a month long break is enough.  My mind is fresh and my shovel is ready to dig.

See you soon!

One year later…



Late in March of 2012, I began blogging, the purpose being to practice writing, to test my interests and find my voice.  During that time, my purpose and hopes for my writing changed.

Blogging a book seemed a great idea!  And it is, if you, as a blogger have an excellent following on which you can draw readers to the final printed (per se) work.

Being trendy has never been a part of me, nor have I ever appealed to the mass of social networking agendas.  I’m just different.

I have learned, however, that I’ve never lost my interest in writing.  I’ve enjoyed the process of writing, and the feedback I’ve received from the few who’ve read my blogs pages.

I’ve also learned that I have many voices and over time, I hope to express at least some of them.

I read of a woman who could not get her work published for forty years, and published it herself, eventually.  When someone wanted a copy, she had one ready. Her drive to write, have it published was success enough.

I think this is me.  I’ve figured out that it doesn’t matter if anyone reads a book I publish, in my lifetime, or ever!  Ultimately, I want to be a published author.  I can do that without readers or a huge social network to sell my books to.  Most members of my family don’t read my writing, so why expect anyone else to be loyal to my blog posts, or authored books?

I feel at peace with this.  Writing is a process, and I enjoy that process immensely.

You may see that there are hundreds of followers here.  Rarely do I get ten likes or comments on a blog post.  The numbers are very deceiving!

With that in mind, I plan to write here once per month and only about my progress as a writer and my writing experiences.

I’m considering another blog on one subject only, and I plan to visit you here regularly.

Thanks to everyone who’s provided support, enjoyed, laughed or cried here.




Treasures and Counterpoint


Thrift store shopping yesterday!

I greatly respect those who work with their hands, make something of very little,

and in sweet detail.  So, I could not resist the tiny slippers, all made by Chinese hands.

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I imagine the playful, colorful shoes on the child’s feet, soft, delicate, and full of life.

 On the shoes above are little ladybugs with swastika symbol on their wings.

I didn’t notice that detail until I came home.

Surely, the maker had no idea of the 20th century connotation.

Instead, it is the symbol of life, good luck and prosperity, meant to protect the child.

It’s time to reclaim the symbol, remove the grip of evil from this ancient symbol.

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Another pair, even smaller.

  The bottoms made less slippery with tiny stitches.

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A third and different pair.

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This pair reminds me of an old song!


The score, introduced in “The Yankee Girl,” and interestingly enough, my handle on http://www.ancestry.com   (YankeeGirl210)

I bought two wonderful pieces of copper, which I plan to make into a sunflower seed feeder for the Stellar’s Jays and little squirrel who visit home.

I love the verdigris on copper pieces!

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One cup teapots are small, fun to collect.  When I get tired of them, I’ll sell the lot.

Out with the old and in with more old!!

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The child below and her sister called to me, their eyes speak.

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Excuse the bad photo, please?

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There is surely something more to this photo, it’s very emotive,

and the sisters are not only posing, but thinking.

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Unfortunately, the girls are not identified on the reverse.

For years, I’ve collected photos of children blowing bubbles, finding the activity a precious, innocent and joyful thing that children and even adults do.  The magic in making a bubble!

Occasionally, I enjoy a photo of a child with a precious toy, bicycle.

Two favorites are of a little boy with his rubber boots on,

splashing in a puddle, and a tiny girl, sitting on ‘the pot.’

I purchased the sisters above, because I could not leave them there.

Of course, I hunted down some high quality cotton sweaters for raveling.

Where’s the counterpoint?  Conflict?

Some couples have ugly disagreements, and sadly, it’s a waste of life and energy.

I feel deeply about hearing this sort of thing, hurting inside, so I spent some hours alone.

 I’ve had enough hurts in life, and peace is my mantra.  Always the diplomat, I tried to diffuse and soothe.  I don’t know if anyone ‘heard’ me.

Regardless, I’m comfortable alone, and am reading good books, thinking good thoughts.

I purchased Jeannette Walls second book, Half Broke Horses.

When I began reading her first book, The Glass Castle, I found it difficult, even ridiculous – the claim to have such vivid recall at age three of being burned at the front of the stove. I continued, and with skepticism, waited for the next claim,

to which I found none other so easy to disbelieve.

I enjoy her writing style, and if I may be so bold, similar to my own, ultimately.

So with all my treasures and all the counterpoint, I know.

Today’s a new day! I’m happy in it.



Disco Diva and Someone Else


Disco ball in blue

Disco ball in blue (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Yesterday, while my mom slept, I went out for a fast walk.  I can usually pass most anyone on the street with my healthy stride.  An hour later, I was back at Mom’s house.

When I opened the door, I heard disco tunes playing loudly, the tunes I’d danced and drank to, in my early twenties, another life.  I instantly recalled the people, events and situations which now, seem so far away, as to belong to someone else.

My mother was dancing playfully in the front room.  I took my sneakers off and joined her.

When she’d had enough, we sat, and my mother opened up with stories of her life, her father, mother and siblings.  She certainly felt as I do, the past seems so far away, so unlike what we may do today, as to belong to someone else.

I’m grateful for the stories, some of which I laughed heartily, some poignant, and some shocking.  Not shocking for me, personally, nothing ever surprises me about people.  Perhaps shocking in the sense of the audacity that people have in the acts and activities they involve themselves in.

So, it was another day of talking and listening.  It was my mother’s turn, and I have an understanding of how I came to be on earth.  Some might call me a mistake, but NO!  I don’t feel like a mistake, nor does my mother.  I feel certainly, my life is far from a mistake.

I’ve reached many, soothed hundreds, spoken kind words to uncountable people.  Conversed with strangers, entertained thousands, enlightened those who want to hear.  I’ve loved and provided for many living creatures, expecting nothing in return.

My life could not be a mistake.  Though my deceased birth father and grand mother must have thought it such, it was their loss not to know me.  Ah, but would they recognize such loss?  Perhaps not.

Today I’ll do a bit of second hand shopping, take some photographs and fill my nose with the blooming jasmine.  I’ll worry little about my animals, who are in my husband’s loving hands.

This is a most wonderful time of life.



I couldn’t stop it.


Here I am, in Southern California for a week.  Already, I feel the effects of the tree pollens and felt a little sick upon landing in a concrete jungle with a layer of smog around me.

Interestingly, I had little pain (trigeminal nerve) while at high altitudes.  I’ve also noted that if my mind  is intensely occupied, or my mind and mouth is going, I feel less pain.

Normally, I’m not a chatterbox, but when I got to talking to my Mother and her husband, it was like a faucet was turned on and there was no shut-off valve.

The research I’d done as a family historian, was pouring out of me.  I talked, I cried, I talked some more.

You see, I am quite empathic.  I feel for people.   I don’t have to know them, see them, feel or be with them.  I am with them already.

I shared with my mother – things she didn’t know about her own family.  I shared parts of the lives and deaths of people in the past.  Some of the deaths were terrible – my heart aches for the suffering of our ancestors.

We are connected, all of us. 

I feel my great grandfather, Dermot Cole, who came from Ireland to Quebec in the mid 1800’s with his sons and wife.  He arrived declaring a skill – carriage maker!  How beautiful to know!  And still, I seek his work, his death, his essence.  I call to him.

Today, I will enjoy a day with my Mother.  She looks so pretty and I’m proud of her accomplishments, and determination.  I like my mother, aside from loving her.  We have deep discussion and hearty laughs.

Last night, the word forgiveness came up.  We had plenty of time to determine what that means to each of us, who forgives, why anyone would forgive and if it was necessary to forgive.  It’s really a philosophical question – one I’ve been interested in and will perhaps add to my book of perspectives, in progress.

So, good day everyone.  Thinking of you and the words are coming fast.

Your comments and discussion quite welcome here.





If you are, I apologize – I’m not quite ready.

Leaving my beautiful Pacific Northwest and my precious family and animals to visit Mom and two more daughters. Not so keen on being in Southern California, with smog, zillions of cars and folks, lots of concrete and not sleeping in my own bed.

I have many blog posts titled and saved, funny stuff, philosophical stuff and my own unique point of view stuff.   I’ll be back soon.  Did I say that before?   I like to do what I say I’m going to, and believe it, I do remember my promises, even from months ago. Posts about barter, cribbage, awards, ukulele scores and more.

Happily, all the creatures here are very well.  I’m the only one with new troubles.

Have you ever met anyone who’s had say, ten colds in their entire life?  How about someone who’s had the flu, um, three or four times? When I had the chicken pox, I had three or four pox and my siblings were covered in them.

I have the greatest immune system, coupled with healthy thoughts and eating, not sitting around all day, and still strong at nearly 59 years old.  Wow.  Fifty nine.

Sadly, I have developed yet another neurological disorder, and it has kept me from focusing on my writing lately.  Trigeminal Neuralgia – horrendous thing…

So, with that, I work on getting the right medications, will seek out natural and homeopathic assistance, hoping to try acupuncture and some exercises that seem to have worked for others.  It’s not going to kill me, but it sure feels like it.

Stay with me, folks.  I have lots and lots to tell you.  See you in a week or so.

Your friend in life,


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