The Art of Distraction


So I’m sitting at the Black Dog yesterday with two talented writer friends. They looked so busy and industrious. I was just pretending. I said, suddenly, “I need a distraction!”

They both looked at me, willing to be helpful so I went on a ramble about my stuck-in-the-plot place of my story. It was long and made my story sound ineffably boring.

“I don’t want it to be the usual sort of distraction either!” I said. Not the one where the two guys pick a fight to distract the guards. Not the cat in the back of the warehouse that knocks over an empty paint can. Not even this one:

Eventually they had to go and finally I figured out what distraction to use in my scene. I’m not sure where it came from!

See picture above to guess what I did! What have you used as a distraction?

Today’s Snippet- From My Newly Released Book Today!

Three snippets I should say! From Black Poodle Over Seven Hills:


Number 1:

Her new apartment, seen for the first time in the evening, already had a cozy feel to it. The landlord left and she and Timothy stood in the middle of the hardwood floor.

“The walls are pink,” he commented in a flat voice.

“Remember my Rochester apartment was white square walls.”

“Yes, but they’re pink.”

“Light wedding-mint pink.”

“Better than Pepto Bismol pink, I suppose.”

“Pink is a comforting color. Everyone knows that.”

“It’s a girl-tower color.”

“Girl Tower?”

“Yeah. It’s designed to produce man-guilt. It’s a ‘Get your mind out of the gutter, you swine,’ kind of color.”

“And is your mind in the gutter?”

He grinned.


“How’s about I bring that rug in?” he asked, wagging his eyebrows.

“Only if I can bring out my new pink comforter, with the tiny rosebuds on it.”

“I give up.”

“Let’s go to my hotel and get the rest of my stuff, then. Do you see this nice big closet here, Timothy? I could put a small desk in and use it like an extra.”


“Oh, come on, then. I can tell that you’re not going to get the decorating bug.”

“Not with pink walls. Cato can’t work with pink.”


Number 2:

She waited until 10:00 to call Timothy.

“Marsh,” he said, with simplicity.


He laughed.

“I guess I’ll answer to that.”

“May as well.”

“How’re you doin’, Brett?”



She scratched the top of her head. What good would it do for poor Timothy to know about this? It would just exasperate him. There was nothing anyone could do, anyway.

“Brett? You still there?”

“Timothy, I won’t be answering this phone any more. I’m turning it off until Monday, when I want to get the number changed.”

“Hoo boy! Let me guess. That oozing slug Weston somehow got your number out of somebody, and called you.”

Her mouth fell open.

“How did you…”

“I figured he’d try something like that. He couldn’t locate you, so he had to try something else. You had a previous life in Rochester, Soubrette, and lot’s of people who knew you. You didn’t cover your tracks well enough.”

“I’m sorry,” she said in a small voice.

“Just tell me that you didn’t indulge the creep,” he went on. “You didn’t talk to him, right?”

“Well I…”

He swore.


His voice was leaden when he answered her.

“Just tell me what he said.”

“All of the worst kind of stuff. And I said stuff, too. Paraphrased, I told him to go… well, I told him that I wasn’t giving him anything. Restraining orders and police were all he was going to get from me.”

“That’s what you said?”

“Something like it. I called him names.”

“Let’s hear these names.”

“I told him his brain was so thick that diesel trucks couldn’t drive through it,” she said, sure that he’d be impressed at her passion. “I called him an idiot.”

“Someone put the world spinning back on its axis,” he said. “What else?”

“He said he’d get a lawyer and show him a letter supposedly typed by my mother from her old typewriter giving him the bulk of everything. He said that I was going to get in trouble for spending any of the inheritance money, which he suspected that I had some of, and that he felt that he got me to admit to. He said that he’d visited my mother many times like a devoted lap dog until she loved him like the son she never had and was sure that he ought to take care of the estate and me too,” she ran on in a jumble. “Well, I may have added a few things. But you would have been proud of me, Timothy. I told him calmly to do what he wanted but I would fight him every step of the way. I was really calm.”

“And he was?”

“He got incensed.”

“Incensed. You mean like that smelly smoke?”

“Yes! That’s right! Exactly like that. He went up in smoke and turned to ash.”

“Uh huh.”

“And then he was really awful. He said…” the sick in her stomach came back.

She heard him sigh on the other end of the line. And then there was a small tone in her ear, which made her heart jump in alarm. She had been on the phone for just a few minutes, and Weston was already calling into the line. He must have been calling in regular intervals.


“Yes?” she whispered, hearing the dreaded tone indicating that the other call was still ringing.

“I’m coming over.”


Number 3:

The bed felt so good. At home she was still sleeping on her comforter on the floor. She made a snow angel and curled onto her side. Then she remembered that she was hungry. She dug out the room service menu. She ordered a meal and spent fifteen more dollars. Then with a sigh she found out what movies she could rent on the television set. She pulled out her phone.

‘Girl happy in luxury hotel,’ she sent in a message to Timothy. ‘Where are you?’

‘At my parent’s house, and I’ve already finagled sleeping over. Said I missed my mom’s pancakes and wanted to sleep in my old room. Went over great. Little sister has me watching SpongeBob. Thanks a lot.’ he sent back a short while later. She grinned.

‘It’s about time you spent more time with your family, you cad,’ she texted. ‘I’m going to have a long bubble bath.’

‘Another torturous visual, Gigi,’ he sent back.

‘Eat your heart out, Cato.’



Due to the Weather; Chapter Two; Dummies and Cute Guys

This is a picture of me at 18 with my creepy friend~ Danny O’Day.



The Defeat of Danny O’ Day

By Vicky Bastedo


Danny O’ Day was a dapper little fellow. His beige suit coat fastened over his pure white shirt. The lapels made the suggestion of a salesman traveling with a cardboard suitcase. He had good shoes, too. They would clack together when he moved, like a happy two-step. His painted dark-brown hair was neatly trimmed, and no side burns. But the most obvious personality trait of Danny’s was his smile. It was wide, and toothy. The lips were a sedate red, pulled back to express all expressions in one. Everyone who saw Danny O’ Day, where he perched on the edge of the top bunk, made an immediate turn in his direction. He would be taken down, and sat on the person’s lap, his tapping feet and movable head getting comfortable and his grinning mouth hanging open till the person pulled the string at the back of his neck.

Everyone loved Danny O’ Day, except for me. I had an ever-increasing conviction that something was wrong about him. There was a red light behind those eyes. Smarminess coated his smile. I remembered our first run in; I’d breezed into the bedroom and leaned over my bottom bunk for a moment to rustle under my pillow. All I did was knock the bunk bed just a little, and Danny fell, slithering off the top bunk and landing arms-splayed on my back like a parasite.

To get even I asked Terrence if he and Danny O’ Day cuddled at night in bed up there, but he soon proved otherwise when I awoke in the morning and opened my dresser drawer and saw Danny’s eyes staring at me where he was bedded down in my panties and camisoles. I held in a scream, and then I glared at the sleeping Terrence.

No matter how fine the man’s muscles looked in his tight gray t-shirt and his backside looked in those ridiculous pajama pants, this meant war.

I’d easily agreed to bunk in the same room with Terrence. After all, it was my intention to spend more time with him anyway. Cicely was one of my best friends, and she should’ve introduced me to her brother sooner. So when she switched room arrangements at the last minute to include three other girls at our vacation rental, bunking in the same room with Terrence seemed ideal.

The first night was fine. He didn’t snore and never noticed that I do. When I got up that morning and saw that half of my over-curly hair was an electric puff and the other half looked like a compressed Sno-cake, he merely stumbled past me on the way to the bathroom with bleary eyes. I brightened. I envisioned cozy nights chatting and trading sleepy flirtatious comments.

Mr. O’ Day had to butt in. I laid him flat on Terrence’s bed, his arms crossed over his chest for embalming and his eyes staring with an empty grin. He hung him in my closet between two hangers. I tied and gagged the creepy doll with some panty hose, and that night I lay down in my bed and saw Danny staring down at me from where he’d been duck taped to the springs under the upper bunk.

That the dummy was so cheerful pushed me over the edge. Terrence turned the overhead light off and I could see that ghostly smile above my eyes in the moonlight.

That was it. I’d reached the end of the line.

Some six-foot-two, tightly muscled roommates were desirable. But if Terrence and I were to continue this relationship, we needed to set a few ground-rules, one being that I got to decide whom I slept with.

In the biggest bedroom at our vacation rental slept the girl trio that Cicely had invited. I liked and knew two of them; Alba and Rosie were fun and eager and welcome to any Whidbey Island shore-cation. But the third girl was bouncy in the wrong places, spelled out her name when she told us to call her ‘Becci’ and had the habit of not speaking much unless Terrence came in the room. I figured she ought to know what she was getting into. I floated into the darkened interior of the big bedroom with Danny O’ Day’s legs hanging limp in front of me. Two girls were asleep in the twin beds, and Becci, looking coltish in a pajama tracksuit, was in a roll-a-way.

I laid Danny O’ Day on top of her covers, turned inward, and propped one molded white hand possessively on her hip.

I snickered on the way back to my bottom bunk, casting weird shadows. I could see that my hair was frizzled straight back on both sides like the eagle’s wings on the hood of the Flash’s cape. I was Tasha the Conqueror, and Tasha the Clever.

There was a gleam in my eye that outmatched the song of the conman that so clearly shone in Danny’s. I imagined him in the other room; his paw making passes at that other girl. I snickered again, low and deep, which must have disturbed Terrence’s dreams, for his steady breath suddenly sucked in and halted, straining for a few tense seconds until it picked up again.

The next morning brought consequences. There was a muffled exclamation heard through the wall, and then pounding footsteps announced the arrival of Becci the bouncing banshee. There was Danny, held out in front of her, shaken with emphasis while she expressed what she thought of ‘men who pretended to be nice’ while all the time they were ‘lewd and crude and a Big Fat Jerk!’ We climbed out of our bunks.

She shoved Danny at Terrence and he passed him along to me while he tried to explain.

Danny ended up cradled in my arms like an errant toddler. I looked down. The little weasel had immediately dropped one molded white hand beneath the v-neck collar of my pajama shirt.

I felt a little bad as Becci hurried to shove clothes in her bag. But no one protested her departure all that much. She stormed out of the vacation rental.

Once the door finished reverberating after her slam we all stood around in subdued silence. I realized that I was the only one not scratching my head and looking puzzled. I took Danny and disappeared before anyone else put the clues together.

That evening Terrence and I had the rental to ourselves for a while. The others had gone grocery shopping, for our shore-cation had settled into deeper conviviality and intimacy with Becci gone. The numbers had improved, and now there were three cheerful friends beside us, who would provide laughter and entertainment once they returned with the snacks. Terrence wandered into the bedroom where I stood at the window, staring out at the darkening waves. Our rental was on the second floor of a set of suites, and a gentle breeze was floating in.

“It’s nice to have a little peace,” he commented, leaning close beside me. I turned and brought us a few inches closer.

“It’s a beautiful night,” I replied with dulcet tones.

“Hmmm,” he rumbled, his voice deep. “Tasha, I wanted to ask you something,” he said.

“Yes?” My heart began beating in anticipation. He was studying my features, and in fact, his face was nearer than ever. His voice was quiet as he answered me.

“That was you this morning wasn’t it? You put Danny O’ Day in that girl’s bed?”


“And you stood there and let her blame me.”

“But you’re the one who brought Danny here, that’s the thing,” I told him. “Anyone could see how lecherous he is.”

“Tasha, it’s a dummy.”

“Ask Becci if she would agree.”

“I brought the dummy because Cicely bought it on Ebay and I picked it up for her on the way.”

We both turned to the window and I let the breeze cool my cheeks. Beside me Terrence chuckled.


“You did look pretty cute when Danny O’ Day had his hand down your shirt,” he grinned.

“Watch it or you’ll find his dismembered paw under your pillow.”

Still smiling he turned to me, his hands dropping to my shoulders. I tipped upwards, my eyes half closed in case he wanted a deeper connection. But the kiss didn’t happen.

“Hey, what’s that?” Terrence said, and we both stared down at the windowsill. Attached to the metal handle was a knot. A rope hung out the window, swaying gently in the ocean breeze. I bit my lip as Terrence reeled up the rope far enough to see what was attached to the other end. It was tied around his middle, and his painted red lips grinned as he was folded over. His dapper trouser pants had descended to his ankles. Danny O’ Day was dangling at the end of the line.

Due to the Weather: Today’s Cozy Mystery

This is the first short story I ever wrote. I was sitting with my writing group in a little coffee shop we used to frequent by the Snoqualmie Train Depot. 



Savvy Investigations

by Victoria Bastedo


*This is a work of fiction. The characters don’t really exist.


I’m planning on becoming a private investigator, and by that I don’t mean a private investigator in a TV show. I know what you’re thinking, that there aren’t any famous private investigators anymore. Sherlock lived a long time ago. Now all crime solvers are faceless and formless, like some monster from the Rattlesnake lagoon. But I think it’s high time your average Jane got to know a real private investigator. I think the public is ready. If you look around, there aren’t a lot of PI’s hanging their shingles in the Snoqualmie Valley, especially young women like me. I’m pretty sure I’ve got all the savvy I need. Let me explain what I mean.

It was a dark and drizzling night. I know what you’re thinking! Doesn’t it always drizzle around here, and isn’t it usually dark at night? I was just climbing out of my car after a thrilling evening hitting some of the nightspots in North Bend. The breeze brought a wet mist against my skin and mingled the mist with a few more substantial drops. But, as is my habit, I stood silent and studied Mt Si for a long moment anyway.

That’s when I heard the noises, a shriek, and then a bellow. Behind me, there was the sound of scuffling and a woman shouting. I turned around.

Half a block away, barely visible under the edge of a streetlight, a man and a woman were struggling next to an open car door. Then the woman gasped and the man shoved her in the car and slammed the door after her. The car wobbled and bumped and then out she popped from the door on the other side. He ran around the car with a roar, and although it was now harder for me to see, I sensed violence. She was back in the car in seconds. For one quick flash I saw the expression on the man’s face when he turned and slammed behind the wheel.

That’s what decided me to act. I ducked away next to my car as he roared past. And then because my mind works fast I jumped up and memorized his license plate number.

Another reason why I’d be good at this, I have contacts. One of my friends from high-school-days has an older brother. He’s just completed some special training for the police coalition in Snoqualmie. In short, he’s a cop and his sister says he’s always working out. You get the picture. A young cop in his early twenties that’s just been trained was right up my alley. I called my friend and got his personal cell phone number. I dialed and waited impatiently.

“Yo,” he said, a moment later.

“Uh, is this Terrence?” (That was his one downfall. I wasn’t sure how buff you could be if you were named Terrence, but I was in need.)


“Hi,” I said, trying not to sound too bubbly. “This is Tasha Marshall.”

“Oh, yeah,” he grunted. “Friend of Cicely’s.”

Great! He’d heard of me. That made things easier! He could… my mind stopped.  I wondered just what he had heard about me. What had Cicely told him? I shook my head and got back to business.

“Right, Cicely’s friend. Well, I need to report a crime. I just saw a man force a woman to get in his car. Twice. I memorized the license plate.”

“How could a woman be forced into a car twice?”

“She popped out the other side, and he put her back in,” I spelled out. A picture appeared in my mind, and I hoped that he didn’t have the same one in his.

“Like a jack-in-the-box.”

Drat! Same picture.

“Look, it doesn’t sound like you’re taking this seriously.”

“Ms. Marshall?”


“Where are you?”

“My house.”

I gave him the address; half hoping that he’d make a note of it for his own personal records. As soon as he agreed to come over to make a report I thanked him and ran inside. My naturally curly hair had a tendency to turn into one tight fuzz-ball during drizzly weather. When he came to the door and knocked, I reminded myself that his name was Terrence as I opened the door. It didn’t do to get too excited.

I was glad to see that not all crime solvers were faceless and formless as I stared at him. I maintained a thoughtful but savvy look on my face while I looked him over. I wanted to keep things professional, so that meant no drooling. Absentmindedly I wondered if all the graduates from the police coalition special training force were issued gray t-shirts that were one-size-too-small and had the word ‘BUFF’ printed on them with their certificates.

“Uh, Ms. Marshall?” he said after several contemplative seconds had passed.

“Tasha,” I said firmly. “Come in.”

Well, I had to hand it to him. He kept things annoyingly professional the whole time he took down my statement.

“Okay, Ms. Marshall…”

“Tasha!” I insisted, again.

“We’ll keep an eye out.”

He was as good as his word. I went through the night and the next day trying to keep my thoughts away from two subjects; one, what’d happened to the woman in the car, and two, were tight t-shirts worn under the dark blue/ almost black uniform of the average Snoqualmie cop? The next evening the phone rang and I answered without looking at the caller ID.

“Ms. Mar…”

“Tasha!” I cried over the top of him. I’d recognized his voice, and I told you I was a fast thinker. I waited a few breathless seconds.

“Tasha,” he conceded, and it felt good. The man could be trained. Now that we were on a first name basis, my next step would be to snatch his cell when he wasn’t looking and put my number in his personal contacts.

“What can I do for you?” I asked.

“I located the car and driver that you were speaking of last night,” he said. “I questioned the man, but I saw no suspicious evidence in his car and there was no sign of any woman. He said he’d been in an argument with a friend, that she’d drank too much and protested a ride home.”


“Ms.… I mean Tasha?”

“You didn’t see the look on his face,” I growled.

“Ms. Marshall, I can’t arrest someone because of an expression on his face. I just wanted to tell you that everything is fine.”

“Fine,” I snapped, trying to maintain professionalism.


“Fine then.”

There was an awkward silence, and I admit to a little pleasant anticipation. Awkward silences in a man are a good sign. I was glad that I had primped the night before.

“Uh, Ms. Marshall.”

“Ta-sha. Spell it out. T-A-S-H-A.”

“Tasha. I wanted to…”


“I think I should…”

Go on, go on, ask!

“Just be careful,” he said.


“That man I questioned, he asked about you, and he remembered your street. ‘That frizzy-haired, skinny woman’ he said.”


“You mean you think that he… might come here and confront me?” I asked, professionalism fading to a warble.

“Call me if you have any trouble, any time. You can call my cellphone,” he said.

Well, that was certainly distracting. By morning I was ready to pay the perpetrator to come over and threaten me so that I could have a reason to call Terrence. I got up and went on with my day with less than my usual cheerful banter. That evening I realized I’d forgotten to buy any groceries on my way home from work. I stomped out of the house without thinking about the fact that it was getting dark, or that the streets of Snoqualmie were becoming deserted. A quick trip to the market was the only thing on my mind.

I was just crossing the railroad tracks by the depot when I was snatched; literally. I remember being swept away by a dance instructor when I was in junior high, and learning the difference between being ‘led’ in a dance by a real man, as opposed to a sweaty-handed kid. This was like that. I was taken by arms of steel, swept away behind a dark train so fast that my happy bubble dissolved with no more noise than a gasp. I had to hand it to that woman in the car. She put up more of a fight than I did.

But I still had my savvy and my quick-thinking ways. I dug in my pocket, even while I was being dragged off, and managed to input the proper caller. I may’ve been tempted to call Terrance before and he was at the top of my call log. A moment later I heard a dim but reassuring, “Yo”.

“This is a train station!” I cried. “A lot of tourists come here! Please let me go!”

My voice was definitely warbling now. My captor didn’t like being talked to. He threw me to the ground, and I landed on the tracks. I’m not sure where my phone landed.

“Ow!” came out of my throat, sounding strangled. And then the creep was on top of me, making a lot of noise in slapping my face.

Well, I found my fighting spirit at last. I began squirming away under him, my shoulders slipping off the small hill beside the tracks. My hands tried to cover my face, crossed like an obstacle.

“Somebody help me!” I tried to scream, while I folded over to the side. I actually managed to gain a few inches on him. I tried to get up and run. He leapt to the chase and grabbed me from behind, twisting us both back to the ground. I tried to scratch him but he was too strong, prying my arms apart and clamping my wrists down to the ground by my shoulders. His form moved up like some great shadow, a nemesis looming over me. And then I heard a siren, screaming from the distance and growing ever nearer. I paused to wonder why they had to build the new police station so far away at the very top of the Snoqualmie Ridge?

But the cop car was coming, zooming by the wooden walking bridge, down the long stretch, nearing and passing the big log. The siren was so persistent that finally my assailant heard it. He froze, his head snatched up at attention, subconsciously waiting for the siren to drive by. And I thought fast. I wrenched to the side so hard that he was bumped. I meant to roll over onto my knees and get up, but the cretin grabbed hold of my hair, which was a tight fuzz-ball and provided an excellent handhold. I clamped my hands onto my head and lay there curled up. My captor, evidently not bright, finally realized that the siren was there to visit him, especially once the cop car swerved right around by the tavern on the corner and screeched to a halt with its lights shining and revolving in blue and red rainbow colors.

I peeked and saw Terrence leap out, and he ran up and plucked my attacker right off the top of me. I’m not sure if he stuck to his recent training or not, but I wasn’t picky. I continued to watch as he arrested the man, handcuffed him, and placed him neatly in the back of his police car. Then he came up to me.

“Tasha,” he said, my name slipping with ease out of his lips, “are you all right?”

He gently helped me to my feet. And then I figured I could get away with anything. I threw my arms around him. And even while he disentangled me with concerned but professional fingers, I slipped his phone out of his pocket so that I could put my name in his personal contact list.

The Real Horror story


I used to be afraid of scary things

Of monsters beside my bed

Til the day I confronted the  shady devils


‘Do your worst,’ I said.

I had Jesus by my side.

A God too big to confront.


I was the kid on the playground

with frayed braids and a squeaky voice.

But with His shadow casting a huge fist

the bullies left with no choice.


Then one day I realized, when my own little ones got older

That I had to be strong for them, and my squeaky voice to get bolder.


But I was still that little girl down inside.

I’ve never been strong my whole life, I cried.

I don’t want to do those dishes, or be Jiminy Cricket,

I can’t fix insecurity or loss of dreams or make them work for it.


Possibilities of what can happen to my children keep me up at night.

When they’re too old to be children and the world is so bad and so dark and they don’t seem to be figuring it out;

and they’ve got a problem that no one can solve but I’ve got to be the one who stands up to everyone in the house and also stands up to the doubts…


After struggling to stand somehow through all of that,

The monsters beside my bed don’t scare me so much anymore.


I just reach up my grimy hand, sticky with who knows what kind of old candy. God takes hold and stands tall, casting a great big, comforting shadow. I slip in a bit, half hidden behind his leg.


These are the times when He proves He is real.

When my warbling little voice echoing in the darkness is answered.

I took a leap of faith once when I was lost in a little pit of despair. I trusted and jumped in and the cold waters of dread closed in over my head.

And He caught me and tried to teach me to swim.


This is the reason I don’t write horror stories. Reality is scary but God is so VERY good.

There will be butterflies and little flowers and Springtime bursting and the trust of little children. ‘I love you,’ I say, and it’s all understood.





A Whim and a Trailer


So today on a whim I didn’t go home after I dropped off my teenager at Bellevue College. I had a few hours until she needed to be picked up, so I turned the car west and went to Seattle. I stopped and found street parking three times as I visited various sites- Kerry Park in Queen Anne; Seattle Center; and the waterfront. I took pictures on my phone, which tend to be blurry. But hey, this was a whim and there were no going all the way home and finding a better camera tangents allowed. I look at it this way, the pictures aren’t blurry- they’re in soft focus- which is suited when describing a Vicky-romance-fluffy novel!


You see, I wanted some photos of Seattle to put into my book trailer I decided to make for my upcoming release~ Black Poodle Over Seven Hills.

Here’s the trailer I made today on Windows Movie Maker. Remember your key words when you watch it.

Blurry = Soft Focus

Strange = Quirky

Tree Path; The Road Home


Today’s path through the trees picture was taken at the edge of the parking lot at Poulsbo Community Church a few hours ago. My dear friend’s sister passed away last week, and today was her Memorial Service. It was an amazing memorial and I cried, a lot. The style of the church and its set up was similar to the one where my family had the memorial service for my boy, almost two years ago. I was pretty much an emotional mess from the moment I left my house this morning to drop off my kids at College in Bellevue and then make the drive to Poulsbo. On the way to Bellevue it was raining part of the way there. ‘Look Peter and Bekah,’ I pointed out. ‘There’s a rainbow.’ They nodded casually.


A few hours later, after I cried during the memorial and visited with the family, I left and of course I was thinking of my son. It was sprinkling as I started driving home and the sky had that look about it. I remembered that right after Josiah passed away in 2014, a dear friend told me she saw a rainbow and knew it was for him.

I was thinking as I drove that rainbows are a visible reminder of God’s promises. I don’t need to wonder if my belief in Him will hold up after death. I knew my friend’s sister was happy in Heaven today. God was just being sweet to show me that rainbow, both today and during the tragic days after I lost my boy.

So, I’m driving, and looking up, and bam! Another rainbow.

God, You’re so good to me.

Almost home an hour later and there it is again; one more rainbow just for emphasis.

Threes. God likes to show me things in threes.

Today, in  honor of this dear, wonderful woman and her passing, God assigned three rainbows to her memory. He shared them with me. I trust His promises, for her, my dear boy that I lost, all the other treasures in my hands, and for my own soul. One day when I venture down my path in the woods and disappear around that illusive corner, It’ll be okay. I’ll be going home too.

Today’s Snippet; Smoochy Stuff

From my Black Poodle Over Seven Hills, soon to be released October 18!


“Brett,” he whispered, his lips still close enough to move her hair with his breath. His thumbs stroked her jaw.

She swallowed and tried to bring her nervous system back into typical working order. Then he was back again, kissing the underside of her jaw, the crease beside her mouth, her cheek. She broke the tension and laid her head down on his heartbeat. It was pounding like hers was, but he encircled her with his arms just like he was supposed to. He held her and they swayed, warm and complete in each other’s arms.

Happiness knocked on her mind. This was good. And it was okay if she waited for more. She pulled away with a smile.

“You’d better not have any other ‘friends’ like me,” she warned.

“No other friends even come close to the visual I’ve got in my head right now,” he answered. “You in a teddy, with little French puff slippers.”

“Well, adjust your sights. The puff slippers are about to be replaced by wooly socks and an old ratty robe.”

“You look cute in that one, too.”

“Now I know you’re crazy.”

He grinned and let her go.

“Feeling better, Brett?” he asked.

“That’s one way of putting it.”

He nodded.

“Good night.”

“Thank you, Timothy. I shouldn’t have complained before. I would’ve been lost here without you, and Weston would have my address.”

“Well, you’re not, and he doesn’t. Put him out of your mind and go read a good book.”

He went away casually digging Uncle Lou’s keys out of his pocket, and she wondered he could walk in a straight line. That wasn’t fair. She went into her apartment. She turned on her lamp with the tassel. It was only eight thirty, and she took a deep breath.

Try as she might, she couldn’t feel apprehensive. Weston may’ve hired some guy to find where she worked. That guy may’ve tried to follow them home. Or things could even be worse. Weston could’ve found out more and be on his way here right now. But it didn’t sink in.

Timothy was the only thing on her mind. Maybe that was why he’d kissed her.’

Fireworks in the Ailing Mind


I was lying in bed on this peaceful Saturday morning. I was near-dozing when suddenly the perfect climatic scene for the end of my Work In Progress (which had threatened to be quite dull before) popped in my head.


I leapt from the  bed to grab my pen and scratch it down into my notebook before I lost it. I got the dog all excited.

But then halfway through writing it down madly…….

FIE upon the older woman’s need to run to the bathroom the second she gets upright in the morning! I ran by my husband a bit crazed.

Rick said maybe I was having a brain aneurysm.





Autumn is my favorite time of year

Of history and mystery and a certain smell in the air;

I love the colors so bold and red;

We leaves won’t die quietly, they said;

No, they surge with passion as they fade and fall;

As if a new adventure was sending it’s call;

And they were answering.


Always I want to adventure as well when that spice travels the wind;

I feel bold and winsome and joy trembles in;

Even in death I know that one day;

My bright spirit will soar when it drifts away;

A new road of aching beauty will open before me;

Sweet smells of spices hinting at what I will see;

When I answer His call to go home.