An unsteady path, but one filled with gratitude.


For writers, a very nice helpful blog.

Originally posted on Nancee Cain:


This Thanksgiving finds me reflecting on the past year and my budding writing career. My writing life has been a lot like this swinging bridge. A little dark on the outside with a shaky path to walk.  With the encouragement of some wonderful writer friends, I took the plunge and submitted two manuscripts to publishers and agents.

The first rejection email hurt. I won’t lie. I cried. How could they not love my “baby” as much I did? My writing friends were there for me.  These wonderful authors have been there, done that and shared my pain of rejection. They were also loving enough to tell me to quit whining, put my big girl panties on, deal with it and move on. So I did what they suggested.

I persevered. I worked hard. I took classes. I entered contests. I pitched. And I wrote. Every. Damn. Day. Even if it…

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Have not been on for a while, participating in Nanowrimo.  Don’t expect to win, but am getting a novel out of it.  Will keep everyone updated.

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Don’t Give Up!


Keep digging.

Originally posted on The Journal:

Blogging, writing, entrepreneur-ing, parenting, studying, hoping.
never give up

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Witnessing Love – Mary Frances and Dulce!


How many of us always keep a part of a beloved pet with us?

Originally posted on HeiressMommy™:

… She’s a brawny girl, well built and tall and sturdy, and she will know how to keep her chin out of the mud with any knight errant .

— Sancho Panza, Don Quixote’s squire, says of Dulcinea, (namesake for the Dulce in this essay!)


Mary Francis & Dulce 2014

A beautiful intelligent vibrant woman adopts a beautiful intelligent vibrant dog and so it begins. A REAL love so evident that all who have the privilege of knowing this team are awed. Who are they you ask that seem to affect so many? Well simple and most important to me is that the woman, Mary Frances is my friend and Dulce was her companion … I hesitate to say her dog as that does not nearly describe how this relationship should be defined. Here I want to illuminate what I and so many others viscerally experienced in the company of this duo. I tell…

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Ask Your Mother!

This will be in the book, but I have to tell this story now. A couple of weeks ago, when Anastase and I were at The University of Arizona we had to pick his twelve year old son, Cadeau up at school. (He has Saturday school for three hours). I have known the lad since he was five. Five going on twenty-five. One young man, a classmate of Cadeau’s rode with us to the nearby Tucson Children’s Museum where his dad picked him up. The young man had an I Phone. Of course Cadeau wanted one and wanted Dad to get him one RIGHT NOW! “Ask your mother,” Anastase said softly. “Mom will say no,” he wailed. I burst out laughing. Cadeau is like an adopted nephew for me. “My boy, forty years ago, I had the same sort of discussions. One day, I asked my Dad, why every time I wanted something, he told me to ask my mother. He said ask your mother! Cadeau, this is the way of the world. Cadeau did not want to hear that. Especially as Dad, grew up in terrible poverty had to walk two miles to school etc. Ah kids…

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How Anastase Broke Himself.

My Rwandan friend Anastase and I have started working on his biography.  This is a story from a few years ago.  How Anastase Broke Himself.

We had a softball team at work. Now, Rwandans are fairly athletic because of all the walking and hardship. Anastase was once on a national board for Soccer in Rwanda. He was new to softball, but became good at it quickly.

It was September, 2007, and our last game. He hits a long fly ball, he is coming home and like something out of a baseball movie, he DIVES into home. He is safe, Grand Slam, four runs, we win! This is fine and dandy, except Anastase landed on home plate, with his left wrist (he is left-handed). His wrist is swelling.

He discovered, he couldn’t use his left hand. I had to feed him, like a child. I wanted to take him to an emergency room, but he declined. I rode with him, so I had to drive him home. Understand, dear reader, I had never met his wife until then. He called her from the van and spoke in their native language, Kiryarwanda.

I was introduced when I got him home and his two oldest sons greeted me. (They drove me home). They were cheerfully translating what his wife Daphrose said to Anastase. It was something like “Oh big great athlete, look at you now.” Daphrose never raises her gentle voice but does not need to. I know the wrath of God, when I hear it.

The next day, he was no better and was driven to the doctor, who sent him for X Rays. Congratulations, mon ami. Your wrist is broken in twenty-four places. I was off Wednesday, so I took him for his surgery. He was horrified when I told him in French when he awoke, You might be back in November. He thought they would operate, and he would type on a computer at work the next day. He finally arrived back at work in January, 2008. I left a sign on his desk that began with, “Anastase, mon ami casse. Anastase, my broken friend.” He corrected the grammar.

Fast forward a couple of years. We went to a minor league baseball game up the street from work. That morning, we had a blood drive. Anastase donated, and suddenly he was bleeding, where the blood was drawn. Took him to the paramedics who quickly patched him up. “Thank you,” I exclaimed. “You don’t understand. If I bring him back broken again, his wife will never let us play in the sandbox again!” It was good to see paramedics laughing. And that is the legend of Anastase the Broken.

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The Bison Bomb


Cooking is chemistry and can be dangerous. Be careful of being buffaloed. :)

Originally posted on Bayard & Holmes:

By Piper Bayard

American bison public domain, wikimedia commons

American bison
public domain, wikimedia commons


It began as an innocent, good willed attempt at providing supper for my family. Ground bison. Presumably completely dead and with no ill intentions toward me, my hair, or my kitchen.

I cooked it up around 1:00 p.m. and pushed the pot to the back burner. Little did I know that this simple act would trigger a chain of events that would lead to a Facebook status, a blog post, and an hour of kitchen rehabilitation.

Around 7:00 p.m., I returned to the scene. I noticed the innocuous-looking, room-temperature bison in the pan and decided to finish the spaghetti for the next day. I put the pan on the front burner and turned the heat to medium-low.

Five minutes later, I was cutting up red bell pepper and watching Criminal Minds over the kitchen bar. On the show, the unsub…

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