For those of you who asked, here’s the intro to my current project.

•January 27, 2014 • Leave a Comment

Working Title: Dead Friend


I left the office that day and took my favorite route, down a wide residential street in an attractive older neighborhood, into the commercial district, past the old brick buildings you’d find on any main street in Small Town America. It was late morning in mid November. The leaves had finally turned but still hung on. The famous Oklahoma wind had been gentle thus far and the temperatures, mild. The sun shone and the day promised to be beautiful, like most Fall days are here.

I headed for the bank across town with the usual things on my mind, sales figures, payroll, customer accounts, what needed to be mailed and filed. Passing the cleaners, with its perpetual plume of steam rising, I stopped at the intersection on Broadway, turned right at the county court house. Of course someone would back out in front of me here. Someone always did. I slowed and right on cue, an electric blue, older model Corvette was reversing. There was no one behind me. I stopped to let it in, turned on the radio, looked up again. The car looked familiar. Too familiar. I’d known a man with a car just like that once, ridden it from time to time. Years later, I’d seen it around town, driven by someone else. Then I stopped seeing it at all and after a while it drifted away, like old memories will do.

I followed the Corvette to the light, remembering a past I’d buried. I couldn’t help but notice that its driver was watching me in the rear view, a man about my age, blonde hair sticking out from under an orange cap. If I didn’t know better I’d swear that was David, driving his old baby, up to no good like always.

The driver was still watching me as I stopped behind him at the light. We studied each other in his side mirror while waiting for the green. He pushed his cap back just a little. Same build, wide face, pale blue eyes. Was that a spark of recognition in them? It couldn’t be, but my heart beat suddenly in my throat, as if my body accepted something that my mind rejected completely.

The light changed, he punched the gas, turning left without signaling and as he did, he looked back at me, leaned out his open window and grinned like a Cheshire cat.

Incredulous, I cruised slowly through the intersection and watched him go, until distance broke eye contact and I was sure I hadn’t seen a ghost.

“You son of bitch,” I said, then laughed out loud. “You sneaky son of a bitch!”

David Casey sped away in his old blue Corvette as if he’d never been murdered twenty three years ago.


Do you know Spencer?

•January 23, 2014 • Leave a Comment

For the last two nights I have seen the same man in the meandering course of my dreams.  He’s wearing jeans, lace up black boots, a dark colored T-shirt and an olive drab army jacket.  He’s young, twenties, I’m guessing, thin and pale with shoulder length light brown hair.  He’s sitting on concrete steps in front of a brick building. He says his name is Spencer. I wish I could remember what we talked about. The last time this happened, the individual I saw was deceased. If he belongs to you in some way shape or form, I thought you’d want to know.

Night Moths

•December 30, 2013 • Leave a Comment

Last night I was dreaming that birds were whistling lovely melodies in the dark and owls were answering them from far away.  In my dream I got up and went to the window and could see pale creatures in the air and in the trees.  I opened the window and several flew in and perched on me.  They were sparrow sized, white and fuzzy with antennae, bird like wings and long purple tail feathers.

“What are they?”  I asked Mark.

“Oh those are night moths,” he said.  “You can keep them. They make good pets.”

Mark knows everything about the nocturnal creatures in my dreams.  The name of this blog comes from one of them.  I dreampt I’d seen hundreds of pairs of eyes when the headlights of my car swept across the lawn one night. “Those are mega toads,” he informed  me from the passenger seat.  “They’re everywhere.”

“I won’t keep the night moths in the house,”  I told him.  “They can live outside and visit me whenever they want.”

“That’s a good idea,” he said.

Then they flew away and I went to the grocery store for guava juice, like that made sense or something.  I hope they come back.

The Dreamlife

•December 24, 2013 • Leave a Comment

Sunday night, 12/22, I had a weird dream.

“So, what else is new?”  you ask.

Well, let me tell you. I dreampt Mark and I flew to Sydney, Australia.  When we landed we couldn’t catch the shuttle without cash.  All we had were credit cards so a woman gave me $5.00.  I asked for her name and address so I could repay her.  She said her name was Lisa Mellis, and gave me an address in Melbourne, which I can’t remember now.  Anyway, I remember being lost in Australia, trying to keep Mark from getting bitten by poisonous creatures and our hotel being quarantined for Ebola or something equally bloody and ridiculous.

Monday morning, I told Mark and my friend at work and we laughed it off. I Googled the woman’s name and the only result was a portrait artist in New Zealand who does commissioned paintings of pets. That’s cool.  I should send her $5.00.

This evening, I decided to check my Facebook messages.  There was one in the box marked “Other” from an employee of a company in, say it with me, Australia.  Melbourne, to be exact.  Over the summer I had written a review of a cosmetic product by that company and posted it on their website.  They say want to use a quote from it. I just gave them permission.  The message was written, say it with me, Sunday night, while I was sleeping.

Black-finger Friday

•November 30, 2013 • Leave a Comment

100_0910I went to bed last night under the influence of excessive Thanksgiving leftovers and I had the strangest dream…

I was in a mall bustling with shoppers.  I had just purchased the most amazing pair of tan leather ankle boots trimmed with black suede and gold piping when I came across a little shop full of crystals, gifts and and every manner of sparkly trinkets.  In the back near the register, there were a collection of burnished branches mounted on polished stone pedestals.  They ranged in size from 6 inches to 3 feet tall.  The ends of every twig were shaped like thin, graceful, human hands. The tips of the fingers were long, pointed and blackened.

There was an old woman behind the counter, watching me.  “Do you like them?”

“Yes,” I said, “such beautiful sculptures.”

“Oh, they’re not sculptures,” she said. “A friend of mine grows them.”

“Really?  I’ve never heard of such a thing.  What kind of tree grows like this?”

She smiled.  “Not on trees, on his body.  Whenever I need one, I break off his arm.”  She took a book of matches from her pocket, struck one and lit the fingertips of one of the larger branches.  “You can burn them like candles and they last for years.”

I got the hell out of there.

Confessions of a Nymphomaniac

•November 11, 2013 • Leave a Comment





Bwahhahahahahaha! Made you click!  *evil grin*

A Love Note to Our Veterans

•November 11, 2013 • Leave a Comment

When I was under the age of five, my father was in the Air Force.  He narrowly missed going to Vietnam before his tour was up.  I know he was conflicted; I’m glad he didn’t re-enlist.  He might not have been around for my life to the present.

I remember being on base one day.  A plane load of troops coming home from Vietnam had landed.  I don’t know why we were there, but there was a crowd on the tarmac some distance away waiting and when the doors opened and those men in uniform came down the stairs waving, the crowd and I were overcome with joy and waved back.

“What are you doing?”  my mother snapped, snatching my hand down.  “You don’t know any of them.”

I was crushed.  I felt like I did know them.  I’d seen them on the news every night of my young life.  I heard the daily death toll and it frightened me.  I was unaware of the political climate and later came to realize that our troops coming back from Vietnam did not receive the hero’s welcome they deserved.

I’m sorry and I’m so glad you’re home.

To all of you who are serving and have served in other places, whether you’re home yet or not, I have been and will be jumping up and down and waving at you from a special place in my heart and God bless the military families who have worried for and or lost their loved ones.  I cannot grasp the depth of your sacrifice.  You are all heroes too. Happy Veterans Day, you amazing wonderful people.