The muses in my head.

I recently had the pleasure of meeting my writing muses—my sources of (or against) inspiration. They’re distinct voices in my head which I didn’t know existed until they revealed themselves to me one at a time.

Don’t worry, I don’t need to call my therapist. 

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A simple question with a long answer.  A one-act screenplay based on a true story

A kitchen, every surface covered with diced, sliced, or whole veggies, some still steaming and fragrant from the grill, some still raw. 

Michael, Karen’s husband of 35 years, enters through the kitchen door, stage left. Dressed in colorful cycling gear, helmet in hand, he glistens in sweat, face red, dirt streaked on one calf, hair matted to his head. He looks tired but jubilant.

Karen stands at the kitchen sink, center stage. The afternoon sun shines through the spotless windows behind her, giving her hair a golden glow, her dewy complexion complimented by the soft pink flush of exertion. Trim and tan, she wipes a loose strand of silky blonde hair from her smooth forehead with the back of her youthful hand as she leans over to kiss her husband.* 

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My gluteus maximus research.

After close to a year of blogging weekly, I can say that I’ve learned some interesting things. Like when I researched different names for the gluteus maximus, sometimes called the gluteal muscles, or glutes, for short.  According to, Wikipedia , the fleshy mass of these musclesin a quadrilateral shape, forms the prominence of the buttocks.”

In case you’re still on your first cup of coffee, I’m talking about the butt.

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When simple solutions are – literally – right under your nose.

“We live on our front porch in the nice weather.” That’s what my husband Michael and I say, which is a bit of an exaggeration. But we do spend a lot of time there. It’s a great place to read the Sunday paper, sip our morning coffee, eat lunch on a weekend, or watch a thunderstorm. My favorite seat is the porch swing, which we hung last year after it sat in a box for 30 years.

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It was a stroke of genius. (An "ah-ha" moment.)

My husband Michael and I were taking an after-dinner walk around the neighborhood.  We watched a silver Prius slowly come toward us on the far side of the street as several cars passed it.

The car stopped in the middle of its lane, blocking a side street. A 60-something women rolled down her window and called to us.

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Glazing out the window.

When we bought our second old house 11 years ago, it needed some serious TLC. The least of our problems was the broken window glass in the basement stairwell door, which I “temporarily” fixed with blue painters tape. Last week, I decided to do the job right.

I’d done a lot of old-house renovations over 30+ years. Replacing a window would be no biggie, I thought. 


Here’s how it went:

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How many selfies does it take?

A while ago, I blogged about my dislike for listicles and their prevalence on the internet. I wanted to include a photo of the face that I’m pretty sure I make when my news and social media feeds are overrun with listicle click-bait. 

The face is a kind of WTF look. 

I set out to capture that exact expression. In my mind’s eye, I could picture it. My facial muscle- memory could recreate it. I practiced in front of a mirror to be sure I had it right. Yup. Nailed it. 

Then I got my cell phone and snapped away. 

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