It’s hard to believe it’s only been two-and-a-half weeks since my husband and I brought our darling Verusha home. She has been every bit the kitten for us: adorable, affectionate, playful, and highly skilled at finding trouble. 😉 We’ve been loving every minute, but her transition into our home has not been without its challenges. Continue reading
From the time I was a very young child, I grew up with cats. My family’s first – Blacky, a neighborhood stray – adopted us when I was in first grade, and we ended up letting him in the house mostly as a hunter to clear out mice. Others followed after that (though most remained outside, where we fed them on our porch and let them sleep in a box we kept for them there), and over time we also had, Midnight, Caramel, and Cinnamon Sugar and her kittens, Applesauce, Butterscotch, Vanilla, and Licorice. (She became pregnant so soon after she came to us, we didn’t have a chance to get her fixed first.) All of them were wonderful, and even beyond our own pets, I loved cats generally.
In the end, however, they all either adopted new families or aged and died. And some time after that… I found myself allergic.
It was exceptionally interesting, then, the day I first found reference to hypoallergenic cat breeds. Now, I understand they don’t necessarily work for everyone, but the idea of possibly being able to have a cat without constantly suffering allergies or taking medicine was too tempting to ignore.
Long story short, after much research, consideration, and waiting, my husband and I now have a kitten of our own!
She is a Russian White, so my husband and I decided it would be appropriate to look for a Russian name. We decided on the name Verusha, which is the diminutive of the Russian “Vera,” which means “faith,” though it is also sometimes associated with the Latin for “truth.” We loved both the sound and the meaning, and after all, what more can you ask for in a name?
Thistle, Brent, Lyra, and Orrig belong to Meg Syverud of Daughter of the Lilies.
Embera, Koe, Iva, and Indri belong to Jemma M. Young of Children of Eldair.
The Bazaar Between and the Unnamed Bookshop Owner are stage dressing that went out of their way to unduly lengthen the story by trying really, really hard to become characters in their own right. (Jury’s still out on whether they succeeded. But waiting for a consensus would’ve lengthened the story even more.)
In a world that’s not a world,
There’s a space that’s not a space,
Where the meetings that could never be
Just happen to take place,
When the farthest-flung of fiction
Find they’ve stumbled on the scene
Of the twining, colored crossways
That form the Bazaar Between.
Along a bustling row of crowded booths and shops, four figures thread a throng ranging from the familiar to the utterly foreign. Indeed, though displays of brilliantly colored, exotic wares line each side of the thoroughfare, they can hardly contend with the true riot of color that swirls down the street in the forms of dresses, robes, scarves, scales, skin, fur, hair, and wings. Continue reading
For the first years of our marriage, my husband and I lived quite contentedly in an apartment near our church and my parents. Eventually, however, we began to feel that the time had come to strike out into home-ownership. We both knew our ultimate dream – a place out in the country with woods and acreage – was out of reach for us. In point of fact, I think the best we both hoped for was a house with sufficient conveniences in a quiet subdivision somewhere.
Then we found this place…
Some time back, I decided I wanted to learn how to play the guitar. It’s a pursuit that’s seen unfortunate periods of neglect… but that’s another story. 😉 This story starts when I searched for and purchased a lovely guitar, but then decided it was so lovely, it deserved a more protective case than the soft-sided gig bag I’d originally purchased for it.
Then I ran across these chip-board cases for cheap on Craigslist (in the photos that follow, apologies for any poor image quality; I was often working with far less than ideal lighting): Continue reading
At the shining June wedding
Of a dear family friend Continue reading
One thing I love about the area in which I live is the wealth of gorgeous local metroparks in the region. One of those, Aullwood Garden, is a lovely place to wander, soak in some quiet, and – if you are so inclined – snap some photos of the scenery and the many, many flowers. These photos came from an afternoon’s wander, in which I attempted to frame and snatch a record of some of the beauty I found in the place.
~For Amalya Nathaniel Conkel
And his parents, Bethany and Eric
Love is plodding feet
Set fixedly to follow,
Whether dancing down a grassy slope
Or stumbling up steep, stony ways.
Love is vigilant sight –
Eyes ever pulled from wandering,
Whether held in helpless rapture
Or in staunch, determined gaze.
Love is chosen faithfulness,
A will renewing always,
Whether time brings tenderness
Or trouble-laden days.
Love transcends the moment
To pour out in self-surrender
That runs washing over feet
Whether feelings ebb or blaze.
A race raised in moonlight,
Eyes conformed to twilight,
Adrift through silver dimness
Convinced they clearly see.
They point to a pale moon
And praise the palisades of
Lunar beams that
Mark out every path
And all the proper ways.
But what? Now the sky turns gray,
And reds glow ‘cross their silver,
Splay a tarnish on its cleanness
To be scoured before it stains.
So grows a light that soon outshines
Their sight and all their guiding lines
‘Til blinded, they can’t see their moon
Bow white before the dazzling
Noontime Sun that walks the day.