The bells will toll…again.

Seventeen years.  Painful memories embedded in this passage of time still cut so deeply in the minds and hearts of everyone.  Thousands of innocent lives disappeared in screaming clouds of choking dust as we watched so helplessly, and cried, as hatred and pure evil worked in concert to wreak havoc in our country.

Seventeen years.  Back to that unfathomable time which united people as the realization set in that life, as we had come to know it, would never again be the same.

Bands of intense emotions, saddled with fear, created a common ground of brotherhood and caring.  At least for most of these past years, at least until the tragic anniversary each September 11th.  Here, on this one day, the political debates and constant combative undercurrent takes a slight rest as we quietly memorialize all who perished at the hands of radical extremism.  

Once again, as memorials are held throughout the United States, bells will toll at 8:46 a.m., 9:03 a.m., 9:37 a.m. and 10:03 a.m., times of the various attacks which took place on 9/11/01.  Names will be read and we again will pause to remember. 

But, we will never, ever, forget!


“No day shall erase you from the memory of time”





Finger of God…

May 16, 2018, Hudson Valley, New York.  It was a day unlike any other where the air stood still, almost as if frozen, in between the clouds from a green tinted sky.

The heat of that day wrapped itself around everyone like a smothering blanket.  People rushed to various stores with one eye and both ears on the forecast warnings.

Skies slowly darkened, and raindrops started to fall with a pounding force.  Then, the whistle of a freight train.


Terrifying winds lifted trees from their roots and turned familiar landscapes into images of a war zone.  It was over in a matter of minutes, but the aftermath lasted for weeks.

The proverbial Finger of God, even on the smaller scale of this event, reminded mortals to take nothing for granted.



workshop-button-1 Write a blog post in exactly 9 lines.  This catastrophic weather event slammed the Hudson Valley and areas of Connecticut a little over 3 months ago.  Residents lost power and phone service for days, if not weeks.  The brief but devastating storm left barren areas where majestic trees once stood, now fallen and tangled with wires.  If anything positive came out of this storm, it was how neighbor helped neighbor through the nightmare. 


Long-ago, favorite reads…

Now and then, I’ll glance over at the books resting on the shelves in my home office and make a mental note to sit down and re-read one, or more, of my favorites.  Many have been stockpiled for reference material, others, well they just bring back memories of having enough time to sit and allow words and pages help me embark on a much-needed escape.

Then, tucked away in the attic are so many favorite childhood books that we often hang onto.  At least I do. 

Just picking them up takes me back to those simpler times I often write about.  Years ago, grabbing a book was all most of us had, after homework and chores were done and the offerings on television were one or two shows before bedtime.  And yes, how many of us did late reading under the bed-covers, with a flashlight?  Of course, when certain book reading was mandated in school, along with what seemed like those endless book reports, it easily became a chore.  But, for me,  there were stories nestled in between the pages of a few tattered hardcovers that captured my imagination, transported me to distant places, distant times and…brought tears to my eyes.

So, up in a corner of my attic, in a box marked “books” (of course) are a few of my childhood favorites…

The Bobbsey Twins at Snow Lodge…by Laura Lee Hope

Three Golden Rivers…by Olive Price

Cherry Ames, Cruise Nurse…by Helen Wells

Paintbox Summer…by Betty Cavanna

Favorite Stories for Girls…by May Hollis Barton

Death Be Not Proud…by John Gunther

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While writing this, I promised myself that I will sit down outside in our gazebo and read each one of these again.  All I need is the next available quiet afternoon that comes my way.   And, if that doesn’t happen, it’s under the bed-covers with my flashlight once more…for old times sake.







My Writing Prompt response to:  Create a list of some of your favorite childhood books.