Campestral Crime Scene

“Coming, Sir?” 


“In a moment. Go get started.”


Detective Winston hovered back by the car, letting his new partner forge ahead with all the enthusiasm that came with youth and adrenaline.  It wouldn’t hurt Stevenson to get the practice. The kid was sharp. Respectful, too.


Winston held his cell phone to his ear as if he were having a conversation while he studied the scene before him. Not immediately before him, but the larger scope, past the farm road and off to the horizon. Hills rolled slowly away from him, lush with pastures dotted with cattle, fields sown with rows of crops, and scattered with well-watered trees.  The green was crisscrossed by an occasional fence line, a pond here and there, still, shimmering like huge shards of glass. He could hear only birds and the low rumble of voices down by the road where the body of a young girl had been discovered in a ditch.


Good thing he was retiring soon. He was losing his grip. And longing to let go. 


“You okay?” Stevenson said, startling him.


Winston heaved a sigh. He had obviously been “on the phone” too long. 


“No,” Winston responded. “But let’s get it done.”


“If you aren’t feeling well, Sir—“


“I just needed a minute, Stevenson.”


“It’s an average crime scene. I think we can pick up plenty of evidence, have some solid leads to help us wrap it up soon. Still hard with such a young victim.”


“That’s not what’s getting to me, believe it or not. It’s the place.”


“The place, Sir?”


“This,” Winston said, sweeping his hand across the view before them, “is exactly the campestral location I dreamed of moving to when I retire. No noise, dirt but no filth. No crime scenes. Away from this line of work, you know? Now I’m going to go down there and ruin my vision.”


“I’m sorry, Sir,” Stevenson said after a few moments of silence during which they stared out at the horizon. “Is there something I can do? Would you like to stay here at the car? Headache? Upset stomach? I believe I can handle this one, if you’d like. I can come get you if I run across something I need help with.”


“I like you, Stevenson. You’re going to do just fine. I can’t expect to retire from reality, though, can I? Fact is, there is no perfect place on this earth. Not now, anyway.” Winston pocketed his phone. “Show me what you’ve found in our campestral crime scene.”


From the prompt: Crime Scene from Monthly Prompts, January 2019 and M-W word of the day: campestral.





Day One

Day One

She had decided to stay.

It had been touch and go for weeks now. Pros and cons. Lists. Packing and unpacking. Restless nights. Exhausted days. Nothing was getting done. Everything was stacking up.

All a result of indecision. Procratination? Sometimes, perhaps.

It took time to weigh the devil you knew with the devil that’s new.

Then there were vows. In a world where promises were lyrics to unfinished songs, she decided she wanted a masterpiece. She would never have one if she gave up.

“Oh there are other songs to sing,” her friends would say. “Other fish in the sea, easier to swim with.”

But were there really? Weren’t they all just imperfect fish, each with individual foibles and assets. When she put her mind to it, focusing on the strengths rather than the shortcomings, he was worth the effort.

Wasn’t something more precious if one worked for it?

Not to mention that looking at things truthfully, she could do better. If she expected him to, then she must be willing to work at this, too.

She stayed up late into the night making peanut brittle, his favorite. He never asked for it anymore.

Peanut brittle was the handsel she’d sent him off to work with this morning.

She could already feel the difference that came from being resolute and determined.


From the prompt, Day One from Monthly Prompts, January 2019 and Mirriam Webster’s word of the day: handsel


“I’m telling you up front, I don’t care who wins.” Jason walked to the starting line, bounced a couple times and stretched.

Matt stopped his warmup and looked at Jason like he was speaking a foreign language. “How can you not care who wins? That’s nuts, Man. Why are we even doing this?”

“To help you practice.”

“If you just let me win, how will that challenge me?”

“I never said I was going to let you win. I’ll do my best. If your best is better than mine, happy for you, Dude. If it’s not today, maybe next time. Either way my personal best is an achievement, right?”

Matt shook his head. “Sorry. Losing is failure. Pure and simple.”

“Really? But doesn’t someone have to lose for there to be a winner?” Jason asked.

“Now you’re just messing with my head.”

“I’m not. It’s not hard. Pure and simple, competition isn’t the only thing that motivates excellence. Achievement works, too. Otherwise, you would have to be the winner all the time in everything, and that simply isn’t possible. There is always something that someone can do better than you can. We all have gifts.”

“That’s crap, Man. I’m good at this because I work at it. I train. I make sacrifices. Nobody handed me no gift.”

“Yeah, but the next guy–probably me–could work side by side with you, working on the same skill in the same way just as hard and never be as good. It’s called talent. Natural ability. And it is a gift. Something you are born with. Every person has one.”

“Look, Mr. Philosophy, don’t you have a photography group to meet up with this afternoon? Are you going to race me, or just talk me to death?”

“I don’t care who wins,” Jason said, giving him a taunting grin.

“Fine. You’ll eat my dust regardless. Achieve that!” Matt grinned at him and punched a button on his watch. “Five, four, three, two…RUN!”



A creative man is motivated by the desire to achieve, not by the desire to beat others. ~Ayn Rand

One Day Down

I have designated January the month of the house reboot. I have chosen 9 days, each devoted to a room of the house, to purge, rearrange and clean, top to bottom.

Today was day one. I chose to tackle the kitchen out of necessity. The new stove cost me some drawer space, so the kitchen was a shambles anyway. Too. Much. Stuff. For one. Second I decided to be a bit more strategic about what occupies prime shelf and drawer space.

We shall celebrate progress. I knew this would be the hardest room to wrestle to simplicity, so I went with “eating the live toad” philosophy from the poster in my sister’s bedroom from long ago that advised: Eat a live toad in the morning and nothing worse can happen to you for the rest of the day.

Kitchen is half done. We will revisit.

And I even managed to use my new oven in the midst of all the chaos. No-knead bread and roasted garlic chicken.

And that’s all I can manage today. Boring I know.


It’s not my color.

I made my own dress for my 8th grade graduation. Loved the fabric–a flowing, soft yellow and pink floral print and I was totally in love with the pattern for the dress. I worked hard on that dress–carefully, painstakingly. It was as perfect as I could make a dress. I couldn’t wait to wear it.

When I finally put it on, I was so disappointed. Something was off. Couldn’t put a finger on exactly what, though.

This was to become a theme throughout my life, but that’s another story.

Much later I came to learn it was likely because I can’t wear yellow. Or cream. Or brown with a yellow base. When I do, people inevitably ask me if I’m sick or tired.

So for a long time I thought I didn’t like yellow. But that was wrong, too. I love yellow, just not on me.

I Am Here

For now I am linking my posts to my photo challenge for the day,

Until I get on a roll.

I miss this. I really do. I have been writing for myself since September, but I’m ready to get started again for a broader audience. If they will have me.

We’ve been talking to Alexa. Surely we can do better. 🙂

<<<<<<<<<“I am here.” Is the prompt:

It was a job getting here today. Went back and forth from car to house three times before I finally left my house. To arrive here. Where the berries are beautiful, and the birds are frantic about the sunflower seeds that are left.

Inside is warmth and fragrance and football and good food–hearty, healthy and simple. And most important, family. Family with wide open arms to graciously accept strangers as part of the family, even if the “temporary” family is deaf, legally blind and autistic.

I married into a special family. I wish I could adequately express how grateful I am.

Revival? Revival!

I need to get back in the habit. Boy howdy, do I need to. I couldn’t even remember how to sign in to write here!

Just under four months and counting till my next awesome adventure.

I did not write enough about the journey through Bulgaria and Greece. I have tons of pictures and lots of memories. But sometimes combining the two….Or recalling the details, vivid ones….There was hardly time.

I should have made the time.

The trip was exquisite in every way, except I didn’t capture it the way I wanted to.

So four months to establish a habit. To show up, to write it down, to notice those everyday miracles.

Because in four months, I will be cruising through Northern Europe–with an eye on Belgium and France afterward…..ten countries in all, I believe. I want to be fully present, in the moment, for all of it. The best way to do that? Share it.

There’s a lot to do in these four months, so let’s get to it, shall we?