I recently moved and purchased a house that was promising, but in need of a few touches to look and feel 100% like me. A few of the changes were actually needed. A few others were wanted, but the most extraneous adjustment that I made was to replace the front door. There was nothing wrong with the old one. It was windowless, dark wood, rather plain. By my standards, a door should represent what’s beyond. After all, it does signify a beginning or end… to a visit, a nesting, an effort for connection to someone, something “yonder”—all important, at least… 

I have had four, large dogs in my home for more than three weeks. Two of them are my own, a ten year old Siberian Husky and a Belgian Tervuren barely more than a puppy.  The other two are visitors, another long-haired Siberian and a Samoyed the same age as the Terv.  I have long acknowledged that all four are beautiful and remarkable dogs.  I have had and been around dogs all of my life. I wouldn’t want to live in a household without them, but I admit that four are almost more personality than one roof can cover. Their… 

I’ve gotten over the need for others’ approval of my writing years ago by adopting the attitude that if I shared my fanciful tales honestly and interwoven with truth, then public opinion is the effect but not the result of the cause. So I strive for a positive product, yet the reason I write is because I’m compelled to, regardless of the effect. On the tenth of August, I agreed to “sell” the first novel in my nine-novel series for free—just for a few days.  In marketing strategy, this is classified a promotion, but in the heart of my “writer… 

It’s Sunday again—the day ordained to rest, the day we take to contemplate faith, hope, love. Even if you’re not a Christian, most “good” people stop and consider the hope and love aspects. I don’t know how to approach these three words from anything but a Christian perspective. I make no apologies for my chosen faith—not only was I raised to be a Christian, but I embrace the theology on the deepest level I am capable of delving as an adult. I believe that popular culture tends to label Christians as anything but deep thinkers. Perhaps they should look again,… 

Until I moved to the city, I always enjoyed (expected) personal delivery of my mail into my mailbox at the end of our extensive driveway in New Mexico.  I have fond memories of that mailbox ranging from reactions about the things received, good wishes with the packages sent, and, of course, the special delivery the day before the box was installed when two of my sons locked their youngest brother inside “to see how much the box would hold.” Since living in Austin, we receive our mail via one in a cluster of mailboxes. (By the way, it costs $353… 

Every time I drive Capital of Texas Highway 360, I think about the things that I notice and why. Do you find a pattern? Do the same objects tend to catch your eye over and over? (The tacky signs with purposefully misspelled words). Reciprocally, do you miss the same things each time? (The mom and pop pizza place that’s closing because everyone else missed seeing it, too)? How can we do that? How do we miss a sign just as colorful, just as evident over and again? Even the definition of noticing is the investment of singular attention. By virtue of… 

I can remember when the term blog was not one that everyone recognized. (Does that “label me” un-cool?)  To date, I find myself wondering if it has ever been defined accurately, so I looked it up on that accurate and exact authority—the Web.  Here’s what I found: A regularly updated web page, typically run by an individual or small group, that is written in an informal or conversational style.                                                   .. A website containing a writer’s or group of writers’ own experiences, observations, opinions, etc., and often having images and links to other websites. It seems to me that some bloggers have few parameters where the subject of their blog is concerned. Maybe they don’t need a definition, but my… 

Tonight I went to the last event I will ever attend (at least within the scope of imagination) that will end in the Bulldog fight song. I stood in the oppressive heat of a high school auditorium whose air conditioner has never been adequate and invited a headache by fighting tears. I don’t know why I fought them.  Before I started, I knew they would win. It was not my alma mater or my song. I did not even have a blood-related child on the stage, but it is my youngest son’s senior year. I have watched him and his…