writing prompt

The Little Blue House

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Somewhere there is a little blue house nestled amongst irises and mature trees.  The little blue house has seen the trees grow from saplings to the giants they are now.  They’ve grown up together.

The little blue house is not so little now.  Over the years, Pete and Martha have added on — first to accommodate their children and then their grandchildren.  Soon it will be time to leave the little blue house to someone who will love it and move to small, more convenient digs somewhere in town close to doctors and pharmacies.  Pete and Martha are at that age.

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You deserve a more tender tomorrow.

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You deserve a more tender tomorrow, the Universe said.

“I do,” myself replied.  I went on to say, “Life has been hard and a bit dreary these past few months.  Tender would be good.  Did you have something in mind?”

The Universe said, “No.  Quite the opposite.  Tomorrow the weather is going to reenact the Wizard of Oz and then I might dump snow on you.  Haven’t decided yet.”

Photo by Greg Rakozy on Unsplash

“If you must bring snow, please bring between 12 and 20 inches.  Please.  Anything less is just a nuisance as folks expect me to maintain my normal activities if we are anything short of shut down.”

“Nah, I’m thinking an inch or two.  Just enough to snarl morning traffic on Wednesday.”

“Why are you in such a cantankerous mood?  This really has gone on too long you know. Since about August you have just been downright ugly to me.  Fortunately, I have a good support system and I’m not in a fetal position, but this is really getting old. 

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Bubble Baths

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I am addicted to pleasure.  I am a full-blown hedonist and I make no apology for it.  Indeed, I celebrate and encourage this aspect of my personality.  My favorite word is AND.  Go big or go home.  Enjoy yourself, it’s later than you think.  Etc. I have many mottos that at heart just mean I am into the good stuff. 

Photo by Cristian Palmer on Unsplash

And good stuff does not necessarily mean expensive stuff.  For instance, this morning I had a bubble bath. A long, luxurious one with a fine hand-milled oatmeal soap scented with vanilla.  I smell like a warm cookie on this very cold morning.   

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Hit the Floor in ’24

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I don’t know how it ends, but I can read the writing on the wall. I’ve been in nesting mode which has thus far involved provisioning my abode with things to make it cozy and quirky, but without doing any cleaning or emptying of closets to make room for the new. This is a disaster. I can see how it ends if I don’t get going.

Photo by BoliviaInteligente on Unsplash


If I continue on this path, I’m going to be the creepy old woman who lives in the shack on the hill and hoards cats, books, and cooking utensils. Cats she doesn’t pay any attention to, books she doesn’t read, and cooking utensils in a house without a functioning kitchen.

I’m going to set aside a year to reclaim my life. 2024 is it. Hit the floor in ’24! we’ll call it. More peace, more tranquility, more grace, and more self-love all wrapped up in a whirling dervish of activity.

Years ago, after a rough patch with Doug’s illness at Christmas time, I decreed 2013 the year of Connie.

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