Back in 2005 I started blogging stories about my life--from growing up with my little sister after our parents had died, to being a divorced mom raising two kids of my own, to finally finding love after 40 and moving to the west coast.

The stories are mostly funny, a couple are a little sad, and all of them are very personal. I met a lot of lovely people through this blog and had many laughs here. Even though I haven't written new entries in a long time, Looking Glass Houses is still special to me and will remain here.

If you're looking for me these days you can reach me at www.junokughler.com where I am usually working on my newest passion--pencil painting.

Thanks for stopping by. Juno

A photo collage collection for my sister Iris, who still remembers. . .



Strange things happen to children who lose their mother at an early age.

They gain the gift of magic.

Any fairy tale will back me up on this. Look at Cinderella, Snow White, Vassalisa, or even the Goose Girl. It was the magic left to them by their mothers that allowed them to overcome the horrors and adversity they faced in their lives. It was the magic that protected them until they could unfold into the strong and graceful women they truly were.

So when our mother died, it was only natural that the magic would come to my sister and I.

We never had to think about it really. We just knew.

And the magic was never stronger than when we shared our dreams . . .



Each night the snowy owl would appear at our window, ready to take us to the in-between world, the place where "let's pretend" becomes reality. . .



We ran with the wild ponies in sunlight meadows, strong and untamed . . .



We searched for frog princes and played with the fairy folk in the woods. . .



We sang mermaid songs and hid among the water lilies, splashing in the cool water of our secret garden. . .



We made a nest out of ivy, and spent a lazy afternoon nibbling on acorns and sipping honeysuckle blossoms. . .



We chased fireflies in the twilight and danced with the mysterious King of Cats. . .



We called on the Greek gods and they answered. They kissed us, cuddled us, and delighted in our wild games . . .



We looked for the Mother in all her forms and dreamed of one day becoming Queen of the May . . .



The whistle of the trains tugged at our imaginations. We whispered our secret plan to become hobos, hopping boxcars from one town to the next. . .



To combat the scary times, we created friends to come rescue us. Jane and the hippies would appear, laughing, to gather us up and take us on a new adventure. . .


.

Dating is more involved when you're a single mom. You tend to be a lot more cautious and very selective about whom you bring into your family circle. Then, of course, the man has have the patience and humor to survive the pre-date child interview:


"So," Brian said seriously. "You want to take out our mom?"

"Yes," Paul looked amused. "I thought I'd take her out to dinner tonight if that's okay with you."

"Where are you taking her?" Amber asked.

"Sweet Baba's--it's a gourmet pizza restaurant that just opened."

"Well she does like pizza," Brian offered helpfully. "But I think she likes Chucky Cheese better. They have games and stuff too. Only last time we were there she got stuck in the ball tent and the people had to pull her out."

"That's cause you were hiding under the balls, and she got worried," Amber told her brother. "She was scared you couldn't breathe."

Paul laughed.

"Can you cook?" Brian asked curiously.

"I can cook a little. I make great hamburgers, and I've been known to make some killer chocolate chip cookies."

"Mom doesn't cook very well," Amber confided. "Sometimes when we go to parties she buys cookies or cake from the store and wraps them in aluminum foil and pretends she baked them."

Brian made a face. "Yeah. And she's always trying to make us eat healthy stuff like whole wheat bread or Toe Food."

"It's not Toe Food. It's tofu."

"Whatever. It's gross."

They sat quietly for a minute.

"Do you think our mom's pretty?" Amber asked.

"I think she's very pretty."

"She gets weird about that sometimes. Thinking she's fat and all. She's already changed dresses three times tonight."

"Yes," Brian nodded wisely. "She didn't like the blue one because she said it made her look lopsided."

"Brian!"

"Well she did!"

Amber shook her head. "Mom's going to kill you," Amber told her brother. "You know that right?"



.

When I was about eleven years old, I had my little sister convinced I was a vampire. It was during my Barnabas Collins period. I used to sneak into the den every day after school to watch Dark Shadows, the popular monster soap opera. If my aunt had ever caught me I would have been beaten within an inch of my life. I didn't care though. I was addicted.

It was October, and I had gotten a pair of plastic vampire teeth from the Halloween party we had at school. When I got home I put them in and practiced my best vampiric hiss in front of the mirror, opening my eyes wide and baring my teeth--just like I had seen Barnabas do a milllion times. It looked amazing. Very real. Excellent. Pocketing the teeth, I went off in search of my little sister.

Iris was sitting on the floor of her bedroom, dressing her Malibu Barbie. I settled into the corner and pretended to read. She ignored me. Pulling my face into the most mournful expression I could think of, I sighed dramatically. I peered over the top of my book at my sister. She was brushing Barbie's hair into a ponytail. This was going to require more drastic measures.

I let out a strangled sob and hid my face in my book. Iris looked up, startled.

"What's wrong?"

My lip trembled bravely. "Nothing."

That got her attention. We always told each other everything. "Come on, Juno. Tell me."

"I can't!" I told her, blinking back real tears. "It's just too awful. If anyone ever found out . . ."

She scooted across the floor and put her arms around me. "I won't tell," she promised. "Really I won't."

Taking a deep breath, I looked her in the eye. "I'm a vampire."

My sister punched me in the arm. Hard.

"OW!!!!!"

"That's for making me all worried. You're just mean!" She tossed her head and went back to her Barbie.

"But I really AM a vampire," I wailed piteously. "I am so scared, Iris! Do you think I wanted this? Do you think I want to be a bloodsucking monster with an insatiable thirst, always afraid I am going to destroy the ones I love?" Barnabas had made that speech just last week.

Iris looked at me skeptically. "Yeah, right."

"I AM!" I choked, tears streaming down my cheeks.

Her eyes narrowed. "Prove it. Show me."

I stared at her in horror. "I can't! I might hurt you!"

"I'll take my chances."

"You don't understand," I told her earnestly. "Once I transform, I'm not me anymore. I'm a monster. And I have absolutely no control over what I do. I could kill you."

"Are you going to do it or not?" Iris asked pointedly.

I sighed heavily. "Fine. I'll do it. But let's go out in the hall. You have to promise me that once I change, you'll run in your room and lock the door so I won't hurt you. Whatever you do, DON'T LET ME IN! Got it?"

"Fine."

We walked out into the hall together.

Iris folded her arms across her chest. "Well?"

"It takes a minute," I told her.

Suddenly I arched my back, grabbing my throat. I twisted and clawed at myself, letting out strangled cries, seemingly in agony from the throes of transformation. It must have been impressive because my sister began to look scared and stepped back a bit. Finally I turned my head to the side and slipped the teeth into my mouth. I whipped back towards her, wild-eyed and hissing.

Iris screamed. She ran into her room and slammed the door, locking it behind her.

I rattled the handle. "LET ME IN!" I roared threateningly. "I must drink your BLOOD!" I could hear her breathing heavily on the other side of the door.

I fumbled in my pocket and pulled out a hairpin I kept there for just this sort of emergency. Sticking it in the hole of the doorknob, I popped the lock and threw open the door. Iris shrieked and dove under the bed.

Unfortunately it was a very low bed, and she got stuck about halfway under. When she realized what had happened, she began wriggling like crazy , screaming for help at the top of her lungs. I heard footsteps in the hall and quickly slipped the teeth back into my pocket.

"What is going on in here?" my aunt shouted, running into the room. "Why is she screaming?"

I shrugged innocently. "I'm not sure. I heard her yelling and came in to see what was going on."

My aunt went over to the bed and started tugging on Iris's legs. My sister shrieked louder and tried to kick her.

"Stop that this minute, young lady!" With a good hard yank, she popped Iris out from under the bed frame. "What 's wrong with you?" she demanded.

"Juno's a vampire!" Iris howled hysterically. "She's going to suck my blood!"

Aunt Fran looked at me accusingly.

"I have no idea what she's talking about." I looked at Iris, concerned. "Did you have a bad dream or something?" I asked kindly.

My sister glared at me.

Fed up, my aunt grabbed me by the arm and began whacking me. "I don't know what you did, but I know you instigated this. Your sister isn't smart enough to think up this stuff by herself."

Iris watched in satisfaction, only slightly offended by Aunt Fran's comment. My butt hurt for an hour after that, but it was worth it.

Barnabas would have been proud.

Footnote: I called Iris on the phone and told her that I had written a story about the time I had her convinced I was a vampire. After a brief silence, she asked dryly, "which time?."

Got this in my email today. Rich says it reminds him of someone. Can't imagine who.

Back when I was managing the New Age Bookstore, my friend Steve and I were supposed to get together to develop an outline for a project we were presenting to a group. Steve had a great sense of humor and was a lot of fun brainstorm with. We'd already batted around a few really excellent ideas we were both excited about.

Since my ex was unexpectedly taking the kids for an overnight, I decided to leave Steve a message to see if he might be free to meet. About five minutes later he called me back at work.

"Hi Juno, I got the message you wanted me to call."

"Hey Steve. Thanks for getting back to me so fast. I was wondering if you might be free tonight to go over some of the things we talked about in a little more detail. Maybe like around 7:00?"

"Sure. I suppose I can do that."

"Great," I said happily. "Want to meet at your place or mine?"

He hesitated. "Ummmmm . . . your place I guess."

"That probably works best anyway since I have the apartment to myself. This way we won't be interrupted. I can even order in some Chinese food for us."

"Okay."

"I 'm really excited," I told him. " I have some new ideas I want to try out on you.

"Sounds cool."

"I think you'll like them. I figured we can try them out one on one first and then maybe do it in a group next week. . . are you still there? You're awfully quiet."

Steve cleared his throat. "I'm here."

"Good. Okay then." I gave him directions to my apartment. "I'll catch you later."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Juno, you have a call on line 1," my assistant manager called across the store.

"Got it--thanks." I picked up the receiver. "Hello, this is Juno. How can I help you?"

"Hey Juno. It's Steve. I got your message."

I sat down heavily into my chair and stared at the phone.

"Juno? Are you there?"

"I'm here." A queasy lump had formed in my stomach and was moving up to my throat.

"So what did you need, lady? Your wish is my command."

I swallowed hard. "Steve, you didn't call here about an hour ago did you?"

"Huh?" he asked, puzzled. "No, I just got in the door. Why?"

I couldn't figure it out. "Because I just had a phone conversation with a 'Steve.' I thought it was you."

"Nope, not me. Any idea who it was?"

I groaned. "No. But whoever it was now has directions to my apartment and is meeting me there at 7:00."

Steve laughed. "That could be interesting."

"Oh shut up and let me think." Nervously I began fiddling with the sheafs of papers on my desk, trying to calm down. Suddenly, I froze.

"Oh God! I know who it was." I stared at the resume in my hand.

"Who?" my friend asked curiously.

"I've been running interviews for a new sales clerk all week. I finally picked out this one guy and had left him a message to call me so I could offer him the job."

"Let me guess. His name was Steve?"

"Uh huh." Horrified, I replayed the conversation back in my head. "This is very bad. Oh my God, I am so screwed! Taken out of context it sounds like I'm asking him to have sex with me in exchange for me hiring him!"

"Wow! Do you sexually harrass all your employees?"

"It's not funny Steve! This is so embarrassing! I better go. I have to call this guy up and explain what happened and hope he understands."

"Good luck. Let me know what happens."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Steve? This is Juno from the bookstore."

"Oh. Hi again."

"I wanted to call and apoligize to you. I am so sorry." I took a deep breath and explained the whole situation to him. "So you see, it was a simple case of mistaken identity."

Steve laughed. "So I don't need to come to your house tonight?"

"God no! I mean, that's not necessary. This is SO embarrassing. Lord only knows what you thought of me!"

He was still laughing. "It did actually sound like you were propositioning me. And then when you talked about going one on one this week and then doing it with a group the next week, you made me a little nervous. But I really wanted the job so I was going to go along with it."

I blushed furiously. "I am so sorry. I'm really a nice woman, and I don't go around trying to get strangers to come home with me--especially potential employees. Trust me on this one."

"It's okay," he said kindly. "What the heck. It actually makes a pretty funny story."

"Thanks," I said, relieved.

"While I've got you on the phone, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"Did I get the job?"

I laughed. "Yes you did. That's why I had left the message for you."

"And I don't have to sleep with the boss?"

"Nope." Thank goodness he had a sense of humor!

"Good. 'Cause I'm gay and it might have been a little awkward."

Both of us lost it at the same time. I laughed so hard I could hardly hold onto the phone. "Come on by the store around 10:00 on Monday, and we'll get you started," I told him when I could finally catch my breath.

"Will do. And Juno? Thanks."

"No problem, Steve. Thank YOU!

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

You know, it's incidents like these that give a good girl a bad reputation!

My husband Rich proofs all my stories for me. He pronounced this one "typical Juno". This kind of stuff happens to me all the time. He suggested that maybe I should start getting more details about a situation before I jump in. I told him I thought I HAD the details! Oh well. . .

"If that dog does not stop chasing my cats, she has got to go," my husband insisted. "I am NOT going to have them constantly in hiding because they are too terrified to move."

"I know," I admitted miserably. "I feel terrible too. I've even been doing some research to find out what obedience trainers have to say about it."

"And?"

"And they say that you have to establish yourself as the Alpha Dog in the household."

Rich looked at me blankly. "How exactly are you going to do that?"

"Next time I catch her going after one of the cats, I'm going to roll her over and grab her neck in my teeth."

"You're going to bite the dog?" my husband asked, genuinely startled.

"Of course not," I said indignantly. "I'm just going to assume the alpha position."

Rich raised a brow and his lips twitched.

"Ahem!" I looked at him sternly. "I meant I'm going to take on the dominant role."

"Really?" he grinned evilly.

"Don't even go there, buddy. Anyway, maybe it will work. I just have to catch her in the act."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Five minutes later I got my chance. Rich and I were in our room when we heard a scuffle outside the door followed by hissing, yowling, and growling.

"PHOEBE, NO!!!!!" I yelled, running to break it up. The cat escaped and fled down the stairs.

The dog guiltily flipped on her back in submissive pose, her brown eyes apologetic. I fell to my knees and, baring my teeth, growled at her and clamped my mouth around her throat.

She licked my face, wagging her tail.

"She doesn't seem very afraid of you," my husband observed.

I released her neck and sat back on my heels. "I thought I was very fierce actually." I said, disappointed. "Didn't you think I looked fierce?"

Rich considered. "You definitely had a wild look about you. The growling thing was a nice touch."

"Thanks."

Phoebe put her paws on my shoulder and began cleaning my face. "Cut it out!" I wrinkled my nose and pushed her away. She trotted over to her pillow and curled up, watching us both. "You're still a bad dog." I told her.

I looked at Rich and sighed. "What now?"

"I don't know, hon. Let's just keep trying to work with her a little longer and see what happens."

Phoebe just closed her eyes and snuggled in for an afternoon nap. Alpha Dog One and Alpha Dog Two were really quite nice, she decided sleepily. But they really don't know the first thing about cats.

Victor and I sat at the kitchen table talking and sipping tea, when Brian trotted into the room. To Victor's amusement, my son climbed up into his lap and helped himself to a cookie.

"Whatcha talking 'bout?" he asked, his mouth full of chocolate chips.

"Chew with your mouth closed," I told him automatically.

Brian looked baffled. "It IS closed. But I have to open it when I talk."

"Well, swallow your food first and THEN talk."

My son shot me one of his grownups-are-weird looks and swallowed. He took another bite of cookie. "So whatcha talking 'bout?"

Victor laughed.

I gave up. "Movies. We're talking about movies we've seen."

"Momma got me a movie the other day about Robin Hood."

"Did you like it?" Victor asked.

Brian nodded.

"Well, what was it about?"

"It was about this guy who wants to go to Texas."

Victor and I exchanged puzzled looks.

"Honey, you must be thinking of a different movie," I told him.

Brian shook his head indignantly. "No I'm not! It was about this sheriff who wants to go to Texas and Robin Hood won't let 'em."

"Maybe he's mixing up two different movies?" Victor suggested.

Brian looked from one to the other of us, completely exasperated. "I am NOT mixing up movies. Don't you remember, Momma? The sheriff kept riding through the towns saying 'Texas, Texas. I need money for Texas.' But then every time he got some money for the trip, Robin Hood took it away from him so he never got to go."

Dumbfounded, I stared at my son then started to laugh. Victor just howled. Brian watched us as though we'd lost our minds. "What's so funny?"

Victor wiped his eyes. "You know, it's actually a whole other movie when you look at it that way."

I gasped for breath. "Sort of makes you feel bad for the poor sherriff."

Brian nodded sagely. "Yes. Nobody else liked Texas very much."

It was quite some time before Victor and I were able to speak again.

I was cutting the kids a slice of chocolate cake when the phone rang.

"Hello?" I said, propping the phone between my chin and shoulder and handing the children their plates.

A man's voice came through the phone line. "Hi. Is this Juno?"

"Yes. Who's this?"

"This is Phil."

I hesitated, puzzled. "I don't know any Phil."

He laughed. "I'm the guy that pumped your gas this afternoon. Your son gave me your business card and told me to call you. He thinks you need to get out more."

"He WHAT?!?"

The kids were watching me with interest. I put my hand over the receiver. "Brian, did you give some strange man my business card and tell him to call me?" I whispered furiously.

Brian suddenly decided he had eaten quite enough chocolate cake and quickly excused himself from the table. Amber covered her mouth and started giggling. Great.

"You have quite a little guy there, " the man went on. "He's really bright for his age."

"He certainly is." I was going to have a very long talk with the little Einstein as soon as I got off the phone.

"So how are you?"

"I'm fine. Listen Phil, this is a little awkward. It was very nice of you to call, but I'm really not interested in dating anyone right now."

Brian stuck his head around the corner and peeked at me. I pantomimed a swat on the bottom, and he disappeared again.

I could hear the amusement in Phil's voice. "I can understand that. Still, every mom needs to get out and have fun every once in a while. How about I take you bowling this Saturday--no strings attached?"

"I don't bowl," I said automatically. Amber tugged urgently on my shirt."Sorry Phil, can you hang on a minute please?" I held the phone to my chest. "What?" I asked my daughter.

"Ask him to take you bumper bowling, Mom," my daughter offered helpfully. "Even YOU could do that."

Laughter poured out of the receiver. Figures he'd hear that.

"I really don't think this is a good idea," I said into the phone.

"I'm sure I could arrange for a bumper lane if you want."

"Very funny."

The man simply refused to take no for an answer. "Come on," he wheedled charmingly. "We can take the kids with us. They'll have a blast, and I'd really enjoy the company."

Brian had tiptoed back into the kitchen and was whispering wildly back and forth with his sister. They stopped when they caught me looking, faces wide with innocence. I drew my finger across my throat meaningfully.

"I don't know anything about you," I pointed out.

"What would you like to know? I'm funny, charming, and not too hard on the eyes I guess. I have a steady job, like kids, cook a mean steak, and I never leave the toilet seat up. I've never gotten a ticket or been in trouble with the cops--although I came close the time I was almost caught rolling Susie Hamell's yard when I was twelve."

I laughed.

"See?" he said. "You like me already."

"Can they really arrest you for rolling a yard?" I grinned, despite myself.

"Well, it was a bit more complicated than that. My friend Billy's dad had a carton of pink toilet paper he'd picked up on remainder somewhere. Once we felt pretty sure the family was asleep and it was safe, Billy and I started tossing something like 20 rolls all over the trees and bushes. It was a beautiful sight. Then we almost got caught by one of the neighbors who was out walking his dog, so we ran all the way home. The only problem was, we didn't count on it raining that night. The next morning Mr. Hammell came out to find that his yard, his driveway, and the roof of his shed had turned bright pink."

"Oh no!"

"Uh huh. Luckily he was able to get rinse most of it off with the hose. And since Billy and I managed to get away, my record is clear."

"Glad to hear it."

"So," he continued smoothly. "Should I pick you up about 1:00 on Saturday?"

"You just don't give up, do you?"

"Nope. I'm stubborn that way. How about this? You think on it a bit, and I'll give you a call tomorrow. I promised my mom that I would treat her to dinner tonight so I'd better head on over there now. If you like I can have her call you and reassure you that I'm not an axe murderer or anything."

"I really don't think that's necessary . . ."

"Good it's settled then. I'll give you a call tomorrow. Bye Juno." Click.

I stared at the receiver, still not quite sure what had just happened.

I hung up the phone and looked around for the kids. I found them curled up on the living room couch watching TV.

"Okay. Hand 'em over."

They looked at me, puzzled.

"Hand what over?" Brian asked.

"My business cards. I want you to give them to me right now. "

Reluctantly Brian reached into his pocket and pulled out a stack of cards held together with a ponytail elastic.

"Thank you. I don't know what you were thinking of, but you can't just go around handing out information like that to strange men. You know better than that. "

"He wasn't strange--he was funny and nice!" Amber piped up.

Brian nodded his agreement. "Yeah. I mean it's not like I give 'em to everybody. Only the really cool people."

"I don't care. I do not want you to go around asking men to date your mom! Not only is it extremely dangerous, it's downright embarrassing!" A thought struck me. "Exactly how many of my cards did you guys give out.?"

The kids exchanged looks.

"Well, there was the cash register guy at the grocery store," Amber offered.

"He's a TEENAGER!" I exploded.

"He was cute though," she insisted. "And you're always saying age doesn't matter."

"Well it does if you're old enough to be the kid's mom!" I sighed. "Who else?"

"The pizza guy downstairs. . ."

"The guy at the laundrymat. . . "

"The old man who runs the movie theater. . ."

I put my face in my hands and groaned. This was not good.

"They all thought you were really pretty," Brian offered helpfully.

Great. Just great.

"Listen, I know you two meant well but you have to promise me not to do anything like this again. I mean it. I don't like you talking to strangers without me present. Understand? And I am perfectly capable of choosing for myself what people I want to go out with."

The kids looked at each other doubtfully.

"I mean it guys! No more handing out business cards or trying to set me up. Got it?"

Amber shrugged. "Fine."

"Brian?"

"Okay, okay! I promise."

Looking back, I should have made sure his fingers weren't crossed behind his back. And I definitely should have remembered to check his secret stash under his bed. . .

“Oh shit!” I leapt forward, frantically trying to stop the fall of the Excedrin bottle before it –-THUD!

Too late.

My husband looked up from the kitchen table where he was talking on the phone. “Hon? You alright?”

I fished the wet Exedrin bottle out and peered into the blue mug worriedly. I was changing the water in the giant vase I use as an aquarium and had scooped our beta fish into a little mug until I could treat the water. Only I couldn’t find the stupid bottle of Start Right.

Instead I had found the Exedrin.

“Oh my god, Rich. I think I killed the fish,” I told him in a panic. “I knocked him out with the Exedrin bottle. He’s not moving!”

I poked my finger in the water. The little guy halfheartedly swished a fin, and I breathed a sigh of relief. “Wait. I think he’s okay. He’s sort of trying to swim now.”

Rich laughed. “You probably just gave the poor thing a headache, but with all the migraine medicine in there he’ll be fine.”

“Very funny,” I said with dignity.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I love betas--they have to be the hardest fish in the world to kill. Several years back my children woke me up early one morning, screaming at the top of their lungs.

“MOM!” Both children were shaking me frantically, grabbing my arms and trying to pull me out of bed. “Mom, he’s DEAD!”

These are not words that any mother particularly wants to hear—particularly at seven in the morning. I leapt out of bed and grabbed my robe, belting it around my waist as I followed them running down the hall.

“Who’s dead? What happened?” I kept asking, beginning to get a bit panicked.

The children skidded to a halt and pointed at the fish bowl on the kitchen table. Somehow it had sprung a leak during the night and the little beta lay brown, shriveled and dried up on the gravel.

Tears streamed down Brian’s face. “He’s KILT!!” he said sobbing.

Amber yanked at my sleeve. “Mom—DO something!” Her voice cracked and she began to cry. “PLEASE! He’s DEAD!”

Two miserable little faces looked up at me as if I could somehow fix this terrible thing. I simply couldn’t take it.

“He CAN’T be dead!” I told them determinedly.

Grabbing a cereal bowl I filled it with tap water and dumped the dead fish into it. Maybe I could trick them into thinking it was just asleep, and then I could replace him with a look-alike later that afternoon.

The children stared into the bowl, then up at me in astonishment.

“He’s alive!” Amber exclaimed excitedly.

Brian’s jaw dropped. “Whoa!”

Perfect. It worked, I thought to myself.

And then I saw it.

Something was moving in the bowl. The fish was definitely alive. I don’t know how or why, but the little bugger had made it.

The children were completely awestruck. Over the next week they were so well-behaved that they started to really get on my nerves. If you think misbehaving children are bad, try being around children who are determined to be angels. It's downright unnatural. Amber finally admitted to me that because I had the kind of power that could raise the dead, they were a little worried about pissing me off by being naughty.

Eventually I was able to convince them that the fish managed his revival act all by himself, and we nicknamed him “Lazarus” in honor of his great comeback.

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

Back to the current fish that I concussed with the Excedrin bottle. . .

My daughter picked this one out at Walmart when we first came to California about a year ago. Amber spent almost fifteen minutes rejecting all the brilliantly colored red, blue, green and gold betas because, of course, she wanted to choose the one she thought would have the hardest time finding a home. Even at 21, she still has that Charlie Brown Christmas Tree complex.

She handed me the container, and I inspected it doubtfully. “He looks a little sickly and sort of transparent. Wouldn’t you rather have a pretty blue one?” I looked longingly towards a purplish blue one with red fins that sat on the shelf nearby.

My daughter lifted her chin stubbornly. “No. I want this one. Nobody will buy him because he’s not as showy as the others. But he’s tough, aren’t you buddy?”

I cleared my throat. “He’s PINK, Amber! How tough can he be?”

“He IS tough, aren’t you Spike?”

“Spike?!” I repeated in disbelief. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope.”

“Oh come on! It makes him sound like a gay biker fish.”

“Well it’s a heck of a lot better than what you named our last one!” Amber looked at me pointedly.

“It was a perfectly good Irish name,” I replied defensively.

“Fillet O’Fish?” Amber shook her head. “It’s wrong mom. It’s just wrong.”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Anyway, I finally did find the bottle of Start Right tonight and managed to rescue Spike from his mug before a cat lapped him up or a human tossed him into the dishwasher by accident. As you can see he is very content.

Maybe Amber was right, and he is a tough guy after all. Even if he IS pink.

I took a leave from my blogging this week to catch up with work and take care of some things around the house. Most of my time is spent writing in this office/bedroom space. Took a few pictures tonight:



My soon-to-be-completed new modular oak desk, designed and built by Rich. I love the furniture he makes--all gorgeous grains and rounded edges. Eventually the old desk on the left will be eliminated, and the new oak desk will continue to cuve gently around to the next wall. He's also adding bottom shelves and keyboard drawers for both computers.



The rest of the room--a quiet and cosy place to work in the evenings. As you can see, I'm addicted to candlelight and books.



Of course I love fairy tales, mythology and all things magical. This funny little toad guards over the paper supplies.



Pan plays his pipes under the Bonsai tree while a baby otter sleeps at his feet. Growing up with Juno for a name naturally made me a huge fan of Greek and Roman mythology. Pan has always been a favorite--especially in his aspect of protector of children and animals.



Morrigu, the Celtic warrior goddess, and a woodsy moon candleholder of copper and Roman glass.



Quan Yin, goddess of compassion.



This beautiful rendition of The Lover's card rests on top of the wardrobe.

I poked my head around around my son's door, "Why are you still in bed, kiddo? You better get a move on or you'll be late for school!"

My six-year-old peered miserably at me from under the covers. "Momma? I don' feel so good."

I came over and sat on the side of his bed and felt his forehead. It was definitely hot. I looked down at him concerned. "Where do you not feel good, Bri Guy?"

"My head feels weird and my stomach hurts really bad," he said mournfully. He burst into tears. "I think I'm pregnant."

I tried not to laugh, but couldn't stop myself.

"What's so funny?" Brian asked offended. "It HURTS!"

I gave my son a hug, still smiling. "I'm sorry, baby. I know it does. But you're not pregnant. I think you just have a tummy ache and a fever."

My son wrinkled his brow at me. "How do you know I'm not pregnant?"

"Well, for one thing, only girls can get pregnant."

"That's not fair!" Brian said indignantly. "What if I want to have a baby?"

"One day you probably will. You'll fall in love with someone special and the two of you will decide you want to have a child together. " I tried to explain, "It takes both a man and a woman to make a baby. The man plants the baby seed in the woman's body. Then once the baby grows big enough, it comes outside of the mom's body to meet its family."

My son considered this carefully. "I really want to be a dad," he said finally. "I like little kids."

"I know you do." I smoothed back the hair from his forehead. "I'm going to run into the kitchen to get you some water and some medicine. I'll be right back, okay?"

After dutifully taking his Tylenol and sipping some water from a flex straw, Brian lay snuggled into his pillow while I tucked him in.

"You know what, Momma?" he said sleepily.

"What?"

"I've decided that when I get big, I'm going to donate all my toys to charity."

"Wow," I looked down at my son, surprised. "Well that's really generous of you, Brian."

He was quiet for a moment.

"Momma?"

"Hmmm?"

"What does 'donate' mean?"

I laughed. "What do you think it means?"

He thought for a moment. "To give away to somebody?"

"That's right."

We sat together in companionable silence.

"Momma?"

"Yes?"

"I'm not going to be big for a long time, am I?" Brian asked worriedly

"Nope," I kissed his nose. "Not for a very long time."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I was putting on makeup in the bathroom and, as usual, both kids were underfoot. Amber was testing out a lip gloss, and Brian was standing on the toilet watching me line my eyes.

"Momma, when will I get stomach puffs?"

"What?" I was baffled.

"Stomach puffs," he repeated, patiently. "When will I get them?"

Amber stared at her brother. "Did you say 'stomach puffs'?"

"Uhuh. You and momma have them, and I wanted to know when I'm gonna get them."

My daughter and I looked down at our stomachs and then at each other.

"Do you mean 'bellybutton' Brian?" I offered tentatively.

He looked disgusted. "No! I HAVE a bellybutton. I meant STOMACH PUFFS!"

I gave up. "I'm sorry honey, but I have no idea what you're talking about. Can you show me?"

My son reached up and patted me on the chest. "These."

Amber cracked up laughing. "Those aren't stomach puffs, silly. Those are boobs."

I shook my head, smiling. "Actually they're called breasts, Bri. And it's something that girls get when they start growing into young women."

"Another thing that's just for girls?" Brian was disgusted.

"'Fraid so."

Amber giggled.