Pre-Christmas

It's that time of year when 5:30 isn't daytime any more. Fiorella had grabbed her pruners and journeyed up the south driveway to check on the tinsel garlands she had hung on trees along the way  and to move her bag of supplies further on down the row. She'd been out maybe half an hour when she suddenly realized that the woods had fallen silent, the air was still, and night was coming on fast. Looking around, she hefted her pruners and beat a quick tattoo back to the house.
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H-E-B is really cleaning up on firewood this year. A puny stack of short, shaven, anemic-looking sticks costs almost six bucks.  Good thing Fio and Husband harvest their own fireplace fodder--not that they've had much of a chance to use it this "winter."
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Fio's Christmas shopping is done because all she does at this point in her life is write checks. However her decorating has just begun because she was born art through-and-through and always will be. Yes, you will soon be seeing photos of her creative endeavers.

Early Morning Ruminations

Fiorella's life has not been easy, and she is the better for it. She had assumed that after college she would stay home with her children and indulge herself in her art, music, writing, and languages, but family circumstances required her to seek outside employment, an experience that broadened her world and knocked some square corners off her. Those same family circumstances forced her to deal with difficult situations, which made her more sensitive and, at the same time, more confident. But still, she wishes she could have spent more time indulging.

Speaking of languages, La Doble Vida de Estela Carrillo is winding up to its conclusion. Yes, winding up, not winding down--everyone is in hot water but the villain. And speaking of writing, Fio is one-third through revision number 3 and taking notes on her next book. The music is dead in the water, but maybe she'll even get around to painting again some day.

If Fiorella sounds a little subdued, it's because of the nuclear threat hanging over the world. Trump is a total idiot--and a dangerous one.

Story Source

Before Fiorella wrote stories, she told them--to herself while she lay in bed at night.

Fio was afraid of the dark, or, more correctly, of what might lurk in the dark.  Her family had just moved from Ohio to Texas and everything was new and strange--and scary.  Instead of having a cozy little room next to her parents' bedroom,  Fio had a large room at the front of the house, and the filmy curtains would blow in the evening breeze, reaching out toward her on the bed like ghostly hands.  And, unlike the house in Ohio, this one had just one story, which meant someone--or something--could leap in on Fio at any minute.

Fio couldn't sleep, but she needed to sleep, so she calmed herself by making up happy stories.  As she grew older, the stories were based on her mother's Book-of-the-Month selections, then on her own reading.  And every story had a happy ending.

As do her stories now.

What Fio Has Learned from Facebook

As far as Fio is concerned, Facebook is educational.  She's learned that the queen she most resembles is Elizabeth I, that she can also be compared to Wonder Woman and an annoying angel, that she's good at geography, that some people think she's a balding, fifty-ish male, and that her greatest fear is losing someone dear to her.  Thanks to Facebook, she also knows that her friends have darling grandchildren, but she has the sweetest, most beautiful dog.

She's also discovered that the most fascinating thing in the world is watching sea lions performing floor exercises.