Being a mom…

nbsmithblog...random digressions and musings

Generally, I have found that composing at the keyboard leads to not saying exactly what I want…either forgetting something I wanted to say or not expressing myself as I hoped. But, despite this, this post is being composed at the keyboard.

My son and his wife recently had their first child, a little boy. I have to say, based on my limited observations, they are great parents. From the get-go, they seemed so comfortable in their new roles of mom and dad. Much better than I felt about my early parenting skills as I always felt that I was barely surviving (picture a duck placidly swimming on the lake and the frantic feet paddling below), trying to be a good mom, hoping to be a good enough mom.

They seem so comfortable taking out their son out on adventures already while I rarely took them out unless it was absolutely…

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Among the Ancients – Acoma

This gallery contains 8 photos.

Originally posted on Brick and Stone: Architecture and Preservation:
? Acoma Pueblo — “The Sky City” — is possibly the longest occupied place in America. There are other contenders, Taos Pueblo up north or the Hopi pueblos over in Arizona…

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What Do You Take Away from York?

The Backpack Press


I love that expression – take away. In New York, we call it “take out.” In Spain or the Spanish neighborhoods in New York, it’s para llevar. But here in York, we take away. Last night we got Chinese – and we just ordered, waited, and took it away! It’s like, “And away we go!”

Visiting York in the UK just for a few days without going to London or Stonehenge is kind of an interesting experience. I get to see more of what living in England is like even though I’m still surrounded by tourists, both from the UK and not.


And that is the big attraction: York Minster.


My passion is visiting houses of worship – both empty and filled – and this one is very special. You pay one admission that nets you a ticket good for a year’s worth of visits and there are free…

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Welcome to the Jungle

In Transition

Lizard sits on my chair

bobbing his ugly head,

birds perch among the green oak leaves,

raucous voices raised,

when something catches my eye~

a black snake slithers by,

dangerously close to my flip flop toes~

I’m just trying to read

in this jungle I call home.

©annettealaine2016

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Annie’s Gift: a short story

nbsmithblog...random digressions and musings

Still healing from my surgery so typing is still difficult, hence another summer rerun.

Annie’s Gift

Annie didn’t want to take an apple to Mrs. Rinehart, her third grade teacher.  That is what everybody did.  It was the classic fall gift for a teacher. She wanted, though, to get Mrs. Rinehart to like her so she wanted to take her something different. Something that Annie thought Mrs. Rinehart would like.

Wandering around the backyard on the cool fall Sunday afternoon, Annie noticed some wildflowers still blooming.  The white rhinestone heads that contained a single black flower in the center of the Queen Anne’s lace and the yellows and gold of the marigolds were among the flowers she picked.  When she was through, she had a small bouquet.  It wasn’t large, but it wasn’t too small, either.  It was just about the right size for a vase on a teacher’s desk.

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I talk to people

The Right Kind of Pride

It used to drive my wife and children nuts. My propensity for talking to people. Yet I’ve done it so long and learned so much by talking with people that I refuse to stop.

Just last week I talked with a guy that sat down across from me in an airport. His vest had an interesting logo on it. I struck up a conversation and learned that he represented an organization that protects wild lands out west. I’m scheduled to interview the Executive Director to do an article and pitch it to a magazine.

So I talk to people for networking reasons. But I also talk to people just because it makes life more interesting. I talk to people in elevators. I talk to people that are nothing like me on the surface. I talk to people of different races and genders.

I especially talk to people who are out…

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60 Feet Square

This gallery contains 5 photos.

Originally posted on Writer's Cramp:
It is cool and a little damp which is odd being that this is a desert. Our windy season is mostly over but the temperature has dropped and we have had a few rainy…

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Rugelach

From the Keyboard

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There was more than a touch of mystery in my grandmother’s rugelach.

When I was very young, I never sought to unravel it.

My brother and I would await her arrival, plant our feet as firmly as we could to be ready for her hugs—such was the force of her love, then beg her to make rugelach for us.  The process, which always took a couple of days, culminated with rich crescent-shaped miracles emerging from the oven, glazed and golden, filling the house with the scents of sugar and cinnamon. We could barely wait for them to cool, and would snatch them off of the plate as soon as we were allowed, each bite a revelation of sweet and spice, fruit and nut.

As I got old enough to wonder how she managed it, I would go into the kitchen to observe, learn.

At her task, she was all business…

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London Night Sounds

Scribe Doll's Musings

The rumbling of the occasional car, speeding past our house.  A murky grey sound.

Snippets of human voices.  A woman’s giggle.  A crimson sound.

The arrhythmic clicking of stiletto heels on the pavement.  A copper sound.

The roar of the night bus.  A faint white sound.

The rustling of leaves, disturbed by the wind.  A golden sound.

The yelp of a fox.  A scarlet sound.

The shriek of a motorbike.  A black sound, like tar.

The rhythmic clang of the train, not too far.  A brass sound.

The high-pitched whirr of the light bulb in the angle-poise lamp on my desk.  A tinny sound.

Sweet recorder sonatas by Telemann, wafting out of my CD player.  A dark honey sound.

The tick-tock of the second hand of the alarm clock by my bed.  Black and white sounds.

The click of the front door; one of my flatmates coming home after a…

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Seam

From the Laundry Room

We went to Strand Bookstore while we were in New York. I’d never been, first time.

Largest independent bookstore in the country, I think that’s what their sign says. It doesn’t matter because whatever their small print, it was a super awesome bookstore. Huge, multiple levels, and filled with that smell of paper and book dust that I love so much.

They had shelves, but lots of tables too. I enjoy books on tables. Tables say, “Come over here and pick me up,” more than shelves do. There were new releases, classics, books I’d never heard of, funny books, foreign ones, it was a party and I could have stayed there all day.

I’ve been to cool bookstores before. Had a love affair with the brick and mortar for a very long time, and I’m not sure one is better than the other. Some stores are small, some only carry…

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