Tuesday, November 29, 2022

Ketchup Day

 The good. The sad. And the ugly.

Greetings Blogger Buds. Hope you had good holidays and or weekend.
We took the train to Philly to spend Thanksgiving with the baby girl and the SIL. It was the first time for us to travel by train and we will probably do it again. 

The sad.

We saw two homeless men in separate locations sleeping on wet city streets. So depressing.

The ugly. 

Oh my God. Oh my God.   A woman was walking down the street with her bare hinnie hanging out of  her sweat pants.  I'm talking full moon.  It was not a pretty sight. I'm afraid that image is permanently stuck in my brain. Ack. Ack. Ack.

The good. 

Our dinner definitely fell under the good category.

 Homemade Butter Squash Pie.

Ever seen blue eggs? Aren't they pretty?


 My son-in-law made this bed frame.  Color me awed.

 And some fun and fascinating shots.
A manikin.
An indoor Bio wall.

I loved this chair.  It's difficult to see with the reflections on the glass.

And,of course, the Liberty Bell.

And last but not least, Philly at night.

How was your weekend/Holiday? Do anything fun?

More pictures next week.

Tuesday, November 22, 2022

Ketchup Tuesday

Greetings Blogger Buds,

To those that celebrate, wishing you a Happy Thanksgiving. 

I'm thankful for each and everyone of you.

I'll be offline the rest of the week celebrating with my family. Till next week, be healthy. Be happy.


Friday, November 18, 2022

Weekend Wishes




Today (Friday) I'm at Cowboy Kisses talking about Horses of the Old West: The Palomino.

Thursday, November 17, 2022

Did You Know

 Did you know, Harry Houdini's real name was Ehrich Weisz?


Wednesday, November 16, 2022

Writerly Wednesday

 What's your word for:

Wednesday's word brought to you by Christine. Thanks, Christine.

Tuesday, November 15, 2022

Ketch-Up Day

 Greetings Blogger Buds,

The 'puter is still trying to decide whether it's sick or not.  Wednesday it will probably go to 'urgent care' and they can decide whether it needs to be hospitalized. So if you don't here from me that will be why. Next week, if I do have the computer and am blogging it will be a short week, shorter than usual,due to the holidays.

Some pictures from different areas of the country.


Wind and rain





North Carolina

Bird's nest.


Thanks for the contributions, Shane and Denise.

Bloggers, Got wind, rain,snow or birds nests?

Friday, November 11, 2022

Your Weekend Read: PINEAPPLE COZY MYSTERY by Amy Vansant



Pineapple Cozy Mystery: The Cozy Mystery Killer is on the loose! (Book 16)


Someone is killing cozy mystery detectives!

Charlotte's friend Tilly dies and leaves her a cryptic message about the Cozy Mystery Killer—an assassin who has a grudge against amateur detectives. She's left more clues hidden inside tea cosies stashed all over Pineapple Port, which is good, because someone has robbed her home, leaving Charlotte with few leads.

While Charlotte and Declan follow the clues to find the killer, Mar iska and Darla work to surprise them with upgrades to the couple's new detective agency office. That is until a local crime-solving "witch" goes missing, and Charlotte needs to call them into active duty to help find her before she ends up the killer's next victim.

Have a treasure hunt of your own finding and decoding the hidden references to characters and tropes from other cozy mystery series you may have read!

Available at Amazon

1. The lead in the Pineapple Port Mystery Series, Charlotte Morgan, is related to the lead in my Shee McQueen Mystery-Thriller series...but she doesn't find that out until book #10 in a big surprise reveal!

2. Mariska is based on my mother-in-law!

3. I try very hard to balance my handsome leading man Declan Bingham --- equal parts tough and manly but also sweet and fun!

Thursday, November 10, 2022

Tuesday, November 8, 2022


 Greetings Blogger Buds,

I'm having some computer issues. I've pre-posted Thursday and Friday and hopefully will be back next week.

Have a great one.

Friday, November 4, 2022


 I'm very pleased to be part of the blast off for Natural Selection a prehistoric thriller by Jacqui Murray, who not only writes like a master in this unique and rare field, but is a friend as well. I read this one and loved it, as I do all Jacqui's stories.



In this conclusion to Lucy's journey, she and her tribe leave their good home to rescue former-tribemembers captured by the enemy. Lucy's tribe includes a mix of species--a Canis, a Homotherium, and different iterations of early man. In this book, more join and some die, but that is the nature of prehistoric life, where survival depends on a combination of our developing intellect and our inexhaustible will to live. Each species brings unique skills to this task. Based on true events.

 Set 1.8 million years ago in Africa, Lucy and her tribe struggle against the harsh reality of a world ruled by nature, where predators stalk them and a violent new species of man threatens to destroy their world. Only by changing can they prevail. If you ever wondered how earliest man survived but couldn’t get through the academic discussions, this book is for you. Prepare to see this violent and beautiful world in a way you never imagined.

A perfect book for fans of Jean Auel and the Gears!

Book information:


Title and author: Natural Selection by Jacqui Murray

Series: Book 3 in the Dawn of Humanity series

Genre: Prehistoric fiction

Editor: Anneli Purchase

Available print or digital) at: http://a-fwd.com/asin=B0B9KPM5BW


Author bio:

Jacqui Murray is the author of the popular prehistoric fiction saga, Man vs. Nature which explores seminal events in man’s evolution one trilogy at a time. She is also author of the Rowe-Delamagente thrillers and Building a Midshipman , the story of her daughter’s journey from high school to United States Naval Academy. Her non-fiction includes over a hundred books on integrating tech into education, reviews as an Amazon Vine Voice,  a columnist for NEA Today, and a freelance journalist on tech ed topics.


Social Media contacts:


Amazon Author Page:        https://www.amazon.com/Jacqui-Murray/e/B002E78CQQ/

Blog:                                       https://worddreams.wordpress.com

Instagram:                             https://www.instagram.com/jacquimurraywriter/

Pinterest:                                http://pinterest.com/askatechteacher

Twitter:                                   http://twitter.com/worddreams

Website:                                 https://jacquimurray.net



Chapter 1

One Pack Ends, Another Begins




The Canis’ packmates were all dead, each crumpled in a smeared puddle of blood, Upright killing sticks embedded where they should never be. His body shook, but he remembered his training. The killers’ scent filled the air. If they saw him—heard him—they would come for him, too, and he must survive. He was the last of his pack.

He padded quietly through the bodies, paused at his mate, broken, eyes open, tongue out, pup under her chest, his head crushed. A moan slipped from his muzzle and spread around him. He swallowed what remained in his mouth. Without a pack, silence was his only protection. He knew to be quiet, but today, now, failed.

To his horror, a departing Upright looked back, face covered in Canis blood, meaty shreds dripping from his mouth, the body of a dead pup slung over his shoulder. The Canis sank into the brittle grass and froze. The Upright scanned the massacre, saw the Canis’ lifeless body, thought him dead like the rest of the decimated pack. Satisfied, he turned away and rushed after his departing tribe. The Canis waited until the Upright was out of sight before cautiously rising and backing away from the onslaught, eyes on the vanished predators in case they changed their minds.

And fell.

He had planned to descend into the gully behind him. Sun’s shadows were already covering it in darkness which would hide him for the night, but he had gauged his position wrong. Suddenly, earth disappeared beneath his huge paws. He tried to scrabble to solid ground, but his weight and size worked against him and he tumbled down the steep slope. The loose gravel made gripping impossible, but he dug his claws in anyway, whining once when his shoulder slammed into a rock, and again when his head bounced off a tree stump. Pain tore through his ear as flesh ripped, dangling in shreds as it slapped the ground. He kept his legs as close as possible to his body and head tucked, thankful this hill ended in a flat field, not a river.

Or a cliff.

When it finally leveled out, he scrambled to his paws, managed to ignore the white-hot spikes shrieking through his head as he spread his legs wide. Blood wafted across his muzzle. He didn’t realize it was his until the tart globs dripped down his face and plopped to the ground beneath his quaking chest. The injured animal odor, raw flesh and fresh blood, drew predators. In a pack, his mate would purge it by licking the wound. She would pronounce him Ragged-ear, the survivor.

Ragged-ear is a strong name. A good one.

He panted, tail sweeping side to side, and his indomitable spirit re-emerged.

I live.

But no one else in his pack did.

Except, maybe, the female called White-streak. She often traveled alone, even when told not to. If she was away during the raid, she may have escaped. He would find her. Together, they would start over.

Ragged-ear shook, dislodging the grit and twigs from his now-grungy fur. That done, he sniffed out White-streak’s odor, discovered she had also descended here. His injuries forced him to limp and blood dripping from his tattered ear obstructed his sight. He stumbled trying to leap over a crack and fell into the fissure. Fire shot through his shoulder, exploded up his neck and down his chest. Normally, that jump was easy. He clambered up its crumbling far wall, breaking several of his yellowed claws.

All of that he ignored because it didn’t matter to his goal.

Daylight came and went as he followed White-streak, out of a forest onto dry savannah that was nothing like his homeland.

Why did she go here?

He embraced the tenderness that pulsed throughout his usually-limber body. It kept him angry and that made him vicious. He picked his way across streams stepping carefully on smooth stones, their damp surfaces slippery from the recent heavy rain, ignoring whoever hammered with a sharp rock inside his head. His thinking was fuzzy, but he didn’t slow. Survival was more important than comfort, or rest.

Ragged-ear stopped abruptly, nose up, sniffing. What had alerted him? Chest pounding, breathing shallow, he studied the forest that blocked his path, seeking anything that shouldn’t be there.

But the throbbing in his head made him miss Megantereon.

Ragged-ear padded forward, slowly, toward the first tree, leaving only the lightest of trails, the voice of Mother in his head.

Yes, your fur color matches the dry stalks, but the grass sways when you move. That gives away your location so always pay attention.

His hackles stiffened and he snarled, out of instinct, not because he saw Megantereon. Its shadowy hiding place was too dark for Ragged-ear’s still-fuzzy thinking. The She-cat should have waited for Ragged-ear to come closer, but she was hungry, or eager, or some other reason, and sprang. Her distance gave the Canis time to back pedal, protecting his soft underbelly from her attack. Ragged-ear was expert at escaping, but his stomach spasmed and he lurched to a stop with a yowl of pain. Megantereon’s next leap would land her on Ragged-ear, but to the Canis’ surprise, the She-cat staggered to a stop, and then howled.

While she had been stalking Ragged-ear, a giant Snake had been stalking her. When she prepared her death leap, Snake dropped to her back and began to wrap itself around her chest. With massive coils the size of Megantereon’s leg, trying to squirm away did no good.

Ragged-ear tried to run, but his legs buckled. Megantereon didn’t care because she now fought a rival that always won. The She-cat’s wails grew softer and then silent. Ragged-ear tasted her death as he dragged himself into a hole at the base of an old tree, as far as possible from scavengers who would be drawn to the feast.


He awoke with Sun’s light, tried to stand, but his legs again folded. Ragged-ear remained in the hole, eyes closed, curled around himself to protect his vulnerable stomach, his tail tickling his nose, comforting.

He survived the Upright’s assault because they deemed him dead. He would not allow them to be right.


Sun came and went. Ragged-ear consumed anything he could find, even eggs, offal, and long-dead carcasses his pack normally avoided. His legs improved until he could chase rats, fat round ground birds, and moles, a welcome addition to his diet. Sometimes, he vomited what he ate and swallowed it again. The day came he once again set out after what remained of his pack, his pace more sluggish than prior to the attack, but quick enough for safety.

Ragged-ear picked up the female’s scent again and tracked her to another den. He slept there for the night and repeated his hunt the next day and the next. When he couldn’t find her trace, instinct drove him and memories of the dying howls of his pack, from the adults who trusted their Alpha Ragged-ear to protect them to the whelps who didn’t understand the presence of evil in their bright world.

Everywhere he traveled, when he crossed paths with an Upright, it was their final battle.