A Father’s Love


Today’s #bloganuary question is: “What is the earliest memory you have?”

I thought about this quite a bit today. First and foremost, I was excited to do the illustration because I suck at hands and I wanted to get some practice by working on this girl’s pensive pose. I’m learning that it works best to do one finger at a time rather than going in and out with the lines to create weird mitten fingers. I think I’m making some improvement!

Now that the image is done, I thought I’d share the first memory I have of my father. I think this memory stuck in my mind because I was traumatized to a certain degree. At first anyway. Continue reading →

Learning to Fly

Stories We Tell

A Fictional Series


After my mother passed away, I was totally without family. I never knew my biological father, and my mother had no relatives to speak of. She never talked about her past, so I had no idea if I had any family who were living – or where they might be.

While social services tried to work things out, I was sent to live with the Cross family. I could tell right away that Dizzy and David weren’t used to kids. They were really nice people, but they had a nervous air about them – an uneasiness that a couple might have when they bring home a new baby. Continue reading →

Memories Cherished

I can see the roses,

Engraved atop your door,

Like a photograph,

Etched into my mind.

I can feel the warmth,

Of the love that lived inside,

The light flickering through,

Making the petals sway.

The entrance is weathered now,

It’s colors, bleached by the sun.

And paint chips…

They fall like tears.

A lifetime of memories,

We have made here together,

But it is time to move on.

And I will miss you…

My Home Sweet Home.


Welcome to my new series: Windows

First of all, I was inspired to write this poem by Ronovan Writes Haiku Challenge: Home & Weep. I tried to write a Haiku, I really did, but I needed more words. I’ll give that another shot in the next day or two!

The window that I photographed is on a door here at our house, and it is the entrance to my dad’s old workroom. That, in itself, is enough to bring up cherished memories. But I was focusing more on how it must feel when you have to sell the home that you grew up in. A home that has been in the family for generations… seeing a new married couple blossom into pregnancy, and then children, grandchildren, and even great grandchildren. I haven’t had to experience this yet, but it is inevitable at some point down the road and I’m sure it will be an emotional time for many of us. I was trying to imagine what will go through our minds when the times comes.

Anyway, I gave the photograph a “sketch” effect to help improve the look of it (the door really is old and weathered) and I’m much happier with it this way. It looks more like a memory than an actual snapshot. I like that.

That’s about all for now. Thanks for reading or stopping by!


Home is not a place, it’s a feeling.