New Toy

For a while I’ve been wanting to get a cajon, so I finally got one for my birthday. . . what I’m guessing is the beginner version. Fingertips already sore.

Willow included for scale.

Redhead on a Cajon–my new single


Dollhouse, TV show

TV Binging

Shows I have recently binged, rebinged, or am currently binging.

First time:

Hanna, TV show,

The Bridge (American version)

Bridge, TV show,


Eureka, TV show


Wynonna Earp

Wynonna Earp, TV show


Legacies, TV show

Warehouse 13

Warehouse 13, TV show

Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Buffy, TV show

Had to find one with Willow!


Lucifer, TV Show


Dollhouse, TV show


Poetry Tuesday: A Strange Race of Critics

(Originally read as A Strange Race of Critters.)

Antiphanes, ancient Greece, 388-311 BCE.

A strange race of critics,
They perform autopsies on
The poetry of the dead.
Sad bookworms,
They chew through thorns.

No poet’s too dull
For them to elucidate, these who defile
The bones of the great.
Callimachus attacked them like a dog.
Out! Into the long darkness.
Perpetual beginner, little gnat—
It is a poet you distract.


Music Will Never Be the Same

This is not how I wanted to start the year. . .

Before I found out about Lindsey Stirling, I would have called Neil Peart my favorite musician. He was obviously my favorite drummer, but that’s not saying much, as I know nothing about drumming. But I do know lyrics, and he was my favorite lyricist. His songs were poetry, as were his books. Ghost Rider is still my favorite noon-fiction book.

I was waiting at a bus stop when I saw the news on social media; someone said it looked like I got punched in the stomach, which is pretty much how I felt. But as sad as I was, I got over that quickly, because I then thought of how much his daughter and wife must be hurting. My feelings are inconsequential compared to what they’re going through.

Neil Peart, Rush, The Professor, Drummer,

For those who couldn’t appreciate Rush’s music, perhaps this video of the three of them having dinner will show you what we fans see in them. . .



Poetry Tuesday: For my Brother Hagok

By Ho Nansorhon, Korea (1563-1589).

The candlelight shines low on the dark window,
Fireflies flit across the housetops.
As the night grows colder,
I hear autumn leaves rustle to the ground.
There’s been no news for some time from your place of exile.
Because of you,
My mind is never free of worry.

Thinking of a distant temple,
I see a deserted hillside
Filled with the radiance of the moon.