Liz Flaherty's Blog, page 28

...the sounds of the earth are like music...

I've written and rewritten this several times over the years. It was on the Window in February of 2018 during what must have been very bad week. I grieve for the bad weeks we've had since then and for the ones that are probably in front of us. But there is joy, too. There is joy. Thank you again to those who give it. Thanks for reading this again. Have a good week. Be safe. Be nice to somebody. - Liz

Oh the sounds of the earth are like music The breeze is so busy, it don't miss a treeAn' a ol' wee...

The Sweater by Liz Flaherty

2013 or so - almost new!Twenty-plus years ago, Duane was given a gift certificate from Rock Hollow by people at work. He was thrilled because they thought of him and because he loved Rock Hollow. I'm sure he played golf with some of the gift certificate, but he also bought the Sweater. While I am deathly sick of looking at and washing the Sweater, even I must admit it deserves a capital letter at its beginning.  

It's light gray, no collar, and has three buttons at the neck and the Rock Hollow in...

Time Flies by Liz Flaherty

Welcome to my first Window Over the Sink of 2023. I've been sitting here, admittedly with other things on my mind, and the only thing that's really making itself heard is such a cliché. 
Time flies. 
See, I told you. 
I've been thinking about the blog lately, wondering if the Window has run its course. With a few timeouts for lack of a place for it, I've been writing it since my kids were in high school back in the 1980s. 
Kokomo Tribune
I've written about book-banning. I've written about writing boo...

Just checking...

 Trying this out...

Hiding in Montana by Lucinda Race

Hiding in Montana, Book 2, Cowboys of River Junction

By Lucinda Race

Can love flourish while danger lurks in the shadow?

For Polly Carson, working the land on a Montana ranch is a dream come true. No one knows she’s on the run, carrying a secret that could endanger the big eclectic family she’s found on the ranch. Not even the man who rescued her broken body from the bottom of a ravine recognizes her. He doesn’t know that it was him who brought her to River Junction in hope of finding a safe hav...

Rabbit, Rabbit by Pru Warren

I have a peculiar New Year’s Eve tradition that has earned me a very odd reputation in my neighborhood…

My mother taught her daughters: On the first day of the month, if the very first word out of your mouth is “rabbit,” then you will have good luck all month long.

(I’ve done some unofficial research among Facebook friends; people either look blank at the “rabbit” tradition or nod wisely. You either know it or you don’t. Some people have strange versions, like you have to say “WHITE rabbit,” whic...

Regifting by Liz Flaherty

My mom always had a few pairs of new socks tucked back somewhere for unexpected guests at Christmas. I was embarrassed by that, as I thought we were the only family in the world who gave socks and underwear for Christmas. (We can add that to the plethora of things I've been wrong about.)
Many years later, I keep a bagful of bottles of foaming hand soap and bars of handmade soap in different scents--enough to get me through a year of unexpected guests and add-on gifts because...well, doesn't everyo...

The First Christmas Memory by Caroline Clemmons

What’s the first Christmas you remember? Mine is when I was three. We lived in Southern California, where—for some reason—the Christmas Eve family gathering was held at our house instead of at the home of my older half-sister, Elsie Reed. As soon as it was dark, my brother-in-law, Buster Reed (one of my all-time favorite relatives), said he had to go to the airport to pick up Santa, who had agreed to come early as a favor to Buster. I was so impressed that Buster knew Santa so well.

Buster return...

A 1967 Christmas Story by Amy McVay Abbott

Christmastime brought magic to our rural Indiana town. Citizens visited the brick post office to mail cards and visit Postmaster Clarence Pook. Across the street at the library, Edna, the Story-Hour Lady, dressed in pioneer clothes, read holiday stories to children. The day after Thanksgiving, the volunteer firefighters hung giant red-and-white plastic candy canes from the lamps on State Street and displayed a life-size manger scene at the south end of town.

Snow came early and blanketed the grou...

The Time Between the Years by Sadira Stone

For those who celebrate, I hope you had a splendid Christmas. The roast beast (or your favorite holiday dish) has been consumed and the wrapping paper cleared away. Time to take a deep breath and enjoy a moment of quiet before the glitz and clamor of New Year’s Eve.

Though American by birth, I spent thirty years in Germany, where this period is called die Zeit zwischen den Jahren, or “the time between the years,” that quiet period between Christmas and New Year’s when we sit back, munch cookies,...