I’ve been a Charlie Rose fan since the old Night Watch days, well, nights. I was dating a bartender, and we’d come rolling home about 2 or 3 in the morning, and there was dear Charlie talking to some comedian or actor or somebody like that. A veritable life preserver as we were coming down in the wee hours. Read more about Sorry, Charlie
I once read that dreaming of houses means that you are searching for the right one, for your proper place in the world, for, like Goldilocks, the place that's "just right." Read more about House Hunting
It’s four months since I rode into Madison with my son in a Rav 4 full of belongings. Almost four months since the Pod arrived in my new driveway with the rest of ‘em. I think I'm beginning to settle in.
Things I Like
My House:. Read more about Settling In
gets written. That’s what I’m supposed to be doing today. Not a whole novel, but editing one I’ve already finished. My third. It’s almost ready for its close-up. There are just a very few more lines to double-check. I’ll have it done before close of business tomorrow. Read more about How a Novel
I never knew that Houston was built on bayous. That it is called the Bayou City. That when the rain came down like jets from a thousand fire hoses, there were so many banks to burst. That’s when Houston began to drown. Read more about Our Dunkirk Moment
We found the dream house, my daughter and I, sometime in January of 2003. It didn’t resemble a dream house at first glance. Didn’t have what House Hunters likes to call “curb appeal.” The front yard was somewhat overgrown behind an ugly chain-link fence. The blue paint was a little shabby, and when I peered into the living room window, it looked dark and forbidding. But while I was doing that, Caroline had gone around the house, and when she returned she dragged me back there with her. Read more about The Dream House
Thirty-two years ago, a girl walked into a bar. This is not a joke.
That was my one-liner from my Farewell to the Moon party last night. It contained two minor falsities. I actually arrived in late September, 1985, and at age 42, I was hardly a girl. But moving on – there wasn’t much more I came prepared to say. Once I started digging into the memory files, there was a good chance the band would just have to go sit down. And nobody, not even me, would have been happy at that. Read more about Blue Moon
Sometime over a year ago, at a suggestion from Stephen Colbert, I logged into Donors Choose and chose a project to fund. The cool thing about Donors Choose is that anyone can contribute for any amount - fund a project in full, or contribute to an ongoing project. I found Ms Szarko's project entitled "The Tale of Unorganized Chapter Books," asking for $30. Read more about Thank You Notes
or What We Did Before the Interwebs
Books, radio, TV. The lines of communication – of story-telling – from Homer to The Walking Dead. All of which have been referenced, at one time or another, in the pixilated pages of barbarasbookhouse.com. The beginning of which is to be found in the good old days in idyllic Iowa. Read more about Idylls of Iowa II