making art

Today I’m linking up with (yes, I know, I never link so this is high tech stuff for me!) Emily P Freeman at in conclusion of her series We Will Make Art that happens to coincide with the release of her lovely book A Million Little Ways.

So, what art am I creating these days? Well, I’m still editing that novel that you’ve been wondering about and I’ve been painting some as well. The painting is a hobby that helps me relieve stress because I can actually see a finished product. As a producer, I like to produce things. Finished things that I can hold in my hands. Like this. My Ode to the 80s. Not my usual, but it always makes me smile because I love the colors. And I love it that it was made with potato stamps.



There are others, but I’m not sure about putting up a gallery online. I paint for two reasons: because I love to see what will happen on a blank canvas and practically because I’ve had a challenging time finding things I like here to hang on my walls. Calendars seem to be popular, but I’m not really into that. So I make my own decor.

And then there’s this book.

I actually can’t believe I’ve spent so long (um, years and years!) on writing one thing. It’s about to drive the Hubs insane. My very industrious and highly productive husband gets things done and I’m sure the thought of hours and hours spent working alone on something that only one other person has ever seen before makes him suspect. Perhaps I’ve been making up this book thing to have an excuse to spend so much alone at my computer. If only.

No, there’s really a book about a girl, Caroline, who has a hard time telling people no and has been in love with someone for years. That is until she meets…

Well, now, you’ll just have to read it when it comes out in 2025 won’t you? Seriously. I’m working so much lately trying to get it ready for beta readers this month. I’ve even considered doing the whole NaNoWriMo thing just to finish this baby. I need accountability and community in this writing life. I also need to finish this one thing so I can develop some other ideas that have been swirling around for, well, years. I LIVE IN NEW DELHI for Pete’s sake. I’ve got some material to work with here.

So that’s my art. Not all of it, of course. Because there are four little creations that I’m watching grow and develop and hopefully I’ve had a hand in shaping. They, of course, are the greatest works of my life. And along with some serious procrastination issues are the reason writing has to wait at times. But they are so worth it. So very worth it.





a Jedi and grace

It’s eight A.M. I’ve already cleaned up three messes and I’m considering re-naming our dog Mr. Peebody or Mr. Weesburger. I’ve never had a puppy before, obviously, and I’m sure I don’t have enough of my imported Lysol wipes to make  it  three more days at this rate.

It’s been a little over a week since we scooped up a sick little puppy from the street and brought him into our family. And I’d love to say it’s been a wonderful experience, but sleep-depravation and constant clean-up make that a bit difficult at the moment. Still, the kids have loved having Kenobi in our family and friends with dogs say it will get better, six months from now, that is. Sigh.

Kenobi, that’s his name. Last week we watched all six Star Wars movies, hence we now have our own little Jedi. A doggie Jedi who decided to jump from our 2nd floor terrace (1st floor outside the US) on Sunday while we were gone and lived to tell the tale. Boy-tears were shed as we searched the empty terrace and neighborhood. Thankfully, he was found at the other end of the street by a neighbor and our landlord’s maid happened to see him and told us otherwise I have no idea how we would have found him.

Jack and Kenobi

So I have made it through an entire week of whining, cleaning, going to the vet every day (not me, but the Hubs) and getting to know this little creature. It’s hard to say if he is laid back because he’s still on a few medications. But so far our little Kenobi allows the kids to tote him around like a baby and smother him with love. Well, mostly love.

Just catching a ride.

I’m still not sure if I’m a dog person, but I suppose it’s too late to turn back now. He’s been adopted into our family and he’s ours. Mess, whining and all.

And it seems a deeper illustration can be drawn from all this. Something my mind keeps going back to when I’m reaching for the Lysol, plastic gloves and paper towels for the 100th time.

There’s something about the way he was a helpless, dying and frail little thing. Then, miraculously he was given life, abundance, hope even though he did nothing to deserve any of it. Then two days later, he jumped from the terrace in search of freedom, not realizing that if left on his own in his present state he would surely die.

This dog is always trying to run, escape his crate or whatever confines we’ve given him for his own good. Kenobi and I are a bit similar I think.

Something about this last week with our new pup reminds me of grace, sacrifice, and Jesus’ love for me. 

And perhaps it’s not so strange that God would use a dog, of all things, to remind me of his faithfulness during a time of soul dryness and physical exhaustion and frustration that I never seem have it all together and I just want to roll over and play dead.

With everything else going on in our lives, including the pup, I’ve felt a little undone lately and it’s all I can do to stay afloat (you could say I’m doggy paddling, perhaps? Sorry, I had to do it).

Look at those eyes!

So there he is (cute, right?), my little reminder that I’m a work in progress. That we all are and even people who look like they have it all together probably don’t. That sometimes we hit the puppy pad and sometimes we don’t, but even still there is someone who loves us regardless of what we do or don’t do as the case may be (Kenobi is about 1 in 4 with hitting the puppy pad, if you were wondering). Grace abounds.

*this is my 100th post. If I wasn’t in India I’d do some sort of nifty drawing and give away some dal or chai. Too bad I’m scared of the post office here.

superhero son

A new post is long overdue. And it’s not like nothing ever happens that is write-worthy. It’s really more about me not being able to write what’s going on, because in truth, so much is going on I don’t know where to begin. And truthfully, I don’t know if a blog is even a place I want to begin to unpack everything that’s on my mind. I’m not exactly a bleeding blogger–not yet anyway, but give me some time.

So while many things can’t be articulated right now, I can always talk about my kids. They are a never-ending source of insight and humor in my life. As such, I thought I would share what my son told me last night because it something I’m going to write down in the journal I keep for him. It’s just that precious.

I once believed in magic–or something like that. Like the wardrobe in Narnia kind of stuff. I suspect that most of us did in some way or another if we had any imagination or wonder about us at all. Things that our young minds could find no explanation for that could be filed in our “magical” category. If you didn’t have this category as a child, I’m sorry. Really, truly, sorry. Believing in some sort of magic or fantasy is part of the joy of childhood. At least that’s how it was for me and still is for my kids.

So last night. I tucked in my younger two and let the older one stay up and read his Hardy Boys book. He’s at that brilliant age where we can sit side-by-side reading our own books and this counts as quality time. I love this. Anyway, he put his book down and looked at me seriously.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Something’s up with me.”

Oh no. My mind raced with thoughts and fears that something very traumatic has happened to my child and our lives are about to change forever. I guess you can tell I’m a worst-case-scenario kind of gal. Anyway.

“What’s up?” I try to ask casually and hold my breath.

He stood up, still looking serious. “Even though I’ve had no training at all, I am really good at climbing (he is a monkey) and I can do this.” At which point he proceeds to put his hands on the bed and jump up, twisting his legs in some quasi-Jedi-like move. His face is sincere. I want to chuckle a little because it’s so endearing. But I don’t dare. It would be devastating.

“Yeah, that’s impressive. So why do you think you can do this?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I’m getting super powers.” He wants this to be true, I can tell. I nod in recognition. Perhaps he’s seen a little too much of the Avengers lately? Perhaps.

The following morning he and the Hubs have a similar conversation in the car. He confesses that he thinks he’s turning into a super-hero, but hopes he’ll be part Thor (he loves the hair and he is 1/8th Norwegian after all) and part Iron Man. This explains why he’s been asking me if he’s more like Iron Man or Thor lately.

Maybe we’re bad parents for letting him believe that magical, unexplainable things can happen to him. But I don’t think so. I once believed that the New Kids on the Block tour bus was going to drive down my rural Georgia road and break down right in front of my house and Joey would instantly fall in love with me. I believed that and a million other crazy things with all my heart. It didn’t crush me or scar me for life when it didn’t happen– or maybe it did and I’m blocking that out.

I think that sometimes we need to believe in a little magic, mystery and the possibility that extraordinary things really do happen in everyday life. I do.

And honestly there is still that part of me that believes that the seemingly impossible is, well, possible. So I love that he has a huge imagination, unless he actually is morphing into Thor right before our eyes. Which would be amazing. I guess I’ll just have to wait and see.