31 July, 2026

Fiction Friday - Reasonable Precautions

 

People were watching me because I was Betty's sister. 

No one told me to my face, but I kept hearing it in low voices whenever I walked past clutches of people who disagreed with the plan. "Watch Betty's sister." "Of course Betty's in on it." "Her sister might drop a hint." Why did they care? If they weren't part of the plan, they didn't need to know. What would they do, stop us? 

By lunchtime, I knew I was a liability. 

The meeting was on the top floor. Naturally, everyone wanted to eat their lunch up there to see what would happen. The terrace there had a big picnic table and a bunch of little round tables where people broke into groups and talked in low voices. I didn't trust it. Most of these people should be downstairs. 

Olivia sat at the picnic table, leaning into an intense conversation with Betty, but people drifted over every few minutes to ask a question, sort out a detail of the plan, or bring fresh coffee. She was always polite, but it wasn't hard to see she and Betty had things to discuss. They alternated who rocked the baby-carrier on the table as they talked.

Tension was high as the scheduled meeting time passed. Finally a man in a dark suit and aviators burst through the stairwell door, scanned the area, and pressed the button to call the elevator. When the elevator doors opened, it was a security team. More dark suits. Earpieces. Calm expressions. The sort of people who notice everything without appearing to look anywhere. They fanned out and stationed themselves around the perimeter. 

Now, not only was I watched by scoffers on our side, but trained guards?

I was supposed to carry the diaper bag in the exchange but I passed it to Caden. "You'll have to do it." 

He frowned. "Why?" 

I angled my head behind me towards the tables on the terrace. "They're watching me." He didn't ask who. He simply took the bag. 

Just then, someone arrived carrying several cases of Girl Scout Cookies and set them on the floor beside a dumbfounded Olivia. I'd forgotten to order any this year, so I wandered over to ask whether there were extras. Halfway through asking for a box of Tagalongs, it hit me. "They'll expect us to cheat," came out of my mouth before I could think. 

Olivia looked up. "That's the whole point." 

"No." I busied myself opening the cartons of cookies, looking helpful while talking quietly. "They'll expect us to think they're not expecting it." She stared at me. I left her there and caught Caden before he disappeared around a pillar. "Ask to check the baby's health, offer them the same chance with ours." 

"Our baby?" 

"Yeah, the baby Betty and Olivia are rocking. For privacy, recommend the classroom just off the terrace." 

"If we're both checking babies in the same room, they'll be watching our every move." 

"If we invite them first, they'll relax. Besides, we're not doing anything yet." 

Caden raised an eyebrow. "We're not?" 

"You'll be checking to be sure the baby is healthy before letting Olivia spend some time with her, right? Say it's for liability. No cuts or bruises they can blame on us later. But here's the thing: If they're smart, they've marked that baby somehow. Find the marking, but don't be obvious. Just remember where it is and what it looks like. Then, while Olivia has their baby, maybe you conveniently notice that our baby needs a diaper change?"

"Nah, I'll get Betty to notice it - that's more believable." 

"Whatever. But you need to do the diaper change, so you can mark our baby in exactly the same place. Take the baby into that same classroom. I have permanent markers tucked under a book on that old half-broken cabinet that you can use. Got it?"

He looked at me in a stunned silence. "You're certain about this?" 

"No," I admitted. "I'm terrified." 

The elevator chimed. The other delegation had arrived. My lunch-eating colleagues watched as Olivia shook hands with a well-dressed, white-haired man who oozed "lawyer" from every pore. Nobody mentioned the babies.

Caden stepped up before any babies changed hands and did exactly as I suggested. 

A moment after the "inspection" parties returned to the terrace, Olivia was cooing at the baby that had been taken from her in the hospital while a stern looking guard watched the carrier of the baby she had been raising for the last year. Soon enough, Betty walked past the guard, taking her empty coffee cup to the coffee service. She sniffed, leaned down to the carrier, sniffed again and said something to the guard, who looked horrified. 

A snap of her fingers and Caden came over. He took the baby carrier into the classroom, accompanied by the guard. If anyone could do this, it was Caden.  

No one was watching when they emerged, except me. I couldn't make out whether our plan had worked. 

The meeting dissolved with surprising speed. Olivia held the baby a little tighter than before as she watched the others leave. I followed the security team across to the elevator. Just before the doors opened, one of the guards stopped. He tapped the shoulder of the man holding the baby carrier. From behind, I couldn't see his hands, only movement of his shoulders as he leaned over the baby. But the lawyer, already standing in the elevator, watched with interest. When the guard straightened, he met the lawyer's eyes and gave the slightest nod. 

As the others entered the elevator around him the lawyer looked out the doors. Straight at me. 

He smiled. Not warmly. Not triumphantly. Simply... knowingly. 

The elevator doors slid shut. 

I blew out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. Which one of us had been outplayed?

Today's Fiction Friday was inspired by a BIZARRE dream I had that woke me two nights ago. I snuck into the bathroom and spoke it into my phone so I wouldn't forget it when I woke up because WTF? If I wrote stories about all the weird dreams I had, I guess I'd never need to follow reader suggestions. Of course, if you have a story prompt burning in your brain, share it in a comment and I'll give it a whirl!

29 July, 2026

Wednesday Poetry Corner - Short and Sweet

Tickling the tin roof.
Dusting of drizzle, then done.
Hardly worth haiku.

<haiku written by me on Monday 27.07.2026, Mui Ne, Vietnam>


 Later rain came back, 
Forcing my umbrella up,
Heading to pizza. 

See what I mean? That 5-7-5 gets stuck in the brain! 

And that's all I have to say related to poetry today. Do you have a favorite poem? Do you not really think about poetry, or definitely not like it? 

I'm keeping this super-short because I need to spend more time figuring out my commenting issue! It's driving me crazy, but I have an idea. Hopefully I can fix it today. Wish me luck! I'd love to rejoin the conversation.

27 July, 2026

Monday Coffee Klatch: Gardens and Slang

Welcome to today's Coffee Klatch! ☕

Where are we meeting today?

This is my favorite coffee spot in town. So far.

I've always loved a garden café. My favorite one in Hoi An overlooked rice paddies.

Lush. Green. Complete with a proper lotus pond (not visible here).

Mui Ne tells a different story. It's drier, so "lotus pond" gives way to "rock garden." 

But... a rock garden is still a garden, and beautiful in its own way. The one in the top photo has a magnificent mango tree in the middle. You can't really tell, though; I seem to have missed mango season.

In both pictures, I have a salted coffee on my table. What's your pleasure? Coffee? Tea? Juice? Or, if you're reading this later in the day... Wine? Milo? A sleepy cup of warm milk?

I promised Mondays would be about books and coffee, so let's get to the books.

This week I'm reading The Shepherd's Hut by Tim Winton, a well-known Australian author. I'm about three-quarters of the way through, and I genuinely have no idea where it's going. If you've read it, please don't spoil the ending! 

The story is a bit dark. Raw. Following a kid who's been through some rough stuff. But the thing that surprised me most wasn't the plot - it was the language. There's so much Aussie slang!

You know those books that seem to have their own dialect? (I'm looking at you, A Clockwork Orange... and you too, Terry Pratchett's Tiffany Aching books!) This is one of those.

I'm lucky enough to have several Australian friends, so I don't get completely lost, but I still find myself looking things up on a regular basis. Thankfully I'm reading it on my Kindle. Some of the more common slang can be explained with a quick underline. The rest? Google and my Aussie pals to the rescue!

For example: 

Flash = good, healthy, or in decent shape. 
Crook = "
sick or unwell", or alternatively "angry, cross, or telling someone off"
Bricking it = being extremely scared/terrified

So... what are you reading at the moment? What makes that book unique for you?

24 July, 2026

Fiction Friday - The Test

The Grand Hall was clinically bare.

When Josie imagined this test, that's how she pictured it: a giant room, a Grand Hall, bare as bones with sterile white walls. Of course her mind's eye included one equally sterile testing cubicle in the middle of the expanse just for her. 

Now that the day had arrived, was she ready?

She thought she was ready. 

After months of extra classes and practice test after practice test? Of course she was ready!

She had to be. She couldn't let the family down.

She had passed every practice test, but some were a close call. Was it enough?

Deep breath. In ... Out.

Her father's voice rang in her ears, "You'll do us proud. I know you." His last words to her that morning. He meant to be encouraging, she thought. Or maybe not. Maybe it was the last ounce of pressure he could apply. Meanwhile, her mom was arranging a bundle of lychee at the ancestral shrine. Hearing her husband's words, she'd looked over with a smile and nod of agreement before bowing her head. They all knew she would make the family proud. But it seemed that Mom wasn't leaving anything to chance.

Her older brother had taken this same test five years ago. Naturally, he passed with flying colors, setting the bar high. He had called last night and told her it was, "a piece of cake! No problem!"

No problem for him! Mr. Perfect. Mr. Got-into-a-good-college-and-moved-on-with-his-life.

Josie shook her head. The yips were setting in fast. She felt the ¥100 note in her pocket and smiled. Grandma had said goodbye to her at the door of their apartment and pressed it into Josie's hand. In their loose farewell embrace, she leaned in and said, "However it goes, stop somewhere for an ice-cream before you come home, Xiao-Xiao," using her private pet name for Josie. 

Josie closed her eyes and moved the bill from her pocket to her bra, where she would feel it during the test, and pushed open the door to a normal-sized classroom with normal-sized desks, crowded with early arrivals.

Everything rode on this. But whatever the outcome, she'd have ice-cream afterwards. 

3,800+ Testing Room Stock Photos, Pictures & Royalty-Free Images - iStock

Friday Fiction Inspiration: I've lived in China and Vietnam for the past 10 years. I teach English to students from East and Southeast Asia. This story was inspired by the notable pressure placed on these kids before major tests. If you have any recommendations or writing prompts for future flash fiction, please note it in a comment below!

22 July, 2026

What's a Rainy Day Haiku?

Ocean waves roar in.
Clouds wring water from above.
Nowhere dry between.

 

Clouds in Mui Ne, where I now live.

Last winter, I lived through the wettest rainy season Hoi An had seen since 1964. November 2025 rewrote the record books. 

I usually love tropical storms. But after weeks without seeing blue sky, when even your plastic poncho never gets a chance to dry, the novelty wears off. 🌂

Then, somewhere in all that rain, I caught myself saying, "Rain, rain, go away, come again another day..." and realized it's basically the start of a haiku. From then on, every rainy day got its own little 3-line poem. Sometimes I'd try to capture the mood with a photo (if I could do it from indoors without sacrificing my phone). Other times, I'd create an image to match the poem.

Ironically, as soon as Hoi An's rainy season ended, I moved south... just in time for this region's rainy season to begin.💧 The rain here still means business; it just doesn't overstay its welcome. And living on a hill means no flooding.

So, welcome to my little Poetry Corner. Whenever the clouds roll in, they may leave three little lines in their wake. And if the weather inspires you, I'd love to read yours in the comments!

21 July, 2026

Re-Activating, Plus...CATS!

I'm Reopening the Blog!

🌟wild cheers and applause in my head🌟
actual, startling silence throughout the universe

Today is mostly... practice? Recalibration? Declaring my intentions to the internet? Screaming into the void? I have ideas (besides just Fiction Friday). More importantly, I have the itch to write again.

Also, the cast has expanded: There are cats. 😻🙀

In an effort to make this blog more accurately reflect the notoriously anal-retentive (Gen X represent!) organizational state of my life, there will be... structure.

aggressively smacks wire hanger against palm

If there's still anyone out there, I'd love to hear what you think.

Monday Coffee Klatch

On my free mornings, I usually end up in a coffee shop with my Kindle, so Monday seems like the natural day to ramble about reading. It could be a review, an excerpt I loved, something that annoyed me, or just whatever rabbit hole the book sent me down. (Disclaimer: Spoilers are entirely possible.)

Mostly, I need people to talk books with. My poor husband is the only available victim, and I can't get too deep into a discussion because I might spoil a book he may, conceivably, someday decide to read.

Any readers out there? You could become my sounding board.

Wednesday Poetry Corner

Last winter, during Hoi An's record-breaking rainy season, I started writing what I called "rainy day haiku," mostly as a way to preserve my sanity. (Or at least my temper.) Surprise! That 5-7-5 rhythm got into my head, and never left.
(This might also become a place to share poems I enjoy. We'll see.)

That said... this one's a solid maybe. I'm not historically much of a poetry person, so I reserve the right to discover that I've overestimated my commitment.

Fiction Friday

Business as usual. You give me writing prompts. I turn them into something unexpected. Honestly, this is the part I'm most excited about.

Notes to the Wary

Beaker (ginger) and Miefen
My commenting system was irretrievably jacked up before. I haven't tested it lately, so I can't promise I'll be able to reply to comments—or even comment back on your blogs if you leave a link. I will come visit. I just might have to lurk.

And naturally, any of these regularly scheduled programs may be pre-empted by life, travel, or feline intervention.


 Anyway...

The blog is open again!

16 August, 2025

Fiction Friday, Almost - Noir Twist on This Morning's Mystery

The scene was a massacre – white confetti littered the cold tile, spilling over the threshold into the next room. Whoever did this respected no boundaries. The roll’s remains, full of more holes than a politician’s alibi, slumped in the corner like a forgotten communion wafer stuck to the tongue of a sinner. Beaker sauntered through the carnage, tail nicked and bleeding, eyes saying he’d seen it all but wouldn’t talk. Somewhere under the bed, Sassy was lying low, and I had a hunch one of them knew exactly who pulled the first shred.

Beaker sniffed at the roll but made no eye contact as he left me to my work. I watched him leave, wishing I could interrogate him, but the timing wasn’t right. First, I needed to work the scene.

What I wouldn’t give for a good ol’ cup o’ joe right now. It was too early, and in my brain fog I worried I might miss something. My gut said it had been Sassy all along. The Sasquatch had a rap sheet of shredded toilet rolls – he’d even been caught red-pawed. But Beaker being first on scene raised red flags. Was he merely a curious cat? Or testing the evidence for his scent before I could bag it? He’d been acting strange lately, and word on the street was he’d been dipping his whiskers in something stronger than cream. Bias is poison in this line of work. Follow the evidence, or it could bury you.

The evidence:

Exhibit A: A blizzard of tiny, snow-like shreds – the wild abandon of this criminal! He had time to play and no fear of witnesses.

Exhibit B: Deep claw-holes carved through the roll – a bigger perp, heavier paw.

Exhibit C: The paper on the roll left useless, comet tails dragging from layer after layer – this cat had no conscience.

Exhibit D: Rust-colored smears on one end of the roll. Blood. Always blood.

The blood haunted me – Beaker was the only bleeding suspect. No question I needed my morning jolt of caffeine. He had been dragged into Sassy’s crimes before, but this level of carnage… It was too much to consider. Meanwhile, Sassy had made himself scarce. Not just out of sight, but without a sound. From a loudmouth? The silence spoke volumes. No surprise if he was involved, so I sealed the crime scene and went out for my hit of energy. Everyone has their vices, and this was mine. Sue me.

Cleaning up the scene later, I knew the truth: both collars were dirty. The old pro Sasquatch had the size and the history – massacres of this scale plus the deep claw marks. They called him Sasquatch for a reason. Beaker – the runt, the supposed innocent – had the blood on his tail. My heart sank. The golden boy had fallen. The whispers were true: sobriety wasn’t his strong suit anymore.

Will locking them up together set them straight… or just make them meaner? Time has the answers. But it doesn’t give them cheap.

Beaker, sniffing around the evidence

 
Explanation: Yes, we have two cats now. Yes, this is a true story. However, to defend the innocent: Beaker's drugs are prescription, due to a recent rat bite.