leftovers

Breathe

Slow 

that thumping heartbeat

Release 

those squeezed shut fists

Bestill

my raging anger.

Breathe...

let Go

the Child is found 

but,

an unforgiving Look

and Sullen silence

equal Groceries abandoned

at the store today

Let go...

Breathe

let go

and live this mantra...

internal peace op-

timistic understanding

and mother's moments

This too shall pass...

I guess

that's why Moms freeze leftovers -

for this tomorrow...

love

Love
so sweet 
as it fills a heart
overflows  a  life
yet always finds room 
for yet another moment
to cherish anew
amour
♥

Source: Uploaded by user via Mary on Pinterest

touch

a slip of blanket

over fairy dust skin 

covers yesterday's bones

memories

and how your hand felt in mine

before time

stole youth

and left only 

your thin fingers 

curled around my wrist

so happy to have human touch again

~

Hmm, if I recall correctly Stranger & Me have a little MFM alphabet game going on and are around about the letter "T". Well, that makes this poem fit then, I believe. I give you "touch" inspired by a visit to my Grandmother's.

Snow Day

Maple Syrup Love

Snow

bringer of sloppy roads

cheering children

and 

a Canadian breakfast 

like no other

Doesn't bother me none

I slip on snow pants

Grab the shovel

for the snow removal

and start slogging

for my daily Canuck-style exercises

Don't feel bad for me though

After a brief respite

in a snow bank

I dug back in 

to create a cozy cave

Big enough for 2 lovelies

or one big kid

intent 

on enjoying the best

that Canadian winter

has to offer

A Canadian Dare

Shrieks and laughter fill the air. Children run screaming past one another without a care in the world. Backpacks are scattered on the ground, forgotten until the bell's call to summon them back. It's that magical time between the weekend and the official start to the school week. The kids take full advantage of these last precious moments and run for all they are worth.

Newly fallen snow makes a perfect home for tumbling bodies to fling themselves with abandon down the waiting hill. Pencils will soon be clutched in stubborn fingers, but right now it is all about the best that winter has to offer - snow; light and fluffy snow.

"I dare you!" rings out a voice.

Why is it that boys cannot resist a dare? How is it that manhood rears it's ugly head on the grounds of the primary school yard so early? And yet it does. And every year this ritual gets repeated on school yards across the northern hemisphere.

"I double-dog dare you!" Things are getting serious.

More shrieks fill the air, but the peal of the morning bell cuts playtime short for these youngsters. It is time for school to begin.

Another cry fills the air. This one is a little more distressed; a little less happy in tone. And that is when a woman's stricken face streaks past shouting for help. Her arm points backwards towards a few lone figures still standing by the fence at the bottom of the hill.

The metal fence.

At least the boy wasn't left alone to attempt to rip his tongue off the frozen fence. Nothing that a little warm water won't solve, but terror is not the way to start the week off for any young soul. I suppose he won't do that again. The watching parents that slowly wander away shake their heads at the morning's antics. The boy has been freed. No harm has been done. But his moment of captivity, with soft, fleshy tongue stuck to a rusty metal pole in the dead of winter has been enough to shoot all these laughing adults back in time to when they too stood stuck to their own poles in a Canadian winter.

As who can resist the deadly triple-dog dare.

let them go

blue skies break

clouds swirl and skim

its time for recluse

its time for me and him

together

we explore

together

we beg & implore

together

we need to be

some more

love

life

laughter

in a weekend escape

bliss

bodies

bonding

we will be laid bare

let the snow

blow

and close our world

to tomorrow 

for today I stow

all my problems

- I let them all go 

Committed

"Committed: A Skeptic Makes Peace with Marriage" by Elizabeth Gilbert; ©2010, Viking Penguin

Over the holidays I made a trip to the library with my children. They each selected books and I wandered, looking for one of my own. No book club selections were available, but as I turned from the computer I noticed a rack of books nearby. The name Elizabeth Gilbert jumped out from the cover of a book. Having read "Eat, Pray, Love", I was already familiar with whom Ms Gilbert was. Yes, I was smitten with her tales of food, travel, salvation through meditation, and of course love. I suppose her name alone sold me on the book, just as the large font of her moniker was supposed to. So home I went with this book that suggested a struggle with the very ideals of marriage.

"Committed" picks up where "Eat, Pray, Love" left off. In the former book, Gilbert had fallen in love with a dashing stranger and then tentatively explored possibly finding new happiness with him. This time around though, she was leery of the precepts of eternal devotion, as presented by the tenets of the marriage contract. No, her and her partner had too many scars to ever consider formally stepping into the marital bounds again. That is, until he is arrested at the border, as they try to re-enter the US. He is told that he will not be allowed to come back into the country, until such time as he legally makes the United States his home - via marriage.

The couple is horrified.

While the idea of marriage does not usually elicit dark and gloomy faces from most people, these two still have wounds that make them skittish at the very thought of marriage. It is fine for some, but they had always sworn to never marry, even whilst making claims to be devoted to one another exclusively. Gilbert takes their time in exile from the States to explore marriage, what it meant to her, the people she met on the road and also set herself to discover what more she could unearth about the state of unions throughout history. At times, the tale is almost immature in its insistence of how horrible it all is, but when you look at the stats (just over 50% in the US and just under that mark in Canada), perhaps it is only naive of me to think that there aren't a whole host of others that are as gun-shy of marriage as she is.

As Gilbert delves into historical models of marriage and her understanding of how she thought it was supposed to work, she unearths some interesting facts; like the 50s in the US weren't always chock-a-block full of happy June Cleavers. And as she further discovers, while divorce rates seemed extraordinarily high, those statistics were skewed when comparing first and second-time marriages. In case you were wondering, secondary marriages had much lower divorce rates. I found that interesting from a clinical perspective, but also a personal level. How many of my peers are in the process of separating? Am I not also in a significant relationship that could ultimately lead to a secondary marriage (which I would rather not think of as doomed to failure).

Ultimately, she has some interesting thoughts and facts, but the text left me feeling that she still has a few more demons to banish before she can forgive her past experiences. But then again, don't we all have our skeletons in the closet that we sometimes wish would just disappear? And don't those mistakes and heartaches make us stronger, wiser individuals that are more willing to make decisions for ourselves, which hopefully includes making the decision to accept happiness and love into our lives once again? As you can probably guess, Gilbert did tie the knot once again and stepped into marriage wilfully.

May we all find that peace ourselves.

Steadfast Hands

Climb every mountain;
hide under every bed...
Strike a pose intimidating
and shriek against the mess in my head.

One moment I'm as tall,
as the highest sequoia.
The next I shrink so small,
too wee to dream of any redeeming karma.

It is this way in life
It is that way in love
see-saw, flip-flop
no even keel laid down from above

The sun shines strong
on my future,
but I fear hesitates to 
germinate this heart's pure ardour

Icy winds
don't blow away tomorrow
Steadfast hands
hold secure as I follow
A dream
that needs no more sorrow...

♥♥♥PEACE♥♥♥

Image Courtesy of lusi; RGBstock.com

The Wine Glass

words on the page
time to get them down...

f i s h
swimming downstream
in my gullet
with a magic bullet
of lemon pepper sansal,
coriander sprigs
and of course fresh lemon 
circling round 
these taste buds of mine
with a glass of wine
the only kind;
white...

now fire bright
as I read by its light
before chasing my children
and their paper minions -
groundhogs 
marked by kid's claws
I only say, because of ruined sofas
not forgotten in day's past skirmishes

Yet those groundhogs with kids in tow
tomorrow will surely show
that delightful smiles they still sow
on faces broad, mine & those
of grandparents that bestow
love through the ages; it forever goes

now back to my book
and my warm nook
with dinner forgotten
and drink transporting 
this idle lass
to Russia's morass
during Catherine's governance
perhaps with a topped up wine glass...

Image Source RGBstock.com; courtesy melodi2

heat

bodies entwined

so close 

that

there is no beginning

no end

only heat

and a heartbeat

that fills days of doubt

and a distant dusk

with promises

of forever

in your touch

♥

Image Courtesy of Serpentino at RGBstock.com

broken path

Driving nowhere fast

I careen around the corner

hit life square in the face

and blink, squint, see no more...

Where was that path I was following,

just yesterday?

now lost in a drift

with wheels spinning aimless again.

can you see the future?

cus I am sure having a hard time

and as the light focuses

an army of familiar faces

all stand blinking at the same roadblock

all lost in a today we never anticipated... 

hello 2013

what do you hold?

A Christmas Collage

A Christmas Collage

is what she designs

and yet the picture

is far more refined.

There are photos aplenty,

but that's just the tip

of emotions run rampant

in every single clip.

I see family,

traditions, symbols and more.

I feel love in the spaces

that she carefully stores.

Here is a tree

and there is the hearth.

Stockings lie waiting

and cookies tempt anyone's girth.

Ah, but see all the smiles!

I feel them inside.

My heart swells with the season

and a motherly pride.

This Christmas I am gifted

with a present so pure -

my daughter's sweet innocence

and our love that endures.

December Grey

line the world in steel

erase all the blunt edges

sink into silence

People in the Blogosphere

Well,

I just finished checking out a few blogs.

These blogs were written by people who 'liked' a post that I wrote for a client.

"Cool," I thought. "Let's check out their blogs!"

Until I popped open said blogs

and came across 3 seriously weird sites

1. A numerology, Church of Christ blog that was somehow trying to predict/prove the existence of God & the blights that he is raining down upon us for our awful transgressions via the manipulation of numbers - Spooky? I think not
2. A single and very grumpy woman who pretty much hates everything from cleaning, to men, to it almost sounds like herself - with lots of clandestine, pig-Latin swearing for shits & giggles
3. Another nihilist-style blogger making lists of lots of bad things that have happened in the world that speak of our eternal damnation - or something like that

Well then.

Not nearly as cool as I thought on first glance.

Hmm,

I wrote about Christmas and Open Houses

and some generally pretty cheery stuff today

yes, well...

All I have to say is

The Blogosphere is an interesting place.

Long live bloggers!

Is This Guy One of the Bloggers That Perused my Blog
and Liked It?

My Colour Wheel

Dew drops

Water spots

Colours along the way

You've seen red

(is there any other shade

more perfect than?)

Now spy,

Pink

 More...

fuzzy pink

All shades of my favourite

but complimented 

in any girl's heart with

the rich brown's of

chocolate

an earthy loam 

that oozes nature

Ah,

but still

my heart is stolen

by blood,

the colour of my soul,

red

zest

A Bright Crisp Day,

Entirely 

Free from Fears,

Gives Great

Health and Hope

Into an Impassioned 

and Jaunty Journey.

Keeping 

Light-hearted with Love

I Muster

Nature's

Overtly

Perfect & Quintessential

Rays of

Sunshine into my Step.

Sigh...

So Today,

Tempted by Temperance

Under Ubiquitous

Velvety Winds,

with Warm, Wintery

Xtra Yarns on

I Zipped along

with Zeal

and found fresh sprays of life's

Zest

KAT'S COOKING KORNER: From the Patch

We have a penchance for accidental gardening around my house. I have sunflowers that spring forth by the dozens every year, with no effort from my hand. Little tomato plants emerge from the very soil where the previous year they flourished and fell back to earth. Seemingly magical or via the helping hand of friendly fairies perhaps? Raspberries aren't so shocking, but certainly a delicious fruit that requires little labour on my part. Wonderful, in my eyes, to be sure. Various herbs, whether perennial or annual, also return, often requiring a heavy hand to keep them in check. My oregano is prolific, thyme terrific and the cilantro and dill self-seed at will for both my use and many a neighbour.

Just about ripe

One other plant tends to return every year, which did not fail to materialize again this year. Cinderella's carriage be damned, this beauty is all about Halloween. Check it out! For whatever reason we only got one, but it was a lovely pumpkin none the less. And shocking to me, it was ripe by mid-August. I managed to convince the girls not to carve it in the heat of summer, as the odds of it lasting til October 31st once carved were nil, but whether it would survive intact til All Hallow's Eve was another question entirely.

Never fear, but it did! And yesterday was the day that we sliced into this bad boy. It was time to carve a Jack 'o Lantern!

The first step is always to draw a fearsome face in our family. Once the face is in place (try and carve that Mom!), then I plunge my knife into the top of the quaking squash and carve a lid for it.

Check out all those seeds!

The crafty Momma that I am, no way are we going to let those yummy bits go to waste. Time to get scooping!

A spoon can be handy to scrape the sides,

but sometimes only your hand will do to get right in there! Get digging!

Voila, empty!

And here we have the remains of the day

After much careful carving by my deft hand, two jolly Jack 'o Lanterns emerged that pleased my girls

Pumpkin Seeds Roasting

But what really pleased me were all those delicious little seeds that filled our two orange orbs. Gotta love roasted pumpkin seeds with just a hint of salt, plus a sprinkle of paprika. Set on low, and cooked til crunchy, these yummy treats are packed with iron, zinc, copper, phosphorous, manganese, tryptophan, magnesium and more. They are a source of vitamin E, full of antioxidants and even have anti-microbial benefits. Woohoo, and they taste good too! With a history dating back to 1300-1500 AD, that's a whole lot of goodness for a really long time.

Don't expect me to share my seasonal seeds with you though. I am a bit of a Halloween hog, when it comes to my pumpkin seeds. You'll have to carve your own pumpkin and make your own roasted seeds this week.

Happy Halloween!

The Edge of My Seat

the edge of my seat

is my favourite place to

watch you grow and fly

~

My little daredevil inspired this post

with her antics in our crab apple tree

a few weeks ago.

That might have been our last spot of sunshine

and I'll hold onto it tight

as we ride out some wet & wild weather

tonight.

Hope Sandy hasn't washed all my bloggy friends away.

Be well

~

Burnt Pictures

Somewhere between a smile 

and a sigh

the world swirled,

stopped

and set my soul

on fire

burning pictures 

of life 

as I knew it

Gusts

blow through me

leaving me cold

as the ice that threatens

to form 

over yesterday's

love

This is not how it was supposed to be

This is not

what I expected 

when I looked at your face

This is not

a reality

I ever wanted to explore

Now

closing my eyes

can't erase the words

won't replace the facts

refuses to change the future

nor

 any tomorrow

I hold onto

the last vestiges 

of colour, hope, faith

and pray 

that we can 

all 

weather the storm

that approaches...

*for those that worry; a tale of love lost, but not my own

The Pedantic Pedestrian

Wandering towards the street, she looked left, right, left…

Her foot rose from the curb. As she stepped, the blast of a horn stunned her. A sting of hot air sliced her face and forced her to stumble backward. Unbidden tears followed.

What happened? Where did that come from? Better question - Where was she?

~~~

Not an Alzheimer’s moment this – just the effects of flipping your world on its axis and walking on the wrong side of life, African-style. It has a main character, plot and climax, therefore I shall call it a short story. A flash fiction, if you will. In 55 words no less! Isn't that interesting? 

I bet that G-Man might think so...

Still Alice

"Still Alice" by Lisa Genova; © 2007, Simon & Schuster

Dr. Alice Howland is a Professor of Psychology at pre-eminent Harvard University. She travels and speaks all over the world, is active in research and development of psycholinguistics and is highly respected by her students, peers and fellow teachers. She has a loving husband, three highly successful children and is riding high on a successful lifetime devoted to life.

That is until she stumbles one day in the middle of a presentation. She simply cannot find the word she is looking for. While most might miss her transgression, she is flustered by this slip in her normally flawless lectures. She recovers, but is bothered by this unusual turn of events. As the weeks go by, other small incidents occur that rattle her usually confident demeanour. She is 50 years old and has always been the stalwart in the family for remembering every and any small detail. Concerns that perhaps menopause is wreaking havoc with her internal systems, she makes a trip to her family physician. That leads to further tests and other doctors. The ultimate shocking diagnosis is early-onset Alzheimer's.

As the story unfolds, the reader walks the path of confusion that Alice slowly gets ensnared in. It is far worse than confusion though, as more than just words escape her in her steady spiral out of cognitive control. No amount of drugs, hope, wishing or praying can slow this horrific disease as it steals everything that Alice has ever held dear in her life. Genova's heart-breaking telling of the story is sad in its following of Alice's descent into the worst that Alzheimer's has to offer - memory loss, inability to recognize places, words and people, inability to interact in group settings or even perform normal everyday functions (everything from handling money, going out by oneself, to cleaning and grooming one's person). All this at the age of 50 in a Harvard Professor.

My heart broke for Alice, as she struggled to maintain control on the unsteady slope she slid down. I recognized her symptoms, as those that my own grandmother has suffered and shed a tear in understanding the unfairness of it all just that little bit more. No amount of reminding, pressuring, cajoling or humouring truly makes a difference. The neurons fail and they don't come back no matter how much you wish it to be different. It steals who the person was and the loved ones that surround that person are left to cope as best they can, trying to reconcile the person they remember with the damaged soul that is left. It isn't fair to any involved and Genova makes that sadly clear. The point she so saliently makes though is that even as the former personality slips away, the individual is still there and deserving of our respect.

I came to this book through my book club, but I take it with me to heart. I have visibly seen the symptoms Genova describes on the page, but her words helped me to see the disease a little clearer. It doesn't make me feel any better, but the tears I shed helped me to understand a little more.

~Thank you Lisa~

Birthdays

Birth - days

40 of them lined up 

to make you 

a man

ex-

perienced

at life

and beyond.

but you have missed

5 of them now

and I won-

der if

it

matters

any more...

Happy Birthday Brad

♥

birth

hopeful, triumphant

beginning, propelling, embarking

on the road to tomorrow

today

◘

death

cold, final

ending, transforming, culminating

closing the door of yesterday

forever

The Pissed Pumpkin

I never meant it to go down like that. Jack was a decent guy, but he just got under my skin. I didn't really mean him any harm. Honest, I didn't!

But when he messed with me before I’d had that first sip of coffee, I kind of lost it and bit his head off…

*Image from http://ow.ly/eekV1

And that my friends is 55 words for the persuasive personage G-Man and his fun Flash Friday 55!

Happy Thanksgiving my fellow Canucks. Hope your pumpkin pie is of the happier sort!

 :o)

KAT'S COOKING KORNER: From the Orchard

The weather has been kind of funky around these parts this year. Way back in March, we had temperatures that soared into double digits, when we should have still had a blanket of snow covering everything. Beautiful and all, with barbeques getting dusted off all over town, but there was just one problem. It wasn't just the people who were fooled into thinking it was spring; the plants were as well. What's the problem with that, you  might wonder?

LOTS!

Warm weather in March is fine to shed the scarves, but when the trees and bulbs think about getting into the swing of things too, bad omens hang in the air. I don't care if temperatures fluctuate on my behalf, as I can get used to slopping around in my winter boots again, but when the trees start to bloom, they can't change their minds and go back into hibernation mode again so easily. Winter is bound to be back again and this past Spring it returned indeed. The result was instant death to the flowers that had valiantly attempted to awaken to the falsely-promised Spring. Magnolias molted their blooms in an instant. Lilacs luckily paused with buds on the verge of unfurling. The many fruit trees in the area were not so blessed though. Their pretty, scented flowers curled into brown petals that would never bear anything.

That equated to an absolute dearth of fresh fruit this summer.

Well, not exactly a complete dearth, as we still enjoyed strawberry picking in June and my raspberries are scrumptious even today. As far as the poor apples went though, I heard tell that 85% of the crops were destroyed when the impending frosts returned, killing fruit blossoms rampantly.

Last Year's Apple Picking

"No!", I cried, when I read the dismal facts. We are a family of foragers and I love traipsing around the countryside collecting fresh fruits and veg in season. We have gone apple picking since the girls were babes! Apple Land was apple-less. What were we to do?

Never fear my friends. I am an industrious individual and I've got computer access to the world. If there was an apple to be picked in Southwestern Ontario, I was determined to find it.

Click, click, click...

And don't you know, I found a place! A little closer to the lake is apparently a little more protected by the warmer winds. The lucky folks at Great Lakes Farms weren't completely immune to the early blooms and subsequent frosts, but they had apples! While it's early in the season, knowing that apples will be at a premium this year encouraged me to act fast. When I read that they had Galas and Macintoshes, we were out the door like a shot!

These trees were plenty full!

The apples looked even better close up!

Concensus was - Delicious!

We managed to collect a slight 25lbs worth of fresh, tasty apples for our consumption. The kids have had apples in their lunch every day since then. Today they got applesauce too! My favourite recipe for apples though is smooth and delicious Apple Butter. Pies are perfect for holidays, but butter is better for all the nut-picky schools around Ontario. Apple Butter makes a sandwich a scrumptious snack and this recipe comes from a favourite cookbook of mine called jam it, pickle it, cure it, by Karen Solomon.

APPLE BUTTER

Ingredients:

• 8 lbs sweet apples (try using 3 different varieties for a more complex taste)
• 2Tbsp freshly squeezed lemon juice
• 1/3 Cup brown sugar
• 1 tsp kosher salt
• 2 tsps ground cinnamon
• 1/2 tsp ground allspice
• 1/4 tsp ground cardamom

Directions:

• Peel, core and quarter apples. Place them on 2 lightly greased cookie sheets in a 350F oven for 2 hours. After 1 hour, rotate the trays 180 degrees and switch the trays from bottom to top and vice versa.
• Remove apples from oven and puree in a food processor or blender until very smooth (approx 4 min). Add remaining ingredients and process for another 2-3 minutes.
• Store in a covered glass container in the fridge for up to 1 month (if it lasts that long!)

*Oh, and by the way. If you didn't figure out what my mystery gadget was the other day, it was an antique apple/potato peeler. Not near as handy as I would have liked, but none the less, it helped. Now get buttering and Enjoy!

A Mystery

Anybody know what this is?

What about if I show it to you from this angle?

This antique gadget just might show up again in a post in the near future!

Any guesses what it might be about?

searching

~

heightened hiatus

of the almighty poetics

dried up written words

~

*Hope you find more words PK

silent words

tangled in a quagmire of silent words

that refuse to be born

isn't that a fate that so many of us,
writers aplenty,
struggle, scrape and
...

now I am lost there as well
that last word refusing,
 - Refusing
to be born

and again
a  blank  page
that mocks creativity
leaves  me  staring  at

the
blinking
c u r s o r...

once more ~


*Hope your creative muse finds you this weekend

aglow

I've met an angel of understanding 

that lights my path with love,

peace and 

pieces of me

gently given back

all aglow

~

Integrity

How do you spell integrity?

"I" belongs in there somewhere, of that I am sure
"N" reminds me that nothing but me really matters
"T" ah time, and we have to respect it
"E" Egos, they are there for a reason
"G" So are goals, which make us who we are
"R" but reason needs to be recognized
"I" if you are to be true to yourself, then you will know it
"T" Trust in your decisions and it will be alright
"Y" You are the only one that can stand up for you - So DO It!

Debating how much of it I have tonight...

The Night Circus

The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern; © 2011 Anchor Canada


I haven't written a book review in a while, but The Night Circus, by Erin Morgenstern is the first book that we will be discussing for my book club's fourth season. The fact that we have been going strong for four years is quite exciting, as none of us really knew what we were getting into when we started this thing. We figured you read a book, drank some wine and chatted intellectually about the fine prose that we were exposed to over canapes. It is something like that, but we talk just as much about our children, jobs and life changes that occur for all of us, as we do about any of the books that we read. That being said, we always get around to the book of the month as well. And I have to say that this book should be a pleasure to discuss.

The Night Circus is Morgenstern's first novel. As I know a little bit about the writing and publishing industries (not enough to be considered expert or even claim a first novel of my own YET!), first novels are often the best that a writer might ever produce. Morgenstern should be proud, as this is a novel that anyone would be thrilled to claim penmanship to. From the first pages, she creates beautiful images that enchant the reader and encourage the pages to turn ever faster. The uncertainty of the world you are entering is replaced by a longing to be able to enter the Night Circus oneself to behold its magnificent exhibits. If only you could wander the Labyrinth, explore the Cloud Maze or hear your fate at the fortune teller. As you are drawn further into the story, Morgenstern convinces you to believe in the unbelievable and trust in your instincts even when the cold hard world tells you not to.

The circus is only one side of this beautiful fairy-tale like novel though. On the surface, this novel is about the fantastical circus acts that beg you to suspend your belief in everything that you see and know. As the story unwinds though, a romance unfolds in the pleats of the tents. Celia is a magician that performs the unbelievable just well enough to keep the audience guessing if what they saw was truly real or indeed magic. Marco is an assistant to the manager of the circus, but seems to be the driving force behind making the circus the spectacle that it is. Both of them hold special gifts and powers that affects everything around them, from people to objects, to a unique relationship that sparks between them. What most people don't realize though is that these two strangers were sworn into a competition years before they ever met; a competition with no solid rules of engagement or understanding of how it will ever end. Not even the players understand the game, but their instructors constantly goad them into ever more spectacular feats to proclaim a victor.

While I won't give away the outcome of this delightful tale, I will share that the imagery Morgenstern paints is more than enough reason for you to pick up this book. She draws you in with her beautiful prose and lets you know that you will be safe for the duration of your reading - probably. If you don't believe me, you could always ask her yourself. She has a website with an attached blog, where she writes 10-sentence flash fiction, entitled flax-golden tales, every Friday. Plus, she will be on Twitter this evening at 9:30pm EST to discuss The Night Circus with the Yummy Mummy Book Club, which I also have to thank as I even won the book in a contest that YMBC hosted. Cool! Just for that alone, I might have to pop in for a tweet!

What about you?