Posted in Fiction, Mixed Media Watercolor, The '57 Chevy, The Librarian with the Beehive Hair, Yarns

Vague Descriptions and Lousy Witnesses…

Librarians love books, as much as they love air and food and water, all except one, the Librarian with the Beehive Hair.

No one knows just how she came to be a librarian in the first place. As far as anyone can tell, she’s never had so much as a library card or checked out a book. And no one seems to know which library, exactly, she works for… She just shows up. Unannounced and officious.

The startle factor works in her favor. As startled people tend to give vague descriptions and make lousy witnesses.

Which is why it’s taken years of detective work just to gather the following:

She’s either very tall or very short. It’s a bit hard to tell because of her








She carries a GIANT key ring loaded with so many keys that she jingles while she walks. [If you’re lucky you might hear her before you see her, in which case, make like a jack rabbit and RUN or HIDE or FREEZE.]

She never smiles.

And she’s vain of three things:

     Her ’57 Chevy Convertible.

     Her Hair [which requires an entire can of B-Hive’r Hair Shellac daily and a constant supply of teasing combs].

     And her d’red•ful ♥ lacquered Fingernails.


Well, four things.

Let’s not forget her Reputation.


And then there’s her Shoe collection…

So five that we know of… and counting…


It’s not much to go on.

But it’s a start…









Posted in Fiction, Watercolor, What If, Wolves

A Familiar Doorway…

The scullery maid often dreamt of a cottage in the woods, despite the cautionary tales cook joyfully recounted about cottages and woods and the wolves who visited.

Quite frankly, she was weary of all the drama and drudgery. What if, she wondered, as she drifted off to sleep.

When the wolf came knocking, lured by the smell of buttery scones baking in a wood-fired oven, she welcomed him in. She’d set the table with a blue gingham tablecloth and filled her favorite vase with geraniums and petunias. The napkins she’d folded into birds lent an elegant air.

The wolf bowed at sight of the lovely tableau, then pulled out her chair.

Even the mistress of the manor had few visitors with such refined manners.

At the touch of her guest’s dewclaw their napkins flapped wildly into a pair of startled geese. When he turned his attention to the floral centerpiece, dozens of petals took wing as butterflies.

The wolf ate and drank with equal delicacy. After they’d finished their tea and scones, he rose and held out his paw. She hesitated for a moment, then allowed him to take her hand.

A haunting orchestral melody spoke to her of fern and moss covered dells, and although she and the wolf hadn’t moved, it felt as though they were waltzing through a familiar doorway…

She woke.

The wolf at her side.

A canopy of towering trees above them…

Leaf litter and loam cool beneath their paws…


Posted in Beehive-Climbing Mice, Beehive-Hair-Climbing, Fiction, Mixed Media Watercolor, The '57 Chevy, The Librarian with the Beehive Hair, Writing

Of Mice and Beehive Hair…

No matter the weather, the Librarian with the Beehive Hair drives her ’57 Chevy with the top down. She has to. Her hair is that tall.

It’s so tall, that if a mouse took up Beehive-Hair-Climbing as a weekend hobby, not only would it require professional Hair-Climbing Gear, but nerves of sterner stuff than cheese in order to reach the summit of the highest “Up-Do” in all the world, where it would, of course, plant a flag, and take a selfie.


Never underestimate the value of proper ‘Hive-climbing gear…

If you’re ever so unfortunate as to meet THIS particular Librarian, whatever you do, don’t stare at her hair.


Posted in Fiction, Libraries, The Librarian with the Beehive Hair, The Wolf, Watercolor, Willful Characters, Writing, Yarns

Love a Good Yarn…

Welcome to Love A Good Yarn… A diary of what if, whatnot or whatever… and other accidents of inspiration…

Beginning with a willful character who shears a sheep, spins some wool into yarn, attempts to knit a sweater, runs into a bit of a snag at the finicky sleeves, refuses to wear the resulting lopsided sweater-vest, then, after a not-so-weensy tantrum, insists that the ‘dear author’ write about the whole awful ordeal anyway.

The ‘dear author’ tried to write about it, really, she did, but wound up writing about a wolf instead.  A wolf with an unusual appetite for first-time knitters wearing crooked vests…

So next time you’re at the library, please thank the librarians for keeping millions of cheeky protagonists in check until they’re checked out. [But never, ever, under any circumstances, thank the Librarian with the Beehive Hair. More about her later…]