A new day

First, I've got a confession to make.


I've decided to end the giveaway early. Thanks to all of ya'll who entered, but I decided that a winner had shown itself and there was no sense in running it anymore.


Queen Bitty said I could do it. I have permission.


You see, Bobbi Jo first won my heart with her love of Christmas and her enthusiasm for the stocking. Any woman who puts a tree in every room and is full of the Christmas spirit is already in the running for a stocking, in my book. Most of my Invisible Friends felt my pain all too well and wanted nothing to do with sewing, but Bobbi was ready for the challenge.

And then I read Bobbi Jo's blog and learned her husband lost her job and she was worried about making Christmas special for her five kids.


There's no one who needs a sugar plum fairy stocking more than that, particularly when you're a fellow Christmas enthusiast with little girls.

Now, Invisible Friends, this is no pity prize. This is no charitable donation. I wanted this stocking to have a good home with someone that would love and appreciate it, and cherish it for years to come. I know Bobbi Jo will do a splendid job of that. So really, she's helping me out.

Bobbi Jo, congratulations! E-mail me your address at mirkoerner@gmail.com and I'll get it shipped your way.

And now, for today's tale....

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It was the same walk, but on a different street in a different part of town. The roads were different, the sidewalk foreign. But the trees rustled the same, the sun glimmered overhead and the blue sky stretched above me the same way it always had.

But it wasn't the same. Biting my lip, I scuffed my shoe against the sidewalk and glanced around nervously. Before I walked alone on a long street on an empty part of town. Now I was surrounded by people and buses, the open blue sky interrupted by towering buildings. My throat burned and I looked down.

"I know." The words were a whisper and I smiled and held out my hand. His tiny feet landed on my skin, softer than a warm breeze on a fall day. His wings opened and closed, brilliant yellow and black in this land of beige and grey.

"I wasn't sure if you'd find me." I smiled wryly as his wings twitched with amusement.

"I will always find you." His wings opened and closed slowly. "It is you who can't find yourself."

"What do you mean?" I asked, mouth open. "I'm not having a personal meltdown."

His antennae twitched. "No," he agreed. "But you are lost. You are in a new chapter, a new day. And you're hiding under the covers ignoring the alarm clock."

"It's not that bad," I muttered, pressing my left hand against my burning cheeks. "Is it?" I looked at him uncertainly.

"That depends on you," he said, climbing daintily up my arm. "It's always depended on you."

Exhaling deeply, I stared down the never ending sidewalk as cars rolled by.

"I just feel like I've been handed the bad end of the deck," I said, chewing on my lip as I spoke. "I didn't do anything, yet everything at work has changed. I've got a different position, we're in a different office with different people and different rules and Libby's gone. It's better for her, but it's not the same."

"The days are empty now," the butterfly murmured, reading my thoughts. "You feel as though time crawls by."

I nodded. "I care, but I don't care," I said definitely. "I know what my goals are, and they aren't here. And I'm lucky to have a job and the freedom I do. It's just in a way, I feel as though I'm on the verge. I've felt that way for a long time."

"Of what?" His wings brushed my arm and a shiver tingled down my spine.

I was quiet for a moment. "That it'll be my time. That I'll finally break through."

The butterfly giggled gently. "People don't break through," he told me. "They chip through. Day by day, hour by hour, they take steps to their destination. You've chosen your road and are making your way. Don't worry about the time or the progress--just worry about the next stop. To compare yourself to others is futile, because you're not them. You're you."

"You're right," I said sheepishly. "It's terrible to get so worked up, isn't it? I just--I was comfortable."

"Comfort is an excuse for not wanting to change," the butterfly said reasonably. "You use your structure, your routine as armour for creativity, at least that's what you say. But to be truly free, you must be comfortable within you, not the structure you dwell in."

I scowled. "I resent that," I said. The butterfly nodded.

"Of course," he said. "It's not easy."

"I never asked for it to be easy," I pointed out.

"But it is natural to wish for it," he reminded me. "But you're better than that."

I shook my head and the butterfly landed on my nose, pressing his face to mine.

"Trust me," he whispered. "For when you trust you, everyone else will. Then it will all create itself. You must have faith."

"I do," I murmured, my voice cracking.

"I know." And then he was gone, floating above the city streets and into the warm sunshine. I smiled despite myself, watching him drift among the clouds in the piercing blue sky.

And then I turned back down the sidewalk.

It was a different street, and a different place. But I had the same hope I always did.

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends! This weekend, we have a double edition of Kitchen Magic! Also, next week is Thanksgiving week. Any suggestions? Do you want to talk gratitude or food? Tell me what you'd like to see! Do you want a different thing I'm grateful for each day or an ode to my favorite Thanksgiving treats? Let me know!

A new season

They were everywhere. They floated over the highway and danced in the clouds. They fluttered in the trees and floated over the sidewalk. They were in the Walgreen's parking lot and sunbathing on the flowers in my front yard. No matter where I went or where I looked, all I saw was butterflies for days.

As I walked down the sidewalk, a familiar friend brushed against my cheek.

"Where did they all come from?" I asked immediately.

"We could ask the same about you," he teased, clutching onto the strands of my pale hair. He wove the strands around his tiny hands, fluttering his wings gently.

"Why are they here?" I tried again.

"It is fall." His voice was warm and full of joy. His bright orange and gold wings fluttered against the soft gold of my hair; his fall next to my summer. "It is a new season, a time for new beginnings. You're fresh on a new beginning yourself."

"How did you know?" My mouth dropped open.

"We always know," he reminded me. "But this beginning will be different than all the others."

"Because I only have a year?" I let the words tumble over my tongue. For the first time, I really tasted them. I had a year. Only a year to achieve the goals I set for myself at 19. One tiny year.

The butterfly fluttered his wings as if he sensed my thoughts. "A year is a long time," he said gently. "But it also is only an instant."

"Tell me about it," I muttered, the fear and uncertainty beginning to freeze my thoughts. "It's just so frustrating," I murmured, letting him slide down my hair and nestle on my neck. "No many how many hours I have, I never can quite get everything done."

"And you never will," the butterfly replied, his voice pure honestly. There were no excuses, no whines or whimpers in his words. "But that is not what is different about this beginning. You're what is different."

"How so?" I asked. I had only been a year older for a day now.

"You are not afraid," he whispered, the words grazing my ear like a silky ribbon. "Even while facing nothing but uncertainty, you know what will happen. You are confident in yourself and your abilities. You are no longer depending on anyone for comfort."

"I don't know if I'd go that far," I grinned. "I'm still pretty crazy."

The butterfly's antennae twitched. "That will never change," he replied dryly. I giggled, my shoulders bouncing as the butterfly leaped to my neck in alarm.

"So what does it mean?" I asked as we rounded the corner.

"You know what it means," the butterfly said, his tone stern. "It means you're open to options, for possibilities. You no longer have the comfort of never ending stability."

"And that's bad," I said sharply. "I don't like change. I don't like the idea that everything will be upside down. I don't like the idea of not knowing."

"But that's what makes it so grand," the butterfly whispered, his wings tickling my cheek. "That's what makes this beginning so different."

"I don't understand." My voice haltered. The butterfly flew to the tip of my nose. His wings opened and closed slowly as he stared into my eyes.

"When one doesn't know the road ahead, one can go anywhere," he replied simply. "And you will. You have the strength to trust yourself now. You have the heart to do it." And with that, he fluttered into the breeze. His orange wings blended in with the dozens of other butterflies, flapping in the bright sky until I could no longer see him. Smiling, I brushed a tree as I passed toward the door. A few leaves tumbled on my shoulder and I caught them in my palm.

It was a new season.

Back in the flowers again

The cold has been blown back to the north where it belongs, and the sun smiled down on the Pond today as I skipped about outside. It was much too pretty of a day to spend chained to a computer and a ringing phone. This day, a perfectly cool day with warm sunshine, was perfect for chasing grasshoppers.

As I walked on my daily walk, I squatted down to see the grasshopper hopping through the dead grass. I followed him closely as he crawled through dead leaves and small patches of weeds. You see, I was determined to catch this grasshopper, or at least try. I had determined he could live on my desk in a jar as a pet and keep me company.

Waddling along on the ground in a demented ape-like fashion, I heard a faint whisper in my ear. I grinned, knowing what was coming.

"Would you mind telling me exactly what you're doing waddling about on the ground?" the butterfly scolded in my ear.

"I want to catch this grasshopper and put him in a jar for my desk," I said. "It gets lonely sometimes."

"You should know better than that," the butterfly said disapprovingly. "He does not want to be in a jar. He wants to spring through the grass freely."

"I know," I sighed as I stood up. The butterfly fluttered up to my shoulder and delicately clung to the fabric with it's tiny feet. "It just got so lonely this winter. There were a few animals, but everything was dead, cold and grey."

"That's no reason to put animals in a jar," the butterfly chided. "Would you put a puppy in a jar? Would you want to be in a jar? You can barely sit at a desk for two hours, let alone be confined to a jar."

"I got your point!" I said, rolling my eyes. "I understand."

"You do," the butterfly said, lowering and raising his wings in approval. "You do more than most." His tiny feet grazed the silky material of my shirt.

"I missed you, butterfly," I said, turning my head so his wing could skim my cheek. "Are you back for good now?"

"Perhaps," the butterfly said. "That all depends."

"On what?" I asked.

"On many things." the butterfly ventured into the crook of my neck. I leaned my head into the side.

"You always say that," I sigh. "You always show up long enough to give me hope, then disappear again. It's as if some mystical force is controlling you."

"Perhaps one is," the butterfly said. "Perhaps one isn't. We come and go as we are intended to, and as we wish. Some things, one must take on faith."

I turned and began walking back toward the building, my steps slowing. I looked at the sky.

"Sometimes I wish I could just live in a field," I said dreamily, feeling the sun warm my face. "I wish I could live on a tree, swimming in a creek and living off of berries and homemade breads."

"It is not meant to be," the butterfly said gently. "Dreaming is all well and good, but there comes a point where dreaming about what can not be becomes a source of bitterness rather than fantasy."

"But why?" I asked longingly. "Why can I not sit under a tree and tell stories to raccoons and possums? Why can I not braid flower crowns for my hair and dip my feet in a pond that wouldn't kill me to drink?"

"Why does the grasshopper not wish to be in a jar?" the butterfly traveled between the wisps of my hair. "If you lived outdoors, you would want to live indoors and be waited on. You're simply wishing for an escape. Besides, you would be as ill-suited to living in a tree as a grasshopper would to a jar with a few blades of grass. You are what you are. There is no changing that. Though you come closer than most."

"I just wish I was more connected," I confessed, sighing as I approached the building. "I don't belong cooped up, and I don't need to live outdoors."

"Then fly," the butterfly whispered gently. "Float, and fly."

With that, the butterfly released his clutch on my shirt and floated gently into the breeze. I watched him in wonderment, feeling my face break into a grin.

"When will you return?" I asked, knowing what the answer would be.

"Soon," the gentle reply came, as it always came. "Soon. We will be back soon."



****Land of animals of flowered bed coming soon **********