How the Cookie Crumbles

Life and scribbles on the far side of SIXTY-FIVE


*Applause, Applause*


I wrote my About Page four years ago today. It appears I’m off the radar at WordPress, however, because no notification of my blogoversary has arrived yet. Woe is me. NO matter.

It’s been an exciting time and I count myself most fortunate to have met so many fascinating bloggers. Some of you have stuck with me from the beginning to present day. Yes, it took time to meet one at a time, but I’m exhilarated to be a part of this kind and nurturing community.

At last I’m writing thanks to the discovery of Word Press and blogging. I hope with time I learn and improve this amazing and fulfilling craft. You have been most generous in your support and I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Credit: Microsoft PP Slide art

Credit: Microsoft PP Slide art

This anniversary seems the perfect opportunity to celebrate you, and to go on hiatus. I haven’t been firing on all pistons of late and need to rejuvenate. Instead of whining, it’s time I do something about it. I plan to clean up and complete impatient writing projects for which I’ve had neither time nor energy, and to add new ones.

See you in September, kids. Wish me luck. It feels strange to cut myself off for the summer, but I’m doing it because I must. I miss you already.

Credit:  AK47bandit


100-Word Challenge for Grownups – Week #162

It’s a new year and the fun continues. To read the rules and join in, click below:

The week’s prompt:   as I put the decorations away I … + 100 words



Smash! “I sorry, Grammie.” Beth’s lip wobbled; solitaire-size tears leaked to her chin.

“Sweetie, it’s okay. Come sit.”

“It was a accident.”

“I know.”

Brushing copper wisps aside, she raised watery eyes. “You mad now?”

“At you? Never. Who wants a hug?”

Beth giggled and climbed upon her lap.

Grammie wiped the little face. “Each year, as I put the decorations away, I remember your mom, no bigger than you. One Christmas I dropped and broke her favorite ornament, a glass angel.”

“Did she cry?”

“No. I did. She said we’d buy another one.”

“Did you?”

“Yes. Two. Mine’s near the top—there.”

“Mine too. My tree”


© 2015 All Right Reserved TAK


100-Word Challenge for Grownups – Week #147

Come on over to check it out

This week’s prompt  … the hips and haws signal …+ 100 words

(Explanation: These are rose-hips and hawthorn berries)



The kettle screamed like a train whistle. Ivy raised a forefinger to signal her return, but Kay followed her.

“The photo albums I found in the attic this spring? I brought one today.” She leaned against the granite counter hugging bound hardcovers and watched her sister arrange the tea treats.

“Have we seen these before?”

“Nope. They’re Granny’s.”

Ivy placed the tray on the dining-room table. “Recognize anyone?’

“Yes, us.”


“Remember Granny explaining the hips and haws signal fall, and the right time to pick them for her wonderful jellies?”

“Granddad’s camera—we’re helping—too young for school— Wha?”


“Hot-hot-hot. Save the photos!”


© 2014 TAK


100-Word Challenge for Grown-ups – Week #132

To join, check out  and  ‘What is 100WCGU?‘  This week’s prompt: Emerald. 100-word limit.



A jarring gong shattered the silence. Iris slapped her book on the end table and sighed. She kicked back the footrest and forced her wiry frame out of the recliner.

“Coming.” She whipped open the door, auburn hair springing.

A round silhouette waved a contraption towards her. “Delivery for Mrs. Collingwood.”

Iris blinked in the sunlight and scrutinized the UPS uniform and truck in the drive. “Yes?”

“Sign here, please.” He thrust a package forward. “Good day.”

 * * *

Sheer fabric of emerald, the colour of dreams and desire, lay nestled in cloud-like froth. “Oh!” A heart-shaped card tumbled to the floor.


Heaven, Hell and Purgatory

I’m slow at the gate, but eventually  I’ll jump in with both feet.

In August I threw my hands up and decided I was worth a Samsung Galaxy Ace II, a student school special no less. I’ve seen the bright and colourful icons on the new phones and felt left behind. Time to upgrade, and I did with a vengeance. The truth is my current tiny cell with a nub for an antenna wasn’t broken but I needed to keep up with new technology not hide behind the old. I have no-one to call, except in an emergency. I have a land line and it rings only on rare occasions. So what? I refused a plan with all the bells and whistles and finagled a 365-day pay-as-you-go-card. Don’t laugh. Finally I’m 21st century-ready if I’m in a spot. If I need to call anyone while away from home.

Whoosh forward four months. Christmas and New Years have come and gone. My older (almost ten year old) granddaughter has graduated from an iPod to an iPad Mini this year. The six-year-old has a tablet. What a waste of money on the one hand, but on the other I know they must keep up with the times.

Apple, iPad Mini

Apple, iPad Mini

“Babcia, everything’s so easy. All you have to do is this and then run your finger across or pretend pinch…” Happy to show me how her iPad worked, she prattled on while my eyes glazed over and my brain turned to thick dehydrated porridge. She gave me that look—that I-knew-you’re-too-too—a smirk.

“Excuse me. I need to visit the lady’s.” I moseyed down the hall, shut the door, paced, and flushed the toilet for good measure. I splashed water on my face, threw my shoulder back and marched back down the hall. By then the girls were into something else in the dining-room.

I popped open my laptop and Googled one computer store after another: Boxing Week Sales were everywhere for iPad Minis. Huh. Used to be specials might be secured on Boxing Day if the supply didn’t run out.

I raised my voice. “I need to go downstairs for another coffee. Be right back.” Nobody noticed my departure.

A new coffee as cover and my Visa card in my pocket, I raced back to my laptop. The day was Monday, December 30th, the afternoon before New Year’s Eve. Time: about 2:00 PM. My fingers raced over the keyboard before stock ran out. I hummed with excitement from head to toe. I didn’t expect my package till after New Year’s Day.

The following morning, my inbox showed confirmation of my purchase plus a tracking number. Regular ground delivery expected: December 31st. Not possible but I couldn’t help tracking all morning. At 11:31 AM the package had been delivered to my neighbourhood mailbox. How does this work? I’m impressed.

Miss. H. wore a Cheshire smile when I told her the news. “I can set it up for you.”

I had to input my e-mail address, then an alternate e-mail, then my life history. “Stop.”

Everything works except for a teeny snag. My security e-mail doesn’t like my password now and I can’t shop at the Apple store yet. I’m anxious to setup my PC Kindle books on my iPad Mini. If I must use electronic means to read e-books let me at least do it from the comfort of my Easy Boy.

Like I said. Slow at the gate but I’m moving forward–somewhat.  Halleluja!


Flash in the Pan – Demented

Katherine dropped the scotch tape and peeked around the corner at the spectacular tree. Warmth and cheer radiated from the fireplace; joyful carols played a touch above a whisper. She hugged herself. Two gifts left to wrap…the best ones.

Brandon tramped into the overpriced kitchen. Feet wide apart, he tossed off his jacket and loosened his tie. “What’s all this mess?” Wrapped boxes and gift bags littered the table.

Unapologetic, Katherine’s voice wavered. “These are a few gifts for a new friend I’ve invited for Christmas.”

morgueFile free photos

morgueFile free photos

“Christmas isn’t for strangers, it’s for family—except mine, that is.”

“But this is a time for giving, good will…”

“Is that a doll? For you? Are you demented?” He persisted forward until mere inches separated them.

Katherine grabbed the baby doll. “It’s for the orphan girl who’s coming to dinner.”

Brandon staggered as if punched. He cleared his throat. “A little girl? Here?”

~ * ~

The Fall Quarter of Flash in the Pan is coming to the end. The theme is Disturbed.

The word limit for Demented is 150 words. I used them 150.

Check how to join:


My Hidden Scrooge

December is my least favorite time of year. To-date, I have crammed my freezer with food within a quarter inch of air circulation. The real crazy shopping hasn’t started yet. I’m limbering up for the big ordeal in grocery stores where people don’t usually run you down–almost never.

I don’t bake much these days to avoid yet another cookie slipping past my lips to take up comfortable residence on my hips. Now I bake enough for company and my grandkids and send left-overs home with anyone who will have them. No matter how well I’ve avoided sweets, my hips appear wider and softer, but also stiffer and less cooperative than in the recent past.

Back to my main topic. December isn’t a month with thirty-one days, it’s one long convoluted commercial, drowning out reason. Spend. Spend. Spend. Bloated Christmas lists are written and re-written. All the latest toys are at the top. These are not ‘needs’ but ‘must haves’. Mom and Dad buy every item on the list. Extended family members don’t have access to this stipulated compulsion, and must fend for themselves: more non-essential items; hard-earned dollars wasted. Grandparents are left to give gift certificates. ‘Tis the season for absurd spending.

Cars tailgate each other everywhere, roads and mall parking lots are crammed. Drivers, irate and impatient, circle round like vultures creating a new spot out of necessity. Inside stores, it’s a crash-cart bonanza; no apologies needed. Muttering customers resist eye contact; their mission is of utmost importance; nothing else matters

morguefile free photos

morguefile free photos

Long cash lines creep forward an inch and then another, whether there is room enough or not. Cashiers steal furtive glances at the time and wear pasted smiles. All this anxiety for one marketable day with plans already for another battle Royale come Boxing Day.

I read this morning Black Friday transactions outnumbered brick and mortar stores. Maybe the same will occur for this December’s gluttonous spree.

What’s happened to the true meaning of Christmas? I recall December 25th was about a special birth not a riot of envy to amass a mountain of presents underneath the tree.

In closing, I’d like to tell you a true story I heard some time ago about a different kind of Christmas. Young and old, you will shake your heads and sputter but, but…

A widower had six children of various ages up to fifteen; three girls and three boys. There was no extra money for gifts but the father makes a deal. They will have to do without something else, but they can have one gift. Smiles and elbowing ensue. The desired gift for all six: ice skates. Names go into a hat. Who will win? The pink team or the blue team?

A girl’s name wins the lucky draw. One pair of skates, mid-sized, is promised, which the girl must share as they don’t belong only to her. Next year, it will be the boys’ turn to choose, if the money can be found. They too will share one gift among them.

My heart melts as I watch the wonder in small children’s eyes: the glow of colored lights, the excitement, the anticipation, the innocence. I’m old fashioned enough to wish they would stay that way.

Blissful shopping to all and early Merry Christmas. May your credit cards survive the clink of Cha-ching, cha-ching. 


Trifextra – Week 81

This weekend’s challenge is the picture below. Check it out:


Watch this video below:


TrifextraIndustrious winds seeded fragrant forests. Their buds burst in spring, and summer blew breezes for squirrels and birds. Fall leaves in mutinous colour rejoiced, then faded to lacklustre sleep again, until another spring.

~* ~


Flash in the Pan – Left

In the dark, graceless footsteps crunched on gravel.

“Keep it down, idiot.” Sammie hitched his threadbare pants; cricked his neck.

Hook hung his greasy head, pimpled face infected. Dandruff floated to his shoulders.

“Look at that!” Sammie pointed, eyes bright as fireflies. A sinuous silhouette slid past the only lit window.

“Get ready.”

Hook patted pockets; his shoulders sagged; hands stuck in mid-air.

“You left it, where? So—Mr. Voice—you’re no Cyrano after all!”

Wiki Creative commons

Wiki Creative commons

~ * ~

The word limit for Left is 75 words. I used all 75.

For the rules to join the New Summer Quarter of Flash in the Pan, check out: