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Whispers, warmth, and the things that could make life glow. |
 Welcome to My Private Whispers and Light Blog Some places we create just for breathing — quiet corners where our thoughts settle, our hearts speak, and the small, bright things in life finally get a voice. This is mine. Here, I’m gathering the pieces that make my world feel warm and whole: • the love of my life and my family • art in every color and every form • photos, quotes, and little scribbles that catch me at the soul • Bible verses that steady me • daydreams, hopes, and the questions that keep me curious • wolves, birds, cats, and the creatures I’ve loved since childhood • podcasts I adore, memes that make me wheeze • and the writing that threads it all together ✍🏻 I’ve carried these whispers for a long time — tucked into journals, hidden in drafts, scattered across platforms. Now they finally have a home. If you’ve wandered in, welcome. Maybe you came for a poem, a thought, a spark… or maybe curiosity just nudged you here. Whatever the reason, I’m glad you stopped for a moment. I hope something in this little corner lifts you, warms you, or at least makes you smile. And if not… well, at least you’ll get to wonder why on earth you’re reading this jumble of thoughts and ideas. 🤣 Either way, the door’s open. Let’s see where the light leads. Always kind wishes, Tee |
March 13, 2026 Big Project I have been working on a big project for quite a while now, and I am happy to say it is finally finished. I gathered all of our family photos, including many that were given to me over the years from both sides of the family, his and mine. Some of them were quite old, and a few were showing their age with small tears, scratches, and faded spots. Rather than risk losing them someday, I decided it was time to preserve them. So I scanned every single one and created a computer presentation video using the images. What amazed me most was how many apps now exist that can help restore old photographs. Some of them can soften scratches, repair small tears, and even bring back a little of the brightness that time has taken away. Watching those old pictures come back to life on the screen felt almost magical. Seeing generations of family faces appear one after another was a wonderful experience. Each photo carries a story, a memory, or a moment that mattered to someone. I am very glad I took the time to do this project, and I am even happier that it is finished. The good news is that most photos today are digital, which makes it much easier to keep adding new memories to the family collection. Future generations will hopefully have an even easier time preserving their stories. For now, I am simply grateful to have saved these pieces of our family history. Kind wishes, Tee 📷✨ |
| March 12, 2026 Yesterday felt like a quiet and thoughtful kind of day. As I continue getting back into my normal routines after being sick, I find myself noticing the small things more. When you slow down for a while, whether by choice or necessity, it changes your perspective. Things you once hurried past suddenly seem worth paying attention to. I spent some time writing today, which felt wonderful. After several days of limiting my computer time, it feels good to sit down and let the words come again. Writing has always been one of those things that centers me. When life feels scattered or busy, writing helps bring my thoughts back into order. It also reminds me how important creativity is in everyday life. Whether we are writing, painting, cooking, gardening, or simply telling stories with friends, those small creative moments keep life interesting and meaningful. I suppose that is one of the reasons communities like Writing.com are so special. They bring together people who enjoy creating and sharing ideas, and there is always something new to read or learn from someone else’s perspective. For today, I am simply grateful to be feeling better and able to return to the things I enjoy. |
| March 11, 2026 Last week I wrote a review for a chapter set in the future, the year 2087. Reading it made me think about how much our world has already changed, and how quickly those changes seem to come now. But more than anything, it made me think about memories and how different life once felt. I was born in 1956, though I do not have many clear memories until around 1960. The earliest one I can clearly recall is standing in the doorway of my grandparents’ house. My mother’s sister had just been married, and I remember watching her run beside her new husband as people threw things at them. From my small child’s point of view, it looked like they were being attacked. I did not understand it at all. A woman standing in the doorway with me must have seen the worry on my face, because she leaned down and explained, “Don’t worry. It’s rice for good luck.” After that moment, every time I played make believe and imagined my fairytale wedding, I always pictured rice being thrown. It seemed like the most magical ending to a beautiful day. Even now it remains such a sweet memory. Thinking about that time also reminds me how different everyday life once was. From those early years all the way to 2026, the changes have been enormous, and lately it feels as if things change faster every year. My childhood memories certainly do not include computers. I remember getting my first electric typewriter as a teenager, and at the time it seemed unbelievably modern. It felt like the future had arrived right on my desk. The same is true for television. I remember being the first kid on our block whose family had a color TV. We only had three channels to choose from, but that did not matter to us. That Thanksgiving my parents let me invite several friends over to watch the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. We took over the basement with snacks and music, and somehow managed to turn the whole afternoon into a party. When I look back now, it is amazing to think about the difference between then and now. Yes, there has been a lot of change. But not all change is bad. I admit that I enjoy having more than a hundred channels on my television. I like having a computer and a cell phone. Many of the modern conveniences we take for granted today would have seemed like science fiction when I was a child. Now a cheerful voice from one of the Alexas in my house gives me updates, reminds me of appointments, and helps me make lists just by speaking out loud. And honestly, who needs an electric typewriter anymore when I can simply dictate and the computer types every word for me? Life certainly has changed. But sometimes it is the small memories, like rice falling in the sunlight outside my grandparents’ door, that remind me where the story really began. Kind wishes, Tee |
| Writing Again March 10, 2026 I am finally writing again. After being sick, it has been harder than I expected to get back into my normal writing frame of mind. The doctor asked me to limit my time on the computer, and that has honestly been one of the most difficult parts for me. Writing and reading online are such a regular part of my day that stepping away from the keyboard felt very strange. Still, I followed the doctor’s instructions. The last thing I want is a rebound illness, and I truly do not want to see the inside of a hospital again anytime soon. So I rested, stayed off the computer as much as possible, and let my body do the work of healing. The good news is that I am now feeling nearly normal again. Or at least normal for me. It feels really good to be writing again. I worried that it might be difficult to get back into the swing of things after being away for a while. Sometimes when you stop a routine you wonder if the rhythm will still be there when you return. As it turns out, I worried over nothing. The words came back just fine. Kind wishes, Tee |
| There are moments when life presses pause whether we are ready or not. My last blog post went up the very day I came down with the flu. I had no idea at the time that I was about to step into one of the roughest weeks I have had in a long while. This was not a mild inconvenience. It was the kind of flu that humbles you quickly and reminds you that strength sometimes looks like simply resting and letting your body fight. I am on the mend now, and for that I am deeply grateful. I am still on medication and home from the hospital. For now, I have been instructed to limit my time on the computer to only a couple of hours a day until my doctor clears me to return to normal activity. That has been an adjustment for someone who usually lives quite comfortably in words and ideas. The medication makes concentrating difficult, so I am not writing much at all. Not even blogs. That part has been surprisingly hard. Writing is such a steady companion for me, and stepping away, even temporarily, feels strange. But healing asks for patience, and I am learning to listen. I am much better than I was, and that is what matters most. If I can gently encourage you in anything today, it would be this: protect yourself. Be mindful of exposure. Take precautions. This particular strain was not helped by the flu shot in my case, and it hit hard. So wash your hands, rest when you need to, and do not ignore early symptoms. Health is easy to take for granted until it demands your full attention. For now, I am here, mostly answering email and moving slowly. I appreciate your patience and your kindness more than you know. Stay well. Kind wishes, Tee |
| I’m a bit under the weather and moving slowly right now while I nurse a sinus infection. I may need to stay offline for a couple of days, but I will do my best to check email when I can. Thank you for understanding. Kind wishes, Tee |
True story. My brother-in-law and his wife decided to spend a long, romantic weekend in the mountains. Cozy cabin, fresh air, quiet nights. Honestly, it sounded like a perfect escape. The first evening went just fine. They unpacked the car, settled in, and were winding down when they heard a strange noise outside. Not wind. Something heavy. They looked out the window—and there it was. A very large bear was climbing into their car. The doors weren’t locked. With a surprising amount of confidence, the bear opened one, climbed inside, and began investigating like it had every right to be there. Looking for snacks, maybe. Or just curiosity. Inside the cabin, panic set in. They stood frozen, watching through the window, hearts racing, certain the car was about to be destroyed. Leather seats shredded. Dashboard torn apart. The whole thing reduced to an expensive pile of regret. There was nothing to do but wait. After a few long minutes, the bear seemed disappointed by the lack of reward. It climbed back out, shut the door. Then the big bear wandered off into the darkness as if this were all part of its normal evening routine. The car was untouched. Not a scratch. Not a tear. No damage at all. Romantic weekend? Maybe not exactly as planned. But unforgettable? Absolutely. And to this day, every time the story comes up, there’s the same warning ending: lock the car… especially in bear country. |
Some characters arrive quietly. They don’t announce themselves with plot twists or dramatic backstories. They simply begin to exist, and the more time you spend with them, the more they reveal who they are. This is how I’ve been getting to know one of the girls in the saga I’m writing. I listen. I imagine her in still moments. I watch how the world responds to her before the story ever asks her to act. Her name is Violet. She moves through the world in a way that makes even the wind seem to slow down and listen. She never seeks attention. She walks softly, barefoot when she can, her fingers drifting through tall grass or brushing the rough bark of trees as if greeting old friends. To her, every living thing matters. Birds, trees, the earth, the sky, animals, people—nothing feels separate. All of it deserves peace and kindness. She speaks to the moon as though it might answer, and when she sings, the wind carries her voice as if it knows exactly where it belongs. Her songs hold the clarity of starlight and the ache of something ancient—pure in the way one imagines an angel might sound. The animals are always the first to understand her. She never frightens them, and they never fear her. It began when she was very young, sitting on the porch steps of her family’s country home. A tiny hummingbird fluttered down beside her, trembling. Its beak was bent, its wings shivering with exhaustion. She whispered softly—nonsense, really, just a stream of comfort only her heart understood—and when she cupped the fragile creature in her hands, she gently straightened its beak. By morning it was gone, but a single feather rested on the step beside her, as if left there on purpose. As the years pass, word seems to spread in the secret language of fur and feather. Horses nicker when she walks by. Barn cats trail her shadow like quiet guardians. Even the shy fox that lingers at the edge of the woods pauses long enough to meet her eyes before slipping back into the trees. Her family notices too. From the kitchen window, her mother sometimes watches with hands still in the dishwater, her heart tightening with something tender she can’t quite name. “That child,” she murmurs, “was born with heaven stitched into her voice.” When the land itself feels restless or the day’s work grows heavy, she wanders out to the pasture and sits among the clover. The colts gather around her, lowering their heads until her fingers brush their soft forelocks. Birds perch nearby, curious and unafraid. And if one of the younger children comes to her crying over a scraped knee or a broken toy, she draws them close, her voice low and steady, as if she believes the world can heal itself through kindness if given the chance. In my mind, she is like the moon—gentle, steady, quietly powerful. The same light that calls the wolves seems to call her too, but it teaches her to mend rather than hunt. She never speaks about whatever gift she carries. She simply keeps showing up, calm and constant, her laughter bright enough to make the dogs bark and the roosters crow. Wherever she goes, something wild follows. Not out of need, but trust. And sometimes, when twilight settles and the hills turn silver, she hums to the night. The sound drifts beyond the fence line, into the dark woods and the listening hearts hidden there—reminding them that gentleness is still a kind of strength. This is how I come to know a character—by meeting them before the story begins, and letting them show me who they are. |
| She is a peek-a-pom. Bella and the Simple Joy of Right Now Some days, happiness looks complicated. Long to-do lists, buzzing phones, plans stacked on plans. And then there are days when happiness looks exactly like this. Bella stretched out in the grass, tail fluffed like a small cloud, eyes bright, and her favorite red ball tucked close as if it’s the most important treasure in the world. Bella has a way of reminding me how simple joy can be. Fresh air. Green grass under her paws. A toy she loves. A moment where nothing else matters. She doesn’t worry about what comes next or what didn’t go quite right earlier. She’s fully here, fully herself, and completely content. I love how her expression always seems to say she’s in on a secret. Maybe it’s that life doesn’t need to be loud to be good. Maybe it’s that play is important at every age. Or maybe it’s just that love, when it’s genuine, shows up in the smallest moments. This photo captures Bella exactly as she is. Playful. Calm. Confident. Happy to just be. And honestly, that feels like a pretty good lesson for the rest of us too.  |
The Night of the Skunk (A True Story) Funny story. And I swear, every word of this is true. The year before we got married, my husband and I went to the beach with his family. One night, hoping for a little time alone, we decided to sneak off for dinner by ourselves. It felt wonderfully grown-up and a little rebellious in the way only engaged couples understand. To stretch the evening just a bit longer, he drove us through a new development nearby and parked on the street. No houses yet. No streetlights. Just darkness and quiet. That was when my nerves kicked in. Being parked somewhere that remote suddenly felt like a terrible idea, so we decided to head back to the beach house his parents had rented. On the way, though, we came upon a skunk standing squarely in the middle of the road. We stopped. Neither of us wanted to hit it and spend the rest of the trip smelling like regret. A truck pulled up from the opposite direction and stopped as well. The driver got out and started walking toward the skunk like this was a perfectly normal thing to do. I rolled down my window and asked him if he wasn’t worried about getting sprayed. He calmly told us it was someone’s pet skunk that a little girl had lost, and they were trying to catch it. Because that is, apparently, a sentence that exists. (Yes, I know how ridiculous this sounds. I’m hearing it too.) Trying to be helpful, we drove to a nearby phone booth and called the local police, assuming they might know how to handle a missing pet skunk situation. The woman who answered the phone asked my husband if he was drunk. We were not. We went back anyway and made a sincere attempt to help catch the little sucker, but the skunk had other plans and disappeared into the night. Eventually, the police did show up—mostly to laugh and point at us. By the time we finally made it back to the beach house, it was nearly 3 a.m. His mother met us at the door, already upset that we had been gone so long. We told her the skunk story. The next morning, we told the rest of the family. No one believed us. Not one person. We later found out—ten years later—that the family never believed us. Not then. Not later. Not ever. But we still know what we saw. And somewhere out there, I like to think, a little girl got her pet skunk back… and a couple of police officers still tell that story for a good laugh. Some memories don’t need witnesses. They just need to be true. |
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