“No, sweet child, unicorns are #Not real, but they sure make #pretty pictures.”


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Dearest me, did I really say that? I crushed my granddaughter’s heart the day I revealed to her that “unicorns weren’t real,” and, emphatically added, “they did not dance on rainbows.” Why? I thought I was doing the “grandmotherly” thing and told her what I believed as truth. Yet, how could I explain away that even I dabble in fables dusted with a hint of other-worldly magic, as easily as dusting our movie time popcorn with salt?

I retracted my statement. And like every great parent, I now buy her everything “unicorn” that I can get my hands on. Hoping, she will forget those atrocious words that came out of my mouth. Right?

How exactly did Scotland come up with this mystical white pony to be it’s country’s talisman? ( I see that most times it is depicted the size of a horse, but also has been represented as small as a goat, so pony is plausible.)

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I cannot believe my pledge to become more diligent, at least a monthly visitor, to my personal blog has gone to pot. What does this say about me as a writer? Am I not dedicated? Do I not care? Am I saddened to think my story has not materialized, picked up by a big house and made into the next academy award winning movie, yet?


A bit of each I imagine or Aliens makes it a whole lot easier. I think always about what I am going to post or talk about and then, you guessed it, two months have past and I can barely remember my password. Of course I haven’t jotted the code anywhere with the million other combinations for each of my gazillion accounts. Why would I be so sane? Continue reading