Skip to main content

More of the same

Work, work, work. Research and writing. Fun, fun, fun. Also, not just a lttle disturbing, due to the subject matter involved. I'm making great progress though.

Ok, enough of a break. Back to work.


  1. we're rooting for yah!

  2. Duh...

    Are you going to shed some light on what project, what work, what research, the subject matter?

    Or did I miss it?

  3. Yes Pammy, you're such a tease. Just give us a small clue and then we can play a guessing game - come on girl, it's time we had some fun.

  4. We could each contribute a line to your book.

    Or, better yet, why don't you give each one of us a role in your book. You'd change the names, of course, and we'd have to guess who's who.

  5. That would work if this were a work of fiction.

    When I was fourteen, my best friend was raped and murdered. Everyone thought Ted Bundy had done it, as he was here at the time on one of his murderous rampages. However, four years ago the real murderer was found from cold case forensic work and convicted of her murder.

    Sorry kids. Not fun, not fun at all. I'm researching his life and it's gruesome. I feel like I need to steam clean myself at the end of each day to get rid of residual horrors left behind by what I've learned.

    The other book is much nicer. A compilation of my columns to date. The only urge I feel after working on that project is chocolate and cheetos.

  6. Yuk Pammy, that's awful. i forgive you utterly for being so cagey about your work. When you are working on your other book can we have some fun?

  7. Most certainly, but only if you continue being nice to me and not make me cry any more.

  8. Pam, What a horrible experience and you were so young when it happened. But I guess writing about it must be helpful in some way, right?

  9. I don't know. I hope so. I think what gets to me the most is finding out details about things I'd rather not know.

    Also finding out things about this man and his criminal history, the things he's I said, it makes me want to shower with bleach.

  10. This must be difficult, Pam, you having been so close to the 14-year-old.

    What you're doing is more than reliving that horror, you are trying to document it and this loser's life, presumably in an objective way.

    Courage and strength to you.

  11. Thanks WW. I'm doing the best I can...


Post a Comment

Go ahead....tell me the truth :)

Popular posts from this blog

A Poem to an Abusive Man

I've been doing a bit of research on abuse, domestic violence and how it usually ends. It's not pretty and it's painful and I hurt every time I read another woman's tale of horror.

Did you know that emotional abuse is as detrimental as physical abuse? And that most emotional abusers continue on to become physical abusers? I didn't. I do now. I found a site where formerly abused women, on the path to recovery from their abusers, have written poems. This one below is one that haunted me.

Thank You

You wooed me with poetry
I bit on the hook
Had I only first read
The name of the book

I would have avoided
The very first page
For pages kept turning
Revealing the rage

The ups were a great high
The ride was a bash
But I rode with my eyes closed
To avoid seeing the crash
I knew it would come soon
But I never knew when
The rage and the leaving
And the path to the end

You had to control things
Determined you would
Emotionally destroying me
Every way that you could

I'll Love You Forever, I'll Like You For Always...

I rely on the kindness of strangers...

Or not so much strangers as readers of my miserable blog.

I received a beautiful card in the mail from my long-tine reader (perhaps my ONLY reader) that lifted my heart. Thank you, G. Parkes. It was kind of you to think of me. Seriously---you are so sweet. Thank you.

Perhaps we can meet in person one day. I'll be in Utah after Conference. We'll see how it goes.

I've been caring for my autistic grandson since July. It seems longer sometimes---and that's not a complaint. I adore this little man. He holds my heart. He fills my arms and my heart in the way that my own small babies used to do. When mine reached the age where they didn't want to be in my arms any longer, I felt their absence. Their absence from my arms was heavier than actually having them in my arms. It was an ache that is difficult to describe, a phantom pain where something once was but now is no longer.

Before my husband and I went to the cabin th…

I'm Sick. And the election isn't helping.

I spoke too soon about feeling better. My grandson was delightful enough to share his virus with me, so I've spent the past five days losing everything from both ends. It hasn't been pretty.

As a weight loss program though...

At least one end of me has stopped spewing. Now I wait for the other end to stop pretending to be filled with hot lava and erupting without much notice. Sorry, this is what is called over-sharing. Apparently I'm very good at it. You're welcome.

Last night I walked around the block with hubby and our adorable puppy. It was the first time I've been out of the house in five days. It was lovely, even though I was very shaky. Today I actually tried to accomplish something. I sat at my jewelry table, moved my seaglass around. Picked up pieces and played them through my hands. Such beautfy that came from something considered useless garbage and tossed away. I love my sea glass. It gives me the happies.

I also had a severe case of J…