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Whispers, warmth, and the things that could make life glow. |
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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 |
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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