You Beautiful Bloom

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First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes the baby in the baby carriage. How many seeds are planted before conception I wonder. A friendship turned relationship is a seed that was planted and blossomed. Perhaps that seedling will grow into a flowering  tree, each bud derived of that first seed. I adore this analogy…

shallow focus photography of white petaled flowers
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I dunno…

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The August Writing Challenge continues and I’ve found myself playing catch up right here at the end of the month. The challenge was a great way for me to blog more. There were some good prompts on most days. But just take a look at days 26-28…….

  • 26) Blood pressure
  • 27) Reservation
  • 28) Bellow

Ummm. What am I supposed to write in relation to those three very specific, very random-like prompts? I have no idea. So this is me shouting into the blogosphere. Hey! Amazing Readers! If you’re out there! Feel free to comment on this post whereas it pertains to blood pressure, reservation, bellow. Go for it. Lol. Kat out!

ask blackboard chalk board chalkboard
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P.S. This is not writer’s block, I swear. These are simply irrelevant to me prompts and I can’t find a decent singular thing to write about so I’m spouting obtuse if not obsolete randomness. The End.

Quit Ya’ Bellyaching

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Whenever things get tough and I just wanna curl up into a ball and cry uncontrollably or complain endlessly, I tell myself, “Suck it up Butter cup!” There’s always someone in a worst predicament than yourself! That’s not to say that you should gloat over those who are less fortunate or in pain. It is to say that we could all use a lesson on gratitude and what it means to be thankful. Nobody said life was gonna be easy. But it can always be worse! Someone once told me, “It’s better to be pissed off than to be pissed on,” and even if you find yourself downwind and drops that aren’t rain should attempt to saturate your day, then move! Do something! No-one said you have to settle! So yeah, quit ya’ bellyaching and suck it up Buttercup!

woman training in a gym kicking a training bag
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Writer, Katandra Jackson Nunnally at Facebook… 👍 the page…


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August Writing Challenge. Day 25 prompt, ‘Shoelaces’. I’m running a few days behind with the challenge. About a week of days to be exact. So this is me playing catch up. Now, what to write about shoelaces? How about a few fun facts from another Blogger. No need for thanks, but you’re welcome 😉 

Southern Summer

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Have you ever had the great misfortune of spending summer in the South? It’s hot and muggy and humid and did I mention, it’s hot! Even the breeze is a tantric tease with its open-mouthed warmth eased. Heat rises like a cobra in the desert, ready to strike. Old people and children, unsuspecting victims. Summers in the South are brutal.

Have you ever had the great fortune of spending summer in the South? Sweet tea with lemon, please. Lounging at the lake. Basking in the beach. What extreme heat? The waves crash upon the shore, an intrinsic lullaby. So this is paradise? Summers in the South are beautiful.

But I must admit, I’m looking forward to Autumn.

barefoot beach blur break
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Writer, Katandra Jackson Nunnally at Facebook… 👍 the page…

Final Flight

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white brown and orange moth
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The faint flutter of sand colored wings beat against the lampshade. “Like a moth to a flame, burned by desire. That’s the way love goes.” Janet Jackson’s voice drips like honey as the song plays out in my mind. Poor creature was inhaled into the interior of our home with the widening of a welcoming door. Then I suppose it went quite unnoticed until the lamp was flicked on; that’s when the fluttering began.

“Anybody gonna kill it?”

“Ya wanna break the lamp?”

“If you try to catch it you’ll crush its wings and it’ll die!”

“Oh for Pete’s sake. Let the thing have its way.”

An exasperated query. Concern for a cheap, inanimate object. A warning. Disconcernment. Each family member returned to their respective biddings. The moth continued its seemingly futile dance, refusing to give up, driven by some innate force until it finally breached the cruel, unforgiving perimeter. Face to face with the artificial illumination, the dance continued till morning I presume. Upon reaching to switch the lamp off I found the thing dead. Tired. Exhaustion lending way to its expiration. Happy at having soared to the sun… *This is a very, very brief work of fiction 😊

Writer, Katandra Jackson Nunnally at Facebook… 👍 the page…



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A length of cold, skinny, tubular metal, one grasped in each hand. One end blunt, the other end, two dangerous points! And she knits. Worlds of yarn are born at the urging of her hands. I recall my Aunt Pat  knitting when I was a girl. I was fascinated then. I never understood how though. Fast-forward many years later, I’ve had children of my own and those childrenaye practically adults… One of the three that I’ve birthed has picked up on this pastime. A hobby she’s honed to the point of, perhaps not perfection, but at least baby booties! I’m fascinated now. I still don’t understand how. My Aunt Cookie visited Georgia from New York a million moons before the conception of my children was even conceived in my mind. Her pastime of choice involved yarn and a crochet hook. This I could fathom. The latching of and pulling through and latching of and pulling through of yarn. That summer I didn’t progress much beyond a crochet chain, but I never forgot the quiet joy that accompanied the steady movement of hands. My Aunt Cookie passed away about a year ago. I think she’s be please to know that I finally progressed beyond that single crochet chain and actually made something. My first complete crochet something is a scarf I created last winter. It’s not store quality or anything to brag about, but the wonder on his little face as that scarf grew, let’s just say it’s a look I’ll never forget.

brown wooden rod and purple yarn ball beside white braided cloth
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Writer, Katandra Jackson Nunnally at Facebook… 👍 the page…