The Buried House

The Buried House

The Buried House

The Buried House
By Stephanie L. Robertson
Available on Smashwords–Just search on “Stephanie L. Robertson”!
Price: Free!
Words: 700.
Category: Fiction » Thriller & Suspense » Paranormal

A young woman’s haunted memories entangled with an old house that is being demolished. As she watches the destruction of the house, she recounts her story of the chilling tragedy that occurred inside.

The Buried House is my first ebook!

It’s my magnum opus. Or, as Painter Smurf would say, it’s “my masterpizza!”

Well, I’m exaggerating. It’s a short story (only 700 words) that I put on Smashwords and Amazon earlier this summer. It’s on Amazon, and I’ve tried (my brother has tried, my friend has tried) to get them to put it on for free, since their competitor (Smashwords) has it for free. Still waiting.

And waiting…

…and waiting…

Anyway, it’s on Amazon for 99 cents, or you can download it from Smashwords for free. You’d be doing me a huge favor if you could go rate it on Amazon for me. And while you’re there, you could let them know that Smashwords has it for free.

Hope you all enjoy!

Musings of a Neo-Hippie Mom (Part II)


Lefty and I have been watching that CNN documentary series on the 1960s.  I started re-thinking yesterday’s post about being a neo-hippie.  As a free-thinker and someone who goes against popular culture, I hope that I wouldn’t have been cruel to our VietNam vets when they came home from the war/conflict (however you want to call it.)  Those guys went through so much horror. Whenever I see something that identifies them as a VietNam Vet, I thank them for their service.  What a confusing mess of a war!  I also feel sorry for Lyndon B. Johnson for trying to lead our divided country during that conflict.

Well, forward to now and my latest hippie-ism:  


I’ve been reading Salt Sugar Fat: How the Food Giants Hooked Us by Michael Moss, and I followed it up by going to Earthfare and buying stuff like Ezekiel 4:9 bread. Yes, that is bread made from sprouts and seeds rather than all of those nasty additives. It was Yuuuummmmy! I highly recommend it. I bought antibiotic-free pork-chops, and coconut milk.

The Robertsons are going clean! Well, not entirely clean. We’re just trying to eat a little bit healthier, trying to get better about salt, sugar, and unhealthy fats. We’re trying to avoid weird additives. One of my friends told me that one fast-food restaurant uses an additive used in manufacturing yoga mats in their bread. Yuck!

So tomorrow it’s going to be organic pork chops for lunch. Why don’t you all come on over!

Organic side for the chops, tomorrow.

Organic side for the chops, tomorrow.

Good for those smoothies that I like so much.

Good for those smoothies that I like so much.

Musings of a Neo-Hippie Mom (Part I)

My papier-mâché hippie puppet from college art class.

My papier-mâché hippie puppet from college art class.

When I was in college, I decided that I was a neo-flower child. After all, I had been born around the time that people were putting flowers in their hair and VietNam was going on.
When I mentioned it to one of my relatives, he nearly exploded. Apparently, he had been a real hippie, and he did not want that kind of lifestyle for me.

But he missed the point that I was trying to make.

See, growing up in a small town, there was a dearth of free-spirits, so I was an anomaly. It wasn’t until I got to college that my peers didn’t disparaged because of my deep faith in God.

The different between me and the hippies of the 1960s-70s is that faith.

I have something that I’m willing to give my life for. I am plugged into the Source of love, beauty, and peace. One of my favorite Bible verses is Galatians 5:22-23.
And isn’t that what the hippies were striving for? They were just misguided, right?

Galatians 5:22-23

Galatians 5:22-23

So, even though I’m a suburban housewife—and uncool by default—I still contend that I’m a neo-flower child. I go by the words of my Best Friend…a radical for His time. Seems like I go against the grain of popular thought for my day, too.

I may not be “a progressive thinker.” I may be accused of hating certain groups of people. (I don’t hate anyone…I simply abhor what they stand for).

I may be accused (Mt. 5:10-12) of being backwards and ignorant. I may be considered to be a prude, and I’m sure that I’ll always be in a minority, but I’m okay with that.

How about you?

Peace out, y’all.

How to Wrangle a Pup for a Vet Visit

Spike_bubbles Spike_bubbles2 Spike_bubbles3

I tossed my handbag out of the way and dove for the pup. We had twenty minutes to lasso Spike, our three-month old lab rescue pup, and get him to his veterinarian appointment. The garage door was closed, so Princess Buttercup (PB) and I edged toward him with his collar and his leash.

It was a dirty job. Spike had spilled a half-gallon of PB’s bubbles on the garage floor, and he slid around on it with his big, webbed Labrador paws. I got down on my knees and slipped the collar around his neck, wrestling the pup the entire time. Standing up, I brushed bubbles, shedded doggy hair, and dirt from my knees. PB held Spike’s leash as I ran inside and washed pup slobber from my hands.

The first chore was done.

Princess Buttercup hung on to Spike as we backed out of the garage. To distract him for the car ride, PB had brought along a plastic “bone” that Spike and Snuggles usually argued over. For some reason, Spike suddenly had no interest in the toy. Instead he went for whatever piece of car he could fit into his mouth.

PB busied herself tossing stuff into the car’s hatch to get her toys away from Spike. I gave him an empty Happy Meal container, which kept him busy (and his teeth away from the car) until we got to the vet’s.

At the vet’s:

Getting a big pup onto vet scales is a feat. Spike now weighs about 30 pounds. He’s a big ball of cute puppy energy! He likes our vet, who he could hear from the other side of the door. Spike jumped on the door and tried to turn the door knob with his paws and his mouth. He just can’t quite figure out why the humans can open a door and he can’t!

When it was time to pay for the visit, I realized that I didn’t have my purse!! I drove all that way with no license and now had no way to pay.

Fortunately, the vet allowed us to pay later, and we made it home without being stopped for a random license check.

I found my purse high up on Lefty’s tool box. Yeah…weird!

Later that evening, Lefty asked, “Why is Snuggles’ food all wet?” It was just another casualty of spilled bubbles and taking a pup to the vet.

Purse on toolbox.

Purse on toolbox.