fall flowersThe golden flower of fall has withered

Partly crisp and yellow under the sun

Petals droop

Soon, they will begin to fall

Slipping one-by-one to the somber soil of a new season

Mellow, it’s begun

Warm and wonderful under the sun

Waiting for what is to come

The golden flower now falling….





One + One = Two

Well, today’s the day.  An official announcement from me.  Oh sure, I’ve left clues.  A few l.e.t.t.e.r.s here or a couple of words there.  But, never an official announcement.  Not from me.  Not here…until today.

After 15 years, yes fifteen I’ve taken the plunge.  I’m proud to let my WordPress family know that I’ve written a new children’s picture book entitled, Babies of Two.

So how did this all come to be?  Many months ago during the whisper of a winter’s chill, words tapped upon my computer keys.  A story to be.  After printing pages out, I read them aloud to my wee granddaughter who giggled with glee.  “Again, Grandma, again,” she shouted.  Grabbing the sleeve of my arm, she added, “Let me see, let me see!”  Alas, no pictures from me…..

Within days, I came across a WordPress blog where an enchanting illustration captured my attention.  Posted by the talented artist Alisa Belzil, was a delightful illustration of a precocious little girl dressed in a yellow raincoat splish-splashing in puddles of mud.  Dancing above her head were droplets of rain cheerfully painted in water-color blue. Sadly, the child had no words to say….

From there fate stepped in to begin my journey with Alisa.  1+1=2.  Could this really be true?  What should I do?  As they say, ‘the rest is history.’  Writing is a great love of mine that plopped into my lap many moons ago.  Still, I haven’t published a book in over twenty years.  At the same time, Alisa had never designed or illustrated a book before Babies of Two.  Is it fair to say, we both had a lot to learn?

Alisa is an amazing artist, designer and illustrator.  Most of which I knew from the start, but there was something else hidden beyond her sketch pad and pots of paint.   A common bond between the two of us.  Month after month we focused our passion on the process with one goal in mind, to make our book the very best it could possibly be.  After that, our golden pot at the end of the rainbow was to win the hearts of children and caregivers through heart and humor with sprinkles of love throughout every page.

In the beginning of this project I hoped for pictures to go with words.  At the end, I have a trusted friend.  Yes, I still have trouble unzipping files.  But, I’ve always been very good at math.  1+1=2!

Babies of Two will soon have a special delivery.  They’re available for pre-adoption at Amazon.com, with a due date of November 1st.    Amazon.com/author/2babiesauthor


*Please visit Alisa Belzil’s amazing WordPress site at https://sweetafternoons.wordpress.com/ tune into Annette Rochelle Alben’s live radio show (another favorite blogger) this Friday from 1:30-2pm EDT, where I am honored to be her guest. http://www.blogtalkradio.com/themagichappens/2015/10/09/kim-gosselin-and-babies-of-two-on-tell-me-a-story.

Copyright 2015 by Kim Gosselin

Page 9-10



Smile for Me!

Last week was a busy one for me.  Bones were creaking, knees were swelling and occasionally my head began to throb.  Upper lids fell to lower due to lack of sleep.  I didn’t peek, my husband told me so.  Did I care?  Oh, no!  My heart was full.  In fact it overflowed.

Springing forth from buckled seats in a car with South Carolina plates was a young family, tired and ready to rest after many hours on the road.  My youngest son and daughter-in-law together with a sweet toddler and ‘Babies of Two.’  Home for their first visit after three long months.  Years to me.

For nine eves of dark and eight days of rays, the gift of time was shared between two households.  Within those hours not a second was wasted.  A birthday was celebrated with cousins’ who bounced in a blown-up house.  Babies were rocked, diapers were changed and a first ‘Sleepover’ was tucked under the stars.

In between naps and bottles, toys and giggles, I tried my best to work.  Sneaking softly into my turret office space, keys of few were pressed on a computer.  Hopefully, correct words would appear on the screen.  Not much time to press “DEL” or “BACKSPACE” in order to think new thoughts or start sentences again before an infant’s cry.

One day last mid-week, a photo shoot. “Let’s get all the grandchildren together in the park.  When will I have this chance again?”  Five of them, remember?  Ages 3, 2, 1 and twins of nine months.  Feed them lunch.  Playtime.  No naps.  We’re in a crunch.

As the professional set up her shots, grown-ups wrangled toddlers and crawlers.  Suddenly, the three-year old ran like the wind.  A sprinter for sure when high school begins!  Finally, it was time to smile for the camera.  No problem, I thought.  Lots of them captured at home.  Yet on this day it was nearly impossible.  Babies cried, a tantrum ensued and others wearing diapers clenched gums tightly on pacifiers in pink and blue.  No letting go to show a pearly tooth or two.

At one point in the shoot, I remember hearing our photographer whisper under her breath, “It’s like herding a bunch of cats!”  Fearing she had failed, tears began to well within the corners of her dark brown eyes.   Still, it wasn’t her fault.  She had given it her best shot….No pun intended.

Long before our allotted hour, we called it quits.  Any pictures snapped would be gold within shutters of black.  Time capsules of treasures within my family’s life.

Squirming babies, toddlers having tantrums plus a preschooler running free.  My heart spills with joy to feel that each and every child is inside of me. 




Because of You

Wordpress Logo




Happy Anniversary with WordPress.com!

You registered on WordPress.com 3 years ago!

Thanks for flying with us. Keep up the good blogging!


A surprise for me as I opened my beloved WordPress site.  Three years ago today, I never would have imagined that I’d still be sitting in my burgundy leather office chair, tapping keys to write A.B.C.’s.

Heartfelt thanks to YOU, each and every one who has given me bits and pieces of your life, precious pockets of your time.  My own family has grown from four to six, then six to eight before finally halting at eleven since I began writing here three years ago today. Believe me, I know how difficult it can be to keep up with life, to live your passion while shooting for the stars.

Do not ever think your support has gone unnoticed or is not appreciated.  I thank God for you…..my readers.  For if no one read my words they might be tucked away in a box somewhere.  Stuck under an iron bed of gray, on top of a wooden shelf painted white or out in my garage up in the rafters.  Perhaps my grandchildren might lift the lid to let letters escape.  Sure, they might read them one day.  Maybe….Maybe not?

Instead, my posts are here to share with all who care to read.  I thank you for that, with all the love I have in my heart.

Because of you….Joy in my life.

Kim Gosselin





A Walk in The Park

A quick post this morning.

Riding on the passenger side of my husband’s car, air sneaking in an open window is cool.  Scents of fresh Fall are waking me with promises of a beautiful day ahead.  Skies are pale blue.   Clouds sketched in charcoal gray resembling a horizontal painting lie low, straight north up and above the highway road.

Soon, strong steel beams of emerald-green shine in the dawn of a bridge crossing over the mighty Mississippi where our car turns right to veer into a parking lot.  There, it’s full of others in all makes and models that seemingly have driven faster than ours. People, little and big, some in tiny pushed in baby strollers are out walking near the banks of the rolling river. Excitement is in the air.  Children can be seen wearing colored t-shirts proudly displaying their team names.  Allie’s Angels, Sam’s Supporters or Mandie’s Miracles.  They’re holding onto strings of balloons in circus colors that float high above the current.

Today is the annual Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation’s annual Walk For The Cure here in the quaint town of St. Charles, Missouri.  My family has taken part in this most important fundraiser for over twenty years.  If not a cure, we hope for better lives for children and adults living with type 1 diabetes.  So we walk the streets today of St. Charles, Missouri, where cobble stones still pave the way for old-fashioned dreams of all who take steps…

Wish us well….:)



My daughter-in-law knocked on the door.  Upon opening it she smiled, tired from a long day of teaching teens and in-betweens.  Math and science it seems.  Walking across the wooden floor, ran a robust toddler of one to greet her with open arms.  “Mama, Mama…”  Blond and blue-eyed, his face was aglow to see his mother bending down on one knee, ready to hug him-so-tight.  This single grandson of mine wrapped soft pudgy arms around his mother’s neck squeezing her with all of his little might.  She fell back on her behind to laugh aloud.  Tired no more, life was all about the moment…

With the rest of the family off to a Michigan game for the weekend, the three of us skipped off to a nearby café to enjoy the treat of a special dinner.  Our chosen restaurant was a small, family owned place where menus were written overhead on chalkboards of black.  Beverages were self-serve near a wall towards the right, while wooden booths waited for us to sit and chat on the left.

Although the food in this café is truly delicious, all homemade and one of a kind, the chef is mainly known for his French pastries and desserts.  People from all over St. Louis come to enjoy a slice of mile high raspberry cake filled with buttercream frosting or delight in their signature chocolate desert covered in milk chocolate ganache.  At holiday time, rows and rows of cakes and pies line the entire restaurant with orders sold in advance.  Call early if you want to serve anything filled with cream or baked in crust at your dinner table!

Of course the above, in all its magnificent glory sits behind massive cases of glass lit from behind, tempting anyone who comes to dine.  It’s impossible to say, “No.”  I’ve tried looking another way or ignoring the display.  I’ve even pretended it wasn’t there in order to “come back another day.”  Ha, it doesn’t work that way!

Still, my daughter-in-law and I were doing fairly well in masking our watering mouths.  We sat in our booth, discussing children’s play while waiting for sandwiches to be delivered.  ‘Our’ little man was buckled into a seat, his back to the tempting treats.

Minutes went by…then out of nowhere came a clear voice, as if from a speaker.  “Cupcake.”  It was clear and concise.   Anyone could have said it.  Yet, lips of a toddler were moving up and down.  “Cupcake.”  My daughter-in-law laughed.  Me too!  Then, Little Guy began to giggle.  “Cupcake!”  Our dinner hadn’t been delivered yet, so what the heck?  With permission of course, my grandson was allowed to devour desert as his first course.  Oh, and on the way out, another one to take home!


Will You Choose The Correct Fork In The Road?

Posted on September 22, 2015 by James North

I recently had the honor of writing a Guest Post for the very talented author, James North. Please visit his terrific site as it has much to offer together with his many publications.  http://jamesnorththrillers.com/

Will You Choose The Correct Fork In The Road?

Everyone comes to crossroads in life, a fork in the road if you will.  At one point in my own, I found myself at a dead-end where all that I knew was gone. My vision for the future was not to be.  In an instant. Tick-tock.  Quickly, like a second-hand on a clock.  A new normal was in store for me and my family from that day forward.

To the left were tears leading me down a pity path.  To the right I felt magical whispers of wind wafting through my hair. Somehow, scents of leaves beneath my crinkled nose. Colors of orange and copper splayed across a sunlit wooden bridge beneath the weathered limbs of hanging trees.  Cross it and everything would be okay if only I believed it to be true.  Yes, please, choose the correct fork in the road.

Metaphors of my life from over twenty years ago when my children were diagnosed with chronic conditions.  The above shaped much of who I am today.  Like my boys, I had to change too. Surprisingly I became a writer.  If not for the two of them, I never would have written a single word.  I prayed every day for God to guide me on the right path, for my words to help others through paper pages that would someday be printed in books.

How I wish my children could have ridden bicycles while licking dripping popsicles.   Or, gone off to birthday parties to steal real crumbs of chocolate cake off colored paper plates!  That would have been a true dream come true for me.  Yet, in all of their little lives, it was never to be.  No, God had other plans for us.

My kindergarten boys who once played with toys are now grown.  They will always be blessings who helped make positive differences in the world.  I thank God for holding my hand to choose the correct fork in the road and with His help, you will too.


Lost and Found

The last weekend of long was filled with anticipation for me.  I was off to visit my elderly father in Phoenix, Arizona.  I use the term elderly in a loose manner as he doesn’t look elderly to me, nor does he behave as such.  A boy’s brain in an aging body it seems.  I thank God for that.

I met my sisters at the airport and immediately our togetherness could have become a pilot for an unscripted reality show.  Even at the airport, we got lost before finding each other.  From there it went downhill whenever our sub-compact rental car opened it’s doors to us.  Contorted in every-which-way, we felt caged in small can of tin on wheels of four.  Minus an opener.

My youngest sister was the designated driver.  It was only after we made a wrong turn coming out of the airport that I realized she needed glasses for distance.  She couldn’t read a single sign.  “Kim,” she playfully squawked at me, “I’m a great driver when I know where I’m going!”  “Kellie, you don’t know where you’re going because we’re in Phoenix, not Dallas!”  “Yes, but I’m really good when I use your eyes!”  Seriously?  Seriously??!  “That’s fine,” I responded, “but my eyes are not behind the wheel!”

What should have been a 45 minute drive to my father’s house ended up taking two and a half hours.  My GPS helped to re-route us while my younger sister’s did the same from the back of our seats.  Every few seconds or minutes voices were heard guiding us.  “Make a U-turn, proceed to ramp,” or “Merge on to I-10.”  Again and again and again.  Have you ever tried listening to two voices at the same time?  It was very confusing.  Even more so because one of them had a British accent.  No luck in turning it off.  I tried.  Several times.  The British accent was along for the ride!

Finally we called my father.  Five or six times….At least.  I can’t imagine what he was thinking.  It was nearly 11:30 pm.  He had been waiting for our arrival since 9:00.  Like any father, he was worried and scared, wondering what could have happened to his three daughters.

Guiding us into a parking lot of a nearby restaurant, San Tan Flats, his voice crackled in disbelief through the speaker of an I-phone.  “Oh you girls, do you see the stuffed bear to the left?  Turn right.  Drive until you see a For Sale sign at the end of the parking lot.”  We did before somehow ending up at the restaurant’s hulking emerald-green dumpster.  Our bright lights caught a raccoon scampering off in the distance of the desert darkness.

“Dad, what do we do now?” my sister asked, in panic.  I could tell my dad couldn’t believe his ears.  “Back up, back up, turn around and follow the smoke from the campfire.  Go out the nearest drive to the first road.  I’ll stay on the line.”

Bless my father’s heart.  He did stay on the line, hearing a big thud as we drove over a Saguaro that had fallen during a recent storm.  Car lights, bright from our rental car soon shined on the best of him.  Standing in the middle of the dusty desert road he stood wearing baggy jeans and a loose yellow shirt.  On his feet were tennis shoes, glowing in fluorescent white.  His legs were balanced straight, even and wide apart.   His arms of two lifted high towards a clear endless sky with hands swaying back and forth in a frenzy as if to yell, “STOP!  Turn off the engine now, before it’s too late!”

In spite of our trials of lost and found my father together with all of his children had the very best time.  Rare because the five of us were all together with him.  During the weekend we went to the American Legion where he sang Karaoke and danced the night away with his girlfriend.  Yes, she is so kind and they are happy!

My sisters and I woke in early mornings to share coffee under quiet, peaceful canopies of leftover stars.  We walked at dawn to discover horses who neighed, mongrels who barked and flowers that bloomed “Hello” from nothing more than dry cinnamon dust of a desert crust.

Then the inevitable happened.  Such sweet sorrow to say, “Good-by.”  A whisper in my ear from my father. Choking up he said, “Your mother would love to see all of you kids together like this.”  Hugging him tight, I whispered back, “She does, Dad.”

That’s what life is all about.  Love and bonding.  Togetherness.  No matter how far apart, get together again.  Create new memories.  Laughter.  Even the mini-trips of lost and found with my sisters will forever be with me.  I dare say one of my ribs might be broken from laughing so hard.  No matter.  All was worth it.

From every second in the desert dark to each minute of my father’s mark…..All above is in my heart forever.