- Atlanta, Georgia, United States
- September 01
- Feature Writer
- Our Town Magazine
- Musings of an eventual artist
You can also find me here:
MY RECENT POSTS
February 26, 2014 11:55AM
November 02, 2013 11:11AM
- Blame Game
October 11, 2013 11:21PM
- Warm Whispers
November 18, 2012 10:12AM
- An Empathetic Voter
November 14, 2012 09:19AM
MY RECENT COMMENTS
- “You're never far from my
mind. I only have to look
office, at the
June 03, 2014 10:00AM
- “Thank you, DH, for the
comment and the
November 04, 2013 02:42PM
- “Thought, over and over
again, of conversations I've
September 22, 2013 02:23PM
October 01, 2012 04:57PM
- “You are indeed
beautiful...and reading your
words reminds me
that I am
September 14, 2012 02:49PM
Stacye Carroll's Links
- MY LINKS
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I was bit by the gardening bug early. Well, not bit exactly. No, it was more like someone wedged a pair of twenty pound post-hole diggers into my sweaty prepubescent hands while marking off the circumference of five circles where hole/… Read full post »
Tomorrow is the last day of my vacation. Life begins, again, on Monday. And, over the course of the last week, I learned something about myself. I learned there’s a reason I have a job, and it isn’t only about the money, honey&hel/… Read full post »
I don’t watch a lot of television, and when I do it’s usually been pre-screened by TIVO. Because of this, I’m spared commercials, which saves time. I can watch two episodes of Mad Men in the time it would take to view one the “old-fashioned” way. … Read full post »
I made a yardstick cover once. It was my first, and last, experience working with smelly, scratchy burlap. I might have gone with a nice, polished cotton except I was eight at the time, and I worked with what the Brownie leader gave us. The flowers we glued to the… Read full post »
My orchid bloomed today. Or to be more accurate, the orchid that lives in my house chose to bloom today. An orchid strikes me as a plant one never really owns. They’re like cats, headstrong, independent, and beautiful.
I used to live wit… Read full post »
“Mom, you haven’t changed in ten years!”
The words bubble out of him in a cascade of filial adoration, punctuated by the slamming car door.
My oversized bag slides off my shoulder, catching in the crook of my elbow, as I juggle grocery sacks, my cellphone… Read full post »
I knew we were different.
My mother never smiled.
My father drank too much.
My mother never smiled because my father drank too much.
He was a quiet drunk. He didn’t make passes or inappropriate comme/… Read full post »
I was a blonde child. Unfortunately, since color film didn’t enjoy wide use until I was almost a teenager, I can’t prove it.
By the time my father presented my mother with one of those new-fangled Polaroids that developed the film while you flapped the picture in… Read full post »
The air here is cool, and the humidity low. When night falls, an array of tiny, white lights twinkle between swaying branches.
Soft cushions pillow us as we sit in wrought-iron rockers, and rest our feet on wooden slats.
We sip, as we rock....
Night-sounds surround us...T… Read full post »
I get news flashes on my “smart” phone. I don’t know why. I never watch the news, and I certainly didn’t go in search of an application that would beep headlines at me all day. The suggestion appeared on my little 4x6 window-on-the-/… Read full post »
The upper eyelid of my right eye sags a little. I noticed it several weeks ago. Obsessed wouldn’t necessarily be an accurate word to describe my reaction, but preoccupied, anxious, and concerned wouldn’t overstate.
It was morning. … Read full post »
I rode a bike today. It wasn’t my bike. My bike makes a terrible screeching sound when I apply the brakes; a sound that says, “Hey! Everybody look! Stacye’s riding a bike!”. I don’t like that sound.
Instead, I borrowed a bike… Read full post »
Last fall I traveled north, to Blairsville, Georgia. We stayed in a marvelous, rambling inn that left me with a strong urge to carry a watermelon into a roomful of sweating dirty-dancers.
I am left with these images...
My mother had a thing for B.B. King. I teethed to “The Thrill Is Gone”. Even now, as Lucille gives up the opening chords, my gums throb.
I discovered Stevie Ray Vaughn long after the helicopter crashed. The short time he was with us casts/… Read full post »
My Favorite Hotdog Recipe by Stacye Carroll
- Put your hair up, girl! It’s hot out there!
- Shepherd everyone towards the car. Shoes, of course, are optional.
I’ve been a writer for as long as I can remember. Even before I had the notion to put pen to paper, I wrote inside my head. It was a way to pass time during my weekly turn behind the lawn mower. I wove as I mowed an ongoing/… Read full post »
My father fathered four females.
I am the eldest.
“My name is Stacye, and I’m a Daddy’s Girl.”
Of course I am. We all are. We have a Daddy…we are girls. And, like all good southern girls, we actuall/… Read full post »
Most women like frilly underwear. We’re hard-wired that way.
Today’s girl starts out in stylish diapers emblazoned with feminine cartoon images. The accomplishment of potty training is rewarded by a whole new level of chic, as floral patterns and ruffles become available.… Read full post »
You don’t have to look hard for evidence the world is crazy, off it’s rocker, tilted on it’s axis….you get my drift. You were probably treated to several examples of our collective lunacy just now, when you opened your web browser. … Read full post »
As boldly as you brought her, you spirited her away.
You never hid, never shied.
You came in the front door, wooing me with words; soft words, sharp words, words that flowed with cacophonous cadence, words that drew breath from me even as they poured emotion into me.
You sang a/… Read full post »
It’s fitting, I suppose, that I have unruly hair. I’m a pretty unruly woman. But, sometimes, I think it’s my mother’s fault…
Some of my earliest memories are of my hips wedged between my mother’s ample thighs atop our ultra-c… Read full post »
“You haven’t cared in over three years….”
The words are spoken at a dining table, bereft of food, as my fingers find play in tiny, loose strings on one corner of an unemployed placemat.
A whoosh of hot breath forces me back against the rungs of an unforgiving mapl… Read full post »
Shane’s long-time baby-sitter, Christin, invited us to her graduation ceremony. The invitation, and the opportunity it presented, seemed timely.
Shane will start eighth grade in the fall or, as he puts it, he’ll be the “Big Dog”. S/… Read full post »
No one loves their children more than I do. My youngest is thirteen now, which only goes to prove that all the minutes I spent wishing he could be my baby forever were for naught. But I knew that…
To my credit, I’ve turned those mournful minutes into reasons to… Read full post »
In winter they wait in the dark. Steam pours from their nostrils and bursts from their mouths, clouding the yellow stream provided by the streetlight overhead. A tiny, tubular dog dances on one end of a leash held by an elderly man whose shrunken head appears to bloom from the cylinder/…