kasbah (also casbah): a castle, palace, or fortified, older section of city, typically seen in Northern Africa; also, an oasis, place of rest, relaxation, a community gathering spot with merchants and markets tucked among residential streets
Sit and relax for a bit in the kasbah. I’m glad you’re here. No, really, I am. You just made my day.
I am a YA and Middle Grade writer with a passion for travel off the beaten path. I am a child and family therapist by day, a writer by night, and am always plotting and scheming my next travel adventure. I am currently revising my first novel.
The kasbah is an eclectic place to gather, a place where you can read about my travels, ponder quirky, thought-provoking questions of the week, enjoy (or scratch your head in bewilderment, both of which are entirely likely) letters between myself and
myself a certain classy British actor, or catch the occasional book review and book release (including, but not limited to, YA and Middle Grade books).
I hope you’ll stay a while, have a look around the place, and then have a cuppa tea with me. I always love to hear from readers, so please feel free to leave a respectful comment whenever you’re here.
And now, here are some RANDOM THINGS ABOUT ME that no one really needs to know but may find interesting:
1. I have to make my bed every day, and by have to I mean I am compulsively driven to do it. Kids need to get to school? Late for a flight? About to go into emergency surgery? Doesn’t matter. The bed must be made first. It’s all about visual clutter and a messy bed is visually distracting.
2. I really love reading travel guide books. Fantasizing about far off places and all of the things I could see and do when I’m there is what has seen me through some tough times. It’s even better when I get to go to the places that I’ve been reading about. I also love travel gear and finding ways to pack my Rick Steves carry-on suitcase/backpack (yes, it converts between the two!) as full as possible with all of my *essentials*, like my Rick Steves travel clothesline – one of my new favorite things to take on a trip.
3. I also love my local library and every time I go there I think, “This place is so awesome, I could LIVE here. Except I would really appreciate it everyone who hangs out here maybe not stay all day because it is, after all, my house.”
4. My first job was as a shoe salesperson in a department store. You might think this a good thing for someone who likes to shop, but let me assure you it was not. Try fitting someone’s stinky, sweaty feet into a shoe and you, too, would quickly get over the whole employee discount thing. Since then, I have vowed to never try on shoes in a store unless my feet were fresh as a daisy and my socks were the cleanest, nicest pair I own. And even then I still insist that I put the shoes on my own feet because I really don’t need the whole Cinderella treatment anyway. Just the shoes, thank you.
5. Almost all of my friends are extroverts, except one person who, oddly enough, agreed to let me write a post about her. And almost all of them like to “check in”. As in “tell me ALL ABOUT YOURSELF and WHAT YOU’VE BEEN DOING and HOW YOU FEEL ABOUT THAT.” Those extroverts are some of the nicest, most supportive people I know. And sometimes they exhaust me in that I-am-so-blessed-and-loved-and-now-I-need-a-nap kind of way. *gives hugs to all my friends* *hopes none of them are offended by this comment* *worries that I’ll have to check in about this comment with said friends later*
6. My second job was at a water slide park when I was 17. I didn’t learn to swim until I was 21. I know, how scary for me, right?
7. My first perm (yes, that’s right, there was more than one) was a home perm given to me by my dad. I really wanted bouncy, curly hair for my 8th grade school picture and my mom came down with the flu a few days before so she couldn’t do it. My Harley-riding, tough-guy, mechanic Dad agreed to give me the perm the night before picture day. How I managed to talk him into doing this for me is beyond the reaches of my memory. What I do remember is the toxic smell of the chemicals and the lopsided curls in the aftermath of it all. Needless to say, my 8th grade picture was by far my least attractive one.