Despite the many challenges I’m currently facing (and you probably are too) I must force myself to remember to be grateful for all I have.

It’s not easy for me - I easily slip into envy and discontentment.

Going to keep working on it…

Copyright© 2026 Anne Morse Hambrock All rights reserved.

Welcome To The Jungle

Last week I mentioned heading to the National Cartoonists Society Reuben Weekend and was on the fence about whether or not I would post this week.

There was a chance I would be energized but there was also a chance I would be demoralized by all our discussions on the state of the cartooning business and the threat AI is posing to all our livelihoods.

The good news is that we managed to have an extremely good time and park the doom and gloom off to the side for the most part.

But I came home to a massive jungle.

The cosmos, morning glories and mexican sunflowers shot from 4 to 7 feet tall and proceeded to engulf the tomatoes and other flowers.

So, rather than lock myself into my writing room, I spent the day hacking a path,

tying things up, and generally liberating those ever so important tomatoes that I’ll be eating with bacon and lettuce any day now.

Between the travel and the garden I’m pooped.

Back to regular posts next week.

Books

If you like my work there are two book collections of the comics/poems for sale. They make great gifts!

Buy Books

If You Are New Here…

If you are just joining us I’m so happy you are here!

You might want to click here to find out what to expect.

And consider poking around the archives - there’s some fun stuff.

Archives

Joy Shot

Images that make me feel better.

Inside there somewhere is this:

Astonishing what a difference a short 4 weeks can make…

Weekly Dose

Works by other creators that capture our current moment…

No politics today…

Stay engaged!

Every connection between us makes the work feel worthwhile.

Please drop comments, message me, hit the “like” button, use the “restack” feature, or share any other way you can think of.

Leave a comment

A Pledge

I hereby pledge that all my writing, and other creative endeavors, are free of the use of A.I.

With the exception of Spell Check. And whatever other old fashioned proofing tools can be found in my eight year old version of Microsoft word. (I’m a lousy speller with suspicious punctuation skills. I need the help.)

Very short today.

Because the universe, in its infinite wisdom (or just to keep me on my toes) has spent the past two weeks throwing a bunch of crap my way.

I’m not handling it too well.

Yesterday there may even have been a rather large freak out.

When the ipad - the thing I do all my comics work on - decided to get itself stuck in something called a “boot loop”.

No, it’s not a fun line dance set to country music.

It’s a cycle where the thing turns on and off again endlessly and you can never quite get it to stay on long enough to get the files off of it that you just spent three hours creating.

I was able to pivot to another device for the rest of my work but those three hours, and the files that went with them, disappeared into the great vacuum of “time we never get back”.

So today will be a lot of cleanup.

And a series of coping naps.

If I can get my brain to stop doing it’s own stress filled “boot loop”.

Copyright© 2026 Anne Morse Hambrock All rights reserved.

Time Off - Maybe

This weekend I’ll be in Columbus for the Reuben Award Weekend hanging out with my tribe.

Which means that, next Monday, I will either be super energized and full of enthusiasm for a really great post, or hiding under my bed because all everyone could talk about for four days was how AI is putting all us creatives out of business.

If you don’t hear from me next Monday you’ll know how it went.

Regardless, I plan to be back at the keyboard August 17th for sure.

Books

If you like my work there are two book collections of the comics/poems for sale. They make great gifts!

Buy Books

If You Are New Here…

If you are just joining us I’m so happy you are here!

You might want to click here to find out what to expect.

And consider poking around the archives - there’s some fun stuff.

Archives

Joy Shot

Images that make me feel better.

Black Eyed Susans are new to my garden this year.

I think I have underappreciated them in the past and will give them more prominence next season…

Weekly Dose

Works by other creators that capture our current moment…

This is the space I usually reserve for political commentary.

I can’t even go there this week.

I’m so freaked out and overwhelmed by all the badness that I’m sort of sticking my fingers in my ears for a while.

Heather Cox Richardson is usually the first thing I read every morning - I count on her sharp reporting to keep me abreast of not only the news but the news behind the news. The stuff the politicians, and other powers that be, are secretly saying in the back channels.

But this week I can’t even read Heather.

Because it feels like a constant stream of “Here’s all the illegal garbage going on right now that no one is actually doing anything to stop.”

And I just can’t take it.

Stay engaged!

Every connection between us makes the work feel worthwhile.

Please drop comments, message me, hit the “like” button, use the “restack” feature, or share any other way you can think of.

Leave a comment

A Pledge

I hereby pledge that all my writing, and other creative endeavors, are free of the use of A.I.

With the exception of Spell Check. And whatever other old fashioned proofing tools can be found in my eight year old version of Microsoft word. (I’m a lousy speller with suspicious punctuation skills. I need the help.)

Hotels and vacations were not on the menu as I was growing up.

Between the dearth of funds (having a public school teacher as the main breadwinner of the family did not exactly leave us flush with cash) and the needs of my handicapped brother, traveling was challenging.

In fact, as I search my memory, I come up with about five trips that involved a stay at a motel or the renting of a camper. (Notice the word “motel”. I cannot remember ever setting foot into an establishment with a lobby or interior corridors. I had the distinct impression at the time that such places were for folks like the Kennedys.)

We were most certainly of the class that flopped on floors and/or displaced cousins from bedrooms.

I feel as though this was actually pretty common – none of the cousins seemed to mind, as they knew they would get their turn to displace me from my inner sanctum on the occasion of a reciprocal visit.

It’s just what we did.

Fast forward to the early years of my marriage, and then traveling with our young kids, and we see the pattern continuing. Largely because, the hubby and I made similarly impecunious career choices.

But also because there was a particular destination that we just could not get enough of.

The home of my in-laws.

Or, as we used to call it, “The Oasis”.

The house itself was nothing special.

It was the atmosphere and the people.

Most importantly the people.

There are a million “in-law” jokes in the world. None of which could be applied to the couple who would take me in and rebuild me.

I want to state very clearly that my own parents were wonderful people. And deep down I knew they loved me.

But I was the oldest and they still had their hands full with three other children. And extremely busy professional lives on top of it all.

And, as is so typical in relationships between strong-willed mothers and daughters, my teen and college years had been filled with the shouting matches you would expect as we failed to “see” each other, respect each other and nurture each other.

The in-laws for me were a welcome chance at a clean slate.

Freed from any expectations that I may have failed to meet with grades or awards or life choices, they simply thought I was delightful.

Which allowed me to do my very best to be as delightful as possible.

On their own front, they were getting a clean slate from me as well.

Free from the knowledge of anything that went on in their troubled first marriages, and unknowingly benefiting from the work of some very fine therapists, I got to meet two people who were comfortable with themselves and happy.

And generous.

There was always a room, usually two, ready and made up for us to drop into at any time. And a key hidden out back for use at late hours.

It wasn’t just that we knew we were always welcome – no matter what assortment of kids and dogs we might be bringing along – it was a true respite. A place where you could immediately kick off your shoes and take a nap. Where time seemed to stand still and no one needed or expected anything from you.

There was no sneaky score-keeping. (The kind where a person tells you to relax and then behind your back tells everyone later how lazy you are…) The lack of judgment was sincere.

It gave my husband, and me, and the kids, support for our souls and the love we needed along with fun times and memories better than any hotel stay ever could.

They have both been gone for over a decade now and I don’t think a day goes by that I don’t miss them.

And the house.

Because the house was an equal part of it.

When my stepfather-in-law passed, and my mother-in-law moved into a tiny senior condo, there was no more oasis.

We really felt that loss.

Which is why, when any of our friends ask how much longer we will stay in our house before we “downsize” I look at them as if they’re from another planet.

We took those hospitality lessons to heart, endeavoring to create our own oasis space for family and friends.

And, beyond the oasis, the landing pad.

Covid showed us in no uncertain terms how important it was to be able to all be under one roof in a nice pod of family support.

So, to all of you who have let us crash at your place over the years, we have no plans to toss away our house in favor of a tiny condo and our door is always open.

And a bed is ready.

Copyright© 2026 Anne Morse Hambrock All rights reserved.

Books

If you like my work there are two book collections of the comics/poems for sale. They make great gifts!

Buy Books

If You Are New Here…

If you are just joining us I’m so happy you are here!

You might want to click here to find out what to expect.

And consider poking around the archives - there’s some fun stuff.

Archives

Joy Shot

Images that make me feel better.

One of my husband’s many 2026 summer projects was the restoration of this bench.

First, at the “oasis”, and later, outside the little senior condo, my husband and his mother spent many moments sitting together laughing, loving and living.

It is nice to be able to sit on it again and reflect.

Weekly Dose

Works by other creators that capture our current moment…

It is the summer of the great parasite. (That one I can’t pronounce and would have to take time out from typing this to figure out how to spell.)

If you have had the misfortune to experience its effects you have my condolences.

In our neck of the woods the parasite is winning and the CDC and USDA are losing. (As are all those folks addicted to salad.)

I don’t know what changes you’ve made to your lives but on the hospitality front it has meant taking a whole lot of produce off the menu when we entertain friends.

Green salads have given way to melon medleys and I’m currently making my favorite Bruschetta topping from canned tomatoes rather than fresh. (Click here for my recipe on Overbooked & Underpaid: Notes From A Yes-a-holic)

A recent chocolate fondue found me cutting up a fresh pineapple in lieu of trying to scrub down those pesky strawberries.

Here is a pretty good take on things from editorial cartoonist Pat Bagley.

See more Bagley cartoons on the Counterpoint Substack.

What changes have YOU made to the way you eat in view of the parasitic possibilities? Drop them in the comments…

Stay engaged!

Every connection between us makes the work feel worthwhile.

Please drop comments, message me, hit the “like” button, use the “restack” feature, or share any other way you can think of.

Leave a comment

A Pledge

I hereby pledge that all my writing, and other creative endeavors, are free of the use of A.I.

With the exception of Spell Check. And whatever other old fashioned proofing tools can be found in my eight year old version of Microsoft word. (I’m a lousy speller with suspicious punctuation skills. I need the help.)

This happens to me a lot.

And before you chirp helpfully that I should just put an air tag on them – or other tracking thingy – you should know that it’s never going to happen.

Don’t get me started on the potential threats to privacy and security these devices pose – I will go off and easily sound like the craziest conspiracy theorist you ever met.

Instead we can dig into the reason my keys wind up missing in action.

It’s not really that some supreme being is messing with me.

(At least I hope it isn’t.)

And it’s not because my key ring has been whisked into an alternate dimension at various random moments for short inter-dimensional vacations.

(Although that would be pretty cool.)

It’s because I have a push-button car.

Yes, you heard right.

A push-button car.

More specifically, a car that does not possess an ignition.

In which one could insert a key.

Instead, to fire up ol’ Betsy, you push a button that says “engine start/stop”.

Some of you know exactly what I am talking about.

Some of you have not got a clue.

Particularly if you have not had the dubious pleasure of driving a vehicle manufactured later than 2015.

I’m not sure exactly why auto makers decided that putting a key in an ignition was such a problematic design concept. If there are genuine advantages to eliminating this time tested method of starting one’s engine, I’d love to hear them.

What this change has meant for me is that I no longer carry my keys in my hand when approaching or leaving my car.

Instead, they are somewhere in the depths of my purse. (If I’ve been lucky enough to leave them there rather than setting them down on some random table or chair three hours earlier.)

Because you can, indeed, drive such a car simply by having the keys somewhere inside it.

For men this often means they are nestled in a cupholder.

(Where they can be conveniently forgotten overnight while parked in the driveway.

Yes this has happened.

Often.

I’m not the only one in the family with key issues.)

For women they are usually in our purse.

A dangerous location.

Your average purse could better be described as a black hole. No matter how many little pockets it might have – pockets sometimes designed especially for KEYS – that’s not generally where the keys wind up.

Which is why I often arrive at my university studio knowing my keys are in there somewhere (because they helpfully started my car for me in the first place) but stuck standing outside my office door rooting about in my bag like a mad thing.

Until last week.

When, after years of not having the brain capacity to have thought of this earlier, I had a lightbulb moment.

Thanks to my mother’s habit of buying copious amounts of any and all useful objects, I have at least fifty carabiners. (Carabiner being the official name for what most of us refer to as “those clippy things”.)

And that clippy thing, unlike your average key ring - with its iron fingernail breaking tension - is easy to open, add your keys to, and pop on and off one of the rings (or hoops or other receptacle spots) many purses happen to have.

Allowing me to never, ever lose my keys again.

Until I do anyway.

Copyright© 2026 Anne Morse Hambrock All rights reserved.

Safely Secured (And Visible) Keys

One carabiner usefully applied.

Only forty-nine more to go.

Ideas accepted gratefully in the comments.

Books

If you like my work there are two book collections of the comics/poems for sale. They make great gifts!

Buy Books

If You Are New Here…

If you are just joining us I’m so happy you are here!

You might want to click here to find out what to expect.

And consider poking around the archives - there’s some fun stuff.

Archives

Joy Shot

Images that make me feel better.

A friend recently pointed out that my patio is looking very French.

Since this is as close as I am going to get to a charming French Bistro for the foreseeable future, I’ll have to content myself with this facsimile.

Weekly Dose

Works by other creators that capture our current moment…

Recently I watched the political thriller “Clear And Present Danger” starring Harrison Ford.

Released in 1994, it had been quite a while since I had seen the film and, in my memory, the plot was securely in the “fantasy” zone. A bit of escapism and a version of events only possible in the minds of Tom Clancy and the Hollywood screenwriters.

Imagine my dismay as the film unfolded with plot point after plot point seemingly pulled from the actual current administration over the past eighteen months.

It was as if I was watching some sort of freaky documentary.

Could it be that our whole current foreign policy is being dictated by whatever movies have captured the administration’s fancy?

At least the film has the proper ending, as demonstrated in this clip.

We should be so lucky.

(Apologies in advance for any ads that pop up in the clip.)

Stay engaged!

Every connection between us makes the work feel worthwhile.

Please drop comments, message me, hit the “like” button, use the “restack” feature, or share any other way you can think of.

Leave a comment

A Pledge

I hereby pledge that all my writing, and other creative endeavors, are free of the use of A.I.

With the exception of Spell Check. And whatever other old fashioned proofing tools can be found in my eight year old version of Microsoft word. (I’m a lousy speller with suspicious punctuation skills. I need the help.)

My houseplants hate me.

They don’t survive because of me.

They survive in spite of me.

Only the hearty and independent are going to make it so I learned long ago never to invest in anything finicky. (Ferns and I are not even on speaking terms.)

The houseplant menagerie has dwindled - from every beautiful and/or exotic plant you can imagine someone giving you as a gift - to nothing but succulents.

Echiveria and its cousins are just about the only thing that can withstand my watering schedule.

Which might best be described as semi-monthly.

Or bi-monthly.

I get those two confused.

Sadly, they are both accurate.

Let’s just say that sometimes I grab the watering can on a whim and other times only when I see things shriveling up. (Perhaps by that point they are letting out little whimpers and screams on a frequency that somehow penetrates my consciousness.)

This state of affairs is nothing new.

I take you back to my elementary school in June.

We are all being handed plants to take home for the summer.

“How lovely!” you might be thinking. Perhaps you are laboring under the delusion that these plants are being gifted to us to be enjoyed during our school vacation.

You would be wrong.

These plants are yet another way for the school environment to contribute to peer pressure, competitiveness, and self-esteem issues.

It’s not enough for the educational powers that be to make us feel bad about ourselves through how academically gifted we may or may not be. Or how athletic.

No, now we can also feel inept at horticulture.

Because these plants are supposed to return with us in the fall.

When they will be judged and prizes will be given.

They are actually a sort of summer homework.

Unfortunately for the plants, your average eight year old is not known for taking time out of their busy “run around the neighborhood like a wild thing for twelve weeks” schedule to tend to them. Unlike the classroom gerbil, the houseplants don’t do anything interesting except, perhaps, get taller.

So this homework falls to the parents.

Specifically, the moms.

(Because, at this point in history, there are still a lot of moms at home dealing with their crazy children for the summer.)

And not just at my school. The fate of hundreds of plants is now in the hands of mothers all over town.

Which is why, when we jump forward to September, we see me returning with a pile of potted dirt where a plant used to be, and my husband proudly handing in a masterpiece that will earn a blue ribbon.

Because his mother has babied that plant as if it was a grandchild.

And my mother was BUSY.

Of course, it is wrong of me to lay all the blame on my mom.

After all, the plant was supposed to be MY responsibility.

But now we get to the crux of the matter.

I hated that plant.

Hated it with a passion.

Because if we return to that day in June the scene is this:

As we all troop into the auditorium – on that final day of school – the stage is covered with greenery.

Dotted here and there are beautiful delicate umbrella plants.

I want one.

I never get one.

Every year these little gems are handed to the popular kids.

And every year I am handed something that looks like lettuce that has either gone bad or can’t make up its mind what color to be.

Every year I am handed…

a coleus.

A pathetic little ordinary looking green coleus.

And, because of my umbrella plant infatuation, that coleus is doomed.

Because I am going to take it home, set it on a windowsill, and deliberately leave its fate in the hands of my mother.

A woman who is not only BUSY, but is probably the source of my “can never remember to water a houseplant” DNA.

DNA that will firmly dictate the fate of all future houseplants that have the misfortune to cross my path.

So, yes, I’m pretty sure my houseplants hate me.

They’re entitled.

Copyright© 2026 Anne Morse Hambrock All rights reserved.

Joy Shot

Images that make me feel better.

This weekend, I went on a garden walk, touring five local properties belonging to members of the garden club.

And had a moment.

A coleus conversion.

The featured gardens were filled with the most amazingly beautiful varieties of coleus.

And I drove to my favorite local plant emporium and bought a whole bunch.

Perhaps we will make up after all these years…

Weekly Dose - Mad As Hell

I’ve moved the weekly dose up from the bottom this week because it is generated directly from the previous story.

I had an emotionally complicated day on Saturday for reasons I won’t get into. They don’t matter anyway - on the journey home from the plant place – with a coleus packed car – THIS came on the radio:

And that riff, that amazing, hard driving guitar riff brought a ton of stuff to the surface. The power of it - the drive - the rawness of it.

I almost can’t describe to you what happened to me in that moment.

The riff was pulling up my anger.

Not just anger.

Rage.

Rage I’ve been suppressing.

Months of rage at the forces trying to drag me, and all American women, back to a bygone era.

It’s not just about the right to vote.

It’s about the right for me, as a married woman, to have a bank account and credit cards in my own name.

About our rights to make our own medical decisions.

About our rights to choose who we marry.

And a host of other issues.

Think about it.

Think about all the rights you take for granted every day that were NOT there for your great grandmother.

Or even possibly your grandmother.

I admit that I have been typical of my generation. Coasting on the victories won for me by legions of women fighting for, even giving their lives for, equality. Blind to everyday inequities I might not be experiencing personally.

Expecting my rights to just “be there” as part of the fabric of the future.

Yes, well.

Maybe not something I can continue to count on.

A source of particular outrage is the current push for the SAVE act.

If you have not been paying attention – if you have no clue how this proposed legislation will affect the voting rights of women – you need to catch up.

Lest you think this is all overblown, I share with you my own difficulties in getting a “real ID”.

I arrived at the DMV armed with the following:

• Birth Certificate

• Driver’s License

• Social Security Card

To be fair, I did not go to the website of the DMV to check what documents I would need. I assumed that these three government issued forms of ID would be sufficient, as they had been in the past for things like a passport.

I was wrong.

Even though my SS card and driver’s license showed proof that my name had been legally changed from that on my birth certificate – changed on accepted government IDs – I was informed that I needed to bring in my marriage license.

Now I don’t know if you keep your marriage license close to hand, but mine is lord knows where. Probably in a bin in the attic.

Have you ever seen the end of “Raiders Of The Lost Ark”? That moment where the camera pulls out to show the seven million identical looking crates in the warehouse?

That’s my attic.

So the marriage license thing was not happening.

It turns out that, because I have a valid US passport, I’m one of the lucky ones. A passport trumps all the other IDs and CAN be used to prove identity in case of both voting and the obtaining of a “real ID”.

But for all the women whose current names do not match their birth certificates, who don’t have passports, and have no idea where their marriage licenses are lurking, the November elections have the potential to be a complete shitshow if this thing passes.

And if millions of us can no longer vote – I guarantee you the other dominoes will start falling even faster than they have over the past ten years. That bit about no longer being allowed to have your own independent bank account might not be so far-fetched.

While Ann Telnaes is not the only woman in editorial cartooning, she is the voice I turn to most often for cartoons that capture the heart of what is at stake for women.

So today’s weekly dose is a spotlight on some of my Ann T. favorites:

Subscribe to Ann’s Substack here.

Addendum

*It turns out I was getting the right signals from that song – Nancy Wilson has been quoted as calling “Barracuda” “A sophisticated song of rage.”

Books

If you like my work there are two book collections of the comics/poems for sale. They make great gifts!

Buy Books

If You Are New Here…

If you are just joining us I’m so happy you are here!

You might want to click here to find out what to expect.

And consider poking around the archives - there’s some fun stuff.

Archives

Stay engaged!

Every connection between us makes the work feel worthwhile.

Please drop comments, message me, hit the “like” button, use the “restack” feature, or share any other way you can think of.

Leave a comment

A Pledge

I hereby pledge that all my writing, and other creative endeavors, are free of the use of A.I.

With the exception of Spell Check. And whatever other old fashioned proofing tools can be found in my eight year old version of Microsoft word. (I’m a lousy speller with suspicious punctuation skills. I need the help.)

The original publication date for this poem (albeit with a completely different piece of artwork I humbly attach later) was February of 2016.

Note the most important word in the piece.

(Hint, it has its own line.)

Yes.

“Again”.

Because this business of missing the deadline to take advantage of the city’s wonderful free Christmas tree disposal service has been a regular occurrence.

One might even say (cough) an annual event.

The bit that turned out not to be so true was the backyard décor part. It seems that plan seldom lined up with the hubby’s vision of summer landscaping.

(There may even have been a carcass or two that were heaved over the fence into the neighbor’s yard. Vacant for four years, because the owners walked away from their mortgage after an overly ambitious renovation left them underwater, extra bits of fir tree on the property would be the least of a new owner’s worries…. But I digress.)

Why am I revisiting this poem ten years later?

In July, no less?

Because this year, when “De-Christmas” time came around, I chopped all the branches into little easy-to-transport-to-the-yard-waste-place pieces and tossed what was left of the trunk out the back door.

Well, slightly farther than the back door.

Where it sat.

Until last week when the husband had a lightbulb moment.

The trunk would make a perfect support for some of the many Morning Glory vines that have insinuated themselves into the current garden.

I may sometimes exaggerate the general incompetence of my life for comedic effect.

The universe has a way of turning the tables on me as exaggerations become reality…

Copyright© 2026 Anne Morse Hambrock All rights reserved.

Humility

As a show of good faith transparency, here is the original art:

I’d like to hope I’ve improved.

More From The Garden

Because A) there is so much amazing stuff blooming right now I am bursting to share it, and B) this week feels like a good time to escape into some pretty pictures.

Starting with “what a difference five weeks makes”.

On the left is May 27^th (most of the “green” is weeds) and on the right is this morning.

As you can see, despite my general poor planning (as documented here) the butterfly garden is sort of exploding.

Lilies, Lilies, Lilies

Garden Lessons

My real gloves because this was a real problem…

Books

If you like my work there are two book collections of the comics/poems for sale. They make great gifts!

Buy Books

If You Are New Here…

If you are just joining us I’m so happy you are here!

You might want to click here to find out what to expect.

And consider poking around the archives - there’s some fun stuff.

Archives

Joy Shot

Images that make me feel better.

I love artists who whimsically upcycle items that would otherwise be taking up space in a landfill.

Sadly, I cannot remember at which art fair I got these or the name of the artist.

Weekly Dose -

Works by other creators that capture our current moment…

Dave Granlund comments on our escapist choices.

Read more of Dave’s work here or here.

While I paid no attention whatsoever to Taylor Swift’s wedding this weekend, I understand the desire to bury oneself in any distraction worth having rather than focus on current events.

It is, in fact, the big struggle I have here on the substack every week as I chirp about nonsense. I addressed it back in issue #114 - Part Of The Solution Or Part Of The Problem.

Stay engaged!

Every connection between us makes the work feel worthwhile.

Please drop comments, message me, hit the “like” button, use the “restack” feature, or share any other way you can think of.

Leave a comment

A Pledge

I hereby pledge that all my writing, and other creative endeavors, are free of the use of A.I.

With the exception of Spell Check. And whatever other old fashioned proofing tools can be found in my eight year old version of Microsoft word. (I’m a lousy speller with suspicious punctuation skills. I need the help.)

This, is sadly true.

And sprung from an actual recent conversation with the spouse.

For those of you lucky enough to own a “place at the lake” or even a “summer home”, I grudge you nothing. I’m sure you earned it. And I hope you get a lot of enjoyment from it.

The hubby and I used to dream of such a thing. The topic would come up about once a year and the conversation usually ran along the lines of “Wouldn’t it be nice if…” or “Maybe we could afford…”

Until this year.

When we both looked at each other and acknowledged the simple truth that, should we invest in such a venture, we would do one of two things (or both):

A) Pack up all our tech and drive a few hours to a lovely locale only to unpack the bags and get back to work. With, perhaps, an inviting view of water in which we were not going to fish or swim. Or paddle lazily upon.

B) Spend at least forty-eight (or more) weeks of the year lamenting the money we were throwing at something we never had time to enjoy.

Honestly, for me, this realization was less of a letdown and more of a relief. An opportunity to embrace not paying property taxes, or maintenance costs, on a second place without feeling guilty about it.

And a decision made easier by our past experiences owning a sailboat.

That boat was a wonderful thing to have when we could get out on it, but the expenses were never ending and we learned the hard way that you have to check on it all the time.

One fine Sunday, as we were leaving morning services, our organist, who happened to own a sailboat moored directly next to ours, pulled us aside for a word.

“I just wanted you to know, I saw a couple muskrats swimming around your boat yesterday.”

Idiots that we were, we smiled, thanked her very much for letting us know, and proceeded to forget all about it.

For a week.

Bad move.

It is, in fact, astonishing the level of damage a motivated member of the rodent family can do to a sailboat in the space of a few days.

When finally arriving at the dock, there was a hint that all was not as it should be.

Swirling gently around the motor compartment was the unmistakable rainbow iridescence of gasoline in the water.

My husband opened the motor compartment to see, not only a chewed gas line, but a gaping hole in the bulkhead.

The very THICK bulkhead separating the motor from the main cabin.

(Cue dramatic suspenseful music.)

He next unlocked the main hatch.

To be greeted by the sort of stench you imagine is encountered daily by murder investigation teams but not something you expect to come across in your own ordinary existence. An existence that, up to now, has been relatively free of rotting carcasses.

The interior of the cabin told a grisly story.

Muddy gasoline covered footprints traveled up and down the aisle, trampled their way up over all the cloth cushions, and came back down again to create a frenzied circle amidst several chewed bits of fairly important electrical wiring.

Whatever motives these two furry dervishes might have had when they broke in – like two teenagers taking advantage of an abandoned house for a surreptitious party – things clearly went sideways.

The footprints, and the stench, led to the bilge pump.

With mounting trepidation my husband procured a long stick and proceeded to poke about a bit. (Cue even more suspenseful music.)

Almost in slow motion, a tiny hand emerged. Attached to what was left of Mister Muskrat. His foul rotting carcass still covered in gasoline.

There was no sign of his partner in crime – we assume he/she escaped, hopefully having learned a valuable lesson.

The episode definitely taught US a lesson.

Allowing me to be totally cool with not investing in any property that has the capacity to turn into a wildlife “Weekend At Bernie’s" zone whenever my back is turned.

Copyright© 2026 Anne Morse Hambrock All rights reserved.

Books

If you like my work there are two book collections of the comics/poems for sale. They make great gifts!

Buy Books

If You Are New Here…

If you are just joining us I’m so happy you are here!

You might want to click here to find out what to expect.

And consider poking around the archives - there’s some fun stuff.

Archives

Joy Shot

Images that make me feel better.

Once upon a time our little dwarf cherry tree could be counted on to produce enough fruit for a pie. Sometimes even two.

But the past couple seasons have been a disappointment to say the least.

The harvests of 2024 and 2025 yielded a grand total of nine cherries.

Yes, you read that right.

Nine.

For both years combined.

I don’t know if the tree is just getting older or if our Spring weather has been too warm thanks to climate change or what.

But this year I’ve counted at least forty viable fruits.

Fingers crossed!

Weekly Dose -

Works by other creators that capture our current moment…

The Supreme Court has a long and complicated history - it has hardly been a perfect institution.

But I’m hard put to think of another time in my living memory that things have been so skewed.

Both Ann Telnaes and David Horsey ably make this point…

Read David’s Substack here.

And Ann’s Substack here.

Stay engaged!

Every connection between us makes the work feel worthwhile.

Please drop comments, message me, hit the “like” button, use the “restack” feature, or share any other way you can think of.

Leave a comment

A Pledge

I hereby pledge that all my writing, and other creative endeavors, are free of the use of A.I.

With the exception of Spell Check. And whatever other old fashioned proofing tools can be found in my eight year old version of Microsoft word. (I’m a lousy speller with suspicious punctuation skills. I need the help.)

At some point in my “worldly” thirties I vowed I would never own two things: A minivan (that unmistakable marker of the suburban mom) and a cell phone.

I had a particular disdain for cell phones which, at the time, were called “car phones” and only possessed by the very wealthy and important. Or folks pretending to be very wealthy and important. (I may have been somewhat influenced in this belief by the opening scene in the movie “Crazy People”.)

Seven minivans and an uncounted number of cell phones later, I admit that perhaps I was being a bit judgy.

And unrealistic.

When you schlep big fat harps around for a living you are pretty much cursed with driving large vehicles. And there is a distinct possibility that you might have to, on occasion, transport, not only the harp, but the three children, who need to be dropped off at the sitter on your way to the gig.

A station wagon will not suffice.

There is nothing for it but to cave and invest in the dreaded Dodge Caravan.

Furthermore, when a gig is several hours away, necessitating travel in one of the worst ice storms of the decade, the folly of potentially finding oneself in a ditch in the middle of northern Wisconsin, miles from a gas station, or even the smallest farmhouse, becomes crystal clear.

I came home from the gig in question, put down my keys, and without further ado, uttered the words:

“Car phone.

It’s time.”

And became the proud owner of this sleek piece of “state of the art” early 90’s technology:

Believe it or not the unit, and the monthly plan, were so expensive we could only afford one. It wasn’t “his” phone or “my” phone.

It was “the” phone.

Followed a couple years later by this bad boy:

After which prices came down and the whole world got into the act with these babies:

Phones that flipped open, or slid sideways, and - oh joy of joys - now came equipped with CAMERAS.

I can tell you, the addition of the camera was a big flipping deal.

We lost our minds over the ability to take photos anytime, anywhere, from a tiny device in our pockets.

Society began to change as these gadgets were now absolutely everywhere and available to regular people on regular budgets.

But, I have to say, having lived through that phase, it felt like a fairly normal rate of change.

Subtle evolution.

Then came the invention of the iPhone.

I don’t think I’m overstating to say that, not only did that one piece of tech change everything, it changed everything FAST.

The cameras were better.

The connectivity was better.

The mobile internet was actually worth using.

And then came the apps.

Oh, the apps.

We sold our souls.

And our eyeballs.

And our data.

And god knows what else.

And I don’t have a funny stinger for the end of this.

Because I don’t know where this juggernaut is taking us.

And I’m increasingly worried about all of it.

Copyright© 2026 Anne Morse Hambrock All rights reserved.

Speaking Of Cell Phones

Not only did I embrace life with a cell phone, it has become an appendage without which I feel utterly lost.

This thing with the car bluetooth really did happen.

There is nothing quite so disorienting as being surrounded on all sides by your ringtone whilst still being unable to locate the dang phone.

Books

If you like my work there are two book collections of the comics/poems for sale. They make great gifts!

Buy Books

If You Are New Here…

If you are just joining us I’m so happy you are here!

You might want to click here to find out what to expect.

And consider poking around the archives - there’s some fun stuff.

Archives

Joy Shot

Images that make me feel better.

Weekly Dose -

Works by other creators that capture our current moment…

I’m certainly no expert on foreign affairs but I cannot help noticing the bits of the “Obama Iran deal” creeping back into the current Iranian situation.

Apparently I am not alone:

Please check out John Deering’s other editorial cartoons on gocomics.

Bonus Video

Click here for that scene from “Crazy People” with Dudley Moore.

Stay engaged!

Every connection between us makes the work feel worthwhile.

Please drop comments, message me, hit the “like” button, use the “restack” feature, or share any other way you can think of.

Leave a comment

A Pledge

I hereby pledge that all my writing, and other creative endeavors, are free of the use of A.I.

With the exception of Spell Check. And whatever other old fashioned proofing tools can be found in my eight year old version of Microsoft word. (I’m a lousy speller with suspicious punctuation skills. I need the help.)

I am old enough to remember a world before search engines.

Before every bar bet could be settled in under ninety seconds simply by pulling out one’s phone.

In this prehistoric past, most of the folks paying attention to the “world wide web” were scientific types.

So it makes sense that the first search engines tried to prioritize accuracy. (Click here for a fascinating trip down the rabbit hole that is the history of search engines.)

I was personally astonished to find out just how many web crawlers there were before Google climbed to the top of the heap.

And climb to the top of the heap it did.

You know you’ve cornered the market when your company name becomes, not only a household word, but a verb.

Not just a verb but THE verb.

“Googling” will probably remain the default descriptor for all future internet searches regardless of the actual engine employed.

Much like “Kleenex” or “Band-aid”.

(I don’t think I have ever in my life asked someone to fetch me a “facial tissue” or an “adhesive bandage”.)

I tried almost every search engine going back in the day – trying to get a handle on this “internet” thing and how it was going to affect my business.

At first, google was fantastic. Not only could you find answers to all sorts of obscure questions, it was remarkable how accurate the results were.

I can’t remember exactly when I started noticing a shift.

The change was subtle.

Instead of five pages (or more) of links to articles or websites or forums closely aligned with my query, I would maybe get two.

Now I’m lucky to get even six links before the results drift off topic.

Or worse, google thinks I wanted something almost completely different from what I typed in.

To add insult to injury, it often refuses to accept my query, continuing to default to what it thinks I SHOULD be looking for.

Perhaps this sort of thing was to be expected as the internet grew to unmanageable proportions.

But it doesn’t feel like that’s the only thing going on.

It feels more like a glitch caused by the infusion of A.I.

And not a dystopian world gobbling version of A.I. that comes from a nefarious plan.

More like an incompetent version of A.I.

You know, like the “virtual assistant” you run into whenever you try to pay a bill online. (Or even over the phone.)

Such run-ins as I have had over the past year have led to immediate swearing on my part.

Not just because I’m angry and frustrated at the stupidity of whatever idiotic A.I. driven merry-go-round of nonsense I find myself on, but because I’ve learned that dropping “F” bombs is the quickest way to get the chatbot – or whatever – to switch me to a human.

These experiences have me rather worried about the future of mankind.

Not just because the computers are going to rise up and take over.

But because, while getting “smarter” and “more human” they are actually getting dumber and dumber.

And will kill us all with a misplaced decimal point.

And a belief that they are never wrong.

Copyright© 2026 Anne Morse Hambrock All rights reserved.

Speaking Of Google…

Pretty sure this is where all the garbage in my Facebook feed is coming from…

“Let’s Feel Better” Tour

Summer "Let's Feel Better" Tour

Books

If you like my work there are two book collections of the comics/poems for sale. They make great gifts!

Buy Books

If You Are New Here…

If you are just joining us I’m so happy you are here!

You might want to click here to find out what to expect.

And consider poking around the archives - there’s some fun stuff.

Archives

Joy Shot

Images that make me feel better.

Of all the things I planted last year in my quest to build a garden that does its own thing without too much fuss on my part, the cosmos was the only true self-seeding success. I did manage to start some new zinnia seeds and transplant them so this cosmos will soon be dwarfed by those tiny seedlings…

Weekly Dose -

Works by other creators that capture our current moment…

Before “The Terminator” and “The Matrix” we had Stanley Kubrick’s “2001: A Space Odyssey.”

While arguably less violent, “2001” was still terrifying in its portrayal of the rise of the machine.

I’ve been thinking of this scene a lot lately…

Stay engaged!

Every connection between us makes the work feel worthwhile.

Please drop comments, message me, hit the “like” button, use the “restack” feature, or share any other way you can think of.

Leave a comment

A Pledge

I hereby pledge that all my writing, and other creative endeavors, are free of the use of A.I.

With the exception of Spell Check. And whatever other old fashioned proofing tools can be found in my eight year old version of Microsoft word. (I’m a lousy speller with suspicious punctuation skills. I need the help.)

The weeds are winning.

When I can’t find the dog

I’ll do something about it.

Copyright© 2026 Anne Morse Hambrock All rights reserved.

Garden Diary

The stages of my garden are thus:

January - Gaze fondly at photos of last year’s abundance and fantasize about ramping things up even further for next year.

February - Remember that I should buy some seeds. Because starting plants from seed is thrifty, smart, and makes you feel like you might be a real gardener.

March - Feel guilty about the seeds I didn’t buy.

April - Wander through the remnants of last year’s plot and try to decide if any of those green leaves coming up represent the self-seeding from desired plants.

May - Admit that most of what I hoped were returning flowers are, in fact, weeds.

June - “Hail Mary” time - hit the garden centers and accept that most everything I hoped to plant is sold out or hopelessly root bound. I buy plants anyway and hope for the best. To make up for the general remaining sparseness, I punctuate things with brightly painted wine bottles.

July, August, September and October - Wage a grindingly depressing battle with the weeds whilst still adding whatever plants show up at the local nursery. Even if they look half dead.

November - Notice that most everything has now been killed off by frost and I really should get out there and do something about it.

December - Take advantage of that one mercifully unseasonably warm day and finally do something about it.

Repeat.

For years.

Without learning a thing.

Copyright© 2026 Anne Morse Hambrock All rights reserved.

Speaking Of Wine Bottles…

We throw a lot of parties.

It leaves us with empty wine bottles.

LOTS of empty wine bottles.

I used to just pitch them into the recycling bin.

Then, in 2010, I got the idea to clean them off, paint them, and stick them in the garden.

They cheer me up.

Now, every year brings a few new additions. My current favorite is the crazy one in the foreground.

(I used to have a whole “how to” post on my Overbooked blog - I’ll attempt to resurrect at some point and link.)

“Let’s Feel Better” Tour

From the Frunchroom Collective this past Saturday.

Many thanks to Linda for the photo!!

Summer "Let's Feel Better" Tour

I’m still looking to add dates and locations to my proposed Substack summer tour. If you would like me to add your book club or group of friends to my list (or don’t know what I’m even talking about) please click the link and/or get in touch.

Books

If you like my work there are two book collections of the comics/poems for sale. They make great gifts!

Buy Books

If You Are New Here…

If you are just joining us I’m so happy you are here!

You might want to click here to find out what to expect.

And consider poking around the archives - there’s some fun stuff.

Archives

Joy Shot

Images that make me feel better.

“Do you have food? If you have food, I’ll sit up and get ready. Otherwise the floor is comfy.”

Banana Watch Week 7

I am heartened by the fact that these Frankenbananas are finally black and squishy.

There was a point where I honestly didn’t know if ripening of any kind was possible.

Due to their long freaky journey, I’m still not sure I trust them.

So I’ve traded the paper bag for the freezer.

Where they will wait until I feel like taking a chance on turning them into banana bread…

I don’t pull out the “Getting Real” icon too often. If you are new here you may not have seen it. It’s typically reserved for serious discussions about the state of the Substack.

Or the state of me.

Today it’s the state of me.

Every Monday is a fight.

A struggle to claw my way from a negative space to a positive one.

Because positive matters to me.

It’s the whole reason I started writing.

Trying to bring some light to the world.

Attempting some levity.

Softening the hard edges of our existence with our shared foibles.

Maybe I’ve always been this depressed.

And angry.

But I don’t think so.

I look back at the blogging and newspaper columns I did between 2010 and 2016 and don’t remember it being too much of a heavy lift to find joy and humor and ridiculousness.

So I don’t think this is my natural state.

I think I’m being ground down.

My optimism eroded by, not only one mean spirited negative man, but by a whole bunch of other folks who applaud that attitude.

From 2016-2020 I made a deliberate effort to keep these negative influences out of my work.

But in 2024 I pledged in this space to be more honest the second time around.

Because I think we all need that honesty. Everything seems worse when you feel alone. Like you are the only one engaged in struggle.

I see you.

I feel you.

Gonna try to be here for you.

Grind or no grind.

Weekly Dose -

Works by other creators that capture our current moment…

Generally I populate this space with an editorial cartoon or video that can be attributed to a creator.

And I try to be grown up about it.

But this week I’m breaking my rules.

I don’t know who made this.

I don’t care if it’s a step too far.

It made me laugh.

It made me feel better.

I needed it.

Stay engaged!

Every connection between us makes the work feel worthwhile.

Please drop comments, message me, hit the “like” button, use the “restack” feature, or share any other way you can think of.

Leave a comment

A Pledge

I hereby pledge that all my writing, and other creative endeavors, are free of the use of A.I.

With the exception of Spell Check. And whatever other old fashioned proofing tools can be found in my eight year old version of Microsoft word. (I’m a lousy speller with suspicious punctuation skills. I need the help.)

When it became clear that my mother would need 24/7 nursing and could no longer be cared for at home, our learning curve was swift and steep.

One important lesson involved the nursing home laundry setup.

I’m telling you right now, if you are packing things for a loved one to have with them in a care facility – and you are doing that thing where you believe he/she will find the transition easier if wearing treasured clothes from home – stop.

Stop right now.

Take that wool sweater – the one you bought as a gift in the duty free shop in Iceland, the IRREPLACEABLE one – OUT of the pile.

Unless you were really looking forward to finding out how tightly Icelandic wool felts up.

And how stiff and tiny a sweater can become.

I now have two choices.

Create potholders.

Or find a garden gnome that needs a makeover.

Copyright© 2026 Anne Morse Hambrock All rights reserved.

New Holiday…

I pride myself on my ability to focus.

And to crank out my weekly newsletter regardless of distractions.

But today.

Oh, today.

From 8:00 A.M. onwards.

The supersonic leaf thingy.

The whining electric hedge trimmers.

The deafening weed whacking gizmo.

The ear splitting WOOD CHIPPER.

And from all sides.

Not just one neighbor.

The day has been an continuous hand-off of sound – as soon as one finishes another begins.

Sometimes they don’t even wait but overlap into a motor-fueled cacophonous duet.

My birthday has passed.

But if anyone was thinking of gifting me some noise cancelling headphones – just, you know, out of the blue…

“Let’s Feel Better” Tour

Join me this Saturday for my one-woman-show “Some Days Call For Chocolate” in Libertyville, Illinois!

At the Frunchroom Collective - 2:00 P.M.

FREE!!

Info and registration here.

(Drop-ins are welcome if you don’t feel like registering but knowing how many to expect helps us figure out the number of chairs…)

Summer "Let's Feel Better" Tour

Books

If you like my work there are two book collections of the comics/poems for sale. They make great gifts!

Buy Books

If You Are New Here…

If you are just joining us I’m so happy you are here!

You might want to click here to find out what to expect.

And consider poking around the archives - there’s some fun stuff.

Archives

Joy Shot

Images that make me feel better.

The poppies are popping!

Banana Watch Week 6

We have achieved yellow.

After a fashion.

Still.

Yecchh!

Bonus - Pie Crust Recipe

Last week I mentioned my family doesn’t do birthday cakes anymore as they all prefer to celebrate with a homemade pie.

Part of the reason for this is my pie crust.

One of the progeny has requested a link (because he can never remember where I’ve posted it).

So here it is - all my tips and tricks for a scratch crust that is pretty much foolproof and guaranteed to be a family favorite.

Weekly Dose -

Works by other creators that capture our current moment…

Missing the satirical sword of Stephen Colbert?

Editorial cartoonists are still speaking truth to power every day.

Lots of them are here on Substack: Ann Telnaes, Jack Ohman, Steve Sack, KAL, Nick Anderson, Steve Breen, Pedro Molina, David Horsey, Drew Sheneman, Clay Jones, Steve Brodner.

Others can be found on GoComics: Matt Davies, Mike Luckovich, Scott Stantis, Clay Bennett, Rob Rogers, Joel Pett, Matt Wuerker.

or at the Counterpoint Substack.

This list is, of course, wildly incomplete.

So many folks are doing the important work of holding our leaders accountable. Feel free to drop more names/links in the comments. Especially fellow substackers.

Keep The Messages And Comments Coming!

I appreciate the feedback and knowing how often I have struck a chord with your lives.

Leave a comment

A Pledge

I hereby pledge that all my writing, and other creative endeavors, are free of the use of A.I.

With the exception of Spell Check. And whatever other old fashioned proofing tools can be found in my eight year old version of Microsoft word. (I’m a lousy speller with suspicious punctuation skills. I need the help.)

“I always thought we’d have time…”

We should never take people for granted.

Which is why I did my Memorial Day cemetery visit bright and early…

(Most of our service member memorial graves are WWI and onward but our house, and this cemetery, are on a ridge that had a Union encampment during the Civil War. So, in addition to the big fancy memorial in the circle we have this fine gentlemen to mark the service of our civil war dead.)

…and will now have the rest of the day to focus on family.

Turning our thoughts away from a day honoring death to a day celebrating birth.

Although, full disclosure, we don’t so much do birthday cakes anymore.

Several years ago one of my sons instigated a cake revolt and asked for a homemade pie.

One by one the rest of the family followed suit, converting us from cake people to pie people.

So today will be a time for us to come together and stuff ourselves on grilled food.

And pies.

Oh, and I have some projects waiting for them…

Some old family photos and papers to wander through…

And help with the “Great Lego Inventory Of 2026”.

I’m sure they will be thrilled…

Copyright© 2026 Anne Morse Hambrock All rights reserved.

Frankenbananas Week 5

Since last week’s post prompted so much interest in my freaky green bananas, I thought it might be fun to keep things going and see how long it takes for them to be edible.

Or ready for the bin.

After another week in the brown paper bag, I expected more green rock-hardness but these are actually starting to get a bit squishy.

And almost yellow.

They still look pretty unappetizing so I’m not sure I dare to try to eat one…

“Let’s Feel Better” Tour

I’m still looking to add dates and locations to my proposed Substack summer tour. (If you don’t know what this is please click the link.)

I’d love to add your town - your house even - to my list of poetry reading/house concerts.

Summer "Let's Feel Better" Tour

Books

If you like my work there are two book collections of the comics/poems for sale. They make great gifts!

Buy Books

If You Are New Here…

If you are just joining us I’m so happy you are here!

You might want to click here to find out what to expect.

And consider poking around the archives - there’s some fun stuff.

Archives

Keep The Messages And Comments Coming!

I appreciate the feedback and knowing how often I have struck a chord with your lives.

Leave a comment

A Pledge

I hereby pledge that all my writing, and other creative endeavors, are free of the use of A.I.

With the exception of Spell Check. And whatever other old fashioned proofing tools can be found in my eight year old version of Microsoft word. (I’m a lousy speller with suspicious punctuation skills. I need the help.)

Recently, through a series of website glitches, the jeans I ordered online turned out to be size zero.

And no, I don’t mean that cutesy fake sizing thing that companies like Chico’s use to make us feel better. (That thing where “their” size zero is everybody else’s size six or eight.)

No, I mean a REAL size zero like you find in your average department store and most online catalogs. From the sizing system that has been in place for decades.

I inspected my newly arrived purchase.

I’m not kidding.

Even if I spent enough time moldering in the ground to be reduced to my skeletal remains, these jeans would not get past whatever might be left of my hips.

Copyright© 2026 Anne Morse Hambrock All rights reserved.

Banana Failures

A few weeks ago my husband purchased some bananas.

Unlike those in the poem above, they were green.

Really green.

I mean really, really green.

I questioned him on this because green bananas are definitely NOT his thing.

In fact, we are in a mixed banana marriage.

Bananas that are just starting to ripen, and are firm and tart, make my mouth water while overripe brown spotty ones prompt an immediate gag reflex.

For the hubby, the riper the better. His breaking point is only reached when the banana is so desperately squishy as to be un-peelable.

So, for him to plunk down $3.50 for this seriously green, rock hard bunch was worth noting.

His defense was that ALL the bananas in the store that day were just as green, leaving him no choice.

We hung them on their designated kitchen hook and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

In the meantime, banana cravings having gone so long unsatisfied, he caved and bought another bunch.

A semi-yellow bunch.

That ripened in two days.

Here are the bananas side by side - yellow bananas two days after purchase (already spotty) and green bananas STILL green after two weeks.

Yes.

I said TWO WEEKS.

I even put them in a paper bag to help things along.

By WEEK FOUR, all that fruitless (pun intended) effort got me were these “beauties”.

That have managed not so much to ripen as to shrivel a bit.

While remaining absolutely rock hard.

Seriously.

I could drive nails with these things.

I’m very afraid.

I think we should all be very afraid…

“Let’s Feel Better” Tour

I’m still looking to add dates and locations to my proposed Substack summer tour. (If you don’t know what this is please click the link.)

Summer "Let's Feel Better" Tour

My van will not look like this:

But it will be pretty close.

I’d love to add your town - your house even - to my list of poetry reading/house concerts.

Books

If you like my work there are two book collections of the comics/poems for sale. They make great gifts!

Buy Books

If You Are New Here…

If you are just joining us I’m so happy you are here!

You might want to click here to find out what to expect.

And consider poking around the archives - there’s some fun stuff.

Archives

Joy Shot

Images that make me feel better.

The front garden at its finest.

Weekly Dose -

Works by other creators that capture our current moment…

I didn’t tap any editorial cartoons this week because I’m still avoiding the news.

Particularly anything to do with Iran, Dear Leader, and Primaries.

It’s just dragging me down.

And down.

And down

Sucking my life away.

Like this guy:

Keep The Messages And Comments Coming!

I appreciate the feedback and knowing how often I have struck a chord with your lives.

Leave a comment

A Pledge

I hereby pledge that all my writing, and other creative endeavors, are free of the use of A.I.

With the exception of Spell Check. And whatever other old fashioned proofing tools can be found in my eight year old version of Microsoft word. (I’m a lousy speller with suspicious punctuation skills. I need the help.)

I’ve written before that, in my house, Mother’s Day is often a twenty minute holiday.

As in the twenty minutes it takes me to eat the breakfast in bed lovingly prepared by my family.

But this year I stretched the holiday to a full twenty-four hours as I set aside all my devices and steadfastly refused to check a newsfeed of any kind.

It was lovely.

Copyright© 2026 Anne Morse Hambrock All rights reserved.

More Mother Stuff

I was unable to be with my mom this year on Mother’s Day - I pay extra tribute to her here by linking to my previously published piece on some of her hilarious culinary challenges.

If you aren’t into clicking links, just enjoy the bonus cartoon below.

There’s a thing called “discretionary income”.

Growing up, this was not a thing.

Not in our house, anyway.

All income was spoken for. Sometimes three times over.

So my mother can be forgiven for trying to do everything possible to stretch a dollar.

The shampoo thing might have worked.

Had we properly cooperated…

The D.I.Y. Memoir Project

Much of my writing energy today went into posts here, here and here.

IYKYK

“Let’s Feel Better” Tour

Summer "Let's Feel Better" Tour

Books

If you like my work there are two book collections of the comics/poems for sale. They make great gifts!

Buy Books

If You Are New Here…

If you are just joining us I’m so happy you are here!

You might want to click here to find out what to expect.

And consider poking around the archives - there’s some fun stuff.

Archives

Joy Shot

Images that make me feel better.

Mother’s Day Flowers…

The Happy Couple

I took last week off to celebrate the expansion of our family.

Overjoyed to welcome our newest member!!

Weekly Dose -

Works by other creators that capture our current moment…

In honor of my “Mother’s Day News Blackout 2026”, I’m skipping the politics today to bring you a loving and funny tribute to mothers from legendary poet Billy Collins.

Keep The Messages And Comments Coming!

I appreciate the feedback and knowing how often I have struck a chord with your lives.

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A Pledge

I hereby pledge that all my writing, and other creative endeavors, are free of the use of A.I.

With the exception of Spell Check. And whatever other old fashioned proofing tools can be found in my eight year old version of Microsoft word. (I’m a lousy speller with suspicious punctuation skills. I need the help.)

There are a lot of uses for bed sheets past their prime.

They make great drop cloths.

Or anti-dog-fur-furniture-protectors.

Joined together with other old sheets, they make nice duvet covers.

Even torn sheets can be mended and used on smaller beds. (Especially if you sneakily conceal the mended bits by tucking them underneath the mattress.)

Since sheets are basically free fabric, handy folks can make them into curtains.

Or aprons.

Or handkerchiefs.

Heck, you can even tear them up and braid the strips into a rag rug. (All the rage in D.I.Y. circles.)

Yep.

Been there.

Done that.

All of it.

Because I believe firmly in upcycling.

It pains me deeply to throw perfectly useful things into landfills.

But sometimes.

Sometimes the sheet in question has lost its will to live.

Becoming so threadbare that holes open up when you just look at it wrong.

So yesterday I did the unthinkable.

I squashed such a sheet into the trash can and bid it farewell.

I am resolved.

Unless.

I can’t stand it.

And stage a rescue before the garbage man comes...

Copyright© 2026 Anne Morse Hambrock All rights reserved.

Time Off

I’ll be taking next week off.

Family stuff.

“Let’s Feel Better” Tour

I’m putting together a summer “Substack” tour of my poetry reading, humorous storytelling and harp music. It’s aimed at small venues like house concerts and book clubs and will rely on YOU, my readers, to tell me where you would like to come.

More background and details can be found by clicking on the Summer Tour menu header or using this button.

Summer "Let's Feel Better" Tour

If you would like me to come to your area, please contact me - either by hitting “reply” to this email or by messaging me here on Substack or posting in the comments.

I’d love to see what we can make together.

Books - great gift for Mother’s Day!

If you like my work there are two book collections of the comics/poems for sale. They make great gifts!

Buy Books

If You Are New Here…

If you are just joining us I’m so happy you are here!

You might want to click here to find out what to expect.

And consider poking around the archives - there’s some fun stuff.

Archives

Joy Shot

Images that make me feel better.

For a glorious month every spring my front yard comes alive as a myriad of bulbs burst into bloom.

Weekly Dose -

Works by other creators that capture our current moment…

Most folks are familiar with “1984” - George Orwell’s master work of dystopian prophesy. Perhaps less known, but equally insightful, is “The Last Battle” - the final book in the seven volume Narnia series by C.S. Lewis.

Lewis was well known for working Christian allegory into the Narnia series, and “The Last Battle” certainly has plenty if you are looking for it, but the narrative also brilliantly depicts a society in the grips of, not only a cult of personality, but a giant con game.

One especially powerful scene gives us a look into the minds of characters who have gone so far beyond the original con as to have now created their own reality. A reality which the other characters - even the messianic lion Aslan - cannot penetrate or recalibrate.

Growing up, I had an extreme dislike for the story. Its dark themes and outcome did not satisfy my childish need for a “happy ending”. (The ending was “happy” as far as Lewis was concerned but not as far as I was concerned.)

As an adult, I seem still to need to cling to a belief in happy endings. And therefore like the book even less.

But the parallels to the times in which we find ourselves are astonishing. It’s hard to believe it was written over seventy years ago.

If you have never read this masterpiece, I encourage you to do so.

Keep The Messages And Comments Coming!

I appreciate the feedback and knowing how often I have struck a chord with your lives.

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A Pledge

I hereby pledge that all my writing, and other creative endeavors, are free of the use of A.I.

With the exception of Spell Check. And whatever other old fashioned proofing tools can be found in my eight year old version of Microsoft word. (I’m a lousy speller with suspicious punctuation skills. I need the help.)

Last week was Wisconsin severe weather awareness week.

In a stroke of irony from the “you can’t make this stuff up” files, all the tornado drills that were scheduled were cancelled.

Due to actual tornadoes

I guess the powers that be thought we were getting plenty of practice seeking shelter without taking valuable time out of school/work days to get more.

Thankfully, me and mine are all safe.

But it has been a near thing, with at least one tornado touching down less than fifteen miles from my home.

As we faced storms last Tuesday, and Wednesday, and Friday, I was made aware of varying levels of disaster response. While many of us took appropriate shelter, it has come to my attention that lots of folks still ignored the storm sirens and kept doing whatever it was they were doing.

It seemed to be an especially big problem with performing groups. I know of a rehearsal that just kept going and also a play where the stage manager sent the cast to safety while letting the audience choose whether or not to stay in their seats.

I am not a fan of this. (Scroll down for my own “the show must go on” story.)

Despite living my entire life in tornado country, I somehow grew up with the idea that tornadoes always swept across the plains like something out of the Wizard Of Oz.

I thought you could see them coming.

And maybe decide if they were coming for you.

This is incorrect.

It turns out there are lots and lots of tornadoes that don’t so much travel-in-a-straight-farmland-churning line but rather, form in the sky, drop down for a minute to gobble up a church, and then suck themselves up to the clouds for a relaunch and a gobble of a motor home two miles away.

Such tornadoes are nothing to play around with.

And you won’t know what kind is in your area until the church and motorhome gobbling incidents make the news later.

Get in your basement.

Period.

If you don’t have a basement, please try to have a plan to get to one. Or other shelter deemed safe.

During the Friday night tornado-multi-state-smackdown, I was attending a fundraiser for our local literacy council. And tremendously grateful that it was run by responsible people.

Who calmly made an announcement that we should all quietly stand up and, in a rapid but orderly fashion, follow the venue staff to safe shelter in the basement.

(We were allowed to take our wine. I was happy about that.)

Hilariously, I found myself in a room filled with about fifty super deluxe golf carts.

With cushy leather seats.

And cup holders.

Talk about sheltering in style.

But I would have been perfectly content to sit on a dusty floor for as long as it might take for everything to blow over.

Copyright© 2026 Anne Morse Hambrock All rights reserved.

Playing While The Titanic Sinks…

It is a sultry summer evening in 2010.

Did I say sultry?

Change that to whatever descriptor fits “sweltering-all-day-with-ninety-percent-humidity-you-could-cut-with-a-knife-followed-by-darkness-that-is-just-as-hot-and-sticky”.

I am sitting on the sort of flimsy stage you get when you bolt together forty elevated platforms and add rickety stairs.

In a venue on the shores of Lake Michigan that is not so much a “performance” space as a pavilion with a corrugated metal roof and glass panel “walls”.

In short, it is the kind of building you see on the news after the tornado has scooped it up, chewed on it for a bit and then - like a rejected anchovy, spit it back out.

I am sitting behind a six foot, not so easy to move in a hurry, concert harp and surrounded by my fellow members of the symphony.

We are deep in the middle of our dress rehearsal for the next evening’s pop’s concert.

Harp doesn’t generally play on every piece so, when things start to go sideways, I am in a tacit section, allowing me to observe my fellow musicians.

It begins.

Quietly at first.

With a gentle “plink”.

“Plink.”

“Plink, plink, plink.”

The rain is here.

The first clear reaction on the surrounding faces communicates: “Did I leave my car windows open?

Followed by (as the noise begins to ramp up): “Can I sneak off stage to put them up?”

Followed by “Holy Sh*t!

As the “plinking” suddenly changes to a roar.

A roar that can only be the product of furious rain battering torrentially down on a resonant metal roof.

A door blows open.

And slams shut again.

Lights flicker.

What do we do?

Does the general manager (or anyone else, for that matter) try to find a radio or make a call to the weather service or TAKE ANY STEPS to see if we should be – Oh, I don’t know – throwing down our instruments and running for safety?

Nah.

We’re musicians.

It’s dress rehearsal.

We just keep sitting on our easily blown apart stage on a basement-free concrete slab, under an eminently twistable roof, in a big glass box, and crank out show tunes.

Including me.

Because now we’ve hit the West Side Story Medley filled with harp solos.

In between arpeggios, my thought was this:

“As God is my witness, I don’t want to die playing ‘I Feel Pretty’!”

Yet, I played on.

Because my whole professional life I’ve been a slave to that dumb “the show must go on” mantra.

As stupid as I felt we all were, in hindsight, even if we had stopped playing, there was nowhere safe to go.

As I mentioned, we were out on the edge of the lake on a slab with no “underneath” and at least three hundred yards away from any safer structures.

The storm raging outside made an evacuation just as dangerous as staying put.

I guess, when the alternative was getting struck by lightning (or whisked off to OZ) while running for my car, playing show tunes wasn’t the worst way I could have gone.

One More Storm Story

From my Overbooked And Underpaid Substack - memories of a flooded, basement-free theme park escape.

A Pledge

You may have noticed this new graphic at the top of the newsletter.

I hereby pledge that all my writing, and other creative endeavors, are free of the use of A.I.

With the exception of Spell Check. And whatever other old fashioned proofing tools can be found in my eight year old version of Microsoft word. (I’m a lousy speller with suspicious punctuation skills. I need the help.)

I’ve written about my feelings regarding A.I. writing here.

“Let’s Feel Better” Tour

I’m putting together a summer “Substack” tour of my poetry reading, humorous storytelling and harp music. It’s aimed at small venues like house concerts and book clubs and will rely on YOU, my readers, to tell me where you would like to come.

More background and details can be found by clicking on the Summer Tour menu header or using this button.

Summer "Let's Feel Better" Tour

If you would like me to come to your area, please contact me - either by hitting “reply” to this email or by messaging me here on Substack or posting in the comments.

I’d love to see what we can make together.

Books - great gift for Mother’s Day!

If you like my work there are two book collections of the comics/poems for sale. They make great gifts!

Buy Books

If You Are New Here…

If you are just joining us I’m so happy you are here!

You might want to click here to find out what to expect.

And consider poking around the archives - there’s some fun stuff.

Archives

Joy Shot

Images that make me feel better.

Rainy Azaleas.

Weekly Dose -

Works by other creators that capture our current moment…

Paranoid Breakdown

If you have never seen the 1954 classic film “The Caine Mutiny” you should search it out.

If you have seen the movie you will be very much aware of the paranoid breakdown courtroom scene.

I have long felt that we’ve been living with our own Captain Queeg and that, eventually, we will find ourselves in the inevitable space where the whole world (rather than just a piece of it) realizes the madness and wakes up from its fever dream.

The way the folks in this courtroom scene do.

Sadly we seem to keep getting a different reaction.

Each time the unfitness is boldly revealed, it’s as if everyone witnessing the crazy just says: “Meh. What’s your point?”

But recently something does seem to be shifting.

Perhaps we are closing in…

Keep The Messages And Comments Coming!

I appreciate the feedback and knowing how often I have struck a chord with your lives.

Leave a comment

Inspired by a recent use of my vintage Sunbeam stand mixer.

I’ve written about my Sunbeam collection (hoard) on the Overbooked & Underpaid Substack here.

I’m Ready

Click here if you are curious

Always True

If you are a long time reader, the phrase in my header “Sometimes funny. Sometimes inspirational. Always true.” might kind of slide through your brain without leaving much impression.

Particularly the “Always true” part.

Whilst I can admit to exaggeration for comedic purposes from time to time, it is a sad fact that, more often than not, such exaggeration is hardly necessary.

Case in point, the above advice.

Inspired by an incident in 2012.

Lest you disbelieve, I have photographic proof.

(You can tell this is from 2012 because the pic is so crappy. As in, taken by one of those quaint old devices we used to call a “digital camera”. In the dark ages before we all had super cameras in our pockets. That can, every so often, be also used to make a phone call…)

In case you can’t tell, we are looking at half a gallon of gray latex paint squidgily working its merry way down into the fibers of my plush carpet and two mixing bowls full of un-squidged (recovered) paint.

Yes.

My first reaction was to try to “clean up” all that paint.

That thing in the yellow mixing bowl that you can’t quite identify is actually a metal bread dough scraper.

It seemed an ideal tool for a sort of scooping and depositing action into said bowls.

Ahem.

After about twenty minutes of this pointless exercise it was time to concede defeat.

And begin the process of cutting out a two foot square section of very expensive carpet and padding.

Ever the optimist, I searched the local home improvement emporium for bit of carpet to insert as a makeshift patch.

Makeshift with the intention of eventually ripping out all the carpet and refinishing the underlying 1928 hardwood floor.

It’s 2026.

Yes, the patch is still there.

Sigh.

Copyright© 2026 Anne Morse Hambrock All rights reserved.

A Cool Thing!

I’m running a harp class in May - details in issue #152 here near end of post.

“Let’s Feel Better” Tour

I’m putting together a summer “Substack” tour of my poetry reading, humorous storytelling and harp music. It’s aimed at small venues like house concerts and book clubs and will rely on YOU, my readers, to tell me where you would like to come.

More background and details can be found by clicking on the Summer Tour menu header or using this button.

Summer "Let's Feel Better" Tour

If you would like me to come to your area, please contact me - either by hitting “reply” to this email or by messaging me here on Substack or posting in the comments.

I’d love to see what we can make together.

Books - great gift for Mother’s Day!

If you like my work there are two book collections of the comics/poems for sale. They make great gifts!

Buy Books

If You Are New Here…

If you are just joining us I’m so happy you are here!

You might want to click here to find out what to expect.

And consider poking around the archives - there’s some fun stuff.

Archives

Joy Shot

Images that make me feel better.

Blooms from inside and out.

A friend gifts me an Amaryllis every year.

It blooms, then dies off and sits on a windowsill looking pitiful.

I continue to water it anyway.

And sometimes, not always, but sometimes, manage to coax it into blooming again…

These were the first two daffodils to grace my yard this Spring.

Thankfully the garden comes through for me each year - providing some comfort and distraction from world events…

Weekly Dose - Two This Week

Works by other creators (usually) that capture our current moment…

First Dose

Last week the president of the United States hijacked a religious holiday with both profane language and behavior.

This week he went even further and posted an image of himself as Jesus.

(The image is so objectionable - even to an only vaguely spiritual person such as myself - that I refuse to give it more eyeballs by posting it here.)

Apparently, he has now - FINALLY - gone too far for several folks on the religious right. Folks who are actually calling him a blasphemer.

Having been called a blasphemer myself on occasion for incredibly piffling pokes made in my poems/comics (see above - that one actually ticked off quite a few people), it is interesting to see the term finally used as intended.

To read more about my adventures with the religious folks click here.

Second Dose

I shared this back in October but am posting it again because it just keeps getting more and more true.

John Mulaney is, sadly, a prophetic genius…

(For the part that is eerily applicable to current events skip to 2:50.)

Keep The Messages And Comments Coming!

I appreciate the feedback and knowing how often I have struck a chord with your lives.

Leave a comment

It’s been a weird week.

Where all the bits that seemed straightforward sort of shifted sideways.

And frontways.

And backways.

And slantways.

The sort of week where you realize you have been conditioned to prioritize a linear experience that moves inexorably forward on a highly focused, deliberately productive path.

And you feel a kick of rebellion.

The desire to revolt against this notion that a linear vision is the best vision.

To reject the directive that our thoughts should be continuously focused on one goal at a time.

That meandering through a day, taking things as they come, following one random thought after another is somehow inferior to seizing the day and bending it to our will.

And you decide to jump off the treadmill.

Which is how I found myself slouching into Easter Sunday morning with the vague notion that I should bake something.

And, that perhaps, it being a holiday and all, I should bake something special and unusual.

I don’t know what I was thinking – maybe some sort of fancy bread or exotic new dessert..

I descended to the kitchen to browse for inspiration.

Inspiration that should be easy to find in a room brimming with, not only at least a hundred cookbooks, but several three ring binders full of recipes culled from magazines and internet searches past.

But before the browsing could begin, I had to pull out the giant stack of recipes that had been optimistically collected over the past year but simply shoved into the cabinet rather than properly indexed into the binders.

Necessitating a trip back upstairs for plastic binder sleeves.

Followed by an hour of filing.

Followed, finally, by another hour of browsing.

Followed by a realization that these binders were brimming with recipes still untested and untasted years, no decades, after I first thought “I should make that!”

Followed by an hour of culling.

At which point I needed a break.

So I refilled all the spices in the spice rack.

And rearranged the cabinet full of cookie cutters. (Scroll down for images of the madness that is my cookie cutter hoard.)

Then I spotted the ziplock bag of sanding sugar.

The one created when the bag of blue sugar and the bag of red sugar each sprung a leak and got mixed together.

Yes.

I sorted that too.

It was satisfying.

In an Adrian Monk sort of way.

By this time the morning was a distant memory, the afternoon was getting on, and it became abundantly clear that I would not be baking anything fancy or exotic.

Or, for that matter, anything that took more than an hour.

So I just made my family’s favorite chocolate chip cookies.

There were no complaints.

I slouched my way back upstairs for an evening equally devoid of any particular sense of purpose.

It felt good.

Copyright© 2026 Anne Morse Hambrock All rights reserved.

A Cool Thing!

I’m running a harp class in May - details in issue #152 here near end of post.

“Let’s Feel Better” Tour

I’m putting together a summer “Substack” tour of my poetry reading, humorous storytelling and harp music. It’s aimed at small venues like house concerts and book clubs and will rely on YOU, my readers, to tell me where you would like to come.

More background and details can be found by clicking on the Summer Tour menu header or using this button.

Summer "Let's Feel Better" Tour

If you would like me to come to your area, please contact me - either by hitting “reply” to this email or by messaging me here on Substack or posting in the comments.

I’d love to see what we can make together.

Books - great gift for Mother’s Day!

If you like my work there are two book collections of the comics/poems for sale. They make great gifts!

Buy Books

If You Are New Here…

If you are just joining us I’m so happy you are here!

You might want to click here to find out what to expect.

And consider poking around the archives - there’s some fun stuff.

Archives

Joy Shot

Images that make me feel better.

These are made from My Aunt Dottie’s recipe - a family favorite.

Recipe and backstory are on my Overbooked Substack here.

Bonus pics - The Cookie Cutter Hoard

Weekly Dose

Works by other creators that capture our current moment…

In case you missed it the president of the United States posted THIS on his social media:

“Tuesday will be Power Plant Day, and Bridge Day, all wrapped up in one, in Iran. There will be nothing like it!!! Open the Fuckin’ Strait, you crazy bastards, or you’ll be living in Hell—JUST WATCH! Praise be to Allah. President DONALD J. TRUMP”

I’m skipping the editorial cartoons on this topic because they are all focusing on the outrage of the post.

There is plenty to be outraged about, from the sheer stunning nature of a sitting president spewing profanity - not behind closed doors - but all over the internet - to the potential war crimes expressed in the promised action.

But I was struck this morning by an interesting idea floated ever so subtly by Heather Cox Richardson.

Did the president really post this?

Ms. Richardson, who has done as much reporting on this president as anyone working in journalism today, smells something off. The phrasing smacks more of Trump’s inner circle than the language he uses himself in public and in his usual social media posts.

Which has me wondering - just what the Sam Hill is really going on up there in the White House?

Are others taking control of his phone/socials?

If so, why?

I am going to take a moment to delight the conservatives in my life (those few who remain) with the acknowledgement that president Biden was clearly declining while in office. And that decline was most certainly covered up.

The republicans at large, and Trump himself, delighted in pointing the finger and calling for the heads of everyone involved.

Well the shoe appears to be on the other foot.

Will anyone step up and admit it?

You can read Heather Cox Richardson’s newsletter about all of this here.

Keep The Messages And Comments Coming!

I appreciate the feedback and knowing how often I have struck a chord with your lives.

Leave a comment

Yes, in my neck of the woods, it is a gorgeous, warm Spring day.

And the perfect time to take down those outdoor Christmas lights most folks put up in November.

Except.

I didn’t.

Instead, I put UP Christmas lights.

Yes.

You read that correctly.

I spent twenty minutes this afternoon adorning my front yard with strands of little twinkly bulbs.

Back in the day, Christmas lights were big multicolored ceramic things on tangle prone strands of wire that looked suspiciously unsafe for winter weather conditions.

You put them up, impressing your neighbors with your ability to untangle the strands, to climb around your roof without falling off and breaking your neck, and to appear blithely unconcerned with the thought of higher electric bills. Then, after a couple of weeks, maybe even three or four, you took them away. (Assuming you hadn’t burned down your house in the interim.)

Even after those much-safer-guaranteed-by-Underwriters-Laboratory twinkle things hit the market, outdoor residential lighting was pretty much restricted to the winter holiday season.

Leaving the holiday lighting up after January was simply not done. (Long before homeowners’ associations existed to try to tell you how to run your life, the neighbors would let you know when you were breaking protocol.)

I don’t know when this all changed for the nation but I remember when it changed for me.

Florence Parry Heide was a close friend. The beloved author of over one hundred children’s books, (The Shrinking Of Treehorn illustrated by Edward Gorey, Some Things Are Scary illustrated by Jules Feiffer and The House Of Wisdom illustrated by Mary Grandpré to name just a few) she lived in our neighborhood and threw wonderful summer parties for local children.

A feature of the festivities was a virtual wonderland of twinkle lights that were kept up, and lit, in both backyard and front, all year long.

Thus, began my own practice of illuminating my front yard and garden through all seasons and weathers.

Partly for the joy of it.

Partly so that, at night, I can find my driveway.

A few weeks ago, you may recall I had a new roof installed, thus necessitating the removal of said lights for the duration of the project. (Issue #150)

Then there was a blizzard.

Followed by several bone chilling, cruddy days during which I had no desire to wrestle with strands of twinkle lights.

No matter how cheerful the results.

Without my lights to guide me, I mistakenly pulled into the neighbor’s driveway at least three times.

So, today’s balmy climate was the perfect opportunity to restore order to my universe.

Pretty sure the neighbors will be equally happy about it.

Copyright© 2026 Anne Morse Hambrock All rights reserved.

Ups And Downs

In case I didn’t make it clear, those twinkle lights bring me joy.

And I need it.

Lately, it feels as though opportunities for joy have been thin on the ground.

There has been much more of this sort of thing:

I realize that much has to do with point of view.

I really do believe that joy is all around – in simple things like Christmas lights and warm weather and loving family and friends and hope in our hearts for better times.

But this constant need to force myself to remember it is exhausting.

And wearing me down.

Maybe because the joyful voices in my world are quiet and subtle and the negative voices are shouting, no, SCREAMING, for my attention.

If you have joyful things happening in your life that are keeping you going and lifting you up, I’d love for you to share them in the comments.

Or just message me if you are more comfortable with that.

A Cool Thing!

I don’t focus on my life as a harpist/teacher here that often but I’ve got a thing coming up that I’m excited about.

A wonderful new coffeehouse and community space called the Frunchroom Collective has recently opened up in Libertyville, Illinois and I am partnering with them to offer an introductory harp class to beginners.

The really cool part is that I am providing all the harps - thirteen of them to be exact - so anyone who is curious about playing the harp can come get their hands on an instrument. (Well, almost anyone, the class size IS limited.)

There are two sessions offered - a morning only class for folks who just want to get their feet wet a bit and try a harp - and an all day session option (this includes the morning class and builds upon it) for people who might want to really dig into the instrument a bit more.

If you live anywhere close to Libertyville, and would like to try harp, check out the details on their website here on the events page. (You might have to scroll to get to it.)

“Let’s Feel Better” Tour

I’m putting together a summer “Substack” tour of my poetry reading, humorous storytelling and harp music. It’s aimed at small venues like house concerts and book clubs and will rely on YOU, my readers, to tell me where you would like to come.

More background and details can be found by clicking on the Summer Tour menu header or using this button.

Summer "Let's Feel Better" Tour

If you would like me to come to your area, please contact me - either by hitting “reply” to this email or by messaging me here on Substack or posting in the comments.

I’d love to see what we can make together.

Books

If you like my work there are two book collections of the comics/poems for sale. They make great gifts!

Buy Books

If You Are New Here…

If you are just joining us I’m so happy you are here!

You might want to click here to find out what to expect.

And consider poking around the archives - there’s some fun stuff.

Archives

Joy Shot

Images that make me feel better.

This tiny patch of crocuses is always the first thing to bloom in my yard.

Small, but a mighty harbinger of all the other bulbs about to do their thing.

Weekly Dose

Works by other creators that capture our current moment…

You may be scratching your head wondering why I am using two clips from the movie “The Big Short” for this week’s commentary on current events.

Simply put, the housing crisis of 2008 was the result of a lot of people (people we were trusting to do the right thing) manipulating a corrupt system and lying to the American public about almost everything. The screw-ups and coverups were truly staggering.

I recently re-watched the movie and the parallels to all the garbage happening worldwide on multiple fronts (complete with plenty of screw-ups and coverups) is equally staggering.

It’s eerie almost.

If you’ve never seen the film, or read the book, and wondered what really happened to all of us in 2008, you really should take the time to watch it.

In this first clip, one of the main characters finds out what is going on in the Florida housing market in 2007.

In the second clip, the same character has his illusions of neutral oversight by S & P shattered.

Keep The Messages And Comments Coming!

I appreciate the feedback and knowing how often I have struck a chord with your lives.

Leave a comment

There are big nasty dangerous power outages and then there are small short-lived annoying power outages.

Thankfully (knock wood) I have only been given occasion to complain about the latter.

Twelve hour blackouts that send us to the kitchen to eat ice cream for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. (Rather than letting all that frozen creamy goodness melt into a mushy puddle underneath the giant bag of green beans we are perfectly happy to sacrifice.)

Or the three hour “we-should-have-charged-all-our-devices-when-we-knew-the-storm-was-coming-lord-knows-how-long-this-will-last” mini freakouts…

Then there are the “flickering-on-and-off-and-on-and-off-let’s-just-unplug-everything-for-a-bit-to-be-on-the-safe-side” warning shots.

Warning shots such as I experienced last week during a day of profoundly disturbing gale force winds.

Faced with the risk of frying three different computers, needed for practically every kind of work I do, it seemed advisable to shut things down and look for an analog activity with which to fill some down time.

Giving the computer screens a last glance, it was shocking to note that, without the usual illumination coming from behind the glass, one could now see, stretched across the inky blackness, enough greasy, germy, streaky, splattery grossness to mimic a painting by Jackson Pollock.

Ew.

Twenty minutes later, having attacked said screens with the appropriate cleaning agents, (and two fabulous buffing cloths made by ecloths – cannot recommend them highly enough) I reached for a book I’ve been meaning to read (but never do because my screens are calling) and settled in.

Another five minutes found me with head lolled sideways and deeply asleep. (Yes, there may even have been some snoring…)

Because, another reason I keep failing to get through that darned book, is that, every time I pick up material printed on paper, it seems to have a soporific effect.

C’est la vie.

When the universe throws a little down time at us, we should probably take it.

More Weather

In addition to the bouts of high wind, the universe has been colossally unable to make up its mind regarding temperature.

One morning I was frolicking in a balmy 67° F.

The next, I was awakened by the scraping of snowplows.

“I remember that sound. That’s a BAD sound.” Sigourney Weaver - Galaxy Quest

As these weather shifts compete, they not only play merry hell with wardrobe planning but the natural world around us is a bit hinky-pinky as well.

When you go from this:

To this:

You also sometimes get this:

Copyright© 2026 Anne Morse Hambrock All rights reserved.

“Let’s Feel Better” Tour

I’m putting together a summer “Substack” tour of my poetry reading, humorous storytelling and harp music. It’s aimed at small venues like house concerts and book clubs and will rely on YOU, my readers, to tell me where you would like to come.

More background and details can be found by clicking on the Summer Tour menu header or using this button.

Summer "Let's Feel Better" Tour

If you would like me to come to your area, please contact me - either by hitting “reply” to this email or by messaging me here on Substack or posting in the comments.

I’d love to see what we can make together.

Books

If you like my work there are two book collections of the comics/poems for sale. They make great gifts!

Buy Books

If You Are New Here…

If you are just joining us I’m so happy you are here!

You might want to click here to find out what to expect.

And consider poking around the archives - there’s some fun stuff.

Archives

Joy Shot

Images that make me feel better.

Happy to get a belly rub.

And to be skunk-stink free.

Weekly Dose

Works by other creators that capture our current moment…

I’m very conflicted about this.

Because, while I think the comments of POTUS are terribly disrespectful and in extremely poor taste, I can fully imagine a day where I will be tempted to say exactly the same words about him.

See more of Ann’s work - and subscribe to her Substack - here.

Keep The Messages And Comments Coming!

I appreciate the feedback and knowing how often I have struck a chord with your lives.

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