Sunday morning has awakened me, early as usual. '"I" who always hits the floor when I do instead lies snuggled under the blanket with The Emperor. I haven't looked out the window or opened the door yet. So I am not positive the day is there still wrapped in darkness, but if it is then Halloween has arrived. This should be a good day for me. I have been told I am a witch.
Last night we went to a party. Which is a big event for me as I don't do much parties these days. I went through the day consumed with excitement. I got to thinking yesterday maybe the old tale that I have heard over the years that as people age they become childish again. I think that old adage might be true. Because I was like a small child that drives its parent crazy all day when a big event is planned for the evening. The only draw back in this case is it wasn't a parent I was driving crazy, talking over and over of our plans. It was The Emperor. Have you got the picture?
The Emperor watches Television or is on the computer. But then he also is watching television when he is on the computer. So this poses somewhat of a problem at times. The problem being myself. As I said I was excited. I talked of what we should wear, what we should take, what time we should go. The Emperor did not want to talk of all these glorious plans. Alas he did not share in all of my excitement. Needless to say it was a rather tense day.
Now I know you are asking yourself why didn't she just shut up? Oh truly I tried but the words seemed to form themselves, my feet taking me to where he was. Just so I could share my excitement. An excitement, I must admit he didn't want to share.
When it finally become close to the time to go. I like a six year old sat perched on the edge of the chair, a bowl of treats in my hands. Waiting with great anticipation. The Emperor looked at me with irritation. "Can't you put that d--n bowl down till we go?" I didn't put the bowl down. I was going to a party.
My daughter had the party. It amazes me all the effort and hard work she puts inTO these things she creates. She goes all out to give the grandkids and adults a wonderful time. There was hot dogs, a fountain with running chocolate, snacks of all kinds. Orange colored punch that tasted fantastic. The kids fixed their own pumpkins, everyone bobbed for apples. It as a wonderful time. And everyone dressed up, down to a couple of dogs. Another memory tucked away in my head. To be brought out on dreary days. Faces smiling and happy. Andrew a zombie, Victoria a television, Angel a present. My Billie a bowling Pin. Too many costumes to remember. But they are all there, tucked away with love in my mind.
So you see I must admit maybe I am getting a tad childish these days. Reverting back to my younger years when simple things excited me so much. But tell me what is wrong with being that way? We lose our childish glee as we grow older. Lose the happiness of running tHrough a puddle or dressing up for a party, your treat bowl in your hands. I really don't mind being childish. Sitting on the porch in my big wooden rocker, watching the leafs fall from my beloved trees. I never want to lose the wonder of life. The joy at seeing all those little faces, covered in paint and masks. Giving me a hug, telling me what they were suppose to be. So Billie, "Thanks for the memories."
Its still dark here in Blogland. Daylight not edging the sky yet. I hope I don't run into any ghosts or Vampires here this morning. I did see a black cat sitting on the curb in front of the one lonely store. Actually its a little spookier here than it is at home. I clutch my treat bag a little tighter. Its empty by the way. Not one piece of candy was given to me here this morning. I'm singing, "Put on your Easter bonnet." I don't know any Halloween songs. I'm nervous and have to sing something. And I'm on my way. I'm outta here.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Saturday, October 30, 2010
ALMOST HALLOWEEN
Saturday morning is here. Wearing a jacket I hope as it is a little chilly outside. We finally lit the pilot light on the stove yesterday and it felt good to take the chill off the room when I got up. I will enjoy every minute of this wonderful fall weather while I can. For as time passes so quickly I am sure it will be winter cold before we know it.
Halloween is almost here. I tried yesterday to imagine it being in the summer. Say in August. I think it wouldn't be a real Halloween if it was hot and you ate watermelon instead of cider and cookies. I wonder who thought up all the holidays and picked when they should be. Surely I'm not the only one who sits around and wonders about all this stuff. I drive myself crazy sometimes, excuse me crazier, worrying how all this came to be. I googled it. God Bless Mr. Google. He is so sweet to answer all my questions.
As we get older as adults we usually don't get as excited over Halloween as we did as kids. But it was different back when I was a kid, growing up on Ninth Street. Mother never had the money to even buy s mask, let alone a costume. Halloween was a big deal though. I would go through Mothers old clothes and paint my face bright with lipstick. Usually there would be a bunch of us neighborhood kids go together. No parents usually trekked along back then. They gave their kids a paper bag, sent them out into the neighborhood and said "Don't be gone too long." Nobody had any idea some crazy would give us tainted candy or razor blades in a apple. No-one at least not in our neighborhood had money for costumes or big parties. It was innocent fun, in an innocent time.
I remember one year when I was about six I went with my brother,"Smiling Bud" and some of his friends Trick or Treating." I dressed up in one of Mom's dresses. Of course it drug the ground. I was clumsy anyway and with the dress under my feet I fell half the night. But oh I was so excited going with Bud and the other bigger kids. All of them about eight. A very big deal to me.
We made our way up Ninth, hitting all the neighbors, filling our bags. I was so excited, my candy bag was getting heavier and heavier. We stopped at Ninth and Virgina. There was a fence around the yard. The house didn't look very well lit up. Everyone looked at each other but decided to go in and up to the door. We all entered and made our way to the porch. Just as we started up the door opened and a big dog flew out. Growling and barking. Believe me when I say the crowd went crazy. Everyone screamed, everyone ran for the gate. I in my long dress stumbled and fell. Jumping to my feet I grabbed my dress up, threw my bag of candy at the dog and made for freedom. Needless to say all the others were safely several feet away. I promptly went home, without candy and told Mom how Bud left me alone to the Dog.
I remembered that act of tattling years later. One Halloween when we lived in Leavenworth when Billie was about six, Al and I took her Trick or treating. We went to the better part of town. So she would get really good treats. I got out of the car with Billie and we would walk from house to house. Her Dad driving along slowly at the street. The houses were big, fancy. We went to one that set back a ways. I had her by the hand and we climbed the stairs and was about halfway up the walk when this whooshing sound happened. I looked up just in time to see this white figure come swooping down out of the tree, right towards us. I knew then what my brother and his friends knew back years ago. Sometimes its every man for themselves. I am so ashamed to say I started screaming and running for the car, forgetting I had a stunned six year old watching this ghost come from the tree. She watched alone because her Mother was already down the steps.
The people had a sheet fixed on a wire from the tree to the house. When you got to a certain spot, it activated the ghost. I am not proud of my actions. And its a wonder Billie likes Halloween at all. I am not sure she remembers this fiasco. I probably should have kept this memory to myself.
I am chilly. So I will wander from the one lonely blinking light of Blogland and make my way home.. My coffee awaits me. The words I have scattered here this morning is more like babbling. I have second thoughts about confessing my cowardly act. The song runs through my head,"Hang down your Head Tom Dooley, hang down your head in shame." I'm outta here.
Where and when did Halloween customs originate?
The many customs we have today in relation to Halloween have their origins in the religious practices of the Romans and the Druids, therefore dating back many centuries. The Romans worshiped various gods and on October 31, a special feast was held in honor of Pomona, goddess of the fruit trees. Later, the Druids, an ancient order of Celtic priests in Britain, made this feast an even more extensive celebration by also honoring Samhain, lord of the dead. This was normally done on November 1 and it was therefore decided to conveniently honor both Pomona and Samhain on October 31 and November 1.
These Druids believed that on the night before November 1 (October 31) Samhain called together wicked souls or spirits which had been condemned to live in the bodies of animals during the year which had just transpired. Since they were afraid of these spirits, they chose October 31 as a day to sacrifice to their gods, hoping they would protect them. They really believed that on this day they were surrounded by strange spirits, ghosts, witches, fairies, and elves, who came out to hurt them. In addition to this, they also believed that cats were holy animals, as they considered them to represent people who lived formerly, and as punishment for evil deeds were reincarnated as a cat. All this explains why witches, ghosts, and cats are a part of Halloween today.
The custom of trick-or-treating and the use of "jack-o'-lanterns" comes from Ireland. Hundreds of years ago, Irish farmers went from house to house, begging for food, in the name of their ancient gods, to be used at the village Halloween celebration. They would promise good luck to those who gave them good, and made threats to those who refused to give. They simply told the people, "You treat me, or else I will trick you!"
Halloween is almost here. I tried yesterday to imagine it being in the summer. Say in August. I think it wouldn't be a real Halloween if it was hot and you ate watermelon instead of cider and cookies. I wonder who thought up all the holidays and picked when they should be. Surely I'm not the only one who sits around and wonders about all this stuff. I drive myself crazy sometimes, excuse me crazier, worrying how all this came to be. I googled it. God Bless Mr. Google. He is so sweet to answer all my questions.
As we get older as adults we usually don't get as excited over Halloween as we did as kids. But it was different back when I was a kid, growing up on Ninth Street. Mother never had the money to even buy s mask, let alone a costume. Halloween was a big deal though. I would go through Mothers old clothes and paint my face bright with lipstick. Usually there would be a bunch of us neighborhood kids go together. No parents usually trekked along back then. They gave their kids a paper bag, sent them out into the neighborhood and said "Don't be gone too long." Nobody had any idea some crazy would give us tainted candy or razor blades in a apple. No-one at least not in our neighborhood had money for costumes or big parties. It was innocent fun, in an innocent time.
I remember one year when I was about six I went with my brother,"Smiling Bud" and some of his friends Trick or Treating." I dressed up in one of Mom's dresses. Of course it drug the ground. I was clumsy anyway and with the dress under my feet I fell half the night. But oh I was so excited going with Bud and the other bigger kids. All of them about eight. A very big deal to me.
We made our way up Ninth, hitting all the neighbors, filling our bags. I was so excited, my candy bag was getting heavier and heavier. We stopped at Ninth and Virgina. There was a fence around the yard. The house didn't look very well lit up. Everyone looked at each other but decided to go in and up to the door. We all entered and made our way to the porch. Just as we started up the door opened and a big dog flew out. Growling and barking. Believe me when I say the crowd went crazy. Everyone screamed, everyone ran for the gate. I in my long dress stumbled and fell. Jumping to my feet I grabbed my dress up, threw my bag of candy at the dog and made for freedom. Needless to say all the others were safely several feet away. I promptly went home, without candy and told Mom how Bud left me alone to the Dog.
I remembered that act of tattling years later. One Halloween when we lived in Leavenworth when Billie was about six, Al and I took her Trick or treating. We went to the better part of town. So she would get really good treats. I got out of the car with Billie and we would walk from house to house. Her Dad driving along slowly at the street. The houses were big, fancy. We went to one that set back a ways. I had her by the hand and we climbed the stairs and was about halfway up the walk when this whooshing sound happened. I looked up just in time to see this white figure come swooping down out of the tree, right towards us. I knew then what my brother and his friends knew back years ago. Sometimes its every man for themselves. I am so ashamed to say I started screaming and running for the car, forgetting I had a stunned six year old watching this ghost come from the tree. She watched alone because her Mother was already down the steps.
The people had a sheet fixed on a wire from the tree to the house. When you got to a certain spot, it activated the ghost. I am not proud of my actions. And its a wonder Billie likes Halloween at all. I am not sure she remembers this fiasco. I probably should have kept this memory to myself.
I am chilly. So I will wander from the one lonely blinking light of Blogland and make my way home.. My coffee awaits me. The words I have scattered here this morning is more like babbling. I have second thoughts about confessing my cowardly act. The song runs through my head,"Hang down your Head Tom Dooley, hang down your head in shame." I'm outta here.
Where and when did Halloween customs originate?
The many customs we have today in relation to Halloween have their origins in the religious practices of the Romans and the Druids, therefore dating back many centuries. The Romans worshiped various gods and on October 31, a special feast was held in honor of Pomona, goddess of the fruit trees. Later, the Druids, an ancient order of Celtic priests in Britain, made this feast an even more extensive celebration by also honoring Samhain, lord of the dead. This was normally done on November 1 and it was therefore decided to conveniently honor both Pomona and Samhain on October 31 and November 1.
These Druids believed that on the night before November 1 (October 31) Samhain called together wicked souls or spirits which had been condemned to live in the bodies of animals during the year which had just transpired. Since they were afraid of these spirits, they chose October 31 as a day to sacrifice to their gods, hoping they would protect them. They really believed that on this day they were surrounded by strange spirits, ghosts, witches, fairies, and elves, who came out to hurt them. In addition to this, they also believed that cats were holy animals, as they considered them to represent people who lived formerly, and as punishment for evil deeds were reincarnated as a cat. All this explains why witches, ghosts, and cats are a part of Halloween today.
The custom of trick-or-treating and the use of "jack-o'-lanterns" comes from Ireland. Hundreds of years ago, Irish farmers went from house to house, begging for food, in the name of their ancient gods, to be used at the village Halloween celebration. They would promise good luck to those who gave them good, and made threats to those who refused to give. They simply told the people, "You treat me, or else I will trick you!"
Friday, October 29, 2010
MRS. OVERTHEWALL
Friday morning is here,very cool and I am not greeting it with much enthusiasm yet. But then the first hot dark drops of coffee have not passed my lips. I will be much more enthusiastic soon. I have not been to Blogland for a few days. So I will sip my cup of ambrosia and venture forth. I am hoping for a good trip.
Have you ever wondered if fiction could become reality? Words written so expressively that they literally came to life? Well I am not so sure this hasn't happened to me lately. Now hold on a minute before you rush to the phone to call "The Shady Tree Rest Home," again. I'm not saying for sure. I'm just saying maybe. Please just hear me out.
In the early 1900's there was an author that wrote a series of children's stories. Her name was, "Beatrix Potter." She was a much beloved writer. She had a list of characters in her books, both animal and human and spun delightful tales about them. Her books have been read for over a hundred years.
Then a few years ago an Author, Susan Wittig, a writer of Historical fiction started a series called, "The Cottage Tales," featuring Beatrix Potter. She has used a real person from history and has written fiction of her life in the Cottage, on the farm and with the animals. They are whimsical, and interesting. I was listening to one the other afternoon and it told of a woman called, "Mrs.Overthewall." She painted a vivid picture of this chubby little round woman, grey hair piled high on her head. Layers of clothing, a smile on her face and she carried fruit in a basket. The wind would pick her up and just sail her over the stone wall. I am enclosing a short excerpt from the book,
"Of course, we can't permit Lady Longford to have the last word on Emily, but it is ... she blew in on a gust of sudden wind that lifted her bodily over the .. the stile and the stone fence and the hillside beyond, Mrs. Overthewall."
Now after I finished listening for the day and put away my player, the picture stayed with me. The one that had been written with words as I was listening to the book on tape. The picture of Mrs. Overthewall. Don't laugh I do have an imagination.. Later though as I sat watching Television "I" started barking loudly, I didn't get up. She barks at the door at everything. The Emperor came in and looked out. "There's some old lady out there," he said. I got up and looked out.
Standing there at the gate was. Mrs. Overthewall. I swear to you its true. The only thing was that she didn't have the colored scarves. She had layers of clothes and grey hair piled up on her head. She didn't carry a basket of fruit. But you know what the first words she said to me was? "Do you like pears?"
I walked in disbelief to the fence. My very own Mrs.Overthewall had come to my house. I sort of stuttered, "Yes we like pears." She smiled, I had a bumper crop this year and wanted to give you some. " Mrs. Overthewall not only came ,she brought pears. Whoop, whoop.. Now I have to admit a magical wind didn't carry her out to her car, but I do think she sort of glided a little. She produced a bag of pears and brought them back to the gate. I was mentally trying to figure how many layers of clothes she did have on. "How much do you want for these," I asked? She smiled. "I'm doing this for a blessing from God." She walked back, got into her car and drove away. I struggled into the house with the bag. The Emperor stood watching. "
"Where did she come from?" he asked. I shook my head, I did not know. "She didn't go to any other houses," he said ."Only here." I muttered something. "What did you say," he asked. I shook my head. How could I explain it was Mrs.Overthewall to someone who already thinks I'm a nut. Now I grant you in the story she was walking, the wind juat blowing her along. And besides her layers of clothes she wore many bright scarfs. I can only guess she has lost the scarfs somewhere along the way. Nobody else on these blocks got pears. Nobody else had her come to their gate. But we did. The moral to this little story is to be very careful what you read. Because if fantasy is going to become reality I want it to be a nice little old lady with pears and not a crazed killer. I listen to so many of those mystery stories.
So whether you believe my story or not is up to you. And no I haven't been hitting the bottle. As I leave Blogland this morning I look around. Fiction lives here in Blogland too I know. I start walking just a little faster. I've read some of these Blogs, they are not all hearts and roses. Now I've started jogging, I'm outta here.
Have you ever wondered if fiction could become reality? Words written so expressively that they literally came to life? Well I am not so sure this hasn't happened to me lately. Now hold on a minute before you rush to the phone to call "The Shady Tree Rest Home," again. I'm not saying for sure. I'm just saying maybe. Please just hear me out.
In the early 1900's there was an author that wrote a series of children's stories. Her name was, "Beatrix Potter." She was a much beloved writer. She had a list of characters in her books, both animal and human and spun delightful tales about them. Her books have been read for over a hundred years.
Then a few years ago an Author, Susan Wittig, a writer of Historical fiction started a series called, "The Cottage Tales," featuring Beatrix Potter. She has used a real person from history and has written fiction of her life in the Cottage, on the farm and with the animals. They are whimsical, and interesting. I was listening to one the other afternoon and it told of a woman called, "Mrs.Overthewall." She painted a vivid picture of this chubby little round woman, grey hair piled high on her head. Layers of clothing, a smile on her face and she carried fruit in a basket. The wind would pick her up and just sail her over the stone wall. I am enclosing a short excerpt from the book,
"Of course, we can't permit Lady Longford to have the last word on Emily, but it is ... she blew in on a gust of sudden wind that lifted her bodily over the .. the stile and the stone fence and the hillside beyond, Mrs. Overthewall."
Now after I finished listening for the day and put away my player, the picture stayed with me. The one that had been written with words as I was listening to the book on tape. The picture of Mrs. Overthewall. Don't laugh I do have an imagination.. Later though as I sat watching Television "I" started barking loudly, I didn't get up. She barks at the door at everything. The Emperor came in and looked out. "There's some old lady out there," he said. I got up and looked out.
Standing there at the gate was. Mrs. Overthewall. I swear to you its true. The only thing was that she didn't have the colored scarves. She had layers of clothes and grey hair piled up on her head. She didn't carry a basket of fruit. But you know what the first words she said to me was? "Do you like pears?"
I walked in disbelief to the fence. My very own Mrs.Overthewall had come to my house. I sort of stuttered, "Yes we like pears." She smiled, I had a bumper crop this year and wanted to give you some. " Mrs. Overthewall not only came ,she brought pears. Whoop, whoop.. Now I have to admit a magical wind didn't carry her out to her car, but I do think she sort of glided a little. She produced a bag of pears and brought them back to the gate. I was mentally trying to figure how many layers of clothes she did have on. "How much do you want for these," I asked? She smiled. "I'm doing this for a blessing from God." She walked back, got into her car and drove away. I struggled into the house with the bag. The Emperor stood watching. "
"Where did she come from?" he asked. I shook my head, I did not know. "She didn't go to any other houses," he said ."Only here." I muttered something. "What did you say," he asked. I shook my head. How could I explain it was Mrs.Overthewall to someone who already thinks I'm a nut. Now I grant you in the story she was walking, the wind juat blowing her along. And besides her layers of clothes she wore many bright scarfs. I can only guess she has lost the scarfs somewhere along the way. Nobody else on these blocks got pears. Nobody else had her come to their gate. But we did. The moral to this little story is to be very careful what you read. Because if fantasy is going to become reality I want it to be a nice little old lady with pears and not a crazed killer. I listen to so many of those mystery stories.
So whether you believe my story or not is up to you. And no I haven't been hitting the bottle. As I leave Blogland this morning I look around. Fiction lives here in Blogland too I know. I start walking just a little faster. I've read some of these Blogs, they are not all hearts and roses. Now I've started jogging, I'm outta here.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
I WILL MISS MARTHA'S VINEYARD.
Tuesday morning is here. I switched on the backyard light a few minutes ago. It looks as if it has stopped raining. But the tell tale signs of the heavy rain from last night lingers. I am looking forward to a beautiful fall day. I am keeping a close lookout on my trees. I found a couple of Red leafs yesterday that had fallen from the top of the tree. Okay Blazing glory I am ready for your awesome beauty.
I am sure over the last months at some point I have written about getting my books on tape from the Wolfner Library. They are my life saver, my haven. For when it become harder and harder to make out the written word I slid deeper into a my abyss of self pity. The eye speciltist in Springfield and I had heated words when I complained I wanted to be able to read. "Get in different lights,"he said. "Turn your book around until you can get the most of what you want to read." Excuse me. I wanted to sit down as in the olden days and read. I was frustrated, angry. Then I was added to Wolfner library and things changed. The books have become my friends. The readers also my friends. Their voices have become familiar to me. For when there is a series by a certain author they try to have the same reader doing each book. I hear their voice on a different book and wonder what the character from such and such story is doing there? I love my books on tape.
About three years ago I started listening to the "Martha Vineyard Mystery series." They are written by "Phillip Craig." I was never a big mystery fan until I started listening to the books on tape and was soon hooked. Phillip Craig wrote this series based on Martha's Vineyard. The main man C.W. Jackson. Soon C.W. and his old truck tooling around the Vineyard become a favorite friend. I become to know the sandy beach roads. The Bluefish run, when everyone runs for their poles. To snag the beautiful Bluefish when they rise just below the surface. I was with C.W. when he fell in love with Dee. My heart ached when he thought she left the Vineyard for good. I rejoiced with him when she came back.
If there was trouble I was at his back, watching breathlessly as he righted wrong after wrong. I drank Rum in hot cider and rode in his boat. Along with him, Dee and eventually their kids. I came to know the Vineyard. And felt the sand beneath my feet.
I experienced all of these wonderful things because of a man called Phillip Craig. Who took a empty page and painted words that breathed life into the story. For that is what a real writer does and is able to do. Paint a picture in your mind so vivid that you feel and hear and see, all that he is painting for you. It is magic.
Yesterday I finished the book, "A Vineyard chill." As the book was coming to a close my mind already was jumping ahead to the next book. His best friend had just left on a new schooner he had built. Would CW and Dee with all the kids take their boat and join him? I was already anticipating the next installment. I was not prepared for the acknowledgement at the end. Where the writer thanks all of those that have helped him for bring the book together. I could not believe my ears when they read a acknowledgement from his wife Shirley. He had died soon after he had finished this book. I thought I would cry. I thought only of myself. What would happen to C.W. and Dee? How would I ever visit the Vineyard again? I felt a loss.
He was definitely a weaver of words. A painter who could weave a web around you until you were transported to the place he was writing about. His gift has been left behind. His words forever etched in print. I will miss you Phillip Craig, I will miss the Vineyard too. No more boat rides and sandy walks late at night for me. I will miss getting to go seaweed hunting with C.W. and Dee for their garden.
With these pictures rattling in my head I start my daily trek out of Blogland. It looks as if it rained here too. I wonder if they have lightening in Blogland? Probably. So as I go I neither skip, sing or hum this morning. I think of Phillip and wonder if he is telling the Angels his beautiful stories. I wonder if they have ever heard of the Vineyard before? If not I am sure they have now. All I know is for today. I'm outta here.
I am sure over the last months at some point I have written about getting my books on tape from the Wolfner Library. They are my life saver, my haven. For when it become harder and harder to make out the written word I slid deeper into a my abyss of self pity. The eye speciltist in Springfield and I had heated words when I complained I wanted to be able to read. "Get in different lights,"he said. "Turn your book around until you can get the most of what you want to read." Excuse me. I wanted to sit down as in the olden days and read. I was frustrated, angry. Then I was added to Wolfner library and things changed. The books have become my friends. The readers also my friends. Their voices have become familiar to me. For when there is a series by a certain author they try to have the same reader doing each book. I hear their voice on a different book and wonder what the character from such and such story is doing there? I love my books on tape.
About three years ago I started listening to the "Martha Vineyard Mystery series." They are written by "Phillip Craig." I was never a big mystery fan until I started listening to the books on tape and was soon hooked. Phillip Craig wrote this series based on Martha's Vineyard. The main man C.W. Jackson. Soon C.W. and his old truck tooling around the Vineyard become a favorite friend. I become to know the sandy beach roads. The Bluefish run, when everyone runs for their poles. To snag the beautiful Bluefish when they rise just below the surface. I was with C.W. when he fell in love with Dee. My heart ached when he thought she left the Vineyard for good. I rejoiced with him when she came back.
If there was trouble I was at his back, watching breathlessly as he righted wrong after wrong. I drank Rum in hot cider and rode in his boat. Along with him, Dee and eventually their kids. I came to know the Vineyard. And felt the sand beneath my feet.
I experienced all of these wonderful things because of a man called Phillip Craig. Who took a empty page and painted words that breathed life into the story. For that is what a real writer does and is able to do. Paint a picture in your mind so vivid that you feel and hear and see, all that he is painting for you. It is magic.
Yesterday I finished the book, "A Vineyard chill." As the book was coming to a close my mind already was jumping ahead to the next book. His best friend had just left on a new schooner he had built. Would CW and Dee with all the kids take their boat and join him? I was already anticipating the next installment. I was not prepared for the acknowledgement at the end. Where the writer thanks all of those that have helped him for bring the book together. I could not believe my ears when they read a acknowledgement from his wife Shirley. He had died soon after he had finished this book. I thought I would cry. I thought only of myself. What would happen to C.W. and Dee? How would I ever visit the Vineyard again? I felt a loss.
He was definitely a weaver of words. A painter who could weave a web around you until you were transported to the place he was writing about. His gift has been left behind. His words forever etched in print. I will miss you Phillip Craig, I will miss the Vineyard too. No more boat rides and sandy walks late at night for me. I will miss getting to go seaweed hunting with C.W. and Dee for their garden.
With these pictures rattling in my head I start my daily trek out of Blogland. It looks as if it rained here too. I wonder if they have lightening in Blogland? Probably. So as I go I neither skip, sing or hum this morning. I think of Phillip and wonder if he is telling the Angels his beautiful stories. I wonder if they have ever heard of the Vineyard before? If not I am sure they have now. All I know is for today. I'm outta here.
Monday, October 18, 2010
YESTERDAY THE SOCCER BALL DIED.
Monday again. Another week unwrapped and waiting. I have not had my coffee yet so I have not welcomed it with open arms. I will try to do well with this gift of time. Last week I sort of messed it up but here's hoping this week goes better.
The Emperor has not felt the best the last few days. When the Emperor feels bad I say he becomes possessed and talks with this deep devil voice. He sort of hisses in this throaty growl and it sends "I" and I running. Yesterday was definitely one of those days. I have learned its best not to try and communicate with him at theses times. But I do it anyway.
Early yesterday afternoon, "I" was out. I had heard her barking. I went outside to check on her. As I walked along the North fence I saw a black and white cat laying in the yard next door. The house is empty. I have seen this cat around the neighborhood. it sometimes gets in our yard. "I", I said. The little kitty is sleeping in the sun,"Leave her alone." We went back inside the house.
Later in the afternoon "I" went back out. A few minutes later I walked around the house, again to check on her. The cat still lay sleeping in the sun. "I" is barking at the fence again. "The kitty is sleeping," I said in my best Mothers voice. "Leave her alone." The cat was not fazed by the barking, she slept. Nary moving a muscle.
The afternoon idled by. We had supper. I did the dishes, the sun was setting. I went out to water the plants. It would be dark soon. I looked to the North, the cat still lay still. No movement. The sun was no longer shining. Why wasn't that darn cat getting up. "I' and I walked closer to the fence. We both stared. "oh no," I thought. "The cat looks dead." My heart sank.
I threw things over the fence, trying to get the poor little creature to move. It did not. "I" barked again. I yelled at it. What will I do I thought? I can't leave that poor little dead creature laying there. I could not bring myself to go over for a close look. "I must tell the Emperor.
"Oops" wrong move. As I said The Emperor has not felt good. The Emperor is talking in the Devil voice. The Emperor is on the computer. He will not want to be disturbed. "What can I do?" I ran into the house, threw open the front door. "Honey come quick, that black and white cat has died in the yard next door."
Honey says, "What the H--l? I'm busy here." I would not be denied. "You've got to come before it gets dark. That poor little thing cannot just be left there dead in that yard." I was in panic mode. So was "I" barking her, little stub tail going a mile a minute. The devil voice took over The Emperor. I swear red lights came from his eyes, but I can't be sure. I was upset. Finally he came.
He walked around the house. "I" walking right along with him. Myself not so brave hung back a little. He walked to the fence, peered over. Then gave a mighty roar. "Come here," he demanded. I moved slowly forward. "Your dead cat," he hissed in the devil voice, "Is a damn soccer ball." The Emperor was not happy at all. I had brought his poor aching body out and away from his beloved computer. For in his own words, "A damn soccer ball."
What could I say in my defense. It looked like that cat that prowls the neighborhood. I for one was thankful it was only a dead soccer ball and not the cat. The Emperor was not moved by my emotions. He was not happy at all.
Now in my defense I do not see well. Sometimes objects look different to me than they do to others as I am not getting the whole picture as they do. It looked like the cat. It was a soccer ball. I sure hope it rests in peace because it caused me a bunch trouble.
So today I must truly try to be on my best behavior and not stir the waters. I am not sure I will accomplish that one. But I definitely will try. I have made my way to the stop light here in Blogland one more time. It is still dark here too. The red light flashes against the dark sky. The morning should be breaking here soon. I have a soccer ball that I am kicking as I walk. No its not the dead one. I am in no hurry. What with the devils voice and all waiting at home. But I'm on my way. I'm outta here.
The Emperor has not felt the best the last few days. When the Emperor feels bad I say he becomes possessed and talks with this deep devil voice. He sort of hisses in this throaty growl and it sends "I" and I running. Yesterday was definitely one of those days. I have learned its best not to try and communicate with him at theses times. But I do it anyway.
Early yesterday afternoon, "I" was out. I had heard her barking. I went outside to check on her. As I walked along the North fence I saw a black and white cat laying in the yard next door. The house is empty. I have seen this cat around the neighborhood. it sometimes gets in our yard. "I", I said. The little kitty is sleeping in the sun,"Leave her alone." We went back inside the house.
Later in the afternoon "I" went back out. A few minutes later I walked around the house, again to check on her. The cat still lay sleeping in the sun. "I" is barking at the fence again. "The kitty is sleeping," I said in my best Mothers voice. "Leave her alone." The cat was not fazed by the barking, she slept. Nary moving a muscle.
The afternoon idled by. We had supper. I did the dishes, the sun was setting. I went out to water the plants. It would be dark soon. I looked to the North, the cat still lay still. No movement. The sun was no longer shining. Why wasn't that darn cat getting up. "I' and I walked closer to the fence. We both stared. "oh no," I thought. "The cat looks dead." My heart sank.
I threw things over the fence, trying to get the poor little creature to move. It did not. "I" barked again. I yelled at it. What will I do I thought? I can't leave that poor little dead creature laying there. I could not bring myself to go over for a close look. "I must tell the Emperor.
"Oops" wrong move. As I said The Emperor has not felt good. The Emperor is talking in the Devil voice. The Emperor is on the computer. He will not want to be disturbed. "What can I do?" I ran into the house, threw open the front door. "Honey come quick, that black and white cat has died in the yard next door."
Honey says, "What the H--l? I'm busy here." I would not be denied. "You've got to come before it gets dark. That poor little thing cannot just be left there dead in that yard." I was in panic mode. So was "I" barking her, little stub tail going a mile a minute. The devil voice took over The Emperor. I swear red lights came from his eyes, but I can't be sure. I was upset. Finally he came.
He walked around the house. "I" walking right along with him. Myself not so brave hung back a little. He walked to the fence, peered over. Then gave a mighty roar. "Come here," he demanded. I moved slowly forward. "Your dead cat," he hissed in the devil voice, "Is a damn soccer ball." The Emperor was not happy at all. I had brought his poor aching body out and away from his beloved computer. For in his own words, "A damn soccer ball."
What could I say in my defense. It looked like that cat that prowls the neighborhood. I for one was thankful it was only a dead soccer ball and not the cat. The Emperor was not moved by my emotions. He was not happy at all.
Now in my defense I do not see well. Sometimes objects look different to me than they do to others as I am not getting the whole picture as they do. It looked like the cat. It was a soccer ball. I sure hope it rests in peace because it caused me a bunch trouble.
So today I must truly try to be on my best behavior and not stir the waters. I am not sure I will accomplish that one. But I definitely will try. I have made my way to the stop light here in Blogland one more time. It is still dark here too. The red light flashes against the dark sky. The morning should be breaking here soon. I have a soccer ball that I am kicking as I walk. No its not the dead one. I am in no hurry. What with the devils voice and all waiting at home. But I'm on my way. I'm outta here.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
MY RETURN TRIP TO BLOGLAND.
Sunday morning has arrived, still draped in dark coolness. But it carries the promise of another crisp, sunny fall day. I keep watch on my Red Maples, a few leafs drift from the trees but the blazing color I love so has not arrived.
I have been on a self imposed exile from Blogland.I have went to the edge, looked in, searching the darkness for a sign I belonged in this vast cyberland. And everyday I turned away. Today along with my trusty pocket full of words I have come back. I walked boldly in. I finger the words. A little doubt sets in. I shake it off. Once again, how many times has it been now that I've said this? I'm back.
I worry a little about myself. I have come to believe Blogland is a real town. Oh I know the Shady Tree Rest Home van is probably parked right around the corner. Waiting to scoop me up. If not I look for my kids to call them at anytime. But rest assured they are going to have a heck of a time getting me into that van. I'll be the lady hanging on to the door screaming, "H--l no I won't go." But regardless I look on Blogland as a real place. A door into cyberspace.
In my mind I have painted a street, a store building with a plate glass window. Even one lonely stop light that flashes red all the time. I come to this place with my words in hopes of finding a lasting place for each of them. Blogland is full of words. Some funny, some strange, some sad. They are brought and deposited here by people who have something to say. And sometimes the case is they have nobody to hear them. So we come, my fellow Bloggers. In hopes are words will fall on kindly ears and find approval.
So this is what I have done this morning. Said alot to say a little. No rythmn or reason to the words this morning. No story, no wisdom. Just my words and when I leave them here at the curb in Blogland I will leave behind a small part of me. My silly self. But for now I turn to go. I'm singing to myself as I walk. "Me and my shadow." sure hope my shadow never leaves. I'll really feel alone. But for now. I'm outta here.
I have been on a self imposed exile from Blogland.I have went to the edge, looked in, searching the darkness for a sign I belonged in this vast cyberland. And everyday I turned away. Today along with my trusty pocket full of words I have come back. I walked boldly in. I finger the words. A little doubt sets in. I shake it off. Once again, how many times has it been now that I've said this? I'm back.
I worry a little about myself. I have come to believe Blogland is a real town. Oh I know the Shady Tree Rest Home van is probably parked right around the corner. Waiting to scoop me up. If not I look for my kids to call them at anytime. But rest assured they are going to have a heck of a time getting me into that van. I'll be the lady hanging on to the door screaming, "H--l no I won't go." But regardless I look on Blogland as a real place. A door into cyberspace.
In my mind I have painted a street, a store building with a plate glass window. Even one lonely stop light that flashes red all the time. I come to this place with my words in hopes of finding a lasting place for each of them. Blogland is full of words. Some funny, some strange, some sad. They are brought and deposited here by people who have something to say. And sometimes the case is they have nobody to hear them. So we come, my fellow Bloggers. In hopes are words will fall on kindly ears and find approval.
So this is what I have done this morning. Said alot to say a little. No rythmn or reason to the words this morning. No story, no wisdom. Just my words and when I leave them here at the curb in Blogland I will leave behind a small part of me. My silly self. But for now I turn to go. I'm singing to myself as I walk. "Me and my shadow." sure hope my shadow never leaves. I'll really feel alone. But for now. I'm outta here.
Monday, October 11, 2010
HAPPY THANKSGIVING
Monday is back. With its six siblings lined up orderly in front of her. I have not even opened the front door although I have been up since 3:30. "I" lays sleeping in the chair here in the dining room. Ever faithful, she follows me where ever I go. She hasn't done her jumping to go out yet. I haven't even been curious to see what may lay await for me. So as I drank my coffee and wrestle with these few words that I try to lay as orderly as the days that lies ahead this week. It seems there are always twists and turns mingled with the days. Enough at least to keep me on my toes. So as I drink my coffee. I take a deep breath. I think I will be up for it. So once again I will say, "Let the week began."
Today families will be gathering together. They will have a big meal. Probably Turkey and all the trimmings. They will enjoy their three day weekend. A time of Thanksgiving . Because it is Thanksgiving. No I haven't been smoking the wacky weed. It is Thanksgiving, in Canada. I wish I was rich. I would hop a plane and fly to somewhere in Canada just to have Thanksgiving dinner.
I can see myself taking a cab. I'm sure they call them cabs up there I would get a cab and just ask the driver to cruise around until I spotted a friendly looking house. I'd get out and stroll to the door. After I knocked and a friendly soul opened the door I would ask to come in. I'm sure they would let me. After all its Thanksgiving.
But alas the Lottery ever elusive has not happened yet. So there will be no plane rides or Turkey for me today.I was quite pleased to find out that the 2nd. Monday of October is Thanksgiving in Canada. I am not sure why it thrilled me so. It does seem as I have gotten older it takes so little to make me happy. I love Thanksgiving. I m happy the Canadians celebrate it too. They were a little slower than us in having Thanksgiving. They didn't start offically celebrating it on the 2nd Monday of October until 1957. Better late than ever is my philosophy.
So as they all gather together today. Myself here in Missouri will be thanking of them. I hope they have a wonderful fall day. I bet their trees are beautiful up there this time of year.
So I know this little Blog has probably not been very entertaining today. Quite possibly you don't care if its Thanksgiving in Canada. But I do. So I will kind of jog out of here this morning. I have a Canadian flag I am waving. "Long live the Queen. For now, I'm outta here. As follows is a little information on Canada's Thanksgiving.
CANADA'S THANKSGIVING
TODAY is Canada’s Thanksgiving Day. Since 1957, Thanksgiving Day in Canada has been a holiday on the second Monday of October. On this day, the Canadian people give thanks for a good harvest and other fortunes in the past year.
Canadians often use the three-day Thanksgiving weekend to visit family or friends who live far away, or to receive them in their own homes. Many people prepare a special meal to eat at some point during the long weekend. Traditionally, this includes roast turkey and seasonal produce, such as pumpkin, corn, and pecan nuts. The meal may consist of other foods, particularly if the family is of non-European descent.
The Thanksgiving weekend is also a popular time to take a short autumn vacation. This may be the last chance in a while for some people to use cottages or holiday homes before winter sets in.
Other popular activities include outdoor breaks to admire the spectacular colors of the Canadian autumn, hiking, and fishing. Fans of the teams in the Canadian Football League may spend part of the weekend watching the Thanksgiving Day Classic matches.
The history of Thanksgiving in Canada goes back to an English explorer, Martin Frobisher, who had been trying to find a northern passage to the Orient. He did not succeed but he did establish a settlement in Northern America. In 1578, he held a formal ceremony, in what is now called Newfoundland, to give thanks for surviving the long journey.
This is considered the first Canadian Thanksgiving. Other settlers arrived and continued these ceremonies. He was later knighted and had an inlet of the Atlantic Ocean in northern Canada named after him – Frobisher Bay.
French settlers, having crossed the ocean and arrived in Canada with explorer Samuel de Champlain, also held huge feasts of thanks. They formed “The Order of Good Cheer” and gladly shared their food with their Indian neighbors.
We congratulate the people and government of Canada led by Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II, H.E., Governor General Michaelle Jean, and H.E., Prime Minister Stephen Harper, and its Embassy in the Philippines headed by H.E., Ambassador Christopher A. Thornley, on the occasion of its Thanksgiving Day.
Today families will be gathering together. They will have a big meal. Probably Turkey and all the trimmings. They will enjoy their three day weekend. A time of Thanksgiving . Because it is Thanksgiving. No I haven't been smoking the wacky weed. It is Thanksgiving, in Canada. I wish I was rich. I would hop a plane and fly to somewhere in Canada just to have Thanksgiving dinner.
I can see myself taking a cab. I'm sure they call them cabs up there I would get a cab and just ask the driver to cruise around until I spotted a friendly looking house. I'd get out and stroll to the door. After I knocked and a friendly soul opened the door I would ask to come in. I'm sure they would let me. After all its Thanksgiving.
But alas the Lottery ever elusive has not happened yet. So there will be no plane rides or Turkey for me today.I was quite pleased to find out that the 2nd. Monday of October is Thanksgiving in Canada. I am not sure why it thrilled me so. It does seem as I have gotten older it takes so little to make me happy. I love Thanksgiving. I m happy the Canadians celebrate it too. They were a little slower than us in having Thanksgiving. They didn't start offically celebrating it on the 2nd Monday of October until 1957. Better late than ever is my philosophy.
So as they all gather together today. Myself here in Missouri will be thanking of them. I hope they have a wonderful fall day. I bet their trees are beautiful up there this time of year.
So I know this little Blog has probably not been very entertaining today. Quite possibly you don't care if its Thanksgiving in Canada. But I do. So I will kind of jog out of here this morning. I have a Canadian flag I am waving. "Long live the Queen. For now, I'm outta here. As follows is a little information on Canada's Thanksgiving.
CANADA'S THANKSGIVING
TODAY is Canada’s Thanksgiving Day. Since 1957, Thanksgiving Day in Canada has been a holiday on the second Monday of October. On this day, the Canadian people give thanks for a good harvest and other fortunes in the past year.
Canadians often use the three-day Thanksgiving weekend to visit family or friends who live far away, or to receive them in their own homes. Many people prepare a special meal to eat at some point during the long weekend. Traditionally, this includes roast turkey and seasonal produce, such as pumpkin, corn, and pecan nuts. The meal may consist of other foods, particularly if the family is of non-European descent.
The Thanksgiving weekend is also a popular time to take a short autumn vacation. This may be the last chance in a while for some people to use cottages or holiday homes before winter sets in.
Other popular activities include outdoor breaks to admire the spectacular colors of the Canadian autumn, hiking, and fishing. Fans of the teams in the Canadian Football League may spend part of the weekend watching the Thanksgiving Day Classic matches.
The history of Thanksgiving in Canada goes back to an English explorer, Martin Frobisher, who had been trying to find a northern passage to the Orient. He did not succeed but he did establish a settlement in Northern America. In 1578, he held a formal ceremony, in what is now called Newfoundland, to give thanks for surviving the long journey.
This is considered the first Canadian Thanksgiving. Other settlers arrived and continued these ceremonies. He was later knighted and had an inlet of the Atlantic Ocean in northern Canada named after him – Frobisher Bay.
French settlers, having crossed the ocean and arrived in Canada with explorer Samuel de Champlain, also held huge feasts of thanks. They formed “The Order of Good Cheer” and gladly shared their food with their Indian neighbors.
We congratulate the people and government of Canada led by Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II, H.E., Governor General Michaelle Jean, and H.E., Prime Minister Stephen Harper, and its Embassy in the Philippines headed by H.E., Ambassador Christopher A. Thornley, on the occasion of its Thanksgiving Day.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
MY BERRY VINE.
It is Sunday morning. The Sabbath. The day of rest. So maybe this will be a hallowed day and I will not mess it up in any way. But I won't count on it. Even my craziness can't mess with the gorgeous weather we are having. I know I say everyday its beautiful, but it is. I found one red amber leaf on the ground yesterday that had drifted from Saul. I scanned both trees in hopes of seeing the bright orangey red of the leafs that hopefully will adorn them both. Not yet, but soon I hear them whisper, soon.
I started yesterday morning with great anticipation. I was going rummaging. The weather was perfect. I had a few dollars in my pocket. Who could ask for anything more? The day started down hill pretty quickly and seemed to progress as time moved on.
Now I would like to go on record as saying low vision does not mean mental retardation. Contrary to some beliefs. Now I will be the first to admit I am dipsy. Okay maybe a little more than dipsy, maybe more like nutty, but I am a smart nut. At least that is my opinion and the only one that counts with me.
I went rummaging with my friend Joan and her friend Marylin. Joan I have known most of my life, Marlyn I just recently met. Marlyn asked Joan and Joan cleared it with her for me to go. Joan has told Marylin I do not see well. Now I know as I stumble around its obvious I either to not see well or hit the bottle quite often. Marylin is patronising as if because of low vision my thought process has been affected. She talks down to me. Acting as if taking a poor low vision lady on a excursion sets her up to be Mother Theresa. Of course after this morning she may have legitimate cause to believe I am a little slow.
We were at this huge rummage. People and rummage everywhere. The sun beating down so bright everything was fading away big time. I stopped in my tracks. Maybe I needed to go back to the car. I could hear Joan's voice. I did not see Marlyn. I looked ahead. Red car. We came in a red car. Whoop, whoop. I see someone sitting in the red car, reading a newspaper. Marlyn, the car will be unlocked. I started around the car to get in the back seat. My hand on the door. My phone rang. The Emperor. I pulled out my phone with my left hand, using my right to open the door. Just as it opened and I said hello into the phone .I heard a yell from the front seat. The exact same time I heard Marlyn yelling four cars up the street. "Billye, Billye, I'm up here."
The poor man, yes I said man must have thought that some crazy, bleach blond lady was trying to car-jack him. I hope the man got over his scare. I started walking rapidly up the street, not being able to see blue blazes as the sun beat into my eyes. Marlyn acted like I had embarrassed her to death. She repeated the story to Joan who hadn't even known it happened and it embarrassed her. I rode the back seat of shame until we came home.
Oh but the story isn't over yet. When I went to get out of the car, nobody asked me to church this week. I think they had quite enough of the blind lady. I struggled with my sacks and just as I went to shut the door Joan screamed. I swear I jumped a foot. "You," she accused, "Have my berry vine." I looked at my sack. Determination flooded through me. "This woman wasn't getting my berry vine on top of all my humiliation. I grabbed the sack tighter against my bosom. "This," I spit out, "Is my berry vine." Marlyn I must admit did speak up. "No Joan," there was two berry vines. Billye bought one too." Me and my berry vine went into the house.
Joan called later to say she was sorry. She checked her bag when she got home and found her vine. The scars I carry remain. Poor old low vision woman, who tried to high-jack a car and steal a plastic vine. I sincerely doubt I will be going to any more rummage sales in the near future.
I am turning around here at the one light in Blogland. Its time to make my trek back to the real world again. I am humming as I go. And singing a little too. "Don't get around much anymore." I have my berry vine around my neck. I hope I look okay. I've suffered much pain and anguish over this vine, so I'm wearing it. But for now, I'm outta here.
I started yesterday morning with great anticipation. I was going rummaging. The weather was perfect. I had a few dollars in my pocket. Who could ask for anything more? The day started down hill pretty quickly and seemed to progress as time moved on.
Now I would like to go on record as saying low vision does not mean mental retardation. Contrary to some beliefs. Now I will be the first to admit I am dipsy. Okay maybe a little more than dipsy, maybe more like nutty, but I am a smart nut. At least that is my opinion and the only one that counts with me.
I went rummaging with my friend Joan and her friend Marylin. Joan I have known most of my life, Marlyn I just recently met. Marlyn asked Joan and Joan cleared it with her for me to go. Joan has told Marylin I do not see well. Now I know as I stumble around its obvious I either to not see well or hit the bottle quite often. Marylin is patronising as if because of low vision my thought process has been affected. She talks down to me. Acting as if taking a poor low vision lady on a excursion sets her up to be Mother Theresa. Of course after this morning she may have legitimate cause to believe I am a little slow.
We were at this huge rummage. People and rummage everywhere. The sun beating down so bright everything was fading away big time. I stopped in my tracks. Maybe I needed to go back to the car. I could hear Joan's voice. I did not see Marlyn. I looked ahead. Red car. We came in a red car. Whoop, whoop. I see someone sitting in the red car, reading a newspaper. Marlyn, the car will be unlocked. I started around the car to get in the back seat. My hand on the door. My phone rang. The Emperor. I pulled out my phone with my left hand, using my right to open the door. Just as it opened and I said hello into the phone .I heard a yell from the front seat. The exact same time I heard Marlyn yelling four cars up the street. "Billye, Billye, I'm up here."
The poor man, yes I said man must have thought that some crazy, bleach blond lady was trying to car-jack him. I hope the man got over his scare. I started walking rapidly up the street, not being able to see blue blazes as the sun beat into my eyes. Marlyn acted like I had embarrassed her to death. She repeated the story to Joan who hadn't even known it happened and it embarrassed her. I rode the back seat of shame until we came home.
Oh but the story isn't over yet. When I went to get out of the car, nobody asked me to church this week. I think they had quite enough of the blind lady. I struggled with my sacks and just as I went to shut the door Joan screamed. I swear I jumped a foot. "You," she accused, "Have my berry vine." I looked at my sack. Determination flooded through me. "This woman wasn't getting my berry vine on top of all my humiliation. I grabbed the sack tighter against my bosom. "This," I spit out, "Is my berry vine." Marlyn I must admit did speak up. "No Joan," there was two berry vines. Billye bought one too." Me and my berry vine went into the house.
Joan called later to say she was sorry. She checked her bag when she got home and found her vine. The scars I carry remain. Poor old low vision woman, who tried to high-jack a car and steal a plastic vine. I sincerely doubt I will be going to any more rummage sales in the near future.
I am turning around here at the one light in Blogland. Its time to make my trek back to the real world again. I am humming as I go. And singing a little too. "Don't get around much anymore." I have my berry vine around my neck. I hope I look okay. I've suffered much pain and anguish over this vine, so I'm wearing it. But for now, I'm outta here.
Saturday, October 9, 2010
ARE THERE GARAGE SALES IN BLOGLAND?
Saturday morning. "I" and I share the dining room quietly. It is still dark outside, neither of us venturing out to see if day is waiting just beyond the door. I sit at the computer, she in the big chair. A silent bond passes between us. Bring on the day we think, We can handle it all.
I am going rummaging this morning. On quest to find treasures and interesting objects. What do I need I wonder when I am a asked to join the scavenger party. Everyone knows I don't need clothes. I certainly don't need shoes or pretty bricabrac. My house resembles one that might be on the show "The Hoarders." I just don't have things on the floor. Oh wait a minute Steve's corner in the bedroom does. But regardless, we are packed in here.
I love going to rummage sales. I love buying on the Internet. I keep thinking I should buy when ever I can, there may come a day I can never buy anything again. My non-famous shoe box stacks are witness to that philosophy. Many I have never worn. My thinking is if I get desperately poor, poorer than I am now. I will never run out of shoes. Sounds like a plan to me.
I just bought a new quilt with matching shams a few weeks ago. I loved it. Instantly I start worrying on getting the money together to get another, different color of course. What if suddenly I am never able to buy another quilt and shams again. What in the world will I do. A new quilt sits in plastic on the bedroom trunk. I am a compulsive buyer. Or maybe just a nut. Or maybe just both.
I go rummaging and buy a pretty bowl. I go again and this time buy a bigger pretty bowl. Everything is lined with objects. My surfaces look like early junkyard. I try to downsize. Everyone says as we grow older we need to downsize. I walk around bag in hand stuffing a few items inside. Then take it to hang on the back fence and it mysteriously disappears. Someone else around here likes to hunt and gather too.
So I will leave Blogland early as I must get ready for my great morning. A few dollars in my pocket, a smile covering my face I start back. But my eyes are open, looking, searching. I have never thought of it before. Do they have garage sales in Blogland? Wow, I just might stop if they do. But for now, I'm outta here.
I am going rummaging this morning. On quest to find treasures and interesting objects. What do I need I wonder when I am a asked to join the scavenger party. Everyone knows I don't need clothes. I certainly don't need shoes or pretty bricabrac. My house resembles one that might be on the show "The Hoarders." I just don't have things on the floor. Oh wait a minute Steve's corner in the bedroom does. But regardless, we are packed in here.
I love going to rummage sales. I love buying on the Internet. I keep thinking I should buy when ever I can, there may come a day I can never buy anything again. My non-famous shoe box stacks are witness to that philosophy. Many I have never worn. My thinking is if I get desperately poor, poorer than I am now. I will never run out of shoes. Sounds like a plan to me.
I just bought a new quilt with matching shams a few weeks ago. I loved it. Instantly I start worrying on getting the money together to get another, different color of course. What if suddenly I am never able to buy another quilt and shams again. What in the world will I do. A new quilt sits in plastic on the bedroom trunk. I am a compulsive buyer. Or maybe just a nut. Or maybe just both.
I go rummaging and buy a pretty bowl. I go again and this time buy a bigger pretty bowl. Everything is lined with objects. My surfaces look like early junkyard. I try to downsize. Everyone says as we grow older we need to downsize. I walk around bag in hand stuffing a few items inside. Then take it to hang on the back fence and it mysteriously disappears. Someone else around here likes to hunt and gather too.
So I will leave Blogland early as I must get ready for my great morning. A few dollars in my pocket, a smile covering my face I start back. But my eyes are open, looking, searching. I have never thought of it before. Do they have garage sales in Blogland? Wow, I just might stop if they do. But for now, I'm outta here.
Friday, October 8, 2010
TIME AND WEATHER IN A BOTTLE.
It is Friday. The high speed that the days roll by gives me a headache. Time seems to have really kicked into fast forward. Yesterday was warmer but still the wonderful crisp days of Autumn. I would like to capture the weather in a bottle so I could bring it out, uncork it during the cold winter months.
As I mentioned yesterday Wednesday was my Brother Bud's Birthday. We are meeting him tonight to give him his present. I thought about him yesterday as The Emperor and I went present shopping. It seems like only days ago when we Munch kids ran recklessly on Ninth street. Oh the careless days of youth when you have no idea old age lurks hiding behind the backyard tree.
I wish I could find a store where they sell Time in a bottle. If only. A bottle you could uncork and the bygone days of youth would tumble out to lie unused upon the floor at your feet. If only.
I would use them better. I think I would ran faster with the summer sun licking at my heels. I would sit longer at the supper table. Drinking in all of their faces. Imprinting them their images deep into my mind. I would not argue over having to dry the supper dishes. I swear I would not hide in the bathroom, crying my stomach hurt so I did not have to take my turn.
I would go up to my Dad after he came in from a twelve hour shift of hard under paid work. I would say Thank-you. I would hug my Mother more. I would smile at my sisters and Brother and tell them how lucky I was to be a member of our family.
But alas there is no store that sells bottles of by gone time. Time we used up, recklessly sliding through the days with no thought for the wealth they held. Its only as the years slip so swiftly by that we look at those we love and those we lost. That we come to know the great gift we had. And never once realized the treasure we held so briefly in our hands.
I have written here on the Blog before that I would give a fortune to have one more day on Ninth Street. One more carefree time where youth was our best friend. To experience the family ties that bound us tightly together as a unit. I had no idea back then the stitches that wove our family together would always remain.
We Munch kids are certainly getting older. One of us gone. The others slowly slipping into the realm of older age. I look at my Sister and Brother but you know what? I do not see them or myself as the world does. I see Smiling Bud, the ever present grin. My sister Geri, her collar turned up. I see the Ninth street kids. They and I forever locked into my mind.
I am not sure where these loosely strung together words come from this morning. Nostalgia I guess. I look up at the big clock that stares down at me in Blogland. Time to leave again. But as I make my way one more time. I will be looking. For a sign maybe hanging in one of Bloglands windows. "Time in a bottle," it will read. I will quickly rush in. My pennies held tightly in my hand. "I'll take one sir, "I'll say. And with trembling hands I'll open it. But then again maybe I won't. I guess we'll just have to wait and see. But for now, I'm outta here.
As I mentioned yesterday Wednesday was my Brother Bud's Birthday. We are meeting him tonight to give him his present. I thought about him yesterday as The Emperor and I went present shopping. It seems like only days ago when we Munch kids ran recklessly on Ninth street. Oh the careless days of youth when you have no idea old age lurks hiding behind the backyard tree.
I wish I could find a store where they sell Time in a bottle. If only. A bottle you could uncork and the bygone days of youth would tumble out to lie unused upon the floor at your feet. If only.
I would use them better. I think I would ran faster with the summer sun licking at my heels. I would sit longer at the supper table. Drinking in all of their faces. Imprinting them their images deep into my mind. I would not argue over having to dry the supper dishes. I swear I would not hide in the bathroom, crying my stomach hurt so I did not have to take my turn.
I would go up to my Dad after he came in from a twelve hour shift of hard under paid work. I would say Thank-you. I would hug my Mother more. I would smile at my sisters and Brother and tell them how lucky I was to be a member of our family.
But alas there is no store that sells bottles of by gone time. Time we used up, recklessly sliding through the days with no thought for the wealth they held. Its only as the years slip so swiftly by that we look at those we love and those we lost. That we come to know the great gift we had. And never once realized the treasure we held so briefly in our hands.
I have written here on the Blog before that I would give a fortune to have one more day on Ninth Street. One more carefree time where youth was our best friend. To experience the family ties that bound us tightly together as a unit. I had no idea back then the stitches that wove our family together would always remain.
We Munch kids are certainly getting older. One of us gone. The others slowly slipping into the realm of older age. I look at my Sister and Brother but you know what? I do not see them or myself as the world does. I see Smiling Bud, the ever present grin. My sister Geri, her collar turned up. I see the Ninth street kids. They and I forever locked into my mind.
I am not sure where these loosely strung together words come from this morning. Nostalgia I guess. I look up at the big clock that stares down at me in Blogland. Time to leave again. But as I make my way one more time. I will be looking. For a sign maybe hanging in one of Bloglands windows. "Time in a bottle," it will read. I will quickly rush in. My pennies held tightly in my hand. "I'll take one sir, "I'll say. And with trembling hands I'll open it. But then again maybe I won't. I guess we'll just have to wait and see. But for now, I'm outta here.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
TIM GUNN ROCKS
Here we are, Thor day again. The days are flying pell mell this week but then they always do. The weather has been magical. Fall descending around us with its great temperatures and beauty. I am waiting for my wonderful trees to start to metamorphose into their flaming colors. Oh, yesterday my brain as usual wasn't in think mode. I let Smiling Bud's birthday slide past me on this Blog. Now I called him, wished him a Happy Birthday, but not here. So Happy Birthday Brother Bud. To me you are the best.
I read on AOL yesterday, which is where I get most of my news. I still can read on the computer, never mind I have to sit almost on top of it. I still can make most writing out. Anyway I read where Tim Gunn had made a statement, which is on video. A plea sent out to young, gay teenagers. Which have in the last months taken a big jump in teen suicides. He told them in essence things will get better. As you grow older you will start being accepted.
Now I don't know if you know who Tim Gunn is? I am a big reailty show fan. I watch about three hours of Television a evening. And if a Reality show is on that's what I watch. Except of course for "Sister wife's." Hiss Boo. "Project Runway," is one of my many favorites. Tim Gunn is the mentor for the young designers. Its pretty easy to tell "Tim Gunn,' is gay. I like him. He's serious, funny and very enduring. On his video aired on Bravo he told how when he was a teenager he tried to take his life. I was very touched by his public statement. If he can even touch one young person with the message that there is hope. Then his life will have a special purpose.
I wrote on here a couple of days ago about how upset I was about the bullying that goes on with our youth. The prejudice and hatred they are raised in becomes a part of them. Making them unable to see and judge a person on who they are. Not what they look like, what color they are or their sexual preference is.
Just stop for a minute and think what it must be like for a fifteen year old. Who is wanting so desperately to fit in. At that age being accepted by your peers is the most important thing in the world. You have a secret you are trying to hide. Keep from the world. Someone suspects and then they all turn on you. Taunting, threatening, sometimes even worse happens. Your life seems so dark and bleak that death seems the only escape.
My heart goes out to the teens. We as a nation need to start being aware of this happening in our schools. We need to be more loving and accepting so our children in turn will realize that is the way to act. Not with anger , prejudice and hatred.
So today Tim Gunn my hat is off to you. I think you are a nice man. Someone I would like to know. You have turned your troubled experiences as a teen into a positive thought process. May there be more people who will stand up and speak out.
So I am climbing off my soap box now. I will just leave it here in Blogland. I am sure I will need it again soon. I turn to leave as I breath the fresh morning air. I think it may be a good day here in Blogland too. I have a small Gay Pride flag in my pocket. I take it out and give it a wave or two. Sliding it back down, far into the recess's of my large pocket. Shame on me for not being brave enough to keep it out. But for now, I'm outta here.
I read on AOL yesterday, which is where I get most of my news. I still can read on the computer, never mind I have to sit almost on top of it. I still can make most writing out. Anyway I read where Tim Gunn had made a statement, which is on video. A plea sent out to young, gay teenagers. Which have in the last months taken a big jump in teen suicides. He told them in essence things will get better. As you grow older you will start being accepted.
Now I don't know if you know who Tim Gunn is? I am a big reailty show fan. I watch about three hours of Television a evening. And if a Reality show is on that's what I watch. Except of course for "Sister wife's." Hiss Boo. "Project Runway," is one of my many favorites. Tim Gunn is the mentor for the young designers. Its pretty easy to tell "Tim Gunn,' is gay. I like him. He's serious, funny and very enduring. On his video aired on Bravo he told how when he was a teenager he tried to take his life. I was very touched by his public statement. If he can even touch one young person with the message that there is hope. Then his life will have a special purpose.
I wrote on here a couple of days ago about how upset I was about the bullying that goes on with our youth. The prejudice and hatred they are raised in becomes a part of them. Making them unable to see and judge a person on who they are. Not what they look like, what color they are or their sexual preference is.
Just stop for a minute and think what it must be like for a fifteen year old. Who is wanting so desperately to fit in. At that age being accepted by your peers is the most important thing in the world. You have a secret you are trying to hide. Keep from the world. Someone suspects and then they all turn on you. Taunting, threatening, sometimes even worse happens. Your life seems so dark and bleak that death seems the only escape.
My heart goes out to the teens. We as a nation need to start being aware of this happening in our schools. We need to be more loving and accepting so our children in turn will realize that is the way to act. Not with anger , prejudice and hatred.
So today Tim Gunn my hat is off to you. I think you are a nice man. Someone I would like to know. You have turned your troubled experiences as a teen into a positive thought process. May there be more people who will stand up and speak out.
So I am climbing off my soap box now. I will just leave it here in Blogland. I am sure I will need it again soon. I turn to leave as I breath the fresh morning air. I think it may be a good day here in Blogland too. I have a small Gay Pride flag in my pocket. I take it out and give it a wave or two. Sliding it back down, far into the recess's of my large pocket. Shame on me for not being brave enough to keep it out. But for now, I'm outta here.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
WHAT THE HECK IS A HOOKAH LOUNGE?
Midweek again. I stayed in bed till five. Whoop, whoop, that's sleeping in for me. But I wasn't really asleep just laying there putting off putting my feet on the floor. But I'm up now. My ever faithful cup of coffee at my side. A slight chill in the room. I think I best make this a good day. Why waste a perfectly great day by not having a good one.
i was talking to my friend on the phone yesterday and she mentioned the "Hookah Lounge," here in Joplin. "Say what," I asked. "What the heck is a Hookah?" She explained it is a place where mostly young people go to smoke out of a Big Bowl (Bong) of flavored tobacco or non-harming tobacco. Wow, I never heard of this before.
I went on Google. My ever wonderful Google that holds the world of information. I guess the Hookah comes from the Hookah pipe. They've been doing it in Turkey for centuries. A group of people sit around sharing a Bong . Now the appeal of this lost me on the sharing part. I don't want to be sharing somebody Else's mouth fluids. But the explanation says you pay twelve dollars for a bowl and a extra three for a extra bowl. Then you just sit around with your friends, listen to music and puff away out of your bowl. Where was the Hookah place when I was growing up? Of course I have never really got the hang of smoking so I guess it wouldn't have done me much good even if they would have had them back then. But shoot it sounds cool.
I think I should get a group of my little old lady friends together and go share a bowl. We'd scare those young college kids to death if we arrived. My friend Joan would want to bring them cookies. And my friend from the East side of town would ask them , "What in the Hell were they doing?" So maybe I won't get the group together after all, but who knows it might be fun.
So I learned something new yesterday. They say you never get to old to learn. As I pass through Blogland this morning, on my way out of town. I'm going to be on the look-out, now if I see a Hookah Lounge here I might just stop. Try it out Blogland style. But for now friends I'm outta here. Below is the information about Joplin's Hookah Lounge and just what a Hookah is. Happy Bowls to you, until we meet again.
12:51 HOOKAH LOUNGE
A hookah lounge in Joplin puts a new spin on social smoking by offering a very old tradition.Smoking the hookah: Middle Easterners have done it for centuries. College students are doing it, and so are city dwellers from L.A. to Joplin to New York. Joplin? It’s been only a few months, but Adrian Gonzalez is pleased with how his business, 12:51 Hookah Lounge, has been received by Joplin’s young adults. The mostly twentysomethings who frequent 12:51 have their choice of several conversation areas, arranged with sleek and stylish futons and glass tables. The atmosphere Gonzalez has created is laid back.
“There needed to be something different than the usual bar scene,” he says. “I was tired of it in the first couple of weeks after coming back here.”
Gonzalez, 21, returned home to Joplin from Riverside, California, in order to be closer to his family. They’re closer than ever now as parents Joe and Margarita Gonzalez are in the hookah business with their son.
Margarita admits it took a while to warm up to her son’s business idea. “I had considered opening a business myself,” she says. “But I was thinking along the lines of a boutique.” Instead, she found herself researching the hookah, a Middle Eastern water pipe used for smoking tobacco and tobacco substitutes.
Hookah smoking has been practiced for 400 years as a social activity in Turkey and other Middle Eastern countries. It has recently gained popularity in the United States.
Some 12:51 Hookah Lounge hookahs have two hoses, allowing friends to share a bowl of flavored tobacco. The cost is $12 per hookah and additional bowls are available for $3 each.
Customers can choose from 20 flavored tobaccos, 10 herbal tobacco substitutes, soft drinks and snacks while enjoying a variety of entertainment that includes live music, flat-screen televisions and a PlayStation that rents by the hour. Individual hoses and mouthpieces can also be purchased.
Still, the Centers for Disease Control caution against hookah smoking, finding that a typical session involves inhaling 100 to 200 times the volume of smoke inhaled in a single cigarette and that sharing a hookah may increase the risk of transmission of tuberculosis, viruses such as herpes or hepatitis and other illnesses.
“We don’t tell people they have to smoke when they come in here,” Adrian says. “They can come and just listen to music and hang out with a soda and a candy bar. That’s fine with me, but for those who do smoke, this is an alternative.”
Wanna Go?
12:51 Hookah Lounge
3702 E. Seventh St., Joplin,
417-623-6666
Sun.–Thurs. 4 p.m.–midnight,
Fri.-Sat. 4 p.m.–3 a.m.
How a hookah works
To use a hookah, smokers fill a water bowl with warm water and submerge a metal body in it. A hose is attached to the top of the water bowl and at the other end is a mouthpiece. Moist tobacco is placed in the head and a charcoal is placed on top. When the charcoal is lit, the smoke passes through the water before being inhaled through the mouthpiece.
i was talking to my friend on the phone yesterday and she mentioned the "Hookah Lounge," here in Joplin. "Say what," I asked. "What the heck is a Hookah?" She explained it is a place where mostly young people go to smoke out of a Big Bowl (Bong) of flavored tobacco or non-harming tobacco. Wow, I never heard of this before.
I went on Google. My ever wonderful Google that holds the world of information. I guess the Hookah comes from the Hookah pipe. They've been doing it in Turkey for centuries. A group of people sit around sharing a Bong . Now the appeal of this lost me on the sharing part. I don't want to be sharing somebody Else's mouth fluids. But the explanation says you pay twelve dollars for a bowl and a extra three for a extra bowl. Then you just sit around with your friends, listen to music and puff away out of your bowl. Where was the Hookah place when I was growing up? Of course I have never really got the hang of smoking so I guess it wouldn't have done me much good even if they would have had them back then. But shoot it sounds cool.
I think I should get a group of my little old lady friends together and go share a bowl. We'd scare those young college kids to death if we arrived. My friend Joan would want to bring them cookies. And my friend from the East side of town would ask them , "What in the Hell were they doing?" So maybe I won't get the group together after all, but who knows it might be fun.
So I learned something new yesterday. They say you never get to old to learn. As I pass through Blogland this morning, on my way out of town. I'm going to be on the look-out, now if I see a Hookah Lounge here I might just stop. Try it out Blogland style. But for now friends I'm outta here. Below is the information about Joplin's Hookah Lounge and just what a Hookah is. Happy Bowls to you, until we meet again.
12:51 HOOKAH LOUNGE
A hookah lounge in Joplin puts a new spin on social smoking by offering a very old tradition.Smoking the hookah: Middle Easterners have done it for centuries. College students are doing it, and so are city dwellers from L.A. to Joplin to New York. Joplin? It’s been only a few months, but Adrian Gonzalez is pleased with how his business, 12:51 Hookah Lounge, has been received by Joplin’s young adults. The mostly twentysomethings who frequent 12:51 have their choice of several conversation areas, arranged with sleek and stylish futons and glass tables. The atmosphere Gonzalez has created is laid back.
“There needed to be something different than the usual bar scene,” he says. “I was tired of it in the first couple of weeks after coming back here.”
Gonzalez, 21, returned home to Joplin from Riverside, California, in order to be closer to his family. They’re closer than ever now as parents Joe and Margarita Gonzalez are in the hookah business with their son.
Margarita admits it took a while to warm up to her son’s business idea. “I had considered opening a business myself,” she says. “But I was thinking along the lines of a boutique.” Instead, she found herself researching the hookah, a Middle Eastern water pipe used for smoking tobacco and tobacco substitutes.
Hookah smoking has been practiced for 400 years as a social activity in Turkey and other Middle Eastern countries. It has recently gained popularity in the United States.
Some 12:51 Hookah Lounge hookahs have two hoses, allowing friends to share a bowl of flavored tobacco. The cost is $12 per hookah and additional bowls are available for $3 each.
Customers can choose from 20 flavored tobaccos, 10 herbal tobacco substitutes, soft drinks and snacks while enjoying a variety of entertainment that includes live music, flat-screen televisions and a PlayStation that rents by the hour. Individual hoses and mouthpieces can also be purchased.
Still, the Centers for Disease Control caution against hookah smoking, finding that a typical session involves inhaling 100 to 200 times the volume of smoke inhaled in a single cigarette and that sharing a hookah may increase the risk of transmission of tuberculosis, viruses such as herpes or hepatitis and other illnesses.
“We don’t tell people they have to smoke when they come in here,” Adrian says. “They can come and just listen to music and hang out with a soda and a candy bar. That’s fine with me, but for those who do smoke, this is an alternative.”
Wanna Go?
12:51 Hookah Lounge
3702 E. Seventh St., Joplin,
417-623-6666
Sun.–Thurs. 4 p.m.–midnight,
Fri.-Sat. 4 p.m.–3 a.m.
How a hookah works
To use a hookah, smokers fill a water bowl with warm water and submerge a metal body in it. A hose is attached to the top of the water bowl and at the other end is a mouthpiece. Moist tobacco is placed in the head and a charcoal is placed on top. When the charcoal is lit, the smoke passes through the water before being inhaled through the mouthpiece.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
I SEE THE LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL AND I DON'T BELIEVE ITS A TRAIN.
Tuesday has arrived. I know it lies in wait just outside my door. "I" and me have decided not to open up and let it in yet. We are both in a slow and lazy mode. A cup of coffee for me and a short snooze in the chair for her and we'll be ready. I hope.
I have written here the last few days that I was depressed. There was a black cloud hanging over our family and I felt as if my heart would break in two. I have learned as I have grown older, each person you love holds a piece of your heart. And when that person is being harmed or or in danger of being harmed and they are heartbroken, because they occupy a piece of your heart. Your heart breaks too, that is what has been happening to me.
I had felt I could not bear this week coming up, that I would die from heartbreak. I prayed till I felt I could pray no more. I wrote here I wished God was a Big Purple Barney, so he would grant my wish and all would be well. I flat asked for a miracle. At times my faith waivered but I still kept praying.
Sunday I went out back and sat on the steps. My Mother was as good of Christian as anyone could be. I know with all my being she is in heaven. Right up there where she has access to God. "Momma," I cried. Pray for us, please pray."
Now I'm going to tell you what I think happened. Of course I wasn't there. But this is what I believe to be true. My Mom went right up to the throne of God. You can do that if you get to heaven, you know. She said, "Father, I have a problem." He looked at her kindly. "Is it Billye again?" he asked. "Well," My mom said. It's not her actually, but someone she loves has a serious problem. She is crying and calling out to me." God shook his head. "Oh I know he said. "We've been hearing her calling." He smiled, "I just thought I'd wait a couple of days. See how strong her faith is." Mom sighed. "This is one of the grandkids. I don't think she'll shut up till you answer." God leaned down and whispered something in Mom's ear. Mom smiled and walked away.
Yesterday morning this person called me. Things were changing, it looked oh so very hopeful. I started saying, "Praise God, Praise God." But of course I need to thank my Mom too. We had a lady here visiting Steve and I. I'm hollering praise God and I'm sure she probably isn't use to having someone holler like a that when she's in their home. But then she knows I'm a little strange anyway.
Now I don't know if you believe in a higher power. I don't know if you believe my Mom is up in heaven and has access to God. But the only thing that matters is I do. I have danced, I have sung since yesterday. My heart no longer so heavy. I have my miracle. God is good like Barney even if he isn't purple. And I see a light at the end of the tunnel and I don't believe its a train.
So as I get ready to leave Blogland I look up into the sky. Up where I blew my prayer the another day. Into the vastness. I smile and whisper thank-you. I'm skipping this morning as I leave. Oh did you see that quick jig I just did. I'm one grateful woman. But for now I'm outta here.
I have written here the last few days that I was depressed. There was a black cloud hanging over our family and I felt as if my heart would break in two. I have learned as I have grown older, each person you love holds a piece of your heart. And when that person is being harmed or or in danger of being harmed and they are heartbroken, because they occupy a piece of your heart. Your heart breaks too, that is what has been happening to me.
I had felt I could not bear this week coming up, that I would die from heartbreak. I prayed till I felt I could pray no more. I wrote here I wished God was a Big Purple Barney, so he would grant my wish and all would be well. I flat asked for a miracle. At times my faith waivered but I still kept praying.
Sunday I went out back and sat on the steps. My Mother was as good of Christian as anyone could be. I know with all my being she is in heaven. Right up there where she has access to God. "Momma," I cried. Pray for us, please pray."
Now I'm going to tell you what I think happened. Of course I wasn't there. But this is what I believe to be true. My Mom went right up to the throne of God. You can do that if you get to heaven, you know. She said, "Father, I have a problem." He looked at her kindly. "Is it Billye again?" he asked. "Well," My mom said. It's not her actually, but someone she loves has a serious problem. She is crying and calling out to me." God shook his head. "Oh I know he said. "We've been hearing her calling." He smiled, "I just thought I'd wait a couple of days. See how strong her faith is." Mom sighed. "This is one of the grandkids. I don't think she'll shut up till you answer." God leaned down and whispered something in Mom's ear. Mom smiled and walked away.
Yesterday morning this person called me. Things were changing, it looked oh so very hopeful. I started saying, "Praise God, Praise God." But of course I need to thank my Mom too. We had a lady here visiting Steve and I. I'm hollering praise God and I'm sure she probably isn't use to having someone holler like a that when she's in their home. But then she knows I'm a little strange anyway.
Now I don't know if you believe in a higher power. I don't know if you believe my Mom is up in heaven and has access to God. But the only thing that matters is I do. I have danced, I have sung since yesterday. My heart no longer so heavy. I have my miracle. God is good like Barney even if he isn't purple. And I see a light at the end of the tunnel and I don't believe its a train.
So as I get ready to leave Blogland I look up into the sky. Up where I blew my prayer the another day. Into the vastness. I smile and whisper thank-you. I'm skipping this morning as I leave. Oh did you see that quick jig I just did. I'm one grateful woman. But for now I'm outta here.
Monday, October 4, 2010
LET FREEDOM RING.
It is 4:30 Monday morning. Another week sits unopened, as if its a Christmas present left over from last year. I have been up since three but haven't even had coffee yet. Its as if I don't start the motions, then the week won't grind into high gear. I have a feeling not drinking coffee isn't going to stop the minutes from ticking. The sun from rising, the day from being here. So I may as well pour the the first cup and let the games began.
I get in these maudlin moods sometimes. Though I think as a whole I stay pretty up beat. I wish though the powers that be would give me control for about a week and I could get this world into shape. Now that is a pretty scary thought isn't it. Myself being in charge of the world turning and running everyone's life. I am smiling. To be truthful it even scares me. Because we all know I have never did a very good job of running my own.
It just seems to me there is so much injustice in the world. So many things happening that is not fair and equal. There will be a girl, lets name her Barbie. She is born 5"2, natural blond hair, good skin and rich. Then there's Opal, born chunky, pimples, poor parents and has bad eye sight. Now you guess who gets the better treatment, the doors of life flung open for her. Well, Barbie of course. Where is the fairness in that dealt hand?
I guess what I am trying to say in these garbled words that seems to be coming from my fingers. Is that life is not always fair. This past week I have been upset about a story that has made the news. A young teenager that committed suicide because of being raped by school friends. Why did fate hand him such a tough hand? What makes people cruel and vicious even at that young age? Of course I know the answer to that one. Being brought up in hate and prejudice lies in how young lifes are formed.
Why do people lie. Lies that can destroy and ruin. I think in the case of young people, because they are acting out the pain and confusion in their own life's. I shake my head in wonder at a world that has no feeling for the suffering of others.
My Blog certainly hasn't been very cheerful these last days. I have a heavy heart. I will try to do better. I look around Blogland. It seems peaceful here. But I know even here there is pain and prejudice. I have wandered here in Blogland some and have visited some very interesting and sad places. So I guess Blogland has its heartache too. So I will go back to my world for today. I am wearing a sign. "Let freedom ring." I wish I knew the words to that song. I'd be singing too. But for now, I'm outta here.
I get in these maudlin moods sometimes. Though I think as a whole I stay pretty up beat. I wish though the powers that be would give me control for about a week and I could get this world into shape. Now that is a pretty scary thought isn't it. Myself being in charge of the world turning and running everyone's life. I am smiling. To be truthful it even scares me. Because we all know I have never did a very good job of running my own.
It just seems to me there is so much injustice in the world. So many things happening that is not fair and equal. There will be a girl, lets name her Barbie. She is born 5"2, natural blond hair, good skin and rich. Then there's Opal, born chunky, pimples, poor parents and has bad eye sight. Now you guess who gets the better treatment, the doors of life flung open for her. Well, Barbie of course. Where is the fairness in that dealt hand?
I guess what I am trying to say in these garbled words that seems to be coming from my fingers. Is that life is not always fair. This past week I have been upset about a story that has made the news. A young teenager that committed suicide because of being raped by school friends. Why did fate hand him such a tough hand? What makes people cruel and vicious even at that young age? Of course I know the answer to that one. Being brought up in hate and prejudice lies in how young lifes are formed.
Why do people lie. Lies that can destroy and ruin. I think in the case of young people, because they are acting out the pain and confusion in their own life's. I shake my head in wonder at a world that has no feeling for the suffering of others.
My Blog certainly hasn't been very cheerful these last days. I have a heavy heart. I will try to do better. I look around Blogland. It seems peaceful here. But I know even here there is pain and prejudice. I have wandered here in Blogland some and have visited some very interesting and sad places. So I guess Blogland has its heartache too. So I will go back to my world for today. I am wearing a sign. "Let freedom ring." I wish I knew the words to that song. I'd be singing too. But for now, I'm outta here.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
NEEDED, ONE MIRACLE.
It is Sunday, early, cool and the promise of a beautiful fall day awaits outside my door. "I" has been up, out, did her barking. So now she is safely back in bed with The Emperor. I alone at the computer try to juggle words out of the silence. Words it appears may be hard to come up with today.
This is not the Blog Intended to write. So if my daughter wanders into Blogland and reads this, please don't make the link as I asked. Because I did not write what I had intended. My Momma use to say, "The best laid plans of mice and men." Now nothing I do is ever laid with very good plans. I am not a good plan maker. I rush into things pell mell, never thinking them out as good as I should. This applies to my Blog too. I think about what I will write about. Then when I sit down the rooms in my mind seem empty and sparse of words. So instead of a good put together Blog, the finished product is wild ramblings. Today I am afraid will not fare any better.
In defense of myself I must put in that I have had a rough week. We lost "H" and I have been busy trying to conjure up a miracle. Miracles are not tangible. You do not have power over them. We can pray for them but I guess its up to the Big Guy in the sky whether they materialize or not. I have always heard we have to have faith when we pray for something. A belief that what we pray for will happen. I close my eyes, I whisper a plea. When I feel nothing, I get louder. My plea turns into a demand. Now if God is all powerful the way I have always believed and have been taught since birth, demanding is not the way to go.
But when something is so important to you that you feel your heart will break if you do not get the answer you are asking. Then demanding seems to be okay. At least with me anyway. But I am not sure it works. I pray, I try to believe. I conjure up all the good thoughts I can. I always thought positive thinking was powerful. But when something is so important then its hard to always have the positive thinking going strong. Doubts set in, disbelief tugs at your mind. I wish God was a Big Purple Barney that handed out requests with a smile and a song. But of course I know he's not. "Hear me God, " I whisper. "This is so important. But I am answered with only my own words mocking me..
So as I stand here in Blogland, waiting to make my return trip back into the real world. I take my prayer out of my pocket and blow it into the wind. Hoping the vastness of blogland will carry it quicker into the sky and land it at the feet of God. Maybe it won't, maybe God doesn't do Blogland. But here's hoping. A definition f a miracle follows. But for now, I'm outta here.
Miracle--A supernatural act.
This is not the Blog Intended to write. So if my daughter wanders into Blogland and reads this, please don't make the link as I asked. Because I did not write what I had intended. My Momma use to say, "The best laid plans of mice and men." Now nothing I do is ever laid with very good plans. I am not a good plan maker. I rush into things pell mell, never thinking them out as good as I should. This applies to my Blog too. I think about what I will write about. Then when I sit down the rooms in my mind seem empty and sparse of words. So instead of a good put together Blog, the finished product is wild ramblings. Today I am afraid will not fare any better.
In defense of myself I must put in that I have had a rough week. We lost "H" and I have been busy trying to conjure up a miracle. Miracles are not tangible. You do not have power over them. We can pray for them but I guess its up to the Big Guy in the sky whether they materialize or not. I have always heard we have to have faith when we pray for something. A belief that what we pray for will happen. I close my eyes, I whisper a plea. When I feel nothing, I get louder. My plea turns into a demand. Now if God is all powerful the way I have always believed and have been taught since birth, demanding is not the way to go.
But when something is so important to you that you feel your heart will break if you do not get the answer you are asking. Then demanding seems to be okay. At least with me anyway. But I am not sure it works. I pray, I try to believe. I conjure up all the good thoughts I can. I always thought positive thinking was powerful. But when something is so important then its hard to always have the positive thinking going strong. Doubts set in, disbelief tugs at your mind. I wish God was a Big Purple Barney that handed out requests with a smile and a song. But of course I know he's not. "Hear me God, " I whisper. "This is so important. But I am answered with only my own words mocking me..
So as I stand here in Blogland, waiting to make my return trip back into the real world. I take my prayer out of my pocket and blow it into the wind. Hoping the vastness of blogland will carry it quicker into the sky and land it at the feet of God. Maybe it won't, maybe God doesn't do Blogland. But here's hoping. A definition f a miracle follows. But for now, I'm outta here.
Miracle--A supernatural act.
Saturday, October 2, 2010
PLEASE MAY I TALK TO A REAL PERSON?
Saturday morning and it looks like its going to be another beautiful fall day. I am waiting for nature to start painting her colors on the leaves and the world will come alive. Nobody paints like God and Mother nature. Oh its our family's Little Hero's Birthday today. Malachi is two. Happy Birthday Little Man, we love you.
Now I gripe all the time about people who always complain that life has served them up a real sour plate. But this week has surely caused me to bite my tongue a time or two. We lost "H", our radiator on the car went out, then yesterday our checks didn't come in. Okay Karma, ease up a little okay.
I called Social Security to make sure both of our checks had been mailed. Oh, goody, an automated voice. I hate that so much. They give you a menu ten miles long to choose from. Guess what nothing they mention is what you need. Give me a break. Give me a live person who may at least half way know what I am talking about, Please.
I would punch "O" for an operator. The line would ring. A voice would say all operators busy, call back. Click the line goes dead. For 45 minutes the automated person and I played this game. Then suddnelly after all this time the automated, imitation person came on saying "All offices are closed till Monday morning." Jeez!
I never talked to anyone. My head hurt, my blood pressure was up and I wanted to cry, "Why me." Then I realized, "Why not me." I advise everyone, "Buck up, its only life." But I sure wasn't bucking. Not where anyone could see anyway. Its much easier to give the advice than to mtake it, huh?
So anyone that has went through the automated routine knows full well what I am talking about. Give me back the days when someone came on the line and truly communicated with you. But alas I think those days are gone forever. Can you believe I can remember back in the days when you made a telephone call a real live person said, "Number please." Unbelievable, right? So goes progress.
So with empty pockets I make my way through the streets of Blogland. Its a good thing they don't charge to get in here. If I had a hat I'd take it off in hopes someone would put pennies in it. I make my way to the outskirts, so that means I'm outta here.
Now I gripe all the time about people who always complain that life has served them up a real sour plate. But this week has surely caused me to bite my tongue a time or two. We lost "H", our radiator on the car went out, then yesterday our checks didn't come in. Okay Karma, ease up a little okay.
I called Social Security to make sure both of our checks had been mailed. Oh, goody, an automated voice. I hate that so much. They give you a menu ten miles long to choose from. Guess what nothing they mention is what you need. Give me a break. Give me a live person who may at least half way know what I am talking about, Please.
I would punch "O" for an operator. The line would ring. A voice would say all operators busy, call back. Click the line goes dead. For 45 minutes the automated person and I played this game. Then suddnelly after all this time the automated, imitation person came on saying "All offices are closed till Monday morning." Jeez!
I never talked to anyone. My head hurt, my blood pressure was up and I wanted to cry, "Why me." Then I realized, "Why not me." I advise everyone, "Buck up, its only life." But I sure wasn't bucking. Not where anyone could see anyway. Its much easier to give the advice than to mtake it, huh?
So anyone that has went through the automated routine knows full well what I am talking about. Give me back the days when someone came on the line and truly communicated with you. But alas I think those days are gone forever. Can you believe I can remember back in the days when you made a telephone call a real live person said, "Number please." Unbelievable, right? So goes progress.
So with empty pockets I make my way through the streets of Blogland. Its a good thing they don't charge to get in here. If I had a hat I'd take it off in hopes someone would put pennies in it. I make my way to the outskirts, so that means I'm outta here.
Friday, October 1, 2010
H's LAST RIDE HOME.
Good grief it's Friday again. Who has put time on fast forward? If we are only alotted so many days on this earth. I sure wish they would slow down the process a little. I'm afraid I am going to run out of days before I'm ready to go.
Yesterday afternoon with the September sun streaming through the windshield, The Emperor, "I" and me headed out North Main, To bring "H" home. We had talked all day, The Emperor and I about being able to get him back here. We were anxious. We just felt the need to have him back with us.
The Emperor had taken him to the "Pets Forver" the morning he died. The lady said it would take a couple of days. He was wrapped in his favorite blanket. The Emperor asked for him to be cremated in it. The lady said yes. So the deed had been done. The call came. "H" was ready to make his last trip home.
We were all three rather quiet on the way, nervous. Even "I" seemed to have a foreboding of something going to happen. The lady had said on the phone she had to leave the house real quick but would be back in twenty minutes. The Emperor said we would be on the way. We got there first, parking outside the building. She pulled up, got out of the car with the Death certificate and Creamation paper in a envolope. "I" hung out the car window. The Emperor got out to meet her. Then sudnelly as she apporached the car, looking at "I"' smiling. "I" went crazy. The hair on the back of her neck stood up, deep growls, barking. The lady visably jumped back five steps. Did "I" know this woman cremated her Bub's. I don't know. But although she barks alot she has never reacted to anyone like that before.
The lady hurried away to bring "H" out. She came back, staying away from the car, with a very small can, very small. Covered with roses. She handed it to the Emperor and he got in the car. All of us transfixed as we stared at the can. This was "H" along with his blankey. "Holy S--t."
Now "H" was not a big dog. Probably around fifteen pounds but I think we were honestly expecting something a little bigger. The silence engulfed us. "I" climbed on my lap. She eyed the can with suspicison. The Emperor held the can out. "This," he said, "Is "H". She backed into me. You could tell she was thinking, This little can is not my Bubs.
We rode home pretty much in silence. Each of us locked in our own thoughts, mingled with sadness. I don't know about the Emperor but I was thinking this is how I will be someday. Probably a little bigger can though. It made me feel a little vulnurable. I am happy though we chose this route. Having our friend cremated. If you love your pet as we love ours. Its the only was to fly.
So its back to being the four of us again. But "I" slips around the house, lost. Having "H" around is all she has ever known. We all are lonley for our little friend. Although he is here, having him in a can is just not the same thing.
So for one more day I will close this off and make my way once more out of Blogland. I'm just walking and thinking. Just how big of a can are they going to need for me? Oh well, I guess there is no use worrying about it. For now, I'm outta here.
Yesterday afternoon with the September sun streaming through the windshield, The Emperor, "I" and me headed out North Main, To bring "H" home. We had talked all day, The Emperor and I about being able to get him back here. We were anxious. We just felt the need to have him back with us.
The Emperor had taken him to the "Pets Forver" the morning he died. The lady said it would take a couple of days. He was wrapped in his favorite blanket. The Emperor asked for him to be cremated in it. The lady said yes. So the deed had been done. The call came. "H" was ready to make his last trip home.
We were all three rather quiet on the way, nervous. Even "I" seemed to have a foreboding of something going to happen. The lady had said on the phone she had to leave the house real quick but would be back in twenty minutes. The Emperor said we would be on the way. We got there first, parking outside the building. She pulled up, got out of the car with the Death certificate and Creamation paper in a envolope. "I" hung out the car window. The Emperor got out to meet her. Then sudnelly as she apporached the car, looking at "I"' smiling. "I" went crazy. The hair on the back of her neck stood up, deep growls, barking. The lady visably jumped back five steps. Did "I" know this woman cremated her Bub's. I don't know. But although she barks alot she has never reacted to anyone like that before.
The lady hurried away to bring "H" out. She came back, staying away from the car, with a very small can, very small. Covered with roses. She handed it to the Emperor and he got in the car. All of us transfixed as we stared at the can. This was "H" along with his blankey. "Holy S--t."
Now "H" was not a big dog. Probably around fifteen pounds but I think we were honestly expecting something a little bigger. The silence engulfed us. "I" climbed on my lap. She eyed the can with suspicison. The Emperor held the can out. "This," he said, "Is "H". She backed into me. You could tell she was thinking, This little can is not my Bubs.
We rode home pretty much in silence. Each of us locked in our own thoughts, mingled with sadness. I don't know about the Emperor but I was thinking this is how I will be someday. Probably a little bigger can though. It made me feel a little vulnurable. I am happy though we chose this route. Having our friend cremated. If you love your pet as we love ours. Its the only was to fly.
So its back to being the four of us again. But "I" slips around the house, lost. Having "H" around is all she has ever known. We all are lonley for our little friend. Although he is here, having him in a can is just not the same thing.
So for one more day I will close this off and make my way once more out of Blogland. I'm just walking and thinking. Just how big of a can are they going to need for me? Oh well, I guess there is no use worrying about it. For now, I'm outta here.
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