Saturday, April 16, 2011


Guess that the race for 2012 really has begun.


Friday, April 15, 2011

Well I do.

Right at this moment?

Well there are folks who could use a prayer or two.





I hate tornados.



"You know what's worse than Friday, the 13th?

Friday, April 15th.

Happy Tax Day!"


If I had a nickle for every person who told me how to live my life.

Good think I have a sense of humor.





"... stood there in the yard.
Barefooted and half asleep  Watched him drive asway.  The windows were down.  She could hear Jason Aldean on the radio..

"...I'm staring at a hurricaine.
A  hundred miles of driving rain
I just smile and lean into the wind...."  .

A helmsman and crew on those little boates? They had to have some kind of supernatural connection. Like a good marriage. She wasn't sure if it was reading minds but it was pretty close. For sure it was like really good sex.

"Don't forget," he'd told her, " If you can't follow, anticipate the moves, how can you lead.'" 

She wasn't so sure that was true.  "There's paths that you can't see unless you can "see". ,,,:

to be continued


Flight of the Angels


c anne ford

all rights reserved by the author.


Good morning, good afternoon, good night.

After all it's a big world.
Life ccan bee one big Tilt O Whirl o'fun.

Let's have some fun.

Welcome to 12 dots and a blot.

This is a writer's journal.

Fact and fiction co exist here.

If you don't know which is which?

Don't ASSume.



We be writing our own horoscopes since?  Well forever.

Thursday, April 14, 2011


It's National Poetry Month.

To celebrate?

I'm going to tell you that I probably won't be posting any of my poems on line because APPARENTLY it could cause them to be ineligible for publication in ACTUAL poetry magazines and ACTUAL poetry type books.


And Feck

Now it's difficcult for me to understand how putting your own poetry on your own writer's journal could be considered a problem but ==

So happy, happy  Poetry Month.

Her's a poem for ya'

Ode to National Poetry Month or April really is the cruelest month.

Feck, de dah feck feck
They told me that it was good enough
They said they loved them all
They said they weren't too long
They said they weren't too small.
They said  I shouldn't worry.
I was good I'd write some more
As if I could go buy one at The Very Good Poet store.

I told them than you very much
My mom she raised me proper
Then I turned around and left the place

written this day 14 April 2011 by c anne ford in response to the nice folks who said that previously published (even on your own writer's journal ) need not apply.


all rights owned by the author so don't poach with out proper cite

Happy :(


Read my horoscope today. Who writes this stuff? Sounds like some meddlesome, slightly frumpy, old maiden aunt who never got out of her room. The slightly musty one that only got a shaft of golden sunlight in the late afternoon. "I take my tea then. When I'm finished, I sit by the fire and read the results of the days writings."

Can't imagine that it actually influences folks in their day to day and lately can't imagine that it does much entertaining either.

Just my opinion.

Hmm It's art history day here at 12 dots.

We're looking for a painting by Gainsborough


LOL found it.

Oh Lord have mercy.

Back in the 1700's there was a woman named Anne Ford until she married and became (lol you are kidding) Mrs. Philip Thicknesse. Apparently Miss Ford wanted to be a musician but her father just said no and tried to have her arrested. Anyway she just said no and went on to play off all things the musical glasses. Somewhere in all this Duke or something offered her 800 pounds per year to be his mistress. She in turn wrote and put up for sale a pamphlet once again "just saying NO". For some unknown reason the Duke wrote his own pamphlet to rebut. Apparently Ms Ford's pamphlet was a best seller. Who knew. Anyway after all this she became Mrs. Phillip Thickness, the subject of Thomas Gainsborough painting, and then a prisoner during the French Revolution. Lucky for her? She could play musical instruments which got her released from prison.  During the 1800s she wrote a book, The School For Fashion. It wasn't about fashion.

Looks like the music lessons paid off.


I've tried to post a photo of the painting but apparently all the links go back to folks trying to sell reprints and reproductions of said painting.

No luck.

Horoscope for today

Your good sense of humor will help you to see the little bunnies frolicing in the meadows or satire. Be nice to the little bunnies.




Wednesday, April 13, 2011


"...all of sudden going fishing..."

Look. I don't know who is reading this blog but if you have any say with a publisher? 

Dear David,

I have something to tell you. Dad nearly died. Mom in her upset basically told me that I wasn't welcome. My brother told me that I wasn't welcome and that Dad didn't want me around.

They were wrong.

Thankfully Dad didn't die and he told me that he loved me and that I was always welcome.

Mom had to eat some crow.

So did my brother.

That's not why I'm writing.

I'm writing because along time ago, I was told that family was the most important thing but that it was only the family as defined by my mother, father, and brother.

They were wrong.

As a result, I lost one of the best relationships of my life.

I'm going to take the advice that I gave you along time ago.

I'm going to trust my heart and I'm going to say what I think.

And some how I'm going to apologize to you for anything that I did to break our friendship.

We were friends for such a long time. I could call you at anytime and there you'd be. I remember the night that I had a scare and couldn't call anyone. Then I thought, "I can call David."  LOL I thought you'd be awake but you weren't. You didn't yell at me. You just asked what was the matter. I couldn't tell you why I was calling but I could tell you how glad I was that you were there. How could I have broken that friendship.

I miss you.

I miss you.

I miss you.

I am sorry.

I am sorry.

I am sorry.

So much has happened since then. I have a boat. I'm a writter. Pup is growing into a very lovely and interesting adult.  My dad told me he loved me. He asked me to stay.

I have dogs.

And a life.

But somewhere in all the good news there's an empty place where you used to be.

I don't want to die and not have squared this with you.

It is very important that you and I have at the very least peace if not  a chance to grow old with kind thoughts for each other.

I should call you but I'm affraid that you'd hang up on me or worse yet not say a word.

I still have the coin and the beautiful dairy with the pictures of Dublin. The one you sent the year that Pup was born.

I have something to say to you.

I am a real live, honest to God writer. I've purged most of the "demons" that have plagued my life. I've born and raised a good son. I've stood up for myself and for others in trouble. I have loved.

But I don't know how to tell you that I'm so very sorry nor do I know what to say so that you and I won't be separated anymore.

I don't.

I've thought and thought and I just don't know how to heal that rift.
Try as I might? I just can't seem to get past it.

I can feel my feet lift off the ground as I run along the shore. Feel the wings on my back, feel the wind im my face. Then something turns my head. A memory.

I can't help think that there is something that you and I must talk about.



Note unless other wise stated. I wrote and own what is printed in this blog.

Please don't poach.


Now where was I? 

Oh yeah,... 1 2 3

I really do need a writing gig before they send me off to "Happy Meal Land" which isn'r a bad job. It's just not a writing job.

Which is kind of the point.



I wrote this to reminded someone that I'm not entirely domestic.

I'm a writer, I said.

Please don't make me choose.

Love me.

Love my son.

Love my mind.

As well as my body.

As a friend said, I'm not a rehab project.

Love me for who I am now.

Please don't make me leave by trying to love someone

who you want to see.

Love who you "see".

Love who I become.

Love how I change like the seasons.

Love how I can be fierce.

And gentle too.
Feb-13-09 04:13:10 PST

I am a writer.

I put words and sounds together.

(sometimes on purpose - sometimes by accident)

but always with a compulsion

I need to get into the world those things called ideas that swirl about in my mind.

Sometimes people think that mind isn't a place of ideas but more like a toilet. It's function to  flush out the excrement of my mind.

Oh well.

I am still a writer.

I don't always get paid for the work I do.

The hours are long and the work site can be dreadful.

I get no respect from the very people I spend days encouraging their own ideas.

They think that is my job but they are wrong.

My job is to experience life.

Think about it.

And then come up with something new? Old?

But never borrowed.

I am a writer.

It's what I do.

Like the breath of me.


C Anne Ford


I wrote this for two reasons. One? To read at Pup's wedding should he marry. Two? In response to the relationship of two people who I'd had the good luck to know.

Love Up On The Highwire

I was dreaming with my eyes wide open.
Two dancers came into view
Two people on Love's high wire
Graceful. Dance a pas a deux
High above the ocean
They dance without a net
Graceful and so happy
All the joy that Love would let
And I worried when I saw them
But they reassured me with their ease
And I worried when I saw them
But they just laughed and said, "Oh Please--
We're young and we're in love
All your worry is just wrong
We dance graceful on this wire
And we sing our lover's song---

"...And our love will keep us safe
And our joy will keep us strong
And we'll dance this way forever
And we'll love this whole life long..."

So please now stop the worry
It'll only make you old
For our Love will keep us safe
It's our Love which makes us bold."

I smiled and I sang with them
A song as old as time
And happy were the lyrics
And lovely was the rhyme
From the melody to their lyric
A happiness was shown
From heaven Love is sent
It's love that brings us home.

written by AuthorAnn

Feb-13-09 03:33:45 PST


Dogs bark this morning.

Telling of a guest to be;

Good story at supper.
Feb-13-09 03:14:12 PST

I found hiaku. It's a highly structured type of poetry with some interesting requirements.

The following if from my hiaku junk yard. So are variations of a theme.


Acres of open pasture

Cresote posts, t post, and barb wire--

Civilized meets the free world


Fingers fly on strings

Notes fly on a spring breeze-.

A string breaks mid song.


Cucumber's new leaves.

Smell of garden soil in March

State fair prized pickles


Young dogs tend cows.

Fast and sure they herd the flock.

Old dogs run in dreams


Jonquils sway and birds sing.

Sunlight dances through Spring rains.

Winter memory.

I wrote these because of someone I met. Sent the hiaku to them later. To me writing haiku was like writing little puzzles.

My son,Pup, asked me what is Love. To explain I wrote this:

What is love?

He asked me in such a serious tone

Had to close my eyes to think.

How to answer?

Then in my mind

I saw him 5 years old again.

He was eating oranges on a bright blue beach towel.

Covered in juice

Sand on his feet.

Sticky sweet in his hair and on his face

There were watermelon slices on his plate

But he would only eat the oranges

Used the rind for yellow orange "teeth"

Said that the wedges made his eyes cross

Because they were sour as well as sweet

"Just like you Sunshine"

I told him and then ruffled his hair

He laughed

And the sun shone brighter because of it

What is love?

I looked into his somber eyes

Many miles and years later.

"Love is sticky sweet oranges on a bright blue beach towel."

"Love is you."

for my son Pup

Who not only asked me "What is Love?" this day but who is also the 5 year old in this poem.


February 5th, 2009

Feb-13-09 03:18:59 PST


On the old blog I was asked to prove that I was a writer. I told the person who asked this that I was. If they would give me an hour I could prove it.

I began posting things that I'd written. At the end of an hour they said that yes I was. Tonight I'm hearing WB say I'm not a writer if I don't get money for it. LOL I was surprised. If I don't write how would I get paid?

Something that I wrote on one of those days when I was told that I was just screwing around. Apparently I'd be valued more if I cleaned crap off the bottom of someones shoes.


Note Pup thinks that I'm a writer.

For Elizabeth G and her Mooses

The words do come fully formed

Like a lovely yet sometime weedy garden

Only I get to decide what are the weeds

And which are the flowers.

So I caught that poem by it's tail

I swug it round and round

Threw the words against the wall

Then stomped them on the ground

No pit of dark and deep dispair

Would beat my story down

Gentlly it would rise up

From the mire upon the ground

The words they rose like the butterfly wings

Round and round my head they'd fly

To live in some enchanted land

Then come back. I don't know why.

Then weave themselves into a cloak

The color of a summer sky

Or deeper blue. A blue berry blue

From the oceans of tears I'd cried

So here -- it's yours to keep you warm

Traveler's coat with faery wings.

To fly you to ephemeral lands

Where imaginations sing.



Feb-13-09 03:08:39 PST

It's happening again.


Regret Hannah Murphy 15 June 2008

My life is flowing past you.

What will you do if there is no more me?

What will I do if there is no more you?

We do grow older.

And life can be so unexpected.

I watch you grow older.

Your river flowing past me.

Someday a memory of things past is all I'll have.

The ability to form new memories gone.

The ability to heal old wounds gone.

Snatched by senility or death from our hands.

Regret and loss are inadequate companions.

Talk to me again or not.

Remember me again or not.

That's up to you.

But forget this lesson?

Of loss.

Please do not.

I wouldn't wish regret of things unsaid on you for all the tea in China.\

Swallow your anger and pride.

I wrote this.


I've been looking at the stats here.

I need a writing gig.


I really am a writer.



Now see this is why I have the Internet.


Culture is important to us as humans. Wheither we know it or not it is deeply ingrained in our subconscious.

(And in this case it's just AWESOME.)

Why did I not know about this rugby stuff. American football without shoulder pad? In soccer shorts? Seriously?

This is amazing.

If you'll excuse me I'll be surfing the Internet trying to find information on this sport.



Haka haka Merci ? tee hee.



So I was looking for a beer commercial and took a turn at the French guy.



I can't imagine a contemporary song writer coming up with lyrics and melody as good as this song.

Don't get me wrong. I love top 40. I love it like I love popcorn and coca cola. Funny how this song was once a pop culture favorite.

Top 40 as of 13 April, 2011?

Katy Perry featuring Kayne West

Thanks to Youtube, I've been wandering through the history of song.



The Photograph Album, Snapshot Stories for a Very Busy World


Date line?

Stardate 2300

Somewhere in 2011, Buzkashi is being played in some middle eastern enclave.

A goats carcus is being tossed about by players and bet on by those who wish to take their money and increase their lot.

Meanwhile Willie Nelson croons a Hoagy Carmichael tune somewhere less dusty but just as cruel.

"...The spring breeze filled with the smell of wisteria and clover. A glass of ice water melts on the table. The haven of sleep just within reach as the buzz of his monotone drones on about the world confined in the pages of a Wall Street Journal. She wants to move. To go outside and work in the garden but the words pull her back into the world of finance and war.

"You know - your voice - it really is better than opium..."

The Occidental Gatsby Revolution

by C Anne Ford

all rights reserved by the author



Once again my horosope sucked
(It's about as relevant as this video LOL)

So guess what?

We're writing our own.

Come on get HA PPY!!


Suck it horoscope person.

We're so current?

We wrote it


Welcome to reality.


Tuesday, April 12, 2011


"Let it blow. Let it blow. Let it blow.... OOOOOHHHHHH

the weather outside was frightful but

in the pub delightful

So as long as it's gonna blow

Pur the drink. Let it flow. Let it flow. "

tee hee

writ by cann ford, This day the year of our Lord April 12th, 2011.

A rights reserves. Or something like that. The words are a bit blurry but the sentiment isn't.

Don't be poaching and egg or my words.


Gotta go watch Craaaaig.

(wonder what's up his kilt?)


Well I'm just gonna write it now.

"Oh look, Jennifer Love Hewitt AND Kristin Bell on The LLS.


Woooh  (feckin) wooooh

For me the best reason to watch the Thursday night LLS is to see Jason Aldean

Sorry ya'll  I'm a true blue country fan of Jason Aldean.
Vegas is okay, Criag is hot, and sure ya'll all have the hots for Jenifer and Kristen Bell


That's J Aldean


Here's hoping that the LLS folks interview him as well as having him sing.

LOL not for nothing he looks just like one of our neighbors.

Nice guy.

."I'm chilllin on a dirt road..."


,"I'm hittin easy street in mud tires..."

You bet.


.Oh and about hurricane season. LOL



Dear Writing Buddy,



"... If you read between the lines? You'll know that I'm just trying to understand..."

When Dad got so sick, I made myself a mental Zen Garden. I thought of you. You seem alot stronger than I am. So I pretended to be strong too even though my knees were knocking. It took a while but slowly my knees stopped knocking and to my amazement I became strong too. Not the "lord it over people" kind of strong. The focused climbing up the side of a cliff strong. Slowly but surely until I looked over my shoulder and there was the sea and the top of the cliff. The bottom of that cliff far, far below me. The confidence in my heart...

Well it happened.

Somewhere between when you and Darlene were the first people to post on 12dogs until now?

I found my writer's voice. It's good. Like how you would miss climbing? I would miss writing. It's not a reactive sort of writing. It's not calculating either. I think about it. Ask myself the question, "Is this what I mean. If someone were to read it, agree or not, would my meaning be clear? Would it cause them to think about the world? Is it worth the time it took for them to read it?" Then I'll read it again. Set it aside. Come back and re read. I think that is what a writer does.

Remember the story about the little boy who sits on the dock with his flower? He's contemplating the enormous events that he just doesn't have the experience to understand. To him life is about the immediate. I am cold. I am hungry. Why are the adults so sad? Where is my Mom? I can close my eyes and see that place. With all the things good and bad that have happened to me, I was very much like that little boy. This year has been different. I finally could no longer keep my eyes shut to the pain of loss. I was lucky though. Somewhere in Heaven God took pity and my Dad didn't die before I could say and hear the words, "I love you."

I think that both of us should stop questioning the people who love us and who stay. Maybe we should take pity. How hard it is must be to be loving such prickly, un huggable, porcupines. We should hug their necks and sit silent. The love that is there is like a quiet cool breeze on a very hot day. If we don't sit still we might miss it.

You will never know how much I miss hearing about you and your life. The good thing is, that unlike Billy and my great aunt and Irish David and my little one, we got to say good bye. There's good in that.

I found that out with my dad.

I hope that someday we'll get a chance to chat again. There's lots to tell.

Kind regards (and hugs),




I like writing poetry.
True the blog posts allow for the deconstruction of conventional grammar and punctuation, but it's still not like the freedom of poetry. For me poetry is like singing with the bare minimum of words.Sometimes the words are important but sometimes it's just the sounds they make that tell the tale. I guess it's what the Expressionists and then the Cubists (visual artists) were about. The sensation of a flash of light across the night sky is not about the words. The disorientation of walking into a flock of birds at night. Words like whirl. LOL I feel a right ass "lecturing" you about that. Honest ot God. I just loved the idea of having someone to tell that to who wouldn't shut down and say, "Oh no here she goes again with the talking about ...."

Hugs agan.


Poly Ester the Pirate Parrot says -


Boys and girls.

Drugs and alcohol don't mix.


Read my horoscope and it sucked.

So I'm writing my own.

Horoscope for

Saturday, April 16th

A festive festival for books and readers is in your future. If it's anything like the past? You'll have a great time.

 Sunday,  April 17th.

You and a friendly face will be spending the day having a great day. Rain or Shine.  See if you can find the river while you're at it.



Blame it on the Dr. Hook. You knew that if there was Dr. Hook on the radio?
There's be Supertramp.

"Take the long way home... Sing it penguins."



For those folks who are having a really bad day.

If you go there?

Please make sure to come back.

So you might recall that yesterday was a bit stormy.

Predictions of doom and tornados whirled through the airwaves.

What happened??

(Not really. I just fell asleep... but the song was too good not post it and I'm listening to Dr.Hook

"...Wanna see my smiling face on the cover of the Rooolllliinnnggg Sttoooonnee..."


So storm came and went. We're okay but missed the Las Vegas Baby. It's not about the golf.

It's about the Zen.

And the gophers.

So the day is beautiful. The sun is shinning but it's not hot and muggy like yesterday. World's as shiny as a brand new glossy fashion magazine.



I was coming in to post a quote that I found in a ---

nah hang on - I should tell you the whole story.

So yesterday I was at the Walmart buying stuff and  right before I went to the check out line I past one of those glossy magazines where life is perfect and everything is perfect and  like my horoscope  had NOTHING to do with my actual life.

Normally read these things whenever I'm waiting in a very long lline in the grocery store. WB reads the trashy stuff in the Enquirer and the UsWeekly so I read the glossy decorator magazines so folks won't think we're low lifes. 

This time? I'm actually reading the magazine instead of just looking at the pictures. It's all about Ireland and how great the place is. I'm thinking about how the Celtic Tiger got neutered by the banking and real estate crisis. All those rich Yuppies "investing" in B&B's and now the only people who seem to be able to go there are the magazine writers who are writing about how great it is to visit only folks are all broke, fuel is expensive, and the air fair is up.
Feeling bad for the Irish economy and the publishing business and the predicted demise of the glossy magazine and all those poor trees in the pine desserts.

I bought it.

At the time I had no idea that it would be a heck of alot closer to my actual life than my horoscope.

IHow could I? It''s glossy and beautifully decorated.

I sat there in the car and marveled at how people could life this life of grace and elegance.

Mostly becaue my life is more like

Then I saw the quote that said what I'd been thinking.

"If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be.  Now put the foundations under them"

Henry David Thoreau

Which is what I've been doing with the writing and the photography and the sailboat and the dogs and WB and of course Pup.

Sure it's a bit messy and sometime what I write can be crap but it can also be beautiful.


This morning I read that it was the 50 anniversary of manned space flight.

50 years ago, with little more than the knowledge of what happens if you send a space dog or a space monkey into the air, human kind built the foundation under those castles in the clouds by sending an actual person.

No one died on that flight.

So I went back this morning and looked at that glossy magazine with new determination and thought,

"Feck it." I said to my self, " That's way too much trouble. Look at all those little doodads that have to be dusted.  I don't like so many doohickey's around. They fall over. I don't see a dog anywhere and I bet they've got maids and grown ups who spend their entire day trying not to mess up. It's way to much stress. Now where's the boat book. If I'm going to be putting a foundation under this castle? I'll be needing to know how to do a bottom job."

Today I read my horoscope and it sucked.

So I'm writing my own.

Happy day.

Don't forget to hug a person.



Monday, April 11, 2011


Today's horoscope

Partly cloudy, humid, with a chance of rain.

Or maybe not.


As the song says, " sleep tonight..."

Dorothy and Toto


AuthorAnn and the pups.



Today you will realize how lucky you are that this guy,

will never - ever - be Number 12.



I read my horoscope and it suxs.

So I wrote my own.


Sunday, April 10, 2011


Words to live by.

Ahh haa.

Today's horoscope suks.

So wrote my own.