Saturday, January 21, 2012

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening


By Robert Frost 1874–1963 Robert Frost
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
 
 
 
 
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Hello. The next couple of posts aren't the happiest. It's been a long month.


If there's a lesson in this past month or this past year?


I dunno.


Maybe?






It's always sunny the day after a hurricane.

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Yesterday, someone asked me, "Where are you from?"

I always stop and think hard when someone asks me that question.  If you ask someone here, they'll more than likely to tell you the name of a place.  "I'm from Bell Rattle." they might say.  There are people who live here that have literally lived here all their lives. They don't have to think.

"I'm from here." they'll tell you.

But not me.

I have to think.

I don't have to think of where I feel  like I'm from.  It's not that. It's how to explain that after years and years and nice people too, I still don't say this is home.

My home or the closest that I've ever seen was washed away twice. Once when I was young in Camile and again in Katrina.

I keep telling myself that it's time to go back for a visit. Time to go back and see if my grand parent's house is still there. I want to go get a poboy and a Barqs at Pirate's Cove. I want to go eat it sitting on the seawall.

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I want to go home.

Who do you have to ask?  How do I explain? Please.

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I am so homesick right this moment. I haven't seen it for so long. The last time was 8 months before Katrina. I stood there trying to memorize every part of that moment. Dusk. The sky a dark winter blue as dark came running in. I could see the horizon. There I stood. I'm thinking, "This is as close to home as I've ever felt. I'm coming back. I'm coming back home."


 I am sitting on the side of the bed 8 months later. I'm whispering. "CQ CQ CQ Biloxi, Mississippi City, Gulfport, Long Beach, Past Christian, Bay St. Louis, CQ CQ CQ" I'm crying. The weather map shows something that I can't say out loud. All I can say is "CQ CQ CQ."

I haven't been back.

I tried. I talked to my parents about what it was like. They'd gone back for a bit but not to stay. "It's different." is all they'd tell me. "It's not the same. Keep the memory. Don't go back."



It's afternoon. I'm sitting on the bed with my pup. She' taken meds that require her to be still which is never easy for her. I hug her and sing to her. Finally she goes to sleep and I can get up and go get something to drink. She opens her eyes and I tell her it's okay. I'll be back.

I promise.



I've made promises to people. Promises that I keep. I stay here with my son. I've promised. I stay with my pups. I've promised.


But I wonder, when do I keep the promise I made to myself. The one where I promised to go back. To find home.



I'm yelling at WB. Loud. Tears are running down my cheeks and I'm so afraid that my pup will die without me. "I promised." I'm yelling. "I promised her that I wouldn't leave her alone. She'll be scared. I have to go get her. "

He asks me what in the hell do I want.

Like a kid I look at him fierce and yell," I want to go home. I want to take my pups and my son and go home."



There.
I said it.

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"Everytime you go you take a part of me...."
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Friday, January 20, 2012

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Dear Home,

Where are you?

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Sitting here. Waiting. Long night.




I'm not writing about this. Can I use a hug? Yep. Am I going to filet my feelings here in public? No.

Do I have anyone to keep me company, hug my neck, or get me to laugh? No.

Won't be the first time I've spent a long night counting the seconds until the morning. Won't be the last.

I could use a hug right about now. Someone who'd give a dam.




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Thursday, January 19, 2012

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Gloom.

Tv's Craig Ferguson's concert tour is coming to the south and I can't go.

(Can't afford the ticket.)

Gloom.

Sigh.

People will be having a great time watching the big show and I - I - will spend Friday night washing clothes, Saturday morning at fencing, Saturday afternoon finishing up the insulation, walking and feeding the animals, and washing more clothes. The high light of the weekend will be on Sunday when we go out to eat at the local cafe.

Sigh.

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Oh hurrah for me. I have a new skill to add to my growing list of talents.

This afternoon the sink began to gurgle and water began coming out where it shouldn't. This has happened before. When it has, WB goes into the shed and pulls out something called a "snake". Then he goes to the main clean out for the sewer and viola after much gnashing of teeth and many, many expletives following by the solemn swearing that we'll have to call an after hours plumber or worse one of those septic tank pumping trucks. There's  a gurgle and then miracle, the water flows to somewhere unseen.

Yes, I got the mainline to the septic tank unclogged. All by myself. Well not all by myself. Pup was here. He manned the washing machine, the toilets, the sink, and the telephone call to WB. I was the one to find the "snake", open the main line clean out, put in the "snake", and finally dislodge the clog. It was rank. It was gross. The green rubber boots that I wear when mucking the kennels and cleaning the chicken coop had to be sprayed with disinfectant.

But I did it.

Whooooossssh (and no butt crack to be seen).

Yay.

AuthorAnn mainline, septic tank unclogger.

I am so proud.

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Wednesday, January 18, 2012

28 days until Valentine's Day.

My stomach is in a knot this year.

My love life is tricky.

And being celibate sucks.

This year I'm hoping that someone will show up at my door.

Hand me flowers.

Say, "Enough of this. Let's go have fun."



Unfortunately, I'm not that much of an optimist.

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"If you could go back in time and see yourself coming? Where would you tell yourself to be going."

Me? I tell myself to go try.



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The date

January 22, 2011



"...

I think -


No I'm sure that it's Eve's fault.

And Adams.

Stupid apple.

Stupid Snake.

On second thought stupid Eve.

Whomever? We've been paying for it ever since.

Maybe I'm wrong.

Maybe the cold has me sullen.

I've always been a Optimistic Pessimist.


Will think on it.




written by

c anne ford

January 22, 2012


..."


 


Did I tell you that I was a writer. I am.  That's my poem above.  When I hear about copyright infringement, I think about this poem. Then I think about the blog that I wrote that someone in New Zealand up loaded on to Face book.  They uploaded my entire blog. Two years of my work. Original poems. Original short stories. The time I spent working to find my writer's "voice".  I found out later that they got a job writing for a magazine half way round the world.

Here I sit out in the middle of nowhere. I'm lucky if anyone reads my  blog. Delighted if they do.

I am a writer.


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For Pup.


and for me.

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lyrics for the song above. I don't own the lyrics nor do I profit from publishing them here. Just thought that there might be someone who could use the encouragement.

I know that I could.

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Here I am at another dead end
Stopped in my tracks again
Closer then I've been to where I wanna be
A broken heart standing in my way
Big as life on a real bad day
Making lemons into lemonade
Ain't nothing new to me No

This ain't no stumbling block
It's just a stepping stone
I'm gonna climb right up on top
And take a good look at where I'm going
And it ain't gonna slow me down
Hold me back or turn me around (Stepping Stone)
This ain't no stumbling block (Stepping Stone)
It ain't no stumbling block (Stepping Stone)
This ain't no stumbling block
It's just a stepping stone

Now looking back I realize
How hard it is to recognize
Opportunity in disguise
That's some Clamady
So I ain't gonna cuss my luck
Every time a door slams shut
I know a window's gonna open up
Just as long as I believe

This ain't no stumbling block
It's just a stepping stone
I'm gonna climb right up on top
And take a good look at where I'm going
And it ain't gonna slow me down
Hold me back or turn me around (Stepping Stone)
This ain't no stumbling block (Stepping Stone)
It ain't no stumbling block (Stepping Stone)
This ain't no stumbling block
It's just a stepping stone

Stepping Stone.. Ohhh
This ain't no stumbling block
It's just a stepping stone
I'm gonna climb right up on top
And take a good look at where I'm going
And it ain't gonna slow me down
Hold me back or turn me around (Stepping Stone)
This ain't no stumbling block (Stepping Stone)
It's just a stepping
This ain't no stumbling block
It's just a stepping stone
I'm gonna climb right up on top
And take a good look at where I'm going
And it ain't gonna slow me down
Hold me back or turn me around (Stepping Stone)
This ain't no stumbling block
This ain't no stumbling block
This ain't no stumbling block
It's just a stepping, stepping stone
Stepping Stone


from 1998

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Interesting conversation going on here...




I think that the world is full of lovely people.

Even with the troubles in the world they're there.

I can see them.

They laugh and cry.

The nudge each other and share.

They say hello and they tell me what is good in their life.

Sometimes I think that they think I'm a bit nuts.




But we're all abit nuts now and then. LOL.


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Well, I woke up this morning to check my horoscope and the obits....

Notice was that Google had this black box super imposed on what is normally colorful graphics.

After years of following the crazy of the political process, the only thing that I can say is that the devil is usually in the details AND that politics and the arts are very strange bed fellows.



Going to read, listen, ask questions, and then decide before jumping on ANY band wagons.

Hugs,
WriterAnn



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Monday, January 16, 2012

"
True, there are no small hogs- but- there are small wiener dogs with names like Nelson and Truday. They tend to eat very large ginger snaps on alternate Thursdays and watch Dr. Who on Fridays.
I believe that they are Whovians, but then again I’m not sure…."

January 16, 2012
Comments by Intern Jack over on theNerdist blog  http://www.nerdist.com/2012/01/embarrassing-dad-or-nerdist/comment-page-1/#comment-66475

I'm going to write in the comments over on the Nerdist blog.     If you miss me, you can engage in conversation there or you can pour yourself a glass of milk, take the gingersnaps from the cubbard and  wreck havoc with cookie crumbs. I'll miss you but I'll be fine.

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LOL. I'm sitting here reading on the Internet and munching on the honey glazed pecans sold by this company

http://www.priesters.com/shop/dispProductDetail.cfm?Product_ID=136

Don't have the salty ones. If I did I'd be in pecan bliss.

Dang you holiday eatting.

Good thing I'm taking fencing.

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Just incase Newt is reading.

Psst. Guess what. I'm taking fencing. LOL. Seriously they actually are teaching me how to fence.




Was telling Pup the difference between Tai Chi and fencing class.

In Tai Chi we have tea and cookies and a chat and then? We work at becoming graceful Tai Chi swans.

In fencing we have running and jumping while yelling at the top of our lungs things like "tomato".

Then, after hours -- HOURS -- of this, we are dismissed.

Tai Chi? Is tea and cookies.

Fencing? Is running with sharp pointy things and yelling.

I miss Tai Chi but -

All this jumping and yelling and pointy thing pointing is good too.

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I can to write.


From January 22, 2011 12dotsandablot blog post.


"...

Strong women open their own doors.

They open their own jars and squash their own spiders because no one else will.

Because the world still turns and someone else has to.

They pick up hay bales because they can and they've too much integrity to con a guy into doing it.

Then they wonder why they spend Saturday night watching a rental movie with their dog.

Alone.

Kind of makes me sad.

Such lovely independent souls with rough hands.

Sightly disheveled and frayed around the edges.

Telling lovely stories about the adventures they've been on.

They live interesting lives and tell interesting stories.

Then they die alone.



..."

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"...


I'm sitting here in the middle of all my failures.

They're "screaming" from all points.

The untidy parlor.

The dishes in the sink.

The un made bed called "My Life"?

My husband sits sullen in his chair.

Then it's upstairs in bed with the lights out.

He pretends to be asleep but I know he's not.

Better for us both that I keep up the ruse.

Lest we fight.

My daughter.

Fruit of my loins is somewhere.

She asked for money and I said no.

So she shut her "door" too and went into the night.

Bonnie girl.

I sit here on the couch in the dark and listen to all my failures screaming "You idiot."

It changes from my mothers voice, to my husbands, to my daughters, and then -

Into mine.


I cry.

Because I read in a poem that strong women do.

But in my heart I know.

That while these may be tears of failure,

They are not tears of strength.

..."

1/22/11

c anne ford

all rights reserved by the author.




Okay, before anyone starts in on this. Please read the following.


This is 12dotsandablot.

Like the old 12 dogs and a blog?

It's a writer's journal.

Fact and fiction are written here.

If you don't know which is which?

Don't ASSume.

Ask.

We're all okay here.

I was just reading the poem A Strong Woman and thinking about what I've seen in the world. I'm not sure that I believe that the world is kind to the strong women. Not to the ones I've known. The world tolerates them begrudgingly but it doesn't seem to open it's arms and say, "Come here Strong Woman. Here's your home."

More like, "We don't trust you strong woman. You don't fit the mold. Work hard for us but don't expect our affection. You're strong. Stand on your feet and work."




"...

I think -

No I'm sure that it's Eve's fault.

And Adams.

Stupid apple.

Stupid Snake.

On second thought stupid Eve.

Whomever? We've been paying for it ever since.

Maybe I'm wrong.

Maybe the cold has me sullen.

I've always been a Optimistic Pessimist.


Will think on it.
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,,,"




Note:

Except where noted, all work in this post by the author and poet, c anne ford, 22 January, 2011, all rights reserved by the author.

..."


LOL. I can write. Just have alot of that life stuff happening.


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