Pssst. Down here .

Hello. This is to let you know

that you, Gentle Reader, should

not be worried about the author

of this blog. I have it on good au-

thority that the author, Author

Ann, is in reality a sunny per-

sonality.  She is however a fic-

tion writer and when writing a bit

of a drahhhmmaa queen. It's all

good though because that's what

makes her stuff so much fun to

read. Have a good one!Regards
A Friend of AuthorAnn

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"Good night", she said,

"Now off to bed.

Tomorrow's a brand new day."

"But why?" I asked,

"From what's seen past.

Tomorrow's just more of the same."

Clocks and Time

Worm holes.

Bending space.

Bending light.

Bending time.

"It's all relative."

I once was asked for a second chance. I tried and tried to convince the person asking to see that a second chance at time might not end up as expected.   Better sometime to learn the lessons and move on to the unknown.   That's where "hope" lives.  The engines of dreams and relsilience.  They insisted. Only a complete do over would satisfy.

The expectation is that if a person gets this kind of do over, they'll have the wisdom of the first pass but that might not be the case.  Where will be the wisdom this second time?  More like a finger to the candle's flame or the stupidity of Sysphus.. 

That ignorance that caused the first life may still be there to cause it again.

So heed well this cautionary tale.

If you ask to go back for that do over?

Make sure that you take with you  the "you" that came from the first pass. That hard bought wisdom might not give you the outcome you crave but it might protect you from the "do loop" of time.

At the very least it might give you an outcome never dreamed but certainly welcomed.

The un imagined but found?  A home. A family. Friends and those who love you.


"

from

Clocks and Time

5-12-11

c anne ford

all rights reserved by the author

Writer.

People?

Writer.

Writer of fiction as well as fact.

It's my job.

Do NOT ASSume.

Ask.

LOL

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Dear  Ms "Horror"scope,

For the record.

1.  I know Cancers AND Geminis who HATE Taurus.

and

2.  I know Pisces who think of Taurus as a life time commitment not as business to finish.

Just saying as I know someone who's a Taurus (not Craig Ferguson) who has a b'day today and needed to have the record set straight. 

Hmmpf. That "horrors"cope is NEVER right so ignore.

Today is fantastic.

Sleep till noon.

Eat Italian for breakfast.

Watch LLS Youtubes in your underwear while eating microwave popcorn (the kind with he extra butter)

Put clean sheets and soft fluffy blanket on the bed.

Take a long shower complete with exfoliation and the good body lotion.

Put on clean underwear.

Go see a real movie and then come back and light all the candles in the Zen Garden.

East Ice cream and cake with friends and loved ones outside.

Laugh.

Fall asleep happy.

Happy Birthday Martha Graham.


Love and hugs,

Salvatore Dali's wayward cousin.

thanks Billy.

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For Wednesday, 11th of May. Happy Birthday.

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Happy Birthday, Salvatore Dali

My life's all like the bendy bits

In the paintings.

Time forward, back, sometimes even sideways.

All played out on some surreal plain.

The clocks are warped and I half expect

To see some futuristic Don Quixote from Grand Theft Auto

Crawl across the scenery

A he male Martha Graham he moves.

Volunteering to act out in graphic details

Parts of my life he chose to see.

Lucky me.

Even though I sit in the middle of all that commotion in plain view?

I'm invisible to the man

Which is good.

Just me and Salvatore in the middle of it having tea,

And eating the last bits of cake.



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5-10-11
C Anne Ford

all rights reserved by the author








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Now hear this.

Because I'm writing here for a bit AND folks tend to confuse the fiction with the fact and then make ASSumptions about the author (me), here's the disclaimer.

Welcome to 12dotsandablot.

This is a writer's journal.

Fact and fiction co exist here.

Please.

If you don't know which is which?

Do not ASSume.

Ask.

!

Thanks,

(and hugs)

Author Ann

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Sheesh.

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Blue Sky. Allman Bros. 1991. Germany.


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Just sittin here watchin' the sky and thinkin, prayin'.


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Back soon. There's stuff to read. Hugs, AuthorAnn

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Prayers for the folks in Memphis, Tn.
I'm hearing that there's a flood and talks of floods...







"And I wonder
Still I wonder
Who'll stop the rain?"


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Hugs...

from yesterday's posts (and from a work in progress) I'm going to change it a bit. If this were the old blog I'd use a hot button and as the beginning of the "fork in the story path" in an Interactive blog story, but - well that's not easy because I'm having trouble with the blue links....

So- from yesterday's blog posts:

"If I put my "finger" just so - in that small spot just above your heart, it was as if I opened the heart of a mechanical lion.

I remember reading how in the last days of Leonardo DiVinci he took up residence in the home of the King of France. It was supposed to be because DiVinci could design the war machines that the King craved. While he was there he also designed toys for the King. One toy was a mechanical lion who's chest cavity opened to reveal a heart."

 

 

 

*I'll do a bit of rewrite.

 

 

"...

If I put my "finger" just so - in that small spot just above your heart, it was as if I opened the heart of a mechanical lion.

I remember reading how in the last days of Leonardo DiVinci he took up residence in the home of the King of France. It was supposed to be because DiVinci could design the war machines that the King craved. While he was there he also designed toys for the King. One toy was a mechanical lion who's chest cavity opened to reveal a heart.

 

"I wonder what mythical Leonardo would have made you for?  Whose toy would you be?  Would he have your chest open and your heart leap for their amusment or would it be a metaphore instead? "

 

Then I'd insert the line, "

 

If I put my "finger" just so - in that small spot just above your heart,  would it "open" you? ..."

 

 

I'm going to sit on that last bit of line.

 

 

Now where else would I go. While I'm wondering around in this part of the story might as well see what I could add.

 

 

 

"... Paula sat next to Matt. Watched him sleeping. She didn't want to sleep on the floor but she didn't want to wake him either. If she woke him up he might leave and that was the last thing she wanted him to do. Michal and Sarah were in her bed doing God knew what so she'd come into the living room to read. Maybe sleep on the couch or see if anyone she knew was on the Twitter. She'd almost sat on Matt. Didn't  see him there in the dark. She tried  sleeping in the chair and when that didn't work she tried the oversized cushions on the floor. That didn't work either. "He's probably passed out. There's room for you both if you don't mind."  Michal's voice in the dark..."

 

 

I'm not sure if I like that. Going to save and then reread.

 

 

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"...

If you don't burp you'll explode. According to Dr. Oz, the stomach is smaller than the intestines and that gass in your stomach has to go somewhere."

Pup

5-9-11

Oh joy.

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For what it's worth, I'm listening to this song and talking to Pup about something called a "Luggable Loo".  He's cracking jokes about the  "Huggable Lou the Luggable Loo" It comes in the basic and the flushable.  LOL.  17 dollars if you buy the bucket and 12 bucks if you provide your own. Here we are listening to this very lovely song and oblivious because of a camping crapper.

Oh mercy.


Now it's on to the handy portible urinal and the snappable female attachment.


Yep.


In a couple of minutes I'm going to break the news that he's gonna have to help me go feed the pups. Not now though. He's facinated by the loos. Hate to spoil the moment.


This song has alot of truth to it. While the world is busy trying to separate us and make us think that we're a world of tribes as different as oil and water?  I'm sitting here confident that like the song we're all alike.


Have been writing this afternoon so there's stuff to read. 


As for me?


I'm gonna go visit with pup.


Hope that you're day's a good one Gentle Reader.


Hugs


Ann


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"If I caught the world in an hour glass and saddled up the moon..."

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If someone came to you and said that they were from a different time and place and that they'd come all that way to take you home...

Would you believe them?

What proof would you ask to test their veracity?

Would you ask them to saddle up the moon?

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"...

Someone asked me about the future.

"Tell me the tale of what will be."

Will there be tales of war?

Will there be tales of famine?

Will this world survive or burst into the "flames" of decay?

You have to understand.  The past I have seen with my own eyes isn't the drama of a movie writer's mind.  It's the day to day of life.

Mother Nature has shown us all what she can do if she takes a notion. People hide from her neath the protective wings of God.

Me?

I think that I'll enjoy this moment that I see here.

The sunny day.

The ravaged aftermath of the combination of the polar opposites of heat and cold.

The day that the big storms rolled through. The first ones that came so close. I sat out in the yard in my chair looking at the sky until it got dark and the lightming came.  The clouds moved. The air changed. If it hadn't been for the lightining I'd have stayed there while the rain fell.  I could hear my father saying, "It's raining. Come inside."  but there was something about the air and the rain. 

I needed to feel what it was.

Om

In my minds eye I could see the rain fall. Beads of water running off of me like water runs off a polished car. It wouldn't have soaked into me making me feel tired. It would have run over me and around me inside of some protective force.

So I could see.

When the tornado or the huricane comes you have to choose.

Life or death.

You will survive or secomb to it.

Then the next day will be sunny because like life it is.

You pick up what you can keep and then move on or rebuild.

No matter what I see here.

It's the moment that you must see for yourself.

..."

from

Not Titled  a work in progress

by CAnne Ford

5/9/11

all rights reserved by the author.

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.

"...

If I put my "finger" just so - in that small spot just above your heart, it was as if I opened the heart of a mechanical lion.

I remember reading how in the last days of Leonardo DiVinci he took up residence in the home of the King of France. It was supposed to be because DiVinci could design the war machines that the King craved.  While he was there he also designed toys for the King. One toy was a mechanical lion who's chest cavity opened to reveal a heart.

I looked at him sleeping there and touched the spot just above his heart. He stirred in his sleep and I half expected to see his chest open like a cabinet. There would be his beating heart. I tried to imagine what it would look like would it be some stylish heart shape pulsing or would it be more like the Madonna hearts on the wall of our old house the one where her heart is visible and looked like some kind of disection in a religious laboratory.

But nothing happened. He just kept sleeping there oblivious to my presence.

So I left him.

Turned the key in the lock and then left it in it's hiding place under the floor boards.

..."

from

Mother's Day.

by CAnne Ford

5-9-11

all rights reserved by the author

LOL I'm listening to Sting and thinking about Billy. Before he died he ran out of his apartment being chased by an angel.


I loved him so.



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"...

The last I saw "her" she was living in New York. Some apartment off of George Washington Square. It's were we first met that Danish guy. He was the one who followed use to Time Square all along saying he'd get us back to the hotel cause if we weren't careful we'd get lost or mugged. Funny. That guy saying he'd keep us safe from New York. There we were all wide eyed and he was going to save us. Little did he know. I kind of felt bad for him. True we were abit lost in the geography but we weren't "lost". Not like he thought. The look on his face when we walked up to Matt and David outside of the Helmsley. Both of us holding on to them and smiling and thanking him in our best southern drawl for getting us back to the hotel and paying for the subway fare and how we really did have to go. His face. Idiot. Expected to go with us out on the town. When he realized that wasn't going to happen he just looked resigned. Kind of like folks do on Saturday night and they look down at the 20 lottery tickets they bought with this weeks paycheck. Yeah they did pick the winning numbers that week. They just didn't pick them on the same ticket.

I was worried but seemed like he was the decent one. He just turned and left - melted into the crowd on the street and then? Gone.

I saw him a couple of days later talking to some tourists. Chatting them up. Started to tell them what was up but decided that I owed him and left him be. He was like a regular there stuck in time and his circumstance.

And now Matt was too.


..."

from
Mother's Day. A little brunch and sweet tea.

by

C Anne Ford

5-9-11

all rights reserved by the author


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"...

"The sheer exhaustion of holding on to conscious thought when I could  slip quietly below the surface of lucid.  Who would know if I did or care for that matter?"  I looked at her as she kept on talking about school and my future and what I should do about Matt. She didn't realize that I'd tuned her out after the first few words.  To me, she was like a television on mute.  She kept on talking and assuming that someone was listening wheither she had the evidence to it or not.

I could be sitting here having sex with myself. and she'd have never noticed.

..."

from

Mother's Day. Just alittle brunch and sweet tea.

by CAnne Ford

5-9-11

all rights reserved by the author

.

,


"My mother's gone ferrel.

All of the words surrounding her "I love you" are the words of someone looking for trouble. She searches, questions, and then disects my answers.  She's on the hunt for any "morsel" that she can use to attack.  Like an inspector looking for a criminal. The criminal, "Me."  Now that she's old, she doesn't hide it behind the slick veneer of concern for my health, the health of my family, or even Christian charity. Now I know the ugly truth. She love my brother better than she'll ever love me. I'm the unlucky penguin baby who she's been trying to leave on the ice flow. The one she wants to offer up as a leapord seal's lunch.  She's trying to erase my exisitance with it's in perfections. All the genetic flaws that she's sure my brother and his family don't have are there inside of me and I must be metaphorically destroyed to preserve the bloodline.


It's her quest for perfection.


She needs me gone to have it."


from

Mother's Day Weekend. Alittle brunch and sweet tea.

by

C Anne Ford

5-9-11

all rights reserved by the author.

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,

"Ah crap, she's drinking milk from the Hersey's chocolate bottle again. It's disgusting and you know she's gonna' belch."


Ah May!  The end of term. That time of year when the flowers bloom, the sun is calling, and you have end of term exams.


Normally at this time of year I exercise, eat right,  and use sheer terror at failing my final exams in order to get through the month.

Not this year.

This year, thanks to a lovely roommate named P_____, I have a new plan. While I don't recommend it to those folks who are diabetics, there is another way.



P_____'s  Surefire Method For Staying Awake And Getting Sleep During Exams



Step One


Go to the store and buy a bottle of Hersey's syrup.  We recommend the 24 ounce bottle but a smaller version might work. ALERT! ALERT! DO NOT BUY THE SYRUP IN THE CAN. You WILL need the bottle that the syrup come in.


Step Two

Eat the syrup. Just squeeze it out into a great big spoon and eat it like soup.  Share it with a friend or roommate. Buy a couple of bottles and have a party. (Kids, make sure that no one is a diabetic. Please. And make sure, for hygiene reasons, that EVERYONE has their own spoon. Nothing says bad luck in finals like a communicable illness that you got from sharing a spoon. ( Not a drug reference.)



Step Three


After you've eaten all the syrup in the bottle (Also NOT a drug reference.)  Take a funnel and pour milk into the now empty Hersey's syrup bottles.  In case you were wondering, I forgot to add funnels and a gallon of milk to the shopping list.  Do that now.


Step Four


Shake the now milk filled bottles until they are frothy, chocolatey, and yummy good.


Step Five


Cue up the 5-6-11 Late Late Monologue and drink that chocolate milk right out of the syrup bottle.

Remember that milk is full of air. You must belch to get that air out of you. Otherwise, there are really stinky ways that that air will come out.



That's it.

You now should be alert, ready to study, and able to sing the Teletubbies Song.




Don't forget to save the syrup bottle for your next study party.



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Lawyer' note:

Please don't do this. It's a joke. We here at 12dots DO NOT RECOMMEND THAT ANYONE DO THIS.  Instead get plenty of rest, eat right, and get exercise during exam time.


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...

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Funny, that term, "busy day", funny what it can mean.

Two people in a field.

Worlds away from one another.

Both are intent on catching butterflies.

The little girl jumps up in the air.

Her afternoon spent on near misses with a  homemade net.

She remembers what her father told her,

"Quietly. Not alot of movement. Gently so you won't damage the wings. They might be angels after all."

In another field, the other person, the one who taught her everything he could about butterflys trys to sleep.

The field for him is made of dreams.

He 's in the field behind the house catching butterflys with his mother and daughter.

----

I have a busy week.

WB is officially helping me with the boat.

The dogs need tending.

There's things to build and to finish.

Have hung little glass jars in the trees. They're filled with small tealights. They're a b8tch to light because of the jars and because some of them are way up in the air. It's worth it. When they're lit it's like fireflys.

Magic.






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A Zen Garden for the weary.



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http://blog.al.com/breaking/2011/05/132_miles_of_devastation_ef-5.html#wontcomeback

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There's no song.

Not for this post.

There's not anyother news either.

The sky's blue and the weather perfect.

You'd never know to look outside that such a terrible storm existed.

The Kate and William reality show is over until next season so the time counter is finished for a while. 

The ballroom's empty and everyone has gone home save a fella sweeping up ticker tape, tinsel, and  shards of glass.


It's quiet in the garden.


After making Zen Gardens for others, I've finally begun making one for us. Hung the candles and set out the chairs, we wait for peace.

I heard a character on a tv show say that Heaven was a state of mind or Grace and that we made our own "Heavens"  based on what we thought was "Heavenly".

Then?

They didn't say.



I guess we wait.


Others say that Heaven is here. On Earth.

In some places I can see why they say that.

But, if this is the Heaven of my making, I wonder why such terrible things still exist.

If this were my Heaven to make, I'd not make those dreadful storms and no child would go hungry. 

There's be no wars.

No mothers or fathers having to leave their kids to fight in some far away place that we'd never heard of before folks started to kill each other.


And for each and everyone of us, there would be a mother who loved us very much.


Always.

" I used to think that finding my "voice" was the most astonishing thing. Now I that's not true. The really amazing thing wasn't just finding my "writer's voice" it was finding my "ears to hear".

The most important thing for me to do is listen.

Listen carefully to people, the ones I know and thoses I don't, and then learn the leasons they have to teach.

Only then will I be able to truly put my "writer's voice" to good use."

Hugs,

WriterAnn

5-7-11

Happy Mother's Day

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