.

"I'm gathering up every bit of optimism that I have in my hands and telling the TeaParty to feck-off.  I'm gonna' spend like I got it  and create something where nothing existed.

You can go through life leaving a trail of gloom, doom, and failure or you can swim through this life leaving trails of sunshine, optimism, and hope.

That hope? It's where the fertile ground of economic prosperity lies.

So you can predict the end if you want.
Me?

I'm leaving a trail of happy and smiles.


Have something to show for this time here on Earth.

As my dear ole' Great Aunt Elsie used to say, "Laugh and the world laughs with you. Cry and you get a world wide depression."



LOL"


c anne ford



Love ya'

IronChassis


.

.



.

Dear Gentle Readers,

I have to go for abit. No - nothings wrong. I'm fine. So's my family. I've just got a lot that I need to do this week and if I get on the computer, I'll spend my time writing and looking instead of getting my work done. That's the sum of it.

Anyway, while I'm gone, I thought that you might like to read a book that I just finished. The book, Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe, was written by Fannie Flag in the late 1980's and is about an area that I know well.  Ms. Flagg is from the south just like I am and she's captured the "music" of the language and the environment of the old south in a truthful but not hurtful way. The story is about two different times in Birmingham, Alabama and about the town folks of Whistle Stop.  It's a good story and at the end there are recipes for fried chicken and biscuits and beans and well not only will you hear the words, you can try the food too. Since there are folks reading my blog from different  parts of the world, I thought that you might like get a taste of where I'm from. Next to the book, The Secret Lives of Bees by Sue Monk Kid , there's not a more gentle book about hard times.







Yes, I know,  there's a movie adaptation of both, but read the books. Okay?

I kind of wish that I was able to swap the stories of where we each are from. Thing is I've just about given up finding out who reads what I write. But- I haven't given up on writing the words that you'll read. It's just that I'll be gone for the next week.  So get hold of the book (or books) and give it (or them) a read while I'm gone.. I imagine that you might find it online or in your local library. When I get back I'll tell you about what I've been up to.

Enjoy the puzzles,

Hugs,

AuthorAnn


Note. It's been raining and Fried Green Tomatoes... is the book I've been reading in the rain. We're in the hot season of the year. The sky gets so hot in the afternoon "she" can't stand it so she cries in her sorrow and we get rain. Can't do much outside.  I crawled into bed and read and read. I love reading while it's raining. The air gets still and then cool. A breeze comes up. The sound of single rain drops turn into a kind of white noise. If I could, I'd read all afternoon in the rain on a porch like the one my PawPaw built for my MawMaw. There I'd sit out on the glider where you could smell the Russian Olives and ozone. After a while, the sound of the rain seems to disappear into a kind of white noise and there's just the story and my imagination. This afternoon was a treat. I wish that you could have been there. :)
This last part's for Newt if she ever reads this.

And for something I'm told is old school southern -

Fa so la singing from north Alabama.  My dad tells the story of being a kid, years and years and years ago,  standing in the town square and hearing folks Fa So La singing. Also known as "shape note" singing, the notes are in geometric shapes rather than the quarter, half, and whole note notation that we use today. Each note in the Fa So La scale is given a name from the generic scale of  "do", "rae", "me", "fa", "so", "la",  "te", and "do" that are sung instead of words. (Although I noticed that in this song there was first the Fa So La singing and then the melody with lyrics. Go figure. )

I'm told it's of this place where I live.



Gotta go. Hugs 2u, Ann,

.
.

.

LOL OMW it's hot.

This is 12dotsandablot.

It's a writer's journal.

Fact and fiction co exist here.

If you don't know which is which?

Don't ASSume.

Ask.

Thanks.

Note


I don't read my Tweets.

I do answer my Tweets.

And I'm nice to bots.


It's the right thing to do.


Beep

.


...Go here next > http://12dotsandablot.blogspot.com/2011/05/blog-post_30.html


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.

.




Letters To the Editor by C Anne Ford 6-3-11


all rights reserved by the author



Once upon a time a very nice person received an extraordinary gift.






.

.

Dear Pup,

I'm glad that somehow a miracle happened. You grew up to be nice AND you don't hate me.

You? I love. Don't sweat that big looming question, "What am I going to do with the rest of your life?" I'm finding that it's better to ask, "What makes me get out of the bed happy even on the "rainy" days? 

The answers are much more honest.


You're a good person, Pup. I know that. You'll make good decisions whatever you do. After years of "to do" lists, I never did them. I was afraid of that list. Afraid to fail. Then one day I woke up and tried something  different. No more "to do" lists. Instead I replaced it with another list, an "Already Done" list. It was amazing the difference it's made.

Worry about what you'll do in the future, especially in this day and time, it can just cause a person to sit paralyzed with fear. That's no good Pup.

So go do your day.

Remember to be kind.
Remember that the question "Is it legal and moral to do?" is a good compass, and then go see what you can see.






Got an "already done" list to write.



Love and hugs,


Mom

.

.



And that, my darling boy,  is The Point.

.

,

.
.

.

For the record?

I have nothing against people who:

work at a pizza joint,
drive old Hyundais,
still live with their parents,
are 5'3",
overweight,
like scifi,
are asthmatic,
have never been to second base (literally or figuratively).
who like football (American or otherwise),


OR SNAKES, I DON"T HATE SNAKES.

(That's for Bryan in Arizona who I didn't even know existed on the planet before about 5 minutes ago and who thinks I'm a horrible, sanke hating, person. True I wasn't happy about the snake taking a nap on the threshold of my front door. Nor was a thrilled about the rattlesnake who took up residence two feet from my dog pen.

That said.  Thanks for reading my blog Bryan. No hard feelings. Peace and love. Hugs.
I am a writer. I write. Well keep reading and you'll get the idea.)


well you get the idea.




I don't, however, care for folks who deliberately try to deceive kind hearted people on the Internet for fun, profit, sympathy, or because they are having a crap day.

I don't want to be,  nor am I,  one of those people.

Which is the point of this blog post.


AND


Despite what WB (there really is a WB by the way) says,

I am a writer.


That's what I do.


.
.

NB

Read the next post too. It has the doorway to where I'm writing on this blog.

It's an active blog.

I'm just writing in the comments.

Author Ann

.

.

Sigh.
Here we go.

Was reading the Twitter when I came upon a group of folks talking about writing poetry in order to deal with ones feelings.  I think that's a great idea.

However

That's not the purpose of 12dotsandablot.

As a matter of fact?

12dotsandblot is real as this video.
Is there fact in it?  Yes.
Is there something to learn from it? Yes.
Do folks relate their actual life to the fictional story?
Yes.
Except for me walking down any run way in designer under pants, I really do relate to the "reality" of this video.  Real people really do get up and keep going. Even if they fall flat on the "runways of life" during fashion week.
And like the song, "...got to be real.."

Are the people in this video real?

Yes but they are actors playing roles.

It may have been based on the author's life but it was not an autobiography.

Carrie is a character based on the author's real life.

This blog?

It has elements of reality but it's also got fiction.

No not lying.

I am a writer that is what I do.

It's not a way to get in touch with my feelings but is is a way to experiment with "writer's voice" and character development.

I'm not sure why that's a difficult concept for some folks but it is. For instance, WB thinks that it's a waste of time. I think that he thinks that writers just sit down and write the great American novel.  I try to tell him that it's alot of work and believe it or not practice.  You have to sit down and write things because if you don't  how will you finally write the great American novel that people will not only read but actually pay to do so.

Now that is real. LOL.

And yes, a real live editor did agree that a  short story that I wrote was good enough to not only print in their magazine but  he also wanted to PAY ME FOR IT. 

A writer.




So.

Here it is again
Get used to it because this is real.


The 12dotsandablot disclaimer.

This is 12dotsandablot.

It's a writer's journal.
I'm a writer.
A writer and a poet.

Fact and fiction co exist here.

If you don't know which is which?

Don't ASSume.

Ask.



As for my real life?

LOL I'm just not that interesting in real life.

A long time ago, I had someone come on my blog and comment that they were worried about me because of what I was writing.

At that moment I realized three things.

One.

There were nice folks who cared about me. Thanks!

Two.

People whose names I didn't know were reading my blog.  (Ha Take that WB who said I wasn't a writer. That's exactly what writers do. Write things interesting enough for complete strangers to read.)

Three.

I needed to put a disclaimer on the blog to let folks know that the blog is about creating characters. Believable characters. If I do my job correctly the reader will think it is real but know it's not. 

While it is true that I was disinherited?
It is true that I own a boat? 
While the part about my dad being sick was true as was the tornadoes?
This blog isn't my personal diary. It's my writer's journal.  There is a big difference.

I'm not an Internet jerk trying to get views by writing things that aren't true.

I am not trying to get sympathy from people by trying to deceive them. 

There are people on the Internet who'll do that but I'm not. 

I'm a  writer. 
I may make things up but I don't do it to deceive.

Not a jerk.

If you want to know what's true, because there is true in this blog, (My dad was very sick.),  you can always ask me in comments.

But seriously? This blog is about writing.

I'm learning how to hear the world and then translate it into a good story.
I'm trying to find my writer's voice on the Internet.
I'm trying to write and edit.
I'm writing in public to see if the story I'm writing makes sense to the complete strangers who are reading it.

LOL I'm trying to learn to spell and stop using "alot" in a sentence.

I'm learning to write.

For real.

Gentle Readers,

You're going to have to either guess the parts that are true and those that aren't.

OR even better? You're welcome to say hello and ask what's real and what isn't. I'd be delighted to hear from you.

But be very very careful what you read here as true or not. You must NOT ASSume. You really must ask.

Got to be real.

Hugs,

Author Ann

PS True story.

Two true stories.

One. I wrote a story on my old blog about a fella who goes to Cuba. Someone who I'd chatted with was reading it. Got a comment that they liked it and then got a comment that made me smile. I was trying not to write as a man or woman. Even used a nick that was gender neutral. Apparently the person who'd been reading this had decided from my stories what my gender was before he'd read the story about Cuba. In that story, the main character didn't identify themselves as anything other than the child of the narrator. That is they didn't say gender until the very end when the narrator used the feminine pronoun and the word "...daughter..."  At that point I got a comment from the fella reading who was asking me if I were male or female. Apparently they'd assumed one and because of the story they were surprised and wondering if it was the other.

Don't ASSume. Ask.

Two

(and the reason for the disclaimer)

LOL I love stories about people and I love writing fiction. To practice I would try to write dialog and fictional stories that were believable as people. My goal is to write stories that you suspend disbelief and are so into the story that you forget that it's not real. We'll I was doing such a good job that I got a comment from someone saying that they thought I had multiple personalities. They were kidding but I got to thinking, "This is the Internet and folks lie in order to take advantage."

So after that comment just about every other post had the disclaimer, "This is 12..." I'm alot

Anyway. The way I'd look at this blog is that it's not the journal of someones life. It's the journal of writing. Like a photo album of fiction

.

Although I must say that the Give Your Stress A Rest idea is a good one real or not.

Happy holiday.

NB

Read the next post too. It has the doorway to where I'm writing on this blog.

It's an active blog.

I'm just writing in the comments.

For the summer.


Kind of like a summer break. LOL Alot.


.

.

.

.




Good night irony.
It's time for you to go.
You've made us cynical.
Old before our time.
What havock you are wrecking
On the gentle art if "kindness"
Turning reality into farce,
Now that's not kind.
You've had your fun.
But now it's time you're leaving.
There's no place in the future that you've made.
Now it's time,
Past time that you were leaving.
Time for Hope

And time for change.






c anne ford
5-25-11


What havock the "ironic" lifestyle is wreckimg on the gentle kindness of "hope". It makes a mockery of the word "real". I'm thinking that, while irony is always welcome and a great way to puncture the balloons of hot air that fly through life, in the age of the great storms I'd rather have hope and heart.



Yeah, I know. MORE irony.

LOL



.



.

,

On a personal note? Some folks can be self absorbed --








Let's just say that I dodged a bullet from a self centered jerk


And I lived to tell the tale.


"... Are you calling me darllin?..."


I hope not.



,
A little poetry for the road...



The Ballad of the Last Dodo version 4.5

(a redo, again)


Happy
Sunshine
Like a child
Flying through the atmosphere
I look back
To see the the sea
And the ocean of the sky


Riding through the atmosphere.
She asks me,
"Is it time to fly?"
"And leave behind this gravity?"
"That's kept me grounded my whole life?"


Ah no.

I don't think so.

You
Won't keep me down.

Take off.

c anne ford
5-24-11

all rights reserved by the author.

.

You're here!!!



Here's a challenge.

Starting today,  turn off the Twitter, email, and the cell phone for one hour.

Find a place outside or inside and just sit.  Tell yourself that for 5,  10, 15, or if you can spare it an hour, that you aren't going to do anything but sit and be quiet.   Find a spot outside.  Find a park.  Sit there and just enjoy the joy of sitting still and being alive.  Or sit inside. Visit a friend and ask them to sit with you.

Heck, climb a cliff, look over your shoulder, and enjoy the view. :)

Just give your stress a rest. Enjoy.

Yesterday I had only one thing to do on my "to do" list.  When I'd done it, I came home and went outside to sit under the shade.  Such a relief to sit in that chair and listen to the sound of out of doors. I hadn't realized how much I'd worried. That's when I  thought, "We need to do this alot." So today, back outside under the trees we went to sit and visit.

That's my challenge to you this week, Gentle Reader.  

Find someplace to sit and think (or not think) each day. Relax.

Hugs,

Hope it's a great week.

Author Ann

.

.

I seriously hope that the folks reading my blog speak  English or better yet Southern.

Otherwise? They might not understand a word of this blog.

.

.

.



" Dunno. The moment you "find" your self, I'm thinking you crystalize. Set in stone like a statue. Engraved on the pedestal the words, "Here stands the quintessential (insert name here)". It's not for me. Not easy but I'd rather be evolving. I don't want to be "quintessential". It means you've stopped. Stopped creating. Stopped living. I intend to keep on living until the day I die and even that would be an evolution.

Then again that might be alot of work.

I do write The Slacker Chronicals. I'm from the country. Life can get gnarly. Might want to think on this alittle more."



c anne ford 5-19-11





And from Merriam Webster online

http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/quintessential

The definition of "quintessence"

The fifth and highest element in ancient and medieval philosophy that permeates all nature and is the substance composing the celestial bodies
.

work in progress (WIP) as different from RIP which is an entirely different thing....

.

again c anne ford 5-19-11

LOL Sounds like I'm a fanatic for c anne ford.

Ironic but not intended to be Narcissitic.


BBL

WIP

GOTWBIGH (Going outside to work before it gets hot).

CYA

.



.

.

"...

"...It comes from the center of the (Celtic) heart. The place of self determination, preservation. The primal scream. The cry of life that tells us all I am here. When someone shakes us from the pre histortic sleep of the womb.

"I am alive."

It is the place where the body takes hold of it's soul.

Once upon a time, I dated a musician. He showed me how two guitars, both in tune, could communicate.  "If both are in tune," he said, "when I pluck this string -" and he did so that I could hear the sound, "The same string on the guitar you're holding should vibrate.

And it did.

..."

"...

That's how I've discribed the mate of the soul.  That  first cry, the new soul vibrates to the world, "I'm here."   and begins. It's our long search for home.  It's our search to find that other turned to us and we to them.  People who meditate will talk about connecting with life by meditation and uttering the universal "om".   We're told that the world of that sylable can only be known by the "enlightened".  I'm not sure.  I think that we know it without being told because of it's link to that primal cry that's uttered when we leave the water and draw that first breath of life.

..."

c anne ford

5-19-11

"You'll have to excuse the "Jack Handy" moment. LOL. The music metaphors are rampant.  But for some reason, I've kept that "om" within the music metaphors.  Don't get me wrong. There were plenty of "Fate" driven opportunities to encase it with in the matrix of other beliefs but for me it's more universal.

A scientists watches the world. Unfolds the "blanket" of cultural references that the mind and language have wrapped it in and then looks for the universal truth of it.

Ultimate Truth vs Percieved Truth vs Cultural Truth vs LOL "You can't handle the truth" Truth.

It's these "gears" of the world's cultures that have turned  the notions that civilize the human race.  It's brought us out of the mire. Designed to keep us from killing each other, I wonder if it hasn't just smoothed the shards of glass only a bit."

c anne ford

5-19-11

.



.


"Today? 
A woman spoke to me in "tongues."

Today?

A man kept his word.

A bird flew.

Someone who says "I'll stay." Lost his temper.

And someone who'd lost his temper and cast me aside? Came home.

The planets spin.

The Sun rises and sets.

Prophets scream the end and the winds turn and churn and uproot the notions of home.

I walk on the waves of time.

Past and present try to dance with me.

I hear their voice sing,

"Walk past the wall.
  Through the malestrom dance.
  Part curtains  of time and space.
  Do not look up, nor down, nor fear.
  Nor keep another's pace.
 
  The world I see is in the mind.
  The voice I hear my own.
  The light I see in front of me.
  The light of hearth and home.


And so she walked through fields of gold.
And on to till daylight breaks.
To a place where clocks ..."


LOl I'm sorry. But that's where I'll stop for the moment.

Work in progress.

c anne ford

5-18-11

all rights reserved by the author


"Oh, and for what it's worth?" she said, "A woman did speak to me in "tongues". If you don't know what that is, it's okay. I've lived in the South for my whole life. Been in churches large and small and I know that people are different in their way. The good news was that this world has all kinds. A good man gave me a place to be. I know I'm not alone." He looked and her and - demanded- yes demanded, to know if she'd felt intimidated by the woman. "No," she said, " I've seen alot of things in my life.  So, no."  She thought abit more and then told him what the old woman had said whe she asked her what her favorite Bible verse was.  There'd been a pause and then the woman began to recite, " For God so loved the world... The entire Bible is within that one verse."

Later she'd think about her. The woman who spoke in tongues. She'd found her. Saw her. A supernatural being if there ever was one. Not a halucination unless they were all having one. The other lady had seen her too. Talked to her before she had. So she hadn't made it up. It was happening alot lately. "Walk through the malestrom..." and what was the other?

"If you can keep your head, " she didn't know the rest but she did know the author, " - Kipling. It was Kipling. "





c anne ford
5-18-11


all rights reserved by the author


If by R Kipling


"If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!"

.tbc

Sorry ya'll but life calls.

.

.

Tripping through Youtube.




























"Walkin in Memphis I was walking with my feet ten feet off of Beale..."






The Ballad of the Last Dodo...

Happy
Sunshine
Like a child
Flying through the atmosphere
I look back
To see the the sea and an ocean of sky
wondering where the line of light and dark will be.
Riding through the sky
She asked, "Are you ready to fly?
Leave behind gravity?
Finally?"
I've been running my whole life.
A skip and a jump but still the memories like gravity kept me bound.




c anne ford
5-18-11


"I'm going to Graceland.

I may be abliged to defend every love."

For Wednesday, 11th of May. Happy Birthday.

.





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.



.

5-10-11
C Anne Ford

all rights reserved by the author








.
.

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.

 

 

.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



.

"...

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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"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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