.

2 30 am

If only
If only I had
If only I had someone

I would
I would curl up in their lap
And beg them not to sleep till I woke up

Please
Please don't go
Hold my heart in your lap and keep it safe until tomorrow.

I need that place to sleep
I need your heart to beat in time to mine
So that I can get some sleep
My heart, it will be save inside your mind

So
So don't go
Please stay
Don't fly away

Good night.


2 27am
3-9-11
by C Anne Ford

all rights reserved by the author

I've got to get some sleep.



.

" I had a sculpture teacher tell me that if you were working on something that it might be good to work on it as a series of evolutions of the same theme or image. She didn't say it exactly like that but it was pretty close.  I'm thinking that's good advice for what I'm writing now. Maybe I should copy them each with the changes that the previous written one had inspired. Then print them. Hang them on the wall like rays of the Sun coming from that very first poem. Would be interesting to see how it evolves.

Or stays the same."

me @ 2am, 3-9-11

I'm having trouble sleeping. Part of it's the weather. It's starting to get "blowwy" outside. The wind is really picking up. Rick told me tonight that it was supposed to be bad weather again. Later today maybe there'll be tornados to watch for. Then there's the dreams. I haven't talked to mom and dad since last Thursday evening. I left them there in a kind of strange place. I don't know - I dread - the possibilities of later today. I've been sleeping trying to rest incase the news isn't good. Incase there's a part of something sad coming. But when I try to sleep, I dream. They're telling dreams. Telling me this or telling me that. I don't rest in those dreams and when I surface from them I'm exhausted. It's as if I've not slept at all.

So this morning I'm just fighting sleep and writing. 

I so wish that Writing Buddy was here in someway. Writing Buddy used to tell me that they read my blog to be calm.  I made them a Zen Garden. A place to be and to write in peace. Funny but I'm thinking that I could use a Zen Garden of their making. I miss the hellos and that feeling that there was someone in the world who was true to their word.

I need that right now.

I need someone to talk or not talk to about what's going on in my life.

Someone to hold my hand or be there in someway so that I wasn't alone.

Someone to care and notice if I was gone.

.

.

Writing a bit

.


I don't know if I like the last three lines.  Apart of me wants to take out the  word/line "Itch". I want the words to be spare. I want them and the sentiment to be plain. Like a shaker chair. Their beauty would come from the simple nature.  Nothing coy.

I'm just worried that if I'm not careful the words will become so simple as to lose their worth.

.
Will let this one sit a while then come back and see if it's better.

"Would you miss me if I died?
   If I cessed to be?
   If like some antique clock,
   My ticking stopped.
   Would your ears prick up?
   Would say to yourself.
 "That's odd."
   And then go back to the business at hand.
   It would be arrogant,
   I know,
  To imagine that my every breath would make you smile
  And my going might make you twitch
  Or itch.
  But I just wondered?
  If my breathing stopped?
  Would it take a breath from you?"


  Title of this poem

  If...

  from

  Stopped Clocks, Watched Pots, and Other Annoyances

  by C Anne Ford
  3-8-11

  all rights reserved by the author.


.
Something else

" I was watching you.
   There in bed
   For a minute
   Just for a minute
   You were young.
   A young James Dean
   Lost in your own thoughts
   (Or maybe just asleep)
   Something in the way your head was turned
  And your eyes
  The look so faraway
   I was in love with that face
  Along time ago
  I'd forgotten.
  Then this morning I looked at your face..."


Title  4am Sunday Morning

written by C Anne Ford, 3-8-11

all rights reserved by the author


.

.



Dear Gentle Reader,

You cannot imagine what changes have happened in my life over the last couple of years. Some of it I could see in the distance and some of it was over a horizon that I couldn't yet imagine. Not sure why you are here reading along with my life.


You know who I am.

Who are you?

Hello?

Comments on.


AuthorAnn

.

.


OMG.OMG..OMG ahahahahaha (and ouch)The Volvo Race.





Meanwhile back on the mainland a certain exScot makes fun of beavers...


.

.

"Come on Scotland. Show us your beavers."

.

.

Oh and did I tell you that it's the 100 th anniversary of the International Women's Day?

Well - it is.

.

Last post for today

,

It's the day before MardiGras people and here I am sitting in my bathrobe and fuzzy slippers in a funk.

Fruit cakes and fruit bats people, that aint good.

You know something. This morning someone had the nerve to insinuate that my sailboat was a money pit.

The nerve. '

So I thought about it. Then I wrote stuff and I surfed the web and read emails surfed the web somemore and read the Nerdist (see next post) and I laughed and then I wrote some more stuff and then I got to thinking,

"Hey, I own a sailboat. What's more? I can live on that boat for cheaper than rent. Hmm. And? It's cool to live on a sailboat. Heck Technically according to the boat rules the thing's a yacht. Now that is even more cool. And I'm not just money challenged. Oh no. I'm a disinherited writer. I write stuff, send it to publishers to be published, hopefully get paid, AND I get to whine about the being disinherited thing. It's kind of like having a tattoo. sure it's painful at first but after that it's all about the , "Hey are you looking at my cool tattoo?" Even if I don't leave the dock? People will say, "Hey. There goes that cool writer person who lives on their yacht."

And you know, my dad did say to stick with the boat thing. (the fine print)



And very most important?

They have cable at the marina.. They have the sports stations. I can sit out at the lake and watch baseball and tell folks that I'm doing research for a friggin book. Call it a tax dedution cause it's a work expense.  I can't do that here because here ? Here I don't have cable. Not out here in the middle of the woods known as Nowhere.



Why am I still here in the land of dark getting yelled at by people who frankly don't give a spit.

Feck all the grippy people who want me to be unhappy.
It's spring and I've got a boat.
It's time to sail the boat and have fun. These people want to take away my fun and replace it with a frigging answering machine. I got rid of the answering machine and got a junk email addy to get away from these people. Ah no No more unhappy people..
Let's dance.





This time it's really good to go to the light.

I heart The Nerdist.

Love,

Sailor and  AuthorAnn

Yee haw.  :D

.

Dear Nerdist, About that super hero liar...

.

People, I <3 The Nerdist. I really do. When my day turns crappy? I know that somewhere there's a land of whimsy, light hearted fun, and sanity.

http://www.nerdist.com/2011/03/make-cool-stuff-concealing-your-secret-lair/comment-page-1/#comment-29826

AuthorAnn

.
hmmm i dont knooowwwww
what with the new super hero zoning ordinances and the crappy housing market

what do you have for apartment dwellers or folks living in their folks garage or their cars
im keeping my super hero lair on line until i get better data
its easier that way

yours in superhero nerdist spendor
author (i cant live by your stupid grammer rules) ann

,

Well what I actually wrote was


hmmm i dont knooowwwww
sure these are coool
but
what with the new super hero zoning ordinances and the crappy housing market what do you have for apartment dwellers or folks living in their folks garage or their cars
im keeping my super hero lair on line until i get better data
its easier that way
yours in superhero nerdist spendor
author (i cant live by your stupid grammer rules) ann.


.

...

12dots and a blot

We are

#200WattsOfSunny over on the Twitter.

love ya.

@GoatHerderBoy

,

.

Happy (insert March holiday here)

.

Hey ya and happy whatever holiday is in March this year.

Happy Mardi Gras, Happy St.Pat's day (kiss me I want to be Irish), happy whatever.



Now that's the perfect March video.

Guys in green costumes shakin' their tail feather. Somethings just never get old.

Let's dance and while you're at it? Throw me some money, Mister.

Hey ya.


,

Guess it's time...

.

...for the ever necessary 12dots disclaimer.





Okay, Gentle Readers here goes-

This is 12 dots and a blot.

A writer's journal.

Fact and fiction co exist here.

If you don't know which is which?

Means I'm writing believable fiction which for a fiction writer is a good thing.

However...

I'm a writer not a jerk.

So if what you read worries you? You're welcome to comment.

As I said on my old blog?

Don't assume.

Ask.

If I can I'll explain.

Thanks.

AuthorAnn,

writer of 12dotsandablot.

.

The FU moment,,,

.



God bless Aretha Franklin.


There are moments in life that I like to call FU moments. These are the times in life when someone suggests something so outlandish and not in your best interest that you just have to tell that person, "FU."

You just have to. There's no other choice.

This morning I had a "FU" moment. It was about the sailboat. I'm not going to say exactly what happened but I will tell you that the only answer is, "FU" with a possible "Heck no" added for clarification. Just in case the receipient is unclear of what you mean.

Since my dad's been sick there have been some really breathtaking "FU" moments. Two of them came from my brother and my mom. But this one this morning was in a class of it's own. It would have made anyone mad.

For many, many years I lived a very "frugal" existence. I remember those years. Those where the years where everybody else had more important things to do. It was my job to help them because their life was more important. I still have the shoes and the clothes that I bought at KMart when it became clear I not only didn't have space in the closet, I didn't have clothes to wear. I'm not talking about "Oh deah, I've a closet full of clothes and nothing to wear." I'm talking, I had to go buy a shirt at the Kmart inorder to have something to wear to the lawyers office. I finally said, "I've got to have something to wear please." I was so happy to have those pants and sweaters. The thing is that it gets easy to build a world around that type of idea. Slowly the people who you tell, "Don't worry about me. You're stuff is what's important." begin to believe that you aren't important at all. You become invisible. Or, as I heard Geoff Peterson say, "I'm you emotional dumpster." All those years that I listened to folks? I wasn't their friend. I was their emotional dumpster.

Not anymore.

There are just some ASSumptions that only deserve one response.

"FU"

Thanks and have a great day!


AuthorAnn


.

For my dad...

.





.

.





It's okay. My dad? He's still okay.

,

,

I'm a writer.

I write poetry and shortstory fiction. Somehow I learned to use my stories to open the window to other folks heartaches. This next post is unfortunately true. I can tell myself now that emotional distance was what taught me how important a hug can be to us all.

I guess the next post should have started with a song...



The next post is a story about my father and a hug. He never had to write a Bucket List. He has and is spending his life doing what he wanted. He failed and succeeded at business, he flew airplanes, he made and sailed his boat, he can catch a hawk and catch the imagination of a kid. When I asked him what he wanted to do next?

He wanted to hear the Universe.



I'm hearing that the weather tonight and tomorrow might be a bit fussy. Will see you on the flip side.


If we're lucky? It's always sunny the day after the storm.



.
.

Hope

.

My whole life I've waited for my father to give me a hug.

I'm over 50. And for 50 years my dad has been an enigma wrapped in a puzzle. I think that I new that he loved me. I know that if I was in trouble that he would come to help me in his way. The thing is that the simple everyday affection eluded him. My mother would say, "Well your father's not had an easy time of it. You just have to trust me when I tell you that he love love you. He just doesn't know how to say it."

So I lived each day on the hope that what she said was true.

As time passed, the fact that he never really hugged my neck made me keenly aware of how important that gesture is. I taught my son to hug. I hugged the homeless lady who was hot and tired and just needed to know that someone cared that she was alive. I hugged the complete stranger in the elevator who looked at me and said out of the blue, "My day's not been so good. My son just died." Each time I hugged a stranger or hugged my son I was trying to hug my dad too. Trying in some cosmic way to give him that affection that, even though he had money and things, just never seemed to come.

Then one day two weeks ago I got a call. My dad was in Intensive Care. They were pretty sure he was going to die. The days after were a blur. The first time I went to see him in Intensive Care I wasn't even allowed to touch him. He was unconscious. All I could do was talk and hope that he heard me. When he finally opened his eyes, it was a miracle. You see there was still hope that I could get a hug from my dad.

I'm proud to say that after over 50 years of hope?

I got my hug and he meant it.

I'm wondering now if there was a reason it took so long to get that hug. If I'd gotten it sooner? I'm not sure I'd known how important it was to hug that homeless lady or the lady in the elevator. I thing I might have taken that simple act of kindness for granted.


True story.

Love,

AuthorAnn

.

.

The winds been kicking up all day. Forecast? Tomorrow rain and thunderstorms. Was listening to a song called Neptune City and remembering my Great Aunt. Pup took a shower and then decided to take a nap. A good idea.

It's that kind of day.
Not depressing, just tired or watchful.

Billy used to say there were days where your body needed a nap to heal from the outside world. This week and the weeks before it have been stressful.  Maybe we all need a bit of time to rest and catch our breath.

LOL I used to be such a night owl. Right now, I'm thinking that I like to go to sleep early and wake up early. I like to go to sleep after a hot bath and reading a good book. I get a hug. There's this lovely feeling of relief. Drifting to sleep and then waking up with the energy to be alive is a gift that I've never really appreciated. 

There's the hug from WB and from Pup. It's very real. I need that. As much as I love the world of the imagination, that reality is a tether to whats important. Real life. WB meets me at the door when I come back from seeing dad. He hugs my neck. He tells me it's going to be okay. Pup will say out of the blue, "Mom you need a hug." and then gives me a bear hug. I always smile because I know that he learned that from me. He'll be okay.

I've many times told the story of why I watched Craig Ferguson. The years after my son died weren't always easy. I had a life but that joy of laughter? It was elusive. For some reason the early Craig Ferguson got me to laugh. It was the spontaneous laughter not the polite kind. I love to think that he was someone who'd been through hell and back and survived. Someone who could still laugh. For  alittle bit each day, that humor was a tonic. It reminded me to breathe. Now it's WB and Pup who are giving me that place to be.

I'm grateful for those shows.  They awakened the sense of humor that I needed to live life.

Now? I need the sleep.

I'm going to miss waiting up to watch this show. Like a cup of tea, the show in the middle of the night was comforting. I'm going to watch when I can but I need the sleep. Just like I needed that laugh now I need that calm.



I miss my Great Aunt. I miss my PawPaw and MawMaw. I'm not sure I realized how lucky I was to have them in my life. I took foregranted that they'd always be with me. I could pick up a phone or go see them and there was never a time that I wasn't welcome to their homes. Being able to  be around my Dad now is a gift. One of the best gifts I've ever been given because I know how lucky I am to have this time. I'm welcome to be with him too. My dad is still here. Everyone around him says optimistic things about how far he's come. He's awake and can talk to me. I get a hug and a second chance to be around him. When others try to rush me off? He tells them I'm to stay. My stories get him to smile. "I'll bet there's a story..." he says. Then he waits to hear it. He never did that before. What a relief. 





My MawMaw used to tell us that there's food in the fridge and a nice warm bed. She'd leave the porch light on for us. Her home was always a port in the storms of life. I'm hoping to do the same for my son and for those friends, both real and virtual, who'll need a place to sit a bit. Maybe I'll even get them to laugh at their troubles just like tv's Craig Ferguson did for me a long time ago.


Hugs to all.

AuthorAnn

.

.


.

.

Hey now
!

(Just to let you know. Mardi Gras day is in 6 days. I am SOOO happy.)

:D

.

.

.

Hey hey and helllllloooo....

.

LOL I'm in a good mood today. The Sun is shining. The sky is blue. It's March 1st and I'm still alive. My dad will see his 81st birthday on his feet and not in some nursing home somewhere. WB and I see eye to eye these days. Pups good as gold. The storms and bad weather didn't hurt us a bit. Matter of fact? We were glad to have the rain.

And I'm alive. It's good. (Thanks God.Seriously.)

But

I'm not writing any love songs for anyone except WB, Pup, and myself lol and the boat. They've been with me through thick and through thin. They love me.

Everyone else is on "probation". LOL


Happy March 1st, from 2011.


Randomly place punctuation where it counts. LOL


Ann

.

Dear month of February,

.
Click me.





Now read me.

Dear month of February,

Well I was going to write you a letter about how crappy a month you are. Every year you bring a new VD for me to hide from. You're sweeps month which means that the telly is full of crazy. You're usually filled with cold weather.  Football is over and baseballs not here yet.

This year you started out in a particularly crappy February fashion.  My father was critically ill and in the Intensive Care. My mother was constantly angry with me. My brother was angry. The rest of the world was in some crisis or the other. All seemed dark at the beginning of this month. My life was beginning to look like a soap opera.

But then?

Things changed. My father's health improved .  I'm able to see him now and I'm gracefully ignoring my Mom. The Sun is shining. I've met some really nice people. Kind people. And this is Black History month which means reading about  the accomplishments of so many talented people.

I'm not broke.
I'm able to fix my boat.
WB and Pup are still here.
The sun is shining.
Tomorow will be March first and you dear February will be over. :D

Despite still hiding from VD (Valentine's Day), this is certainly better February than in the past.

Maybe there's hope for next year.


Regards,

AuthorAnn

Who doesn't do drahhhhmas or soap operas. I like a happy go lucky, happy ending story.

.

.





Let's dance.




.

.





.

You find out who you are.


.

Waiting.

In the meantime, my favorite of  The Planets





.

.

List of today's important events.


My dad is so much better.

The sun is shining.
It's not too hot.
It's not too cold.
I'm not menopausal.
My dad is much, much, much, much, much  better.
I have race duty. (But only the happy anticipation is for today.)
Am I in some sort of weird yet highly enjoyable Heaven?






Must I know all the words to hear my heart beat?


(Oh and I noticed that the Oscars are on to night. LOL)



LOL That's the entirety of my Oscar's post until probably tomorrow night.

Yes, I love the movies.

And Inception should win something.



Go do magic for someone.

Whoop.

,

Relentlessly happy and optimistic...and grateful of all the joy depite the pain

.








.

PS (there's always a PS)

.






Yesterday?

I saw dad and got hug. I've been around him for alot of things. It's good to get a hug.


Today?

Well today I saw my son. He and WB have been holding down the fort while I've been seeing about dad. Most of our interactions have been a hug or a quick hello while I was either going to or coming from seeing dad in the hospital or now in rehab. I told dad about Pup. Told him how lucky I've been to have a great son. This morning I realized yet again how lucky I am. We are definately from my Dad's side of the family.

Today while we were talking the subject of his future came up - wait before I write one more word, I should write this. One of the reasons why I love my son is very simple. He has a good heart and he has a wonderful sense of humour. He can make folks laugh and get his point across. In an off hand comment while we were having the serious discussion of what he'd like to do in his life, the subject of Steven Wright and his humor came up. Then my son said something that somehow expressed why I love him so and made me laugh.

"Mom, I want to become a geneticist so I can change hearts and minds."

While I'm sure that he doesn't have an interest in genetics? It was the best wordplay I'd heard all morning.

He's interested in science and history. I get that but it's the word play and today's conversation about law and current events that keeps hope alive in my heart that somehow he'll end up becoming a lawyer and then end up on the US Supreme Court. His briefs would be full of funny and inciteful writing. He's able to not only see the road behind him but is able to see the road ahead.

And most important to me he has love of his fellow man because when he laughs and speaks it comes from not from some cold political calculation. It doesn't come from some shallow reaction to the world. It doesn't come from want to be the center of attention. It comes from his good heart.

It comes from his love of his fellow men and women.

I'm a lucky, lucky person.


There's wild angels in this world. People who regardless of where they come from are in their hearts good. They've looked after my father when he was a kid. They saw his good heart. Those same angels have looked after me and they look out after my son too. I think they lookout for all of us Even when all looks lost and there's no hope we are never alone. Still your mind. Listen to your heart. There's where you will hear the voice of the Heavens.




Hugs to you all.


Wild Angels

.




.

Maybe life is gooder than you think

After today?  After reading my horoscope?  I honestly think that I was adopted. Yep, I was adopted and they didn't record my real birthday. Nothing about my horoscope or my life screams, "You are loved and your horoscope will happen." Not that I believe in horoscopes but still, nothing.

I'm thinking that it's finally time to come out of my closet.

Yes, folks. I am a well adjusted grown up.  An adult who is frankly sick to death of all my family's draaaahhhhmmaaa.  Today my mom anounced that she's the responsible mom. "Good for you." I say.  My brother anounces that he's the responsible person and care giver. "Good for you. " I say. I'm not sure what my sister-in-law is going to say. See my mom maybe the mom and my brother may feel like the responsible care giver but the reality of all this is that it's my sister in law who'll actually have to chauffer my mom and dad about to doctors etc while my brother is at work.  Please don't yell at me. I offered. Honest to God I did. I've been at the hospital. Called for information. Was up at 4 on the road by 5. Drove 3 hours one way to hospital and back. When no one called to let me know that they moved my father. I said, "Okay." I slept in the waiting areas or didn't sleep. Foraged for food in the vending machine. All the while I waited for word of how my dad was or tracked him down because the rest of the world expected my family to let me know when he moved from one part of the hospital to the other but they didn't I was a good daughter even when the rest of my family wasn't very nice. I'd take the high road while I heard about how great my brother is even when he didn't call and tell me that my dad was not only in the hospital but unconscious for three days and had been put in ICU. Then I was told he might die. The reason for not telling me? They didn't want me to worry and hey he may have been unconscious for three days but he was okay.

I did this because I love my dad AND?

Because I am a responsible adult.

I'm going to believe them when they say they've got it covered. I'm going to say to myself, "Hey. Don't sweat it. If they don't want help. Well okay. Instead of the responsible adult? I'm going to be the adult responsible for fun."   So that's what I'm going to do. I like the city that he's in.  I can go see him anytime I want. I'm taking him treats. I can sleep in my own bed and I don't have to wake up at 4 in the morning and drive like crazy in morning traffic. I can sleep in. Unlike in the ICU, he can have flowers in his room. He can have cards and photos. Instead of the worry of watching him in therapy? I get the fun of dad outside of therapy which is pretty good because that means I get the fun dad. I get to spoil him rotten.

My dad's alive and he's getting his therapy. Everyone is working very hard and I get to see him everyday AND I get to visit my favorite city. ;D

I offered to help and they said no so what's a responsible adult supposed to do?

Have fun and spoil my dad.

Sounds good to me.

Hugs.

AuthorAnn

The Adult Responsible For Fun.

Yay.

.

We all bleed red...

.





Dear Dad,

I have something to tell you. There you are sitting not 10 feet from me and I can't say this because? I don't know. Mom is flitting around you like a hummingbird. I have been trying to put myself in her place. You almost died. Just that fact is overwhelming. She's trying her best to mother you. To make sure you are okay. Problem is- well that's not a problem is it. Having someone to care if you live or die. We should all be so lucky. You and I have both known times when we didn't think that anyone gave a dam. Having someone who loves you and worries over you is pretty good.

The thing I had to tell you?

I love you. Hang in there. It will be okay. I promise you it will be okay.

Love,

Your daughter.

PS No matter where we are in this world, I am so grateful for you. I wouldn't be on this Earth without you. I wouldn't know how to be stronger than the things life gives you. Thanks to you I have good sense. The faith that I can go out on that great big water in that tiny little boat.

.

"...Take the organ out of the box and put it in your mouth..."


 @Craigyferg to Sarah Chalke on last night's Late Late Show.

,

(Note "mouth organ" is another name for harmonica. I've posted this quote because while it might sound oh so wrong out of context. It's perfectly okay in context. Something to remember in writing.).

.

.









Not that I want to die young ---


I used to think that the most vulnerable population of our society was the very young. Now? I'm not so sure. The young don't really know all of the pitfalls of a misstep. They know if they're tired and they know if they're hungry or feel uncomfortable but their awareness of trouble is pretty much in the moment. Once the wet diaper or the empty stomach is tended? They've no worries. But the old? Unless there is serious mental impairment, they know from long experience that there maybe trouble ahead of them. Or they may struggle with a diminished independence after years of taking care of themselves and others.

I'm watching as my parents navigate these waters and it's got me wondering about the future and praying for theirs.

Serious stuff.

I wonder. Do we want to continue hunting rabbits with the pack OR do we, like an old dawg, want to sit in the sun and chase them in our dreams?

Dunno.








.

A very important lesson that I've recently learned...



"Sometimes? It's better to ask for forgiveness than to ask for permission."


Not that I recommend that for all life situations.

It does need to be legal and moral.

But if it is?

This is a very good thing to know.

Therefore, I'm going to sit here quietly and act like it's okay to sleep here. I must say that this is a learning experience.  I'm greatful for the roof over my head and the kindness of strangers. It would be terrible to be homeless and it can be frightening to be sick. It is also a miracle to have good healthcare.



Now if I can just convince my Mom that my being here is a good thing. Life will be good.


Ann



PS Looks like the count down to the royal wedding photo has changed. Going to see what new thing there is to read.

.

.

Have determined that I'm not suffering from boredom.

Instead?

It's worry.

So have gone to the source of worry to listen to CF You tubes, answer emails, spend maybe 3 hours with folks, and write in peace. Who knew that I'd find a quiet place to write. This is not the way I wanted to find a quiet place to write but well as I'm here.



Ann

PS Dad is better and better.  Just trying to be vweey, vweey, quiet so that no one will run me off to the lobby waiting. sshhhh...


.

.



I'm  bored.
That terrible bored that has me hanging upside down from the rafters in the attic.
Nothings helping.
I've tried eatting,
sleeping,
running,
pooping,
singing,
standing,
sitting,
hopping on one foot,

and

(deep breath)

playing with the dogs.

My eyes are glazed over and nothing is helping.
I need -
Something.
A kiss or a hug might help.
Or sex.
Sex would be good.

Only that's not an option.

So I'm sitting here.
Smile plastered on my face and party manners in gear. Asking anyone within earshot,


."Hello. Want a tasty donut?"







I am so bored..

c anne ford

.

3 ?



(Source: onionpickler, via customxmade)





http://splendeur-.tumblr.com/post/3335558691/i-wonder-how-many-of-my-followers-actually-know-my


It's like visual Hiaku.


.

..

http://soundcloud.com/haveyouheard/sets/ep-streaming

Planet Eclectic and the Gazelles...

.




.

"There's  always been designers who aren't the norm. No one would have accused Coco Channel or Betsy Johnson's bodies of being worthy of the SI swimsuit edition. That's why I'm always surprised that the women who walk the runways always look as if they come from another race on some distant planet. On their world all the women are tall, thin, with perfect teeth.

Twice a year they're beamed down from that world to the land of the Imperfect Eclectic People for Fashion Week."

c anne ford

2-16-11

.

Update...

Dad to rehab as soon as there's a bed available. WB gave me something to read about the aftermath of ICU stays. Mom is with him 25 out of 24 hours. She's like a little humming bird. She flits around dad doing things that the nurses and the doctors tell her to do.  I can still see her face when dad was first coming allert. Her face right next to his asking him, "Do you know me?"  She looks at him and then points to me, "Do you know who that is?" Everyone is monitoring for focus and lucidity. Watching each breath and then for the next. Preachers come and go and pray over us and over dad. The pray outloud and I silently pray for them to ,"Go away." We all have our "game faces" on.  We're determined to think good thoughts. We pray. We make foolish promises to God if he'll just let dad live. I let my optimistic side believe that he's just playing possum. He's mad at me for going my own way.

Any minute he's going to sit up and yell, "Fooled you."

I'm exhausted. My mom is exhausted. My brother yells at me later  about my not being around.  Outside of the ICU the game face melts and old horrors surface.

Each of us sure that the other is either an idiot or a selfish prick.

from

Live From the ICU

c anne ford, 2-16-11

all rights reserved by the author.

.

Dad not only better? He's moving. Yay! Yay! Yay!

Well lah de dah to me. WB and I went out to eat last night. The food was amazing. Then? We went to the local park.

I'm so tired of all the draaahhhma in my family.

Nice to be out in the world for a bit.

More later.

.

.

And now the winner of the WHHY102 divorce contest...

.

While we wait, something seasonal from Conan.

Happy VD!\

.

Dear World,

Along time ago we san this song in chorus. At the time I had no idea that I'd be "singing" it in reference to a family member.

Dad, this song is for you.

No late night tv for me kiddies. It's "early to bed and early to rise".


Hugs and kisses,

Anne (not the Madwoman of Chaillot)


.

PSsst.  If you'll look to your left there's a widget for the ultimate reality tv show,  William and Kate Tie the Knot.  I'm old enough to remember the last show, The Charles and Dianna Fairy Spectacular.  I wonder if they'll have Martha Stewart do color comentary for the colonialists?

Stay tuned.

.

.

.

"It's not love that sucks.

It's VD that sucks."

@GoatHerderBoy from Twitter

happy VD

\
.

Feck VD. More Grammy.

.

Well while we were sitting here in the waiting room? The world marched on.

From last night's Grammy 2011 show....





LOL Just the proper amount of "suk"tion.



Happy VD.





.

It's not Love that sucks...

.


It's VD.

Fart.





Ah, VD.


Like a really bad kidney stone or a migraine?

This to will pass.

If not?

There's drugs.





Happy VD (Valentine's Day) from planet Hospital.


.

The further adventures of "John" and "Yoyo"...

.








I have diarhea.

My dad is still in the hospital.

My son ate the Little Debbbie donuts so I'm eating peas and milk for breakfast. (Don't ask.)

The whole world is puking red balloons and roses.

Good news my dad's not dead.

The bad news?

I honestly think my mom hates my guts.

It's 6AM and already the day sucks.

Happy Valentine's Day.



Love(blech)

Anne



,

.











1234

Here we go.


.

Why I avoid sick folks and funerals...

.


Caution: Dark Irish humor ahead. Best read by folks with a sense of humor.




.


Happy birthday Thomas Edison.





Now my father is much better. Where last Friday he was at deaths door, he's now (kinda) up and flirting with the nurses. It's been a rough week for a disinherited writer.

Need humor. Stat.


Love,

Ann

.


.

The Junk Drawer O"writing from c anne ford

You'll need to read the next post inorder to make sense of this one. Otherwise this will just look like a laundry list of random poems. So you'll know, I've written under many names. Hannah Murphy, AuthorAnn, IC, Ironchassis, WriterAnn, Auntie Slacker, Intern Jack, Intern Jane, and c anne ford.


I wrote first under the nick Ironchassis and IC. Then when I needed quotes I made up the character Hannah Murphy, as my ebay blog progressed and more folks read I created a whole cast of characters including AuntieSlacker, Intern Jack, and Intern Jane. This time was about character creation and dialog. It was fun and helped in learning to create interesting voices that were unique. It's really not as easy as it sounds.


The words in bold print are from my old ebay blog 12 dogs and a blog I'm using bold print so that I don't have to put in the quotes.

And because I'm lazy.


From my ebay blog, 12dogsandablog.

the very first blog entry



Wait a minute…that’s not right…. It’s cold…. My brain was froze…it was 2AM with BioChem and NO social life …a good idea just lousy timing…time with “the guy” and “that other guy” and then “that guy” … while having fun with COBOL and mainframes… Good grades. Good at it…but…broke up with “that guy”… sigh bad idea.. needed change…vaca in NYC meet future bff, move to big city and in with bff roommate…good idea till “that guy” returns…Good idea…then first son dies…”that guy” now “busy guy”… The dogs ate it.. no wait that was law school… I flunked out of law school…(sorry mom)….went to art school..for a while…talent as sculptor…who knew… I dropped out of that….(really sorry mom but it was great!!!)….had a good excuse thought became I became a parent..(okay for that I am not going to apologize I mean I made you a grandmother and there is all that lovely karmic parenting payback)..became an at-home slacker(yeah right)……time moves… I move several times…..I become parent of teenager… teenager learns to drive….(…sorry mom NOW I get it)….become mom of melodramatic, future slacker teenaged draaaaammmaaaaah king…(parent karma curse)…..this isn’t misery enough…. oh no…. I pick up camera and decide to become photographer….gallery owner says I’m crap….. decide writing might be good fun even with that pesky grammar/spelling problem….but something is missing.. … oh yeah the 12 dogs…and the blog….oh and I really am a writer –for real…that about gets us up to date….

welcome to

12 dogs and a blog………….




I loved writing in this blog. It was a lark at first then it became a passion and finally an unpaid job. 8000 avg views a month. Everyday I would write for Gentle Reader. Sometimes Gentle Reader was a real live person and sometimes Gentle Reader was a literary device.


(psst I even had groupies.LOL)








Entry July 8, 2008.


emails and comments

To answer

Okay folks. You know that part where I say fact and fiction meet here at `12 dogs. Well this post would be a really good example. I exist. JJB exists. I am answering posts and emails. Your job to figure out which is your answer. Yes its weird. No it's not pretentious. No it's not chitin the chit either. Really isn't. Yes I was just seeing what would I could come up with. It's supposed to be random. On purpose. Bits and pieces. Hey think of it as photos in a box. Photos in a box with clippings. Something you find in the attic. The observation that you know little and only the writer knows is on the mark.

But you have a box of photos and clippings of a poem. It's raining out. The air is a live with swirls of dust and the sound of rain pounding on a tin roof. It's cold and clammy with humidity. The attic's cooled to tolerable. The heat fending off the cold air out side.

You're up in the attic. You find this box…

A letter. A poem. A song. Photos and … what's this?

Someone's hand writing appears in purple ink.

Part of a letter:

"…Dunno' . We all assume that the phrase "…you've earned your happiness…" means a good blessing. I hope so but dunno. I meant it as good but there are others who would say that "…you've earned your happiness…" would mean that one has earned their sorrow. That the happiness earned is none at all. It make the post interesting to say that each had earned their happiness portion. Full portion or not. Makes it realitive. The double take. The second look. If I were smart I'd take the interesting interpretation. To say see what a clever writer. But the person who said this? I'd look deep into their heart and say I'm not so clever. I want us all to be happy. To have home and companionship. Something to ease the way. Especially when life throws such a curve.

I hope that happiness that you said was earned is full portion. Home, companion, and someday heaven.

Not saint but because of tender mercies.

We really do have one interesting interaction.

Best to dad and mom. "

A Post card from LeMans. A photo of a racecar on one side and the following on the other:

"Thank you. Very much. Now if you could just tell this fella over here.

Come visit anytime. I love company. "

Another post card? A photo on a postcard from the? You can't quite make it out. It's from an observatory. Some nebula on one side and the following on the other:

"…From what I've observed? The oddly phrased can some times tell the "truest" truth. It shows only the glimpse or photos of life. Just the facts. Leaves the translation to the beholder.

Oh, so. Am I male or female?

Since you asked."

In smaller print to the side of the above:

Take care. When am I going to get to come watch wrasslin and drink root beer? The LLSwTCF is in reruns. All I have here is all night infomercials and poker. All though I must say I'm learning a new appreciation of sleep.

Dogs are barking. You have company. Better go see.

Ann

Oh and don't forget love.

Today is the first day of the rest of… your life.
Sleep tight.





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.

Call.————–

Author’s note (Regret by Hannah Murphy, 15June,2008

The poem, Regret, is written to be both from the point of view of the parent and child who are estranged in the parent child relationship.




The next story is not a tribute to Kafka. It's more of an antidote to boredom.


For those who are new, how our adventure began:

We have a pet. An unexpected new member to our menagere. His name is Bob. Bob the cockroach. He’s very low maintainance. We have to be careful not to step him. And it’s really, really tough to explain when we have company that ,”Nooo.We don’t step on Bob. He’s a member of our “family”. We first noticed Bob late at night when we were on the internet. Apparently, poor Bob, had lost his way in the big, big country. We figure he was a stowaway in some cardboard box. Poor Bob. Lost. Alone. Hungry. He was creeping into the sink to get some water.

At first we tried to kill Bob.

He was wiley. We tried everything. Laying in wait to pounce, pound or spray him into bug oblivion. But no such luck. He just would not go away.

Finally, we held a family meeting. Trying to find a way, united in our efforts to smush Bob.

During the ensuing brainstorm family meeting. The youngest of us, little Patrice, spoke up in her tiny, little voice, ” But I like Bob. Why do we have to kill him?”

The room got quiet. We were so intent on ridding ourself of Bob that we never asked why we were doing so.

It was little Patrice’s quiet logic that made us think. Then little James piped up,”Yeah, Why do we have to get rid of Bob. He keeps me company and I’ve even been feeding him little bits of my sammiches.” Mom protested and then fainted leaving Dad in charge of the family meeting. There was a Braves game on. He looked at the children and quickly made and executive decision. One that will live in imfamy

A vote.

And that is how Bob, the homeless cock roach, came to have a home with us.

The End.

Stop laughing. This isn;t funny. You are laughing at our “lil’ buddy Bob”.

Sheesh.

My son and Walking Buddy have asked me to ( well okay they demanded that I) tell everyone that this is a fiction story and is in NO WAY true to life. Oh okay. True there was a cock roach but that ONE is in cock roach heaven.

In return ,I’m gonna call it an epic fable and tell every one it’s a political metaphor for the current state of the Dem Party. Hmmph. (Please note: This story only indicates my agrivation with WalkingBuddy . It DOES NOT indicate my political views. Thanks)

Just so you know.


Update:

OH NO. We have just heard in comments that Bob has a doppleganger. Yes, there are other cock roaches who are out in the world and they’re causing trouble! As a result their faces are now found on Wanted Posters through out the land. These evil insects are not our Bob. We beg you. Before you stomp on that cock roach. Please make sure it’s not our Bob. Don’t Stomp. Look and Listen!!

How will you know?

Well our Bob? He is sweet. When you look in his little cock roach eyes you will see his kind soul. And if you listen quietly? You’ll here his tiny little cock roach voice saying,

” Oh no. Don’t stomp on me. I’m somebodies pet!!!! ”

Remember. Don’t stomp! Look and listen!

Thanks.

Bob’s family.

Bob Update. June 16, 2008

mOther quote of the day:

“Crouching monkey, hidden poopers.” Mother of the Son of Ironchassis. (Please note Crouching monkey IS NOT the same as Crouching Prarie Dog. Crouching Prairie Dog is a lovely eBay blogger who is mom to Little Crouching Prairie Dog. Crouching Monkey is also a lovely eBay blogger who is mom to Son of Ironchassis. And no she’s not pooping. NO ONE is pooping. It’s all made up. Bob is not real… Sheesh. Never mind.. Resume reading.)

Now for the news.

Bad news people.

Bob tried to throw a rave in our kitchen. We are exercising tough love and have thrown Bob out. Then fumigated. Bye bye Bob.

Wha’ heck, Hang on I hear something out side.

Uh oh. There’s a film crew and PETA folks on the fromt lawn. Hang on I can lip read. Lemmie see, “This is Bob. A victu…”

Oh heck. Better go see what’s what.





Another poem. This one is - well - it's abit arogant.



Orange Skies of Mars

Thought any other way and my heart grows green

Sickly with the forced responsibility of this love.

Chained to a rock my heart. Dusty relic on the shelf.

Each rare laugh the efforts of Hercules.

The sound shatters and falls to the ground.

Shards of brittle laughter are all around me.

My body in turns hurling and creeping towards death

Towards the edge of light and shadow

My mind. banshee, howling cross oceans

Waiting for the sound that doesn't come.

Home

Waiting and calling

Longing for the soul that long since found it's home elsewhere.

Crying for husband

Still waiting like a ghost trapped in twilight.

Banshee cries home.


by

Hannah Murphy 8 July, 2008

Songs of DawgAubie (not the mascot)

.


"Well I started to tell her, "I'm a logger." but I didn't. Instead I told her, "I'm a writer."..."

Someone with life and death in their hands asked me what I do. We were looking down the hall where not minutes before they'd run to where someone was coding. Now I don't mean coding like writing code for a computer. This was someone whose body was telling us all that it might just give it up. She was one of the people set to save them.

When someone who has that power to save people looks at you and asks, "What do you do?" It makes you think.

I'm a writer, Honest. I have poems, stories, and part of a book written. You might not could tell from this blog. The typos, misspelled words, and fragmented sentences might have you thinking, "Writer? Yeah sure." but it's true.

So I thought that I'd rummage through the "junk drawer o'writting" so that you could see that I really, really, do write. Then I'll go back to writing this nonsense.


Anne


And so that you'll know. My dad is alert, coherent, and fighting. He's no longer in the land of death's door and is now just plain vanilla sick.

Yay.




.
Now a story


Here’s his story.

“When I was a young man, I ran away from home to work on a big freighter. It was all so romantic. When the ship reached the dock in Cuba, I was ready. Here this country boy stood on the shores of Hemingway’s home. Pocket full of money and ready for the ladies I had heard so much about on the freighter. It didn’t take long to find them. There off a side street was a tropical paradise. A small courtyard bar with “ladies” in colors that dazzled my eye. Hey! I was young. I was ready to find love among the “flowers” and to prove to the fellas I was a man. To knock the dirt of my home and my father’s ways off my shoes. One particular lady caught my eye. Dark hair, dark eyes, and what I recognize now as a very “dark” look. What I thought was ‘hunger” for love that look was not. But in my young and stupid mind it only took me a second to know that she loved me. And love me she did! Days of love! Nights of love! She was a delight in my inexperienced hands. With every move, she exclaimed more that I was truly the only love she had known. I thanked her with drinks and gifts. Round of drinks I bought for her and for her many, many friends. So the big spender. For her love, I was spending with abandon.

Till the day that came time to pay the bill.

A shipmate came to find me hung over and broke. When he saw me, the look on his face. Humilation. But I would prove him wrong just like my running away was proving my dad wrong. She loved me. She’d lend me the money to pay the bill. I knew it. She’d told me so. Or my new friends, they would perhaps pitch in. It was then I learned a hard truth. As the fellas, my friends, at the bar watched? A bear of a bartender beat the heck outta me. No one lended a hand to stop it. At least not until it looked like he might actually kill me then at that point, my shipmate stopped him and paid the tab.

With tears in my eyes, as my friend helped me to my feet, I heard the words that even now I hear clear in my head.

“You said that you loved me!”, through my tears I said.

And here in daughter is the lesson I want you to learn without heartache. Why I sent that young man away. Because I remember that pain that you will be spared.

Her answer? This “beautiful flower of love” told me?

“LOVE!!!

Oh my dear stupid boy. In this place?

Business is business and love is bullsh*t!”

That was the painless lesson my father taught me. No loss not dating that musician I can tell you.

But….

It would sound as if my father was a cynic. That the beating he’d gotten both mentally and physically had made him hard against love. No. And I’m not saying that because of a daughter’s blindness to her father’s faults. The man has hard edges because of his life. You aren’t the only one with the hard life or the life lessons. No. The difference is that my father not to many years later married the woman that he still after years and years really does still love. As she loves him.

He wants me to know that. So he told me this story in order that I shouldn’t trivialize the word. That I should know the difference. You remind me of my father. All cynic and hard won edges. However I suspect, because the punch was thrown gently that under hard edges is a kind nature. Maybe not.

That’s what I’m trying to find out.

Go find a copy of the Sara Bareilles song “Love Song”. Listen to the song but read the words too. She said the words with dignity and honesty. When she was asked a love song that she just didn’t want to write she wrote “love song”.

No “wheel of cheese” needed.

Then if that doesn’t do it, I’ll give you a few glimpses at my own hardships

That’s it for today.

Exit is this way

Hope you have a great day!


c anne ford june 7, 2008


.

The Lessons of Dawg Awbie....

.


Brothers and sisters.

If you'll turn to hymn 23.

Let us sing...

The Lessons of Dawg Awbie





.

It's been a good day. The sun is shining. My dad's eyes are open. Everyday he gets better in leaps and bounds. I'm looking forward to seeing him up and around.


If I'm not here? I'm @GoatHerderBoy on Twitter.

Hugs.



.



.

It's been a good day.

.





Well that's a relief.


.




.

Night watch.

.

For some reason it seemed like a very good idea to rub dad's head and wish he'd wake up. I'm a 50 year old preschooler and I'm demanding that he wake up. We've got things to do.


Mortality.

One of the things that become clear in the ICU is that you aren't alone. There are people who have it alot worse.



.

Watching Airplanes and complainin'

.

I thought we were going to see the boat.

Mom and I talked on the phone.

"We're so proud." she'd said.

But we didn't.


Now you are sleeping.

I don't dare wake you up.

So peaceful.


I'm leaving you this note instead.
Dear Dad...







Love,

Anne


My dad opened his eyes this morning. My mom was there.

He's alive.

His room is very nice.

All kinds of high tech designed to make a person well.

The ICU folks are nice.

I was so worried that I'd get on their nerves.

All those tubes have names and the mean something.

All those somethings keep my dad alive so I listen.

There are things that I know and things I don't.

You can see them adjusting the words for understanding.

48 hours he might die.
24 hours we're optimistic
12 hours his eyes open

This is alot to process.

.








.
.

The job of the ICU nurse is never done...

.


One Kind Word


How they do it.

20 beds filled with people so very ill.

40 ears that may not hear what's being said.

One kind voice.

.

Sunday services...

.


The bells ring and the doors open.
The congregation moves like a wave though the doors.
Each one dips their hand in the well to wash away the sins of the world
Then one by one they find their pew
They kneel
They pray.
To each God or not as to their custom
The prayers are the same.
"Please let them live."
"Please let them die."
Depending on the situation.
For one hour.
They pray.

Then the deacons call for the closing him.

"Visiting hours are over."

Silently the congregation files rises to their feet and file out of the pews.

They dip there hand into the well again

Say a silent good bye

And are on their way.

poem entitled Visiting Hours in the ICU

c anne ford
6 Feb 2011


I should have written it down this morning. This version is clunky.

Let me see if I can remember.


They come through the doors like a wave.
Nope can't use that because of the image.

Hmm


Visiting Hours @ the ICU V 2.o
Through the doors they come.
Dip their hands in the water.
Wash the sins of the world away.
All kinds.
One by one
One by one.
They fill the pews.
On their knees they pray.
"Please let them live."
"Please don't let them suffer."
"Please don't let them die."
The lessons of life and death are taught.
Then it's over with the words,
"Visiting hours are over."

c anne ford

6 February, 2011
This is closer to what I was thinking this morning. But still wordy.

I should have written it down but there were things to do.

For my father...

.






Who won't fight alone...


.

OMW. Writers? Sharpen your pencils AND win a prize..

.

I found it. The Y102/Bailey and Pogue Uncontested Divorce Contest

From the Y102 website

Sometimes Things Just Don't Work Out
Sometimes things just don't work out the way you planned for them to, including marriages. Y-102 and the Law Firm of Bailey and Poague want to help you out with an opportunity to tell us your story about why you deserve an un-contested divorce. Click the Broken Heart logo, submit your story, and the winners will be chosen by our panel of judges. The winning entry will be announced on February 14th, and also notified by the information provided. Fof(sic) more inofrmation(sic) about Bailey and Poague Attorneys at Law, click their logo.

"No representation is made that the quality of legal services to be performed is greater than the quality of legal services to be performed by
other attorneys."


from

http://www.y102montgomery.com/



LOL

Nothing says "Happy Valentine's Day" better than the winning entry for this contest.

You'll make your parents proud.
LOLOL Just wondering what would happen if you sent in an entry for that best friend's bitchy wife? You know the fella who keeps whinning about how much he hates his wife but he's too chicken to get a divorce?

Didn't see it in the small print but I wonder if this prize is transferable.

LOLOLOOLOLOLL

I think they should announce the winner on Valentine's Day.


>Back to the future  http://12dotsandablot.blogspot.com






.

Non contested divorce

.

Ahhahahahahahahahahah.




Oh dear mercy. Now I understand all the criticism of Rob Thomas.



Some radio station in Montgomery Alabama is offering an uncontested divorce contest. Honest to God in Heaven they are. If you can't find the YouTube I will but Hahahahahahahahahahahahah. The commercial at this time of year is just "slit your wrists" emo. They're also running a commercial for plastic surgery for women who are "growing older".


Seriously.

Nothing says Valentine's Day than an uncontested divorce contest.


This is worth posting.

Couldn't find a Youtube but the law firm is http://www.baileypoague.com/main.html

The radio station is http://www.y102montgomery.com/

They do live streaming. Honest. This IS a commercial for these people. It's just hysterical. Very, very emo.

Please note. If Valentine's Day makes you nuts for any reason don't listen. But if you have a sense of humor and just can't believe the nonsense surrounding this time of year.

You really will want to listen.

Besides it's a free, non contested divorce. I mean it's got to be worth 250 dollars.

Like the commercial says, "you can get out of a bad relationship and find the perfect mate."


"...I'm just trying to bring world peace..."


LOL Oh no the commercials just keep getting better. "Cupid.com we don't tell you who to love."



Ahhhahahaha this is too good.

.

I love this word.

.





cogent
definition, convincing or believable by virtue of forcible, clear, or incisive presentation; telling.


I love this word. It's like every sentence, every word, every breath that forms every sylable of the word, every molecule of every breath that forms every sylable of the word in every sentence is. There's no fluff unless it's absolutely necessary for the argument. The syntax, the words, the arguement?

All necessary

Cogent,

the opposite of superfulous.

I like that word too.

Public service announcement....

.


Please note.

This is 12 dots and a blot.

It's a writer's space.

Fact and fiction co exist here.

If you don't know which is which?

Well the next couple of posts could be disturbing.

I have to do this because of the nice folks who might read and worry.

I have to write this because I am a writer. Part of writing is the creation of characters who you will react to.

Good or bad, if I do my job right?

You'll read the words and forget if they're fictional.

So, please, don't ASSume.

Ask.


Enjoy the show.


Anne


.

Songs of loneliness and homesickness...

.


My bestfriend's mom took us to the beach during a storm. It was the most gloriously irresponsible thing any adult had ever done. We ran and yelled over the wind. We did cartwheels. Dared that storm to come closer. The sky grew darker and the wind picked up. We were invincible and that storm was nothing.



Two years later the sky grew dark again and the wind blew...


.

Songs of Loneliness and homesickness...

.


"Love me, love me, love me" he spat out the words.

He was on the couch trying to find som peace. A nap. I'd gone to ask him a question. I was just trying to connect. It made him angry and he said the words.

There aren't words for that. There are just feelings. So I sucked in my breath and walked away. Stunned.

Even now I can remember it and I feel the loneliness. It would be nice to analyze it. Some how grow to accept it or renounce it. Go to him and ask, "Why? Why did you do that?" Only there aren't word and when I did ask him? He didn't remember.

"What are you talking about?" Then he looks at me as if I'm crazy.

"You need help." he says " I think you're depressed."

He's all messed up and I'm the one who needs help?

I grab deep into my heart and pull out a memory.



"One, two, three, four,..."

Songs of loneliness and homesickness...

.


My home was destroyed by a hurricane. Everyonce and a while the feeling of homesickness that I feel for this place overover comes me. Washing me out into the emotional sea. Full of that sick feeling of never seeing home again.

When this happens? I try my best to cheer myself up. Music helps some. This song. I listen to it and try very hard to remember the feeling of going home.

Where do you go? What do you do when your home is gone?



I go to Graceland in this song.

Songs of home and homesickness...

.


It's an old song.







The song reminds me of being homesick.\


"...I'll fly away..."


.
.

I sing because I'm happy. I sing because I'm free.

.

Happy early good morning. Just going to tuck this here.






Hugs and warm thoughts.

Keep reading.

Anne


.

Words to live by # 495...

.

"If you're lucky?

You get to experience the things that you missed the first time.
The stuff you missed before because U were too busy or too drunk or just too dumb to notice. It might make you cry or feel overwhelmed but hang on tight. This time you have the wisdom to know it's true worth."

c anne ford
1 February, 2011


Happy February.

The road not taken.

The road you took but didn't appreciate.

The road you travel the second time because you're just lucky to have done so.

I'm sitting in the kitchen. There's frozen lasagna cooking in the microwave. The sink is full of dirty dishes and now the dishwasher has stopped working. There's a part on the way and WB has been promised that the part will be here on Friday.

That's our world.

On the television, there's people protesting. Outside the winds been blowing like it did a couple of years ago when the hurricane came through.

If I looked back to last year? I'm not sure if I'd have anticipated this year.

Hugs.

Keep reading.

Warm thoughts,

Ann

.

Happy February !

.


.

This was going to be my two week tribute to love and Valentines but then I thought,

"Feck Valentine's Day. "


http://www.biography.com/blackhistory/

Happy Black History Month!

.

Well darn.

.





If you've read the blog bio, the one to the left, you'll notice that I've been trying to get my emails read on the LLS with Tv's Craig Ferguson.Today?

I've decided to stop trying.



LOL. Nothin' dismal here. It's just not my thing. :D

Hugs


.

Love a thon...

.


aka the Valentine's Day count down.

Being a romantic isn't easy.


Take the case




Poor old Elijah.

Father of 16 kids, it should have been obvious to Mrs. Elijah, that he was interested.


.

According to the computer...

.

... it's now 16 days until Valentine's Day.






For the love of -- I mean ---

Oh joy.


I'm sorry but this holiday can be painful. The days leading up to it a sore reminder if you don't have a honey to canoodle with or the cash to do the canoodling.

Roses might be red.
But man they're expensive.
Dinner and dancing are too.
I'm doing overtime
So that you won't miss it.
This great big production.
I Love You.

cAnneFord, 30Jan,2010


Aren't the words enough?


Year before last, I wrote a celebration of hemmorrhoids. Seemed like a fitting way to celebrate Valentine's Day.


This year?

It's the Never Ending Ode to Love a Thon.

And it starts with a song.






...Ah love, YEE Haaaaahhhh.


.Please note. The songs are old and cheesy but let's face it, unless you're able to put down the seriously big bucks to let that special person you care?

It's tricky.


.

And I cried and cried like a baby...

.

Watched Lost Valentine on CBS (with BettyWhite @ JenniferLoveHewitt).


It's a Hallmark Hall of Fame move and I told myself that I wouldn't get sucked into it.

But I did.

Then I told myself that I wasn't going to fall for all the sap. I was going to be cynical. I'm not a big fan of Valentine's Day and the potential cheese wasn't worth it.

Then I thought,

"Well you know Betty White is going to be in this movie. She's not "cheesy". Might ought to watch. But I'm not going to cry. I'm just not. It's just a movie.


Then I cried like a baby.

First I smiffled at the story where Betty White's character waited each Valentine's Day for the return of her husband. Now you and I know that in the real world this behavior might start to look alittle looney.

But it didn't.

Next, I began to tear up at the "star crossed" attraction between Jennifer Love Hewitt and BettyWhite's on screen grandson. "This is sssoooo predictably "Hallmark Hall of Fame, " I sniffled," I'm not going to cry."

I boo hoo'd. Tears were running down my face.

Then there came the part where Betty White's characted talked to the guy who was the last to see her husband and -

I just started bawling.

I really did.

By the end of the movie, I was "snotting" into the only available tissue type things in my bedroom. My dog, who's a very sensible pup, was looking at me like I'd lost it, and anyone within ear shot was surprised at the reaction.


It's on DVD.

Have decided to watch it every Valentine's Day.

I may avoid Valentine's Day like I would the plague, but this movie was pretty good.


Happy day.


AuthorAnn

In honor of the upcoming fake holiday to comerce known as Valentine's Day?

A Poem

Ode to Comercials

Real roses have thorns.
Their beauty it lies.
They're not sweet on the tongue.
Cost too much to buy.
I'd rather a cactus,
With an honest eye.
Than dozens of roses
From some jerk of a guy.

cAnneFord
30 Jauuary, 2010



.



.

Is my (sex)"life" as I knew it - over?

.


br />

The minute I turned 40 it began. My mother, the woman who sailed to the Carribean in her 60's and is very active in her late 70's began asking, "Honey? Have you started "the change"?" At first, I did what any sane person would do. I ignored her. Not since passing the mile stones that let me legally drink, drive, and smoke, had I put alot of thought into what my "age" would let me do. Ironically because of my Moms and her constant, "I won't define myself as an "age"." So neither did I.

Now, at age (over 50) I'm beginning to wonder if my (sex)"life" is over.

It's not me. I'm as sexual as I ever was. Plus with age has come experience. You learn things. It's good. So what's the problem?

It started with the ads in the sailing magazine. All those athletic old guys and their equally buff young companions. I know that ads for sailboats have always pandered to their target demo but the ads were mostly "manly men" sailing in rough water with a "babe" at dockside. Like what why mother was saying, I ignored. These new ads are different. Now the women in the new ads are the extreme physically fit young things who are now the girlfriends and wifes of the older guy on that boat.

I'd never noticed it before.

Looking at those ads, I began to her my mother's voice, "Have you gone through "the change yet?"



.

I don't know what to do here.

I honestly don't.

.

I do know this. For years I've been thinking that the "Women's Lib" movement liberated women but now I'm not so sure. Being liberated was supposed to mean that I had the same shot as life as a guy did. I never thought that age should matter. Now as I look as these photos, I realize that the real liberation was for the guys. Where it used to be thought of as "midlife crisis" for some older guy to "rob the cradle". Now it's just liberated. Who hoo who cares what age anyone is? Don't be a sexist or an ageist. Embrace the change. Unless you're a female over 40.

No, I don't want to join my fellow females over 40 who are defying convention by going out and embracing life. I had very good sex life thank you very much. I'd like to hang on to it.




Coyote.


.