It is a quarter of four in the morning and I awoke with the funniest chain of thoughts running through my head, not a dream, just a jumble of thoughts running together like a mombo line coming to a sudden stop and toppling all over themselves.
Everyone knows what a tit looks like, but has anyone ever seen a tat?
Then this mombo line followed:
A sign about a tat expo. Is a tat expo where one goes to trade for a tit.
Tits are what I had when I was 20-something now I have tats.
It wasn't kits the man I met going to St Ives was carrying, but 7 tats who had 7 tits which would explain why so many people give a damn about the 7 wives with 7 sacks or how many were going to St Ives in the first place.
It is now a quarter of five in the morning and quite frankly I do not give a tit what a tat is. I want to go back to sleep!
Monday, March 14, 2011
Monday, January 10, 2011
THE PRINCIPAL DIFFERENCE
Miss Bessie's hair foamed over her head gray and used like washday suds thrown out. Her skin looked the color of twice heated chicory coffee with just a touch of cream. Her eyes never missed anything before were misted over with twilight even trifocals could not help. Her lips were pinched into slash marks numbering the years since her teeth had moved on. Even her wrinkles looked old. Age and gravity bent the back prejudice and circumstance never did. Miss Bessie taught the black children in a tiny two room school in Texas in 1957.
J W Wright looked young, shiny as a penny. His rust red hair tumbled into his face accenting his freckled fairness. His eyes looked out cleaver and calculating. He had evangelist's teeth in a politician's smile. He held himself as though his back bone was starched with authority and position. His hands were soft both in strength and character.
"Well, well, Miss Bessie, what can I do for you today?" His hand shake was as sincere as his greeting.
Miss Bessie rested her hand on the back of the chair he'd failed to pull out for her. "You can give my children the same books you give your children."
I went to the school Mr Wright presided over, but I learned from Miss Bessie. Too bad she and her children were not allowed to go to my school.
J W Wright looked young, shiny as a penny. His rust red hair tumbled into his face accenting his freckled fairness. His eyes looked out cleaver and calculating. He had evangelist's teeth in a politician's smile. He held himself as though his back bone was starched with authority and position. His hands were soft both in strength and character.
"Well, well, Miss Bessie, what can I do for you today?" His hand shake was as sincere as his greeting.
Miss Bessie rested her hand on the back of the chair he'd failed to pull out for her. "You can give my children the same books you give your children."
I went to the school Mr Wright presided over, but I learned from Miss Bessie. Too bad she and her children were not allowed to go to my school.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Like Mother, Like Daughter
For those of you who know Teri, this may explain a lot. I wrote this one early, early one morning when I had more things to do than time to do it. It pretty much shows where she got some of her organizing abilities.
Fifteen minutes, that’s all it will take, fifteen minutes. Sure. Right? Nothing takes just fifteen minutes. At least, nothing I have attempted to do successfully took a planned fifteen minutes.
As a matter of fact not a lot of things I have planned over the years actually wound up being accomplished at all. It always seemed as though someone or something was standing just out of line of sight with at least one monkey wrench or another to toss into the works. I have actually given up on making plans because of this.
These days if anything gets done it will be because I’ve step over the damn monkey wrenches, push aside all the shoulda/woulda/coulda and just fucking do. This is not, I guarantee you, the idea approach to a multitude of activities, but I swear this is what I have to do to get anything accomplished.
Monday, December 27, 2010
I Can Explain
Several years ago I was telling one of the funny stories about my family to my father-in-law. Joe was not quite sure what to think of his step son's new wife but he listened through the story. "But, Delora," he questioned, "If they are like that, why would you tell anyone?"
The fact was and is, that family is the greatest source of comedy or drama a writer can hope to have and my family is particularly rich in stories told and retold until no one exactly knows what really happened in the first place.
I feel particularly lucky to have been raised in a family that teaches us to not take ourselves or others too seriously. Though we, as a whole, are far from anything professional mental health care providers would even label dysfunctional, we manage to live, love, and laugh without harming each other too drastically.
I shall try to amuse in this blog with the stories of friends and family and hope that all of them can forgive me or if not, at least, give their side of the stories in loving memory. I also hope to inspire others to look at their own families lore and share the laughter and tears that make all families so different and so very much alike.
My dear friend, Carol, and my daughter, Teri, are responsible for these ramblings so if you object, take it up with them.
The fact was and is, that family is the greatest source of comedy or drama a writer can hope to have and my family is particularly rich in stories told and retold until no one exactly knows what really happened in the first place.
I feel particularly lucky to have been raised in a family that teaches us to not take ourselves or others too seriously. Though we, as a whole, are far from anything professional mental health care providers would even label dysfunctional, we manage to live, love, and laugh without harming each other too drastically.
I shall try to amuse in this blog with the stories of friends and family and hope that all of them can forgive me or if not, at least, give their side of the stories in loving memory. I also hope to inspire others to look at their own families lore and share the laughter and tears that make all families so different and so very much alike.
My dear friend, Carol, and my daughter, Teri, are responsible for these ramblings so if you object, take it up with them.
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Silent Night
The day after Christmas and all through the house ... no stupid rewording of a classic here.
Everybody is gone now. The house is quiet enough that I can hear the television in the other room AND understand what is being said. The dogs are asleep here by my feet. They woke up just long enough to follow me in here before stretching out and going back to sleep.
Bob and I are taking the day off and not concerning ourselves too much with getting things put back in order. Somehow it is comforting to see the aftermath of having our kids here with us. Besides, one of these days we will get the dogs into the RV and drive out to see them so that they will have to take a day off just to rest after we leave.
Hope everyone out there had as fantastic a holiday as we did.
I'll be back with the stories about friends and families later on. Just sitting here grinning and remembering the past few days.
Everybody is gone now. The house is quiet enough that I can hear the television in the other room AND understand what is being said. The dogs are asleep here by my feet. They woke up just long enough to follow me in here before stretching out and going back to sleep.
Bob and I are taking the day off and not concerning ourselves too much with getting things put back in order. Somehow it is comforting to see the aftermath of having our kids here with us. Besides, one of these days we will get the dogs into the RV and drive out to see them so that they will have to take a day off just to rest after we leave.
Hope everyone out there had as fantastic a holiday as we did.
I'll be back with the stories about friends and families later on. Just sitting here grinning and remembering the past few days.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)