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Whew! Life! It's time to get down and let her rip! |
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{f:comic} It's time to get SERIOUS. I haven't been writing due to life but I know now if I let life stand in the way of my talent I will loose it. I have to write or read about writing. I have to hand write in journals. I have to be active on this sight. I need to read the literature I want to write! We all have to get with the program or get off the speed boat of life. |
| I still don't have internet access at home. The dial up is too slow and we are so far out in the woods that going any other route cost an arm, leg, head, feet and so on! Can you imagine living on Buttermilk Road on Sleepy Holler Circle? The reason they call it Buttermilk Road is because in the days of old the milk truck delievered milk and by the time it got to Buttermilk Road it already clabbered and turned to Buttermilk...so the name. I really miss writing.com the most. If you think about taking time off from writing.com just to write, forget it because that option doesn't work. It's so much easier to do things as a community. Don't forget the old saying I just made up---it takes a community to produce a great writer just like the saying it takes a villiage to raise a child. Well, I'm going to look around since I'm at the libary. Gotta make use of my time here and don't forget I'LL BE BACK |
| In order to save money we no longer have a home number so I can access my slow dial up internet service but I plan on getting online as much as I can. This does give me an opportunity to read more books on writing and to do writing without being tempted to surf the world wide web. I am going to a neighborhood community college where I can get online and have very fast internet service. Just know all of you hold a special place in my heart, my dearest writing friends. Take it easy, Di |
| In order to save money we no longer have a home number so I can access my slow dial up internet service but I plan on getting online as much as I can. This does give me an opportunity to read more books on writing and to do writing without being tempted to surf the world wide web. I am going to a neighborhood community college where I can get online and have very fast internet service. Just know all of you hold a special place in my heart, my dearest writing friends. Take it easy, Di |
| Alas, I am on the computer with time enough to BLOG and let every one know how much I miss them. I have cut off my internet service at home in order to save money and to work on my book. It's now or never. I am really concentrating. I have been working on crafts as well to get in touch with my creative side. I feel like it is now or never. I will be back on tonight and the next few days. Then I will try and catch up with all my writing friends by accessing the computer at least 2 times a week. So happy holidays to all and drop me a line of encouragement. Diane |
| I have to write my journal in morning pages by hand and sometimes on my word on the computer. I am no longer connected through the internet except when I visit friend's homes, library, or the community college. It is such a regret but slow internet service was so expensive I could no longer afford it. I'M HOPING at a later date I can once again enjoy my writing site. It is so much better when you have a community of writers. Love, Diane |
| Have you ever wondered where paradise is located? Given any thought the word paradise could be a verb? A place of being satisfied. I know we all search deeply as we age in life about reaching out to find something different. A couple of years ago I went to California. My best friend from Michigan, (we all left in different directions after high school), went to San Jose and I went to an itty bitty town called Carbon Hill, Alabama. What a change especially in the seventies when as the guys down here called it; I was the only "Hippie Chick" in town. Life consisted of riding around getting high. A trip to the lake to lay in the sun. No problems! No shoes! Not worried about a thing. I don't even think I knew what the stock market was except for the bit I had in high school econmics class. I do know during that time spent I felt like I was in paradise. Just running around not thinking of insurance, the price of gas and groceries. I was wild and free in my brown tee shirt, braless, with The Rolling Stones, Brown Sugar stamped on my shirt. Tanned, with hair down below my hips, I was paradise. I miss the heads turning as I went by but I can still think of this and a smile comes on my lips. This is paradise thinking. When I visited my friend in California she said, "You'll want to move here!" "No, I didn't." Not even Disney Land made me want to live there because I missed the sounds of the birds, the frogs and crickets at night. When we went on the Pirates of Caribbean ride resembling Louisana that's where I felt at home. Home is where the heart is and my home is in Alabama. Just rambling |
| I've been gone a few days to visit my Mom who is up in the years. Doesn't it seem like as you get older you seem to be catching up with them? Of course, she's in better shape than I am! Just a tiny little woman, 4 ft. 11 inches, never over 112 lbs or she cuts out the ice cream! I took her to have a mamogram forgetting to tell them about the shunt put in her brain a few years ago. Then out to eat, Big Lots and of course, the Super Wally World! She wasn't even sore! Born in 1929 and meeting her friend there who was a mere 98 years old, driving the wheelchair/shopping cart like it was a new mustang! Anyway, I've been gone a few days but I am back and I've been doing some thinking (that in itself is a dangerous thought) if you can't post something in your BLOG if you write a stranger on the internet you just met you can post your letter you wrote. Cool, eh? BEWARE I am writing the next newsletter for us BLOGGERS. Heaven forbid I've been trying to do the right thing but I've been visiting some BLOG sites and one was an editor. Know what he said, "He just doesn't like long winded writers." Oh, am I in trouble but so would Hemmingway, Faulkner, and Margaret Mitchell be if he were going to think about publishing their work. God bless ya'll, Diane The names in this email have been kept the same to keep them guilty as hell! P.J., I was born in Detroit, MI so I wasn't born in the south. I moved here in June of 1972 after graduating high school. Wouldn't my high school classmates have a laugh if they knew I live in Union Chapel, a suburb (ha) of Cordova, just off of Buttermilk Rd. on Sleepy Holler Circle. I love the south and all the story telling. I visited a friend of mine who also left Michigan and moved to San Jose, CA. I thought I was going to visit paradise but I missed the sound of the frogs, crickets, and the fireflies at night; during the day, I missed the birds. Because there are not many trees in the area the birds have no reason to be there I suppose! I lay there the first night by myself while my friend, who was not hung over from the flight, stayed up with friends. I sung the song to myself from the group Alabama, "My home's in Alabama, no matter where I lay my head, my home's in Alabama, southern bred but northern born. I changed the last two words to fit my circumstances. My father is from Lynn. His name is Leonard Farris and my great-great grandfather was the first sheriff of Winston County. My Grandfather on my Mother's side is Robert Strickland and I think I sent the picture of him, which is old. I miss the old times and stories but the new country song that talks about the old black and white pictures of the depression says, "If you think it looked bad in black and white, you should have seen it in color." I don't know if Hoyett Wolfe made the video but it had background music and some still pictures. Do you think that is the one? It also had a lot of Fall City, Manchester, and stuff. I liked it so much. I will come across it one day. I am an only child, grandchild, and niece so as they leave this earth I have more and more "stuff." Listen just this once. I don't know how old you are, how big your family is or anything about your relatives; I do know this, you go through this life but once and if you have a job that takes so much of your time you miss the good times leave it and even if the money is less go! There are so many things much more important than work. Just wanted to let you know because I thought Camp McDowell could never survive without what some referred to as the hub, the angel of Camp McDowell, and the one who knew it all. I was replaced in a hurry. My husband had a near fatal car accident and I had to choose between that job and nursing my husband. Camp McDowell hasn't missed a beat since I have been gone. Just a little advice from someone who should have taken more time to take off of work to enjoy the finer moments of life. Oh, I have sent more pictures and explanations of them. You did such a great job on the site. I am a writer so look around one day and you will see some stories you won't believe. I have nearly two-hundred on this site. "Tupelo Outhouse" would be one of your favorites. Sincerely, Diane |
| I thought today after having a long conversation last night from my northern soul sister who reads my BLOG nearly everyday. Although they are countless miles a way we share the same heart. We only found each other this year but we can stay on the phone or write countless emails everyday and some might ask why but there is a kindred spirit in each of us that makes me think we were with each other in another point and time. There’s so many similarities but there is in each of us if we take the time to look. We hold so much in common wanting to create a childhood room because I think it in having children that we became women. The women we became still walks by a milk carton and see a child’s picture, then we think, “Some where there is a child and a mama’s heart weeps.” We love the same for the family of man. Maybe there is a little relief when we find we all have our human failings and it is there we find we are just, "The Family of Man." We do not think in color or in black and white. We think of all of us as humans trying to make it in a hard world. If we were ask the old fashion question what means most in our life, we will always say family no matter if how corny anyone else could think we are. Then in the morning my daughter, Kim came to see me, way maybe not just to see me but as we talked and she did things, she is a doer, ya know? She washed my dishes, got some of her clothes, I gave her make-up I had been collected, and she got money from her father. Kim told me of her recent experienced and showed me the most beautiful pictures she had taken. She is becoming what I love a person who see is more than a spider in a web something she must capture on her camera before it changes. The little girl I reared who's twenty-five is the love of my life. We chase each other around for a visit that is really to short. We took a minutes rest to enjoy a soda drink. Kim started talking of her job as a nanny and her big step towards her goal of finishing her degree. She grazed over at me and I knew what she would say would be profound. Kim is becoming a woman and when she speaks, I feel the words she says. She gives me comfort as we converse and laugh. “Guess what Shelby said to me the other day?” Shelby is the five ½ year old who Kim cares for along with her sister, Ricky. “Oh, kids will say anything. Aren‘t they sweet? There‘s just something about a little girl.” “Shelby asks if she could live with me and take care of my children while she goes to college.” I saw the tears in my daughter’s eyes. I told Kim, “That’s the way it feels when you have your own little baby only more deeply because you’ve carried your baby in your womb for nine months. Nothing can ever take the place of what happens when they place your little baby in your arms. It is like nothing else matters. You are never as close to anything or anyone as you are in that moment of time. I can make it one more week, I think. Then the moment came to say good-bye. It is when I am at my weakest and the world is closing in on me she comes to me. Its then my heart once again becomes complete. I do not know what happened but suddenly there was a picture in my mind. I saw me and she was a little girl but time had changed things. I wanted to hold on to Kim tighter but she had to go. The moral of this story is this: When your little girl starts to cry for you when you want a little time for yourself, remember you have the rest of your life to be by yourself. Little ones grow older you see and their time in the sun is now. Ours has passed as we drift a little closer to the winter of our hearts. The women we became still walks by a milk carton and cries whispering the words, “Some where there is a child and a mama’s heart weeps.” We love the same for the family of man. Maybe there is a little relief when we find we all have our human failings and it is there we find we are just, "The Family of Man." We do not think in color or in black and white. We think of all of us as humans trying to make it in a hard world. If we were ask the old fashion question what means most in our life, we will always say family no matter if how corny anyone else could think we are. Then in the morning my daughter, Kim came to see me, way maybe not just to see me but as we talked and she did things, she is a doer, ya know? She washed my dishes, got some of her clothes, I gave her make-up I had been collected, and she got money from her father. Kim told me of her recent experienced and showed me the most beautiful pictures she had taken. She is becoming what I love. An individual who desires capturing a spider in a web with her camera before it changes with her camera but still has a youthful heart that loves Charlotte’s Web in her heart. The little girl I reared who is twenty-five is the love of my life. We chase each other around for a visit that is really to short. Then the time came to say good-bye. I held on to my daughter and I cried as I said my good-byes. I do not know what happened in that instant but I was reminded of my little girl when I would have to say good-bye to her and she would hold me not letting go. The moral of this story is this: When your little girl starts to cry for you when you want a little time for yourself, remember you have the rest of your life to be by yourself. Little ones grow older you see and their time in the sun is now. Ours has passed as we drift a little closer to the winter of our hearts. |
If you do not keep a written record of what happens during our daily lives how can we expect to be good writers especially if we are not the type of people to remember details. One thing as a writer I think we should try to do is to make it as close to reality as possible. Let us talk about the five senses: seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting, and touching. We should try when we write to use all of these senses. I will use a for instance. When I was younger, I lived in Detroit during the riot of the sixties. First keeping a diary during that time would have been helpful. I did but I have not read it in a long time. Okay, if I picked up my diary I think it might tell a story like this because I have a good memory: I was missing when the riot began and I was not far from home. I was on the porch of a friend’s house "making out." Every now and then, a person from the apartments above would come down and make a comment about all the smoke. We continued our make-out session until some friends came up the walk way frighten and wanting a place to take refuge. Tony led them into the apartment and about that time, I hear my Mom screaming for me. I opened the door and hollered to Tony, "I'll see you later. I have to head home." "Okay but call me when you get there so I'll know you made it safe and sound," said Tony. "Here I am Mom. I'm on my way!" "There is a riot going on not far from here! Over on 12th street, can't you smell the smoke? It looks like the whole city is on fire, Diane! Let's hurry home," Mom said nervously. We began to hear gunfire so our pace picked up. The city was in a panic and people were running everywhere. As we approached home, Mother started trying to throw up. Then I did become scared because this is what always happened when she was too stressed. "Come on, Mom, we have to get in the house!" "I'm coming! Don't worry about me; just get in that house, Diane!” I managed to get in the house and the phone started ringing. I ran over to answer it just in case it was Tony. I did not want Mother to be worrying about him too. I answered, "Hello." "Diane, it's me Aunt Jean. Maw-maw and I are stuck on the out skirts of town. It is barricaded off. They aren't going to let us through, can you tell your Mom that we can't get through?" "Sure, but she is already throwing up outside! What am I going to do? I can't harly hear you because of the loud sirens. Why can't you come home? I'm getting scared." "Do not worry; we will all be fine, just pray. I have to get off now, Diane. I'll call back later." I walked to the television and turned it on. The newsflash was of 12th Street and the Blind Pig where it began then proceeded to a Pawn Shop. There were all kinds of pictures of people looting stores. People and police officer with guns everywhere you could look. Looks like the end of the world. Walking back to the screen door I told Mom to get in the house. She had stopped to talk to the neighbor in the next apartment. "Mom, Jean called," I said. "Why didn't you come and get me, Diane. I needed to talk to them about what is going on. They can't come into this city and it's a burning down!" "Mom, they had to hurry up. The city is barricaded off so we are stuck. No one can get in and no one can get out." I could taste the smoke inside my mouth. It smelled like rotten buildings, wood fire, and soot. I then heard some gunshots and told Mom again, let's get in the house where we are safer. I ask the next-door woman since she was alone if she wanted to stay with us. She agreed since she was alone it would be best. We all went inside but not before Mom got sick again. I got a washcloth for her and a glass of tea for our neighbor. I sat down in the chair not far from the window and TV so I could both see and hear what was going on. It was a time in my life I will never forget. Did you feel all the senses? There was fear, concern, and a care for the neighbors. Did you smell the smoke? Taste it? Did you see the reaction of the Mother? The fear of not being able to get in the city. Did you hear the sirens? |
| I was so surprised that the author of the Harry Potter books was on welfare and the publisher just threw her book in the garbage. The receptionist pulled it out and read it and because of this person the author is the second richest woman in the world. The receptionist for this good deed was on Orpah one day. The author signed her book is all she did for the receptionist and the receptionist was the one who bought the book. Ungrateful! The world has gotten so rotten like potatos that have been in the bin too long. If I ever become something I have always dreamed of--a fairly sucessful author. You can be sure that I will remember those who have helped me on the way up. |
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