BlogArchives August 2009

Archive – August 20092 commentsGoin’ Home
Posted Aug-31-09 11:43:59 PDTCrab soup? Gumbo? It’s all good. Not just because of how it tastes but because of all the memories attached. I’m going to “Graceland” for me at least. Have been talking about going back to the coast and the places that I called home for a while now. Katrina did such a number on it that I didn’t think that there would be anything left but memories. I’m going to see if that’s really true. Maybe take my son “crabbing” so he’d have a clue of what I was talking about. Take the realities and the memories and see if they could find a way to co-exist. Find peace. LOL, Gentle Reader. Now that you think that I’m nuts? I’m not. Not mellowdramatic. Pragmatic Optimist. LOL At telling you this. You and I are strangers in reality but I thought that perhaps that you might understand the journey

Once there was this old man in a nursing home. Everyday he told anyone who would listen that he sure would like a cold slice of watermellon. Everyday the nurses and the staff would hug his neck and tell him, “Sure. Sounds good.” Then one day that old man disappeared. Gone. There was quite a ruckus as folks tried to figure out where the old man went to.

All day folks searched. I can’t remember if they had the police out looking for him but I’m pretty sure that they did by the end of the day. But look high or low? There was no old man to be found.

Then as the sun was setting in the sky? There he was. Sitting outside. Eating a watermellon.

No one was really sure how he got that watermellon or how he paid for it. But it was plain to see to anyone who could see his face that that old man had found peace.

“I’m going to Graceland”

Hugs,

Goin’ Home

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2 commentsFor Tryork and for NolaSoul Goin’ Home
Posted Aug-30-09 14:09:03 PDT Updated Aug-31-09 11:16:38 PDT
“A good cook takes the stuff around us, puts it in a pot, and makes up a “gumbo” of the best of life. Then they calls it home.”

Hannah Murphy , 30 August, 2009

Two Hours Before the Sunrise

from

Conversations With Hannah (A Collection of Interelated Short Stories)

AuthorAnn

(All rights reserved by the author)

Dear Try,

Just read,

FOODIE BLOG #1
This will make a wonderful blog, Try. The nicest thing that I’ve read in a while.

Everytime you write about food? Even though we were kids miles and miles from each other? It reminds me of home.

Hugs to you and the missus,

Ann

Today Tryork posted a real foodie blog. He’s a talented writer true. Has us laughing and thinking about life. What I didn’t know until lately was that the man can cook. And not only that, he can write about it in a way that has had me smiling and remembering my own father in the kitchen.

I’m not talking being able to microwave. I mean cook.

I’m hoping that you get a chance to read his blog. I’m hoping that he’ll get the time to write a separate food blog.

Hugs Tryork,

Gentle Reader.

If you haven’t read Try’s post click the link above. It’s a wonderful post that tells not just a receipe but wonderful insight into the life of one of Blogland’s best writers.

I’m not kidding.

Also in another part of the country but as close as Blogland?

Another good “cook” with food and words…

Dear NolaSoul ,

As I was reading Try’s food blog, the memory of home on the Gulf of Mexico came to life. The easy time before the big storms. There were easy times before Camile and easy times later before Katrina. There’ll be easy times again.

As long as there is a big old body of salt water there’ll be two things. Hurricaines and family. We survive them all. The easy times, they live in our hearts. Through our music and through our food we pass on that life, happiness and sorrow to all we meet.

Hope your crawfish boil goes good. Remember that roux is just a start.

(Everytime you write about NOLa? Even though we live miles and miles from each other? It reminds me of home.)

Hugs to you.

Ann

For Try and NolaSoul,

A little somethin for you both.

Laissez les Bon Temps Roulez

Hannah Later

a short story from

Conversations With Hannah (An interelated collection of short stories)

AuthorAnn

(all rights reserved by the author)

“…

A good cook takes the stuff around us, puts it in a pot, makes up a gumbo of the best of life, and calls it home.

She closed her eyes and thought about home. Forty years later and she could still hear her dad moving around in the kitchen. Making coffee and listening to the early morning weather report out of New Orleans. All those years later no matter where he was? He found away to hear about the storms on the Gulf. Then he and her mom would drink coffee and plot the storms as they “moved” across the kitchen table.

He said it reminded him of home..

Meanwhile, on the otherside of the country, a bunch of kids were looking over the edge of the dock.

They were looking so intently in the water that they honestly didn’t hear that man ask, “What you kids looking at? You drop somethin’?”

When the man said it again, Tim finally looked around and said, “No sir, we’re crabbin.”

…”

Forty years ago a bunch of us kids came to the docks in Mississippi to catch Blue Shell crabs. It was 1969, the “Man on the Moon” was American, company had come in the form of cousins, and we caugh over 40 Blue Shell crabs that were promptly dumped in a bucket and then put on ice. The idea was for those crabs to live just long enough for them to get home. There they’d be cracked, the claws removed, and all of it put in the later minutes in a big pot of gumbo. Shrimp in last so they didn’t shrink and turn to rubber. Rice on the side. Sweet tea please.

It’s funny how food can bring out the commonality of us all.

“…

She started reading the ships log again. Her dad’s hand writing wasn’t the easiest to read.

“A good cook takes the stuff around us, puts it in a pot, and makes up a “gumbo” of the best of life. Then they calls it home.”

30 August, 2009

Thanks. I’ll try to remember.

…”

Quotes from

Hannah Later

and

Two Hours Before the Sunrise

from

Conversations With Hannah (A Collection of Interelated Short Stories)

AuthorAnn

(All rights reserved by the author)

Long day is the doorway to 12 dogs. It will tell you that I’ve gone walkabout for a day or two. There’s plenty to read. While I’m gone, I’m hoping that you’ll go read Try’s food blog. I knew that he was a good writer but he just knocked my socks off with his ability to write about food. Makes cooking interesting and fun. Even a cook like me wants to give it a try.

Added later.

“Aww….don’t worry sweetie………..didn’t take it as a ‘hit on’ at all.”

Good to know. Didn’t want to annoy the lovely lawyer York. 😀

” I once thought about doing restaurant reviews of places that no longer exist. Places you remember as a kid back in the ’60s. Howard Johnston’s or Woolworth’s lunch counter for example. might be fun.’

If you mix it with receipes from the restaurants? Yup, good idea. Have you researched to see what is out in the world? You could have a book.

Tim, how will you decide if it’s successful or not? Criteria? Views? Responses? You are in advertising so you have a sense of what will be successful and how to promote it. I’m not being nosey here. I’m interested.

Food question. Have you eatten at Canoe?

Going “walkabout” for a bit and going to see the outside world. Actually need to go back to work on the boat. Maybe go to the coast. Not sure that I want to write in Blogland. Need a rest from 12 dogs and well I have some decisions to be made here. Can get ebay email off site so I hope to keep up with you and your writing via email and your blog posts.

.

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2 commentsLong day
Posted Aug-29-09 10:37:15 PDT Updated Aug-30-09 11:06:48 PDT

Long day and it’s not even half way over. My “to do” list got shuffled. . Lots that we’ve been talking about here. About Pup and his future. About me and my future. About Walking Buddy. . Have put the rest of my world on hold. I’m sorry if folks think that this is inconsiderate. If it were you I would try my best to understand because I know life. I’m asking you to do same. I won’t miss this month of August. I really won’t.

Now I have to go apologize to some folks who I don’t think will really appreciate my not taking their things to do as important. I didn’t blow them off. I really didn’t. I stopped and took a time to talk to WB. When that window of opportunity opens. You’ve got to take it then. It’s important.

Hugs

Three’s so much here to read, Gentle Reader. I think that I’ll stop writing a bit so that you can catch up. Have fun. Time to see to that outside world that Try was chatting about in his blog.

Hugs,

Ann

The 12 dogs disclaimer. abridged.
The Hannah Paradox <12 dogs starts here.

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5 commentsThe 12 dogs disclaimer. abridged.
Posted Aug-28-09 20:09:30 PDTOne of the delighful sports that folks engage in here in Blogland is sniping.

A Bloglander will read something a person writes on their blog or on a friends blog. They don't like it for some reason. When this happens some folks will say, "You know. I don't care for this person so I just won't read their blog." End of story. Other folks will respond in comments to what's written. Sometimes politely. Sometimes down right mean. That will be the end of it; they go on their way. But sometimes folks will become so enraged at what a blogger has written that they actually stalk the blogger. No matter what the blogger posts, the blog stalker will use it as an oportunity to bring up the old upset. I've even seen their friends do the same. The next thing you know there is a feud. I've seen people fight it, humor it, defeat it, and be run off by it. Then the blogger being given grief will post an I've been wronged blog. Their friends will post their dismay at this terrible thing that has happened to their friend. The two groups go their separate ways or they agree to disagree.

Hopefully? That's the end of it.

Normally this happens to folks who bring up politics or religion.

While I've written about both subjects here on 12 dogs, I've been lucky to have avoided all the bruhaha. First off I'm surprised that anyone reads this blog or gives anything I have to say the time of day. Really am. Second. 12 dogs is my writing journal. I'm not trying to "spin" or make anyone believe the way I do. There are folks who have read my blog for along time. While we don't always agree, they are a welcome sight. They do me the courtesy of telling me when they disagree. No vendettas coming my way. That works out pretty well. Finally? My comments are in the hide mode when I'm not here.. If someone has a beef with me or with the issue they can certainly voice it via comment or email. I'm glad to hear it regardless of if we agree or not. I am not, however going to leave the comments un moderated. I've seen folks jumped on because they disagreed with one another. Or they'll bring in Off Topic feuds. It's worked pretty well so far. People certainly read 12 dogs. I have over 100,ooo views. And I'm pretty sure that there are folks who do not like what I say. Others think I'm full of it and don't read. It's okay. If I think that there is a problem? I ask. If I think that I've hurt someone's feelings by a comment of post? I ask. It works.

I owe this to Writing Buddy and their significant other. Writing Buddy is my all time favorite person who I've met here in Blogland. They are a fantastic writer. I call them friend. When we'd have some rocky patches, Writing Buddy's significant other would get on to us both to knock it off. They'd remind us that we were friends and to get over ourselves. WB (walking buddy) told me that Writing Buddy's significant other was probably nicer than Writing Buddy and I was put together. WB might be correct on that. But finally we both learned (I hope) to tell each other when we thought things weren't working out. To remember that we were friends first. Ask if the disagreement was really worth ending a friendship over. It usually wasn't.

Lately though. Especially since the current conversation about health care? Folks here in Blogland have got a might bit fussy at each other. .

So I"m about to add to the 12 dogs disclaimer.

Welcome to 12 dogs and a blog. This is my writing journal. Fact and fiction co-exit here. If you don't know which is which?

Don't assume. Ask.

(This next part is the new section.)

While 12 dogs isn't intended to be be a political blog? From time to time I will write about things political. Sometimes you may agree, Gentle Reader, and sometime you might not. I'll try not to dislike you when this happens. I hope that you'll do the same. Rest assured that if we disagree? I'll try to tell you then and there. What I won't do is hunt you down on the blogs and make your life here a misery. Seriously. I have better things to do. Nor will I participate in the "dog fights" that I've seen here on the blogs. I'll read them but like gossip told to me? I'll keep it quiet. It's one of the reasons why folks have confided in me over the years. I try not to "kiss and tell'. It's how I've managed to avoid the feuds and still talk to folks on both sides.

Well that's about it for the evening, Gentle Reader. I hope that you're having or have had a great day. Hope tomorrow is good too.

Regardless of your politics and religion.

Hugs,

Author Ann

The Hannah Paradox Moma always said…

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9 commentsMoma always said…
Posted Aug-25-09 08:41:07 PDT Updated Sep-16-09 21:00:05 PDT
“The two things that you should never talk about in polite company?

Politics and religion .

The discussion most always makes folks mad and hardly ever changes their minds.”

Well — that’s what she says.

What she does is entirely different.

Welcome to 12 dogs. It’s always sunny (here ) the day after a hurricane…

I’m not sure if you are new to 12 dogs. If you are? Remember this before you get your “knicker’s in a twist”. This is my writer’s journal. Fact and fiction co exist here. If you don’t know which is which? Don’t assume. Ask.

That said. I add to and may post multiple posts in a day. Then I might not add anything the next day. Gives you time to read the posts and me time to work on the boat. WB “thug-gested” that I might write about the boat. Might do that but at the moment I’d like to keep that part of my life separate from the blog. Will tell more later. For now? It’s interactive story time.

Follow the blue links. If it were me? I’d go here first (It’s where the next interactive story begins).

Song for the day? Well there are a couple.

There’s this one for politics —

And there are the songs by Sheryl Crowe for religion and for this interactive story

:Life really is better at the beach…

Hugs,

Cya 😀

Author Ann

PS

Cya in a day or two. You’re welcome to sit abit and rummage around. Comments are off but if you feel strongly about something? Email it to me via ebay’s email.

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0 commentsFall Before the Spring
Posted Aug-25-09 07:42:05 PDT

“…

“Funny how some relationships are disposible. Like Dixie cups. The paper kind that are supposed to be strong for the moment you need them. Then? You crumple them up and maybe recycle them but no matter what? You’re done with them. They’re dispatched.”

I could hear momma discussing the “Strawberry Letter” on the Steve Harvey Show with the night nurse. Moma and Sarah apparently did this every morning while nightnurse took moma’s vitals.

I was trying to sleep on the chair in her hospital room. Elizabeth called to tell me that she’d taken a turn. If I had any intention of seeing her I’d better haul my a$$ out of bed. “Get to the hospital.” was all she said. Before she hung up. When I got there out of breath, the nurses were laughing and “couldn’t understand the problem”. Turns out that Elizabeth had a last minute hot date. “Sorry kiddo. But if I’d told you the truth? You’d have never gotten up out of bed.” was her excuse. I didn’t blame her. Don’t know how she managed to have any kind of relationship little lone sleep in this chair night after night.

“Old folks and old girl friends. Just paper cups to “pizz” in and then throw away.” When Sarah said this they all got really quiet.

“Hey. That’s not me at all—” I’m stuttering a bit when I say this because they’re all three looking at me. Staring. Like it was me that they were talking about when they said this. So okay I did date “Sarah, the Night Nurse”. It was only a couple of times and I was pretty sure that didn’t qualify her as an old girl friend. Not enough for her to be that pi$$ed.

…”

from the shor story Fall Before the Spring

25 August, 2009

part of the book

Conversations With Hannah (an interrelated collection of short stories)

written by Author Ann.

All rights reserved by the author.

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2 commentsHey. That’s not me at all…
Posted Aug-25-09 07:00:33 PDT Updated Aug-25-09 07:03:06 PDTFound an interesting article about the movie Julie and Julia. A gentle reminder that much of what is told about people is “edited” for entertainment purposes. Lovely way of saying, ” Hey! that aint me at all.”

See what you think

http://shine.yahoo.com/channel/food/julie-powell-what-quot-julie-julia-quot-butchered-504877/

While you’re reading? Somethings to consider.

Do you mind when an adaptation of a book is significantly different than the book? Do you think that the movie becomes a work of art in it’s own right or should it specifically adhere to the tone and plot of the book? Does it make a difference if the book in question is an autobiography/biography rather than a work of fiction? Should the film maker be able to make a film where they add fictional characters or significantly alter the real “characters” in a book for entertainment purposes?

We watched The Shootist this weekend. It was the last movie that John Wayne made before he died. It’s a fictional account of a “gunslinger” who’s about to die. There’s something about the movie that makes it worth a second viewing. For a fictional story, I wondered if it told more about John Wayne than any biography could. Notice that I said any biography. Biographies can be cold, unflinching or highly subjective accounts of a person’s life. Depends on the author’s ‘belief” in the character. There is definately a bias no mater what the author says but it’s a bias of a person on the outside looking in. An autobiaography while it can also be “cold unflinching or highly subjective accounts of a person’s life” are different. They have something that no one else can have. The view from inside the authors brain. No matter how subjective it is, there is that perspective that no one else can see. Is there a bias? Sure. But the bias can tell you alot about the author too. I wondered as I watched this movie for the second time how much of an autobiography this work of fiction really was. And I’m wondering, after reading this aritcle, how much fiction was in this autobiographical/ biographical movie, Julie and Julia?

Sometimes there’s more fact in a work of fiction than there is in a work of “fact”.

So much of our life is influenced by perception. So much spin. We make assumptions daily about the world around us. So much of it ends up being more “truthiness” than truth.

Who’s life is it anyway?

You might wonder why I would ask a question and then turn off my comments. I haven’t done so out of disrespect to your opinion, Gentle Reader. Not at all. I’m hoping that the questions will “prick” your imagination today. Have you sitting at lunch thinking, “I wonder how much of what we see offered up as real is in fact “real”?”

I’m hoping that you’ll talk to a friend or co worker about it.

Then when you’re reading the political “spin” about healthcare?

Well…

Who’s truth is it anyway?

Note: Wise Pup says, “It annoys – the spin that’s put on even those things that are supposed to be scientific studies. The biased “finger on the scales” doesn’t always point to the truth.”

And sometimes, Wise Pup, it can change the course of history.

Hugs, AuthorAnn

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0 commentsAin’t that the truth…
Posted Aug-22-09 15:53:06 PDT

“Sometimes the hardest thing about going forward is realizing that it’s better first to go back. ”

Wendy Mitman Clarke

Cruising World magazine

September, 2009

pg 148

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0 commentsFall Before the Spring
Posted Aug-21-09 11:59:57 PDT

more from Fall Before The Spring:

“…

“She was always doing that. She’d start talking to the air. A conversation with someone that only she could see. She wasn’t nuts. Schizo. It was as if she was caught inbetween two worlds and was trying to say goodbye to one as she was saying hello to another. The doctors said it was Alzheimers but I don’t agree with them. She’s not talking to the air. She’s preparing to die. She’s getting reading to leave the form that I can see. That’s why I don’t think that folks who say that they can talk to the dead or who believe in Heaven are nuts. They’re just somewhere that we can’t talk to them. Like HD television. You’ve got to have the right “antenae” so that you can see them or talk to them. Otherwise? No signal.

My friend says that the ones that can still talk with the living aren’t good. That they’re in God’s Waiting Room. Waiting to see if they can get into Heaven or not. The good ones go in without the wait. The bad ones or the ones who’ve lead “interesting lives’ as my mom used to say —well– they take longer. My friend said that they thought that God wants us all in Heaven but that there are rules and that all the really good lawyers are probably going to Hell so that there aren’t alot of really good defense attorneys allowed in Heaven. I agree with the “…God wants us all in Heaven…” part but not the part about defense attorneys. I think that’s abit biased.

My mom talks to this other realm. I’ve heard her do it. The weird thing is that the world seems to answer back. She never leaves her hospital room. Never really talks to anyone about what she thinks to anyone but me and the air. Everyone else she listens to. They just seem to find her and begin telling her about their problems. She listens. Nods. Asks them questions and then magic. They’ll smile and say stuff like, “Yeah. How did you know?” or “You didn’t tell me what to do but I know what I need to do now. Thanks.” She’ll tell me later that they had the answer in them all the time. It was inside their “mental closet”. Sometimes it was a bit messy in a person’s “mental closet” so it takes longer for them to find their answer.

She never tells them her problems. Like my great great aunt she says that no one really wants to hear about her problems. So she doesn’t tell them. Then she’ll talk to the “invisible people” about her problems. She says she’s praying. Then she sighs and falls asleep.

The thing is that after she’s had her talk? The “invisible people” answer back. Folks will come talk to her about a similar problem. Heck I heard a comentator out of the blue — . “Nah.”she’ll say when I ask her about it.”It’s the “collective unconscious” stuff you were talking about in Philosophy class. Jung wasn’t talking about an alternate universe. He was talking about the human conditon that is common to us all. If we just get quiet and listen.”

…”

post is from the short story

Fall Before the Spring

21 August, 2009

from:

Conversations With Hannah (a collection of interelated short stories)

written by Author Ann (all rights owned and reserved by the Author

12 dogs disclaimer

This is 12 dogs and a blog. My writing journal. Fact and fiction are here. If you don’t know which is which? Don’t assume. Ask.

That said. I am both sympathetic and empathetic to the characters in this story. I have known people who’ve had senile dementia. Have known people who’s family members have it. For some it’s a harrowing trip into the subconscious mind of another. For others? It’s a gentle, yet sureal, trip down a long, lazy river on a sunny day.

I’m a writer so I take the things I’ve seen and heard in life, mix them up, and then write a story.

I might add that the woman in this story doesn’t have to be old or suffer from dementia. That’s not the point. It’s more about how folks deal with the things of life. How they communicate that which they can only barely comprehend to someone else. Survival of the heart and mind in situations that they can’t quite get their head around. A verbal hug to some folks who are going through it. To open a sympathetic window to their difficult situation. It’s all of these things mixed into a short story.

It’s also a selfish way to get my mind off my own troubles. 😀

Hugs,

AuthorAnn

Next?

More from

Fall before the Spring 21 August, 2009. a short story from Conversations With Hannah (a collection of interrelated short stories) by Author Ann, all rights reserved by the author.

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0 commentsFall before the Spring
Posted Aug-21-09 09:36:01 PDT Updated Aug-21-09 09:41:01 PDT

“…

“You mean that aliens are just artifacts of our past? Like some really bad acid trip?”

“Yep.”

“And –let me get this straight — This –,” She paused and looked around the room, “This is all some virtual reality halucination?”

Sigh, her voice went up an octive as the sound , “halucination” left her mouth. I was pretty sure she was about to be a sarcastic b*tch. “Yep” I said again preping for the venom. Like a cobra, she could spit it out at you. I meant what I’d said earlier. Wasn’t going to back out on it. No matter how big of an a88 she was gonna be.

Instead she got really quiet. Far off like she was daydreaming and then she said out of no where,

” I think that you’re right.”

“Dah du dah dah daaaaaaah. Cue the theme song to Dragnet. The story you’ve just seen is true. Only the names have been changed to protect the innoce–”

She started to laugh.

It had been a long time since I’d heard the sound of my mother laugh.

She closed her eyes and started to sing .

“The words fell.

My tears fell.

The days fell away.

Like the Fall leaves

Fall from the trees

On a sunny autumn day.

It may seem the end

But it’s not my friend

It’s just a season come again

After winter’s come

Back there’ll come the Sun

Back to spring time young and gay.”*1

She got that quiet again. Gentle. I’ve yet to find a word for it that really fit. So much sadness has come her way. I didn’t exactly know how she was able to still be here. Her bruises weren’t on her knees but they were on the “knees of her heart”. I’d never in my life seen such a missmanaged girl. I started to hug her neck but she interupted to no one in particular,

“I knew it would happen. I’ve known for a long time it would. Since I was very young. They always said that if I needed anything? I could come to them. All those years I stayed. Then years and years later when I finally did ask for help? They told me that they couldn’t be bothered with my drama. They were busy.

I’m not sure if they were really lying to me or to themselves all these years. Or maybe they were just going through the motions of parenthood. Like doing time. Marking the days on the wall until they were free.”

“I tried to do handstands for you
But everytime I fell for you
I’m permanently black and blue, permanently blue for you”*”

She looked at me. Smiled. Then said to herself,

“It’s always sunny the day after a hurricane.”

Someday I’ll figure out the word. The word for this. “Gentle” is for baby kisses and kittens. “Resigned” is for giving up trying. Like death or finally believing that Elvis has indeed left the building. Neither of us had left yet. Maybe there should be a new word for gentle souls who’ve looked up into the “eye” of a hurricane and still believe in Christmas.

Perhaps “Love”.

…”

Welcome to 12 dogs It’s always sunny (here) the day after a hurricane…

Note

post is from the short story

Fall Before the Spring

21 August, 2009

from:

Conversations With Hannah (a collection of interelated short stories)

written by Author Ann (all rights owned and reserved by the Author

* lyrics from the song Bruises sung by Chairlift

*1 words from the poem/song Fall Before The Spring by Author Ann, 21 August, 2009

All rights reserved by the authors.
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0 commentsFall before the Spring
Posted Aug-21-09 09:17:02 PDT Updated Aug-21-09 11:56:20 PDT

“…

“You mean that aliens are just artifacts of our past? Like some really bad acid trip?”

“Yep.”

“And –let me get this straight — This –,” She paused and looked around the room, “This is all some virtual reality halucination?”

Sigh, her voice went up an octive as the sound , “halucination” left her mouth. I was pretty sure she was about to be a sarcastic b*tch. “Yep” I said again preping for the venom. Like a cobra, she could spit it out at you. I meant what I’d said earlier. Wasn’t going to back out on it. No matter how big of an a88 she was gonna be.

Instead she got really quiet. Far off like she was daydreaming and then she said out of no where,

” I think that you’re right.”

“Dah du dah dah daaaaaaah. Cue the theme song to Dragnet. The story you’ve just seen is true. Only the names have been changed to protect the innoce–”

She started to laugh.

It had been a long time since I’d heard the sound of my mother’s laugh.

She closed her eyes and started to sing .

“The words fell.

My tears fell.

The days fell away.

Like the Fall leaves

Fall from the trees

On a sunny autumn day.

It may seem the end

But it’s not my friend

It’s just a season come again

After winter’s come

Back there’ll come the Sun

Back to spring time young and gay.”*1

She got that quiet again. Gentle. I’ve yet to find a word for it that really fit. So much sadness has come her way. I didn’t exactly know how she was able to still be here. Her bruises weren’t on her knees but they were on the “knees of her heart”. I’d never in my life seen such a missmanaged girl. I started to hug her neck but she interupted to no one in particular,

“I knew it would happen. I’ve known for a long time it would. Since I was very young. They always said that if I needed anything? I could come to them. All those years I stayed. Then years and years later when I finally did ask for help? They told me that they couldn’t be bothered with my drama. They were busy.

I’m not sure if they were really lying to me or to themselves all these years. Or maybe they were just going through the motions of parenthood. Like doing time. Marking the days on the wall until they were free.”

“I tried to do handstands for you
But everytime I fell for you
I’m permanently black and blue, permanently blue for you”*”

She looked at me. Smiled. Then said to herself,

“It’s always sunny the day after a hurricane.”

Someday I’ll figure out the word. The word for this. “Gentle” is for baby kisses and kittens. “Resigned” is for giving up trying. Like death or finally believing that Elvis has indeed left the building. Neither of us had left yet. Maybe there should be a new word for gentle souls who’s looked up into the “eye” of a hurricane and still believes in Christmas.

Perhaps “Love”.

…”

Welcome to 12 dogs It’s always sunny (here) the day after a hurricane…

Note

post is from the short story

Fall Before the Spring

21 August, 2009

from:

Conversations With Hannah (a collection of interelated short stories)

written by Author Ann (all rights owned and reserved by the Author

* lyrics from the song Bruises sung by Chairlift

*1 words from the poem/song Fall Before The Spring by Author Ann, 21 August, 2009

All rights reserved by the authors.

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3 commentsIt’s always sunny the day after a hurricane
Posted Aug-19-09 21:00:39 PDT Updated Aug-19-09 21:09:35 PDT
It’s Interactive Story time

But first?

Remember. The day after a hurricane is always sunny.

So remember to bring the music.

Sheryl Crow sings Steve McQueen http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=233o3DL1DwE

It’s worth the detour. 😀

Then ya’ll come on back and read 12 dogs <interactive story.

Hugs and love,

Author Ann

Soaking up the Sun while it's still free.

Thanks.

Cya 😀

Note to the new at 12 dogs: Blue words link to other parts of the blog. This is my writing journal. Fact and fiction are here. If you don't know which is which? Don't assume. Ask.

There are some interesting writers in Blogland.

Be curious. Have fun.

And please — never be politic's b3tch.

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9 commentsThe day after a hurricane is always sunny.
Posted Aug-18-09 09:34:49 PDT

"This is where we live. This is where we belong, no matter what dangers are present,"

Richard Rose

resident of Gulfport, Mississippi and Hurricane Camile survivor

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0 commentsFantasy Food Bowl
Posted Aug-17-09 07:52:40 PDT Updated Aug-19-09 21:27:02 PDTThe next post isn't about living in the sadness of the past. It's about remembering and holding dear to the memories. Not letting anything, not a hurricane or anything else in our life, eclipse the memories and experiences that make a place a home.

It was for us "The Perfect Storm".

A tropical depression bringing rain. (So no boat).

A "tropical depression" bringing gloom. (because there was no boat)

A month so far filled with no boat, feuding family, and health concerns.

Last night I found myself with WB in the food section of the Walmart promising him that if he'd take the dog to the vet?

I'd cook.

Yep.

I said it.

I blame it on Tryork. and his stupid tagine. I will not blame it on the lovely Ms. Try as she sounds nice. The thing is that I haven't always been cooking impared. Nor have I always refered to breakfast as "A protein and a carb, please!" The sad, but very true thing is that I've actually made very good sweet rolls from scratch. I used to be able to make biscuits from memory, have cooked from scratch Thanksgiving dinners without help, and I own my own dog earred, almost 30 year old copy of Fanny Farmer's cook book. Inside that book are hand written notes and an original recipe that won me a set of mixing bowls in a receipe contest. Yup.

Tryork's post also got me to thinking about the story of Stone Soup. The communal and mystical nature of food. The memories of meals that,.like music, can capture a moment.

Got me thinking that no matter if you can cook or not there are memories tied to food.

Fantasies too.

So I've emailed Tryork and made a request. Would he host a Fantasy Food Bowl post. A place where all of our different food cultures can mix. Like gumbo. I'd be curious to see what all folks eat and what their food memories are. I've never played Fantasy Football but I'm thinking after reading the two food posts on Try's blog that there might be some good cooks here. Cooks with favorite meals or chefs. I'd love to hear from the folks in different cultures. What foods get them to remember home. I figured that Try might do it because he sounds like he's alot like my dad, WB, SB, and Pup. Fearless in the kitchen.

So what's your fantasy meal? If money, time, and location weren't and issue.

Just wondering.

Below the fold.

(My story for the IronChassis Triptych..)

It's a custom among story tellers. No — not liars — Story tellers.

It's a custom among story tellers that if someone tells you a good story? You return the favor by telling then one of your own. You've heard it time and time again. 12 dogs is my writing journal. Fact and fiction co-exist here. If you don't know which is which?

Don't assume. Ask.

This next bit of writing isn't fiction. If it were in my power to make Hurricane Camile or Katrina some made up story? I'd do it in an instant. To save folks the pain. It never leaves one. That tinge of sadness of something that happens like this. It's the old definition of the word "awesome". The "bigger than life" God one. The definition before teenagers and "Madison Avenue Mad Men" found the world and somehow made it seem small and everyday.

This "awesome" isn't small. Thank goodness it isn't "everyday".

"This is where we live. This is where we belong, no matter what dangers are present,"

Richard Rose, survivor, Hurricane Camile,

Gulfport, Mississippi

http://www.mcall.com/news/nationworld/sns-ap-us-hurricane-camille-40-years-later,0,1546720.story

Forty years ago this week there came a storm..

Tonight to be exact.

'…

I come from a family where the men cook and it's treated as an adventure. My brother, who hunts, makes a deer chili and spagetti gravy that's fantastic. All of the guys BBQ. Looks like Pup's going to carry on the tradition. He already mixes his own spices. As for the women in the family? We'll there aren't that many of them. My mom was shooed out of the kitchen by my grandma. When she married my dad, she could boil water. She was too busy fishing and swimming as a kid and too busy working as a grown up to really care. But my dad who'd eatten crackers and sardines out of a tin slathered in Tabasco thought that there had to be more to food than sardines. So over 50 years ago he set out to find out.

What followed was the good luck of location, ignorance, and a fearless nature. It also lead to oysters fresh from the Gulf, shucked on the back porch and eatten out of the shell with lemon, saltines, and a homemade sauce that I could make in my sleep. There was seafood gumbo with shrimp from the boats that docked close to his work and Blue crabs caught with nets and chicken bones. There were shrimp boils with the spices hot that burned you lips just right. Bread pudding. Food that he'd make up because it seemed like a good idea.

When we moved after the hurincane he went back to his home. There we ate squash, butter beans, snaps and black eyed peas. Peaches from the trees he planted began to bear fruit. Cow in the freezer. Catfish from the pond. Wine from the grapes he grew over the dog pens to keep the dogs cool. Blue berries from the bush by the house and figs. Catalopes from the garden. Watermellons. Potato salads in the summer and cabbage and carrot salads in the winter. Cucumber salads made with mayo, onions, and juice from the bread and butter pickle jar. I've had really good cucumber salads with cider vinegar and lemon juice.The kind of salad that makes your eyes cross because it's so sour but it's still good.

There's okra fried and boiled. Fried or baked chicken. Oh mercy chicken and dumplings and turnip greens. As a grown up I added pickle relish and cherry conserve from the Fannie Farmer. Lasagna for my Garfield fan, Pup. WB makes pecan pie. We've got pecan trees so when they make it's good for the pies. Pumpkin pies and even a cheesecake..

And the wonder of wonders: tomatoes, still warm from the garden, washed off with water and eatten with salt. Winters with canned tomatoes in quart Mason jars.Cooked in an iron skillet the way my grand mother made them, they'd turn sweet without sugar. With alittle oil they made the best spagetti during the winter months. Handfuls of cherry tomatoes that we'd eat like candy. This year was the first that I didn't celebrate the start of tomato season with the first curb market tomato sandwich. The best? Sourdough bread with vine ripe tomatoes. Mayo or butter. Toast the bread please. A gerkin on the side and a glass of milk.

Or sweet tea.

I once told someone that I'd know home because I'd ask for sweet tea and they'd be able to make it without asking what that is. SB can make sweet tea. He makes it like his mother taught him. He cooks too. A good cook with adventure. Like my dad, WB, and pup.

My mom cooked meat loaf and spagetti green beans and mashed pototatoes but my dad? He cooked miracles.

What I learned from him was a sense of what food tastes like and how to cook without a net. I also learned that food was more than a peanut butter sandwich. Nothing wrong with a pbj. I'm a fan. But there's also a world of other tastes and ways to cook. He got us all dressed up and took us to Brennans and Court of Two Sisters. I know that the best oyster poboys on the Mississpi coast are from Pirate's Cove. You eat them with Barq's root beer for the drink. I can make a roux and know that the trinity isn't just religious. It's also bell peppers, onions, and celery.I learned to look for places to eat that nourished not just the body but the soul.

Adventure.

Then somewhere I took a turn and food stopped being cultural or communal and it became "Protein and a carb." . Instant. Microwavable. KFC in a bucket.

Reading Tryork's blog this weekend about the joy of cooking, the tropical storm in the Gulf, the 40th anniversary of the storm that sent us all northward to higher ground, and remembering the culture of my youth? I began to remember what it was like. To sit on the carport on Friday evenings watching my dad shuck oysters fresh off the boat. How much fun it was to sit and visit with him. Then later watching as he dumped flour and cornmeal into a brown paper sack. Shake. Add the oysters and one by one fry them up to make fried oysters to eat alone or on french bread. I remembered how the summer Camile came was the last year that all of us on my dad's side had a reunion of sorts on the beach. The summer my cousins came to visit and we caught a tub of Blue Shelled crabs off the dock. How my mom made a huge batch of gumbo with them to feed us all. The astronauts landed on the moon that summer. We played soft ball and kick ball. Shot off fire crackers. Ran the road like heathens. A "herd" of kids migrating from one yard to the next. Keeping us busy while our moms did? You know? I don't know. I was too busy catching crawfish and skipping rocks to care.

All those memories came back.

How warm the kitchen felt and how good the food was and how it was the time we got to see my dad happy. When he wasn't working and was creating magic that tasted good.

It's always sunny the day after a hurricane……"

Next?

Up to you Gentle Reader.

Hello to Florida…and south Alabama
Good morning, Gentle Reader.< the beginning of the next interactive story

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0 commentsHello to Florida…and south Alabama
Posted Aug-16-09 16:05:44 PDTBefore you read 12 dogs just a note.

Short shout out to the folks in the Florida, Alabama, Mississippi, Georgia, Texas, and Louisianna (and it would seem Missouri.)

Hugs, Claudette is a tropical storm, Hugs to Floridians and folks in LA (Lower Alabama) If the weather folks are right? It's rain and a bit of wind. glad for ya'll. Ana, not so bad.

But that other one in the Atlantic?

I dunno. Looks messy.

Hugs to you.

This week is the 40th anniversary of Camile's landfall. Forty years and it still gives me a knot in the stomach. Hugs to the folks who survived.

Don't forget to buy your ice, get the bread and batteries, and fill the tub with ice.

Ann

Now to today's 12 dogs.

Good morning, Gentle Reader. <Interactive story door.

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