A Little Note Card from Lurlene

I want to thank VerDell for hostin' a perfect party for the 59th. She worked all day, wrote all night, cooked, (cause Bubba was outta town) cleaned and set the table for a fabulous "What the Cluck" celebration. On a school night and work day...everyone was so generous with their time and booze! Thank you...from the bottom of my heart...shallow that it is! All the Love, Lurlene

PS - Do not even begin to think I am not going to post the party story complete with pictures. xo

What the Cluck?

Now here in the Friendly Village, we will use any excuse for a gathering. If fact, if people have been scattered for a while, Lurlene has been known to say "What the Cluck!" and just invite everyone over for her famous chicken. Sometimes her famous chicken comes from a store...but that is another story. So..... just a little reminder.....

 

Clear as a bell not ringin'

"Let go of what isn’t real."

 So yesterday after seein these words in blog I was flippin through, I couldn’t get'um outta my mind.  They just took on a voice of their own, the way Miss Universe does things sometimes.  They stuck in my craw as folks like to say.  They were  speakin’ to me but I wasn’t quite sure what  was bein’ said.   So I jus started drawin' and clippin' and tryin to translate them somehow, but to my aggravation, nothin was materializin, I jus couldn’t capture it.  

So I jus put it aside and went on with business cause it was near five o’clock and time to make my nightly call to Momma.  (Note to self: I really should start callin Momma before  she has had her three beers ‘cause she gets a little edgy midway through round-two.)

All the while dialin the number,  I’m still chewin on those  words, “let go of what isn’t real”.  Does that mean my fantasy of bein a size 6 again, or somethin more concrete, like delusions,  misconceptions, imagined trespasses?  Maybe it means to temper my secret passion for cubic zirconias or knock off Prada, but then again  those are...real-ish:  fraudulent yes, but tangible.

  

Oh well, I just decided to stop mullin and focus on the Momma call.  (LGOWIR….relationships?) You have to understand, Momma and I have what some might describe as a contentious relationship.  I hear Mommas and daughters, especially those with strong personalities and even stronger opinions, are predestined to clash and sometimes crash into one-another's point of view, but the object of the occurrence is to learn from one another; winnin' is not an option.   I believe tolerance is a good and proper word to use here; our purpose is to agree to disagree and while that doesn’t always happen, when it does, I don’t know about Momma, but I feel  more empowered and relieved  not to have to be plottin’ my comeback.  But I digress.

I’m not goin into details here because those are for  nitpickers, but somewhere in the midst of talkin about our day and makin’ the somewhat mundain sound excitin’ Momma  slipped in one of her famous "gotcha’s" and you know; I was no more good.  I could feel my pressure goin’ on up, like one of those bell ringin games at the state fair, the one where the guy takes a big ole hammer and slams it down on the pad to quote, “measure his strength” with the object bein to make the bell go off, the ultimate prize...ring that bell.  I could just see it in slow-mo and I knew if that bell went off, well it would just  signal the beginnin of  what I have learned to call the “Loose-Loose Game of Verbal Chance and Skill”, and that’s when I heard it; “Let go of what isn’t real”.   Clear as a bell NOT ringin.  Nobody can change another person's view of reality...I could argue until I was blue in the face, but folks believe what they believe if it suits a purpose.  Memory is selective and sometimes that's a good thing...I'm not gonna argue about it.

 
Thank you Miss Universe for savin’ my butt yet again, and for givin me tools before I even knew I would need them.

Invisible Ink

Hittin' on two months now and I've been thinkin' more than doin'.  I started readin about writin and I shouldn't have.  It made me want to get things right...while before I just got things and what went down was as right as it was gonna get. 

Maybe I jus got quiet for a spell while I tried to figure out what direction to go in.  All I know is that I missed this spot.  I come here and usually have no plan...or else I have one and it changes as I type.  I told VerDell that there were days that I sat down to write one thing and it was another that bubbled up.  I liked that.  I miss surprises, seems like I have to make so many "plans" to make sure my responsibilities are taken care of that I've all but planned myself right out of  the picture.  I feel like I'm stuck on cruise control, keepin things all steady and consistent and as any Two-Bit-Teena who has ever gone anywhere with me knows; I hate cruise control.

But I digress;  It's time to get back to the stories and what better way than to go to the source of all sweet inspiration, the Supper Club Cookbook.  I know...I know...it doesn't have an index...it's filled with pinches and "smidgens" but I bet you can't pick it up without rememberin' the significance of "Three Call Pound Cake" and "Not Angel Hair" noodles.  For those of you who (still) have it, I bet there isn't one page that doesn't take you back (about twenty pounds).  So join me on the "Ship of Fools" and do feel free to add you own flavor in the form of comments or down right denial...spice it up, cause the "Eatin Season" is upon us and it time to invite recollection back to the table.

Next entry:  Heavy Hors