Sitting on the back patio now. In the shade to avoid sun glare on my laptop screen. Have the wind in my hair – a l’il breezy but overall not bad. My dog is keeping me company and my youngest son just joined me. I’d summoned him out of doors to have a conversation – about cussing…because he said if he could cuss it’d let some of his mad out. I hear that! So much like his mama the way he slams doors, stomps and grr’s. I call him my grizzly bear cub and sign notes to him, “Grizzly Bear Mama.”
April 14, 2013
excerpt from personal email correspondance
I hope. Hope never leaves. Hope endures and abides and remains. Hope also sustains.
First written within an email reply on April 11, 2013, after a HOPE FULL conversation at Art Circle a few hours before.
I’m in the midst of typesettin’ two more of my grandfather’s Western Tales. Yesterday I caught myself readin’ instead of movin’ fast, flowin’ type, applyin’ style sheets, and fixin’ up his wonderful words for bein’ self published and bound into yet another family and friends book. Perhaps his last, as at 97, we know his body is wearin’ out.
Certain phrases and plot twist moments, keep jumping off my computer screen as I work, that make me grin and guffaw. Then there are others that make my heart squeeze in empathy.
The line of dialogue speaking to me right now is after the sheriff received a letter from concerned parents, asking after their hastily married off daughter who was sent away, “in trouble.” Instead of replying that she’d had her baby, and a few days later her worthless, no good varmint, rat of a husband was dead – murdered – Sheriff Wells simply said where they could reach their daughter. His mentor, John Wade, replied after readin’ the communique in progress, “Good shot. Let her tell her own story.”
Indeed. Yes. The other bit of advice I keep readin’ is to keep your head up high, no matter what the circumstances in your life. Lots of horse talk too. How I love that!
I’m completely charmed by my grandfather’s writing. Stories. Songs. Poetry. I have been since childhood. It’s more poignant now. Readin’ with a woman’s heart.
He’s a marvel. Still alive and kickin’, atop a bluff overlookin’ the mighty Mississippi River where he’s lived since he was nine months old, other than those years he was needed to serve his country in WWII. He began writing stories while recovering from night patrol injuries in a hospital in England. The Red Cross gave him paper. He mailed the stories home. All because he’d read everything he could get his hands on, and figured he could do as well or better. Once he started writing, he never stopped. That is a lesson for me, and all the aspiring authors I know. Writers write. A lot.
~ Janean Marie Thompson Baird
April 10, 2013
Quote from, “The Invincible Three” by Erwin A. Thompson.
As I think, “What’s that? Looks like a stick.”
Blue pokes it with his nose and then suddenly jerks back.
I laugh and say aloud, “A wiggly worm.”
We timed our walk just right, for between rain storms.
Peacock covered rain boots on my two feet.
Blue rockin’ four furry paws.
The early birds are feastin’ this mornin’ ‘cause the wiggly worms are right out in the open.
Have a good one.
April 8, 2013
I’m sitting still, in the dark, quiet of morning, before the sun lights up the dawn, listening to the most melodious of birdsong.
Blue dog is sleeping at my feet.
Two sweet boys are still asleep in bed.
Will move in a moment to get the coffee on.
For now, I’m a bit hypnotized by the sound of the family room clock tick tocking, intermixed with an upbeat chirping song from the other side of outer wall.
April 7, 2013
I’m not so grown up that I don’t still enjoy a bunch o’mini marshmallows happily bobbing atop a mug o’hot chocolate. Dark Chocolate Sensation at that. Gone now. Considering mug two.
April 6, 2013
My hair is a rats next of tangles from that wicked wind.
I’m am so wrung out and weary I’m leaning against the wall as I stand and type.
Will take more Tylenol next, find something hot and filling for supper, and look forward to the soothing water of a hot bath later tonight.
Sometime after the dog is walked for the last time and both boys are tucked into their beds.
Hopefully within the next three hours.
A sustaining emotion.
The ultimate Soul Food.
April 6, 2013