I painted this on the first day of the Iraqi war and named it “Peace Bubbles.” (I sold this painting and believe it is hanging on a wall in a yoga studio in NYC)
Whatever traditions you celebrate this season, I hope your life is filled with peace, acceptance, grace, hope, kindness, joy and LOVE.
All the best to you, my blogging buds! – Carolyn
This Path in Lake Tahoe …
led me to beauty, and then ….
solitude. More solitude than I expected. I got lost on my way back. Then I mustered up a little stamina and determination that got me home.
The virtuous Meta, misled to the wrong “boarding house,” has been offered a job. A the bordello!
Smiles, genuine and kind, surrounded me. Never in my life had I met others who so easily accepted a bookworm like myself and appreciated my talent as a pianist. I was a grown woman capable of making independent decisions. Besides, I came here to Discover a world full of new possibilities.
I swallowed my apprehension, hoping I wasn’t about to make a grave mistake. The brothel madam continued smiling, her expression framed with hope.
I unhinged the teeth biting my tongue. “Do you think we could have the piano tuned?”
From The Last Bordello.
Why don’t I remember this movie? So grateful to have seen this!
Writing can be an x-ray into the soul. Truman Capote led a troubled life. Oh, what sensitive gorgeous stories resulted!
His “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” was made into a movie starring Audrey Hepburn.
Photo thanks to, Wikipedia
That photo, along with Hepburn at the prime of her iconic gorgeousness, are the best part of the movie. What drivel that movie made of Capote’s genius novella! It boiled Capote’s nuanced character study of love between a straight woman and a gay man into nonsense — a chain of cliches, the worst being Andy Rooney’s bigoted portrayal of a Chinese landlord.
Ah – but now I’m getting off track from telling you about Capote’s succinct mini-masterpiece, “A Christmas Memory.” The short story, featured in numerous short story anthologies, premiered in 1956, in Mademoiselle Magazine.
Capote at 23, thanks to Wikipedia.
The essay is Capote’s gift to us about his own childhood experiences, after his parents divorced…
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(FYI: raw journal kernels mean I don’t edit such things as “your” and “you’re.” 🙂
Same art, different perspective. Are you Calm or Struggling? 
From my art portfolio I thought I’d lost.
Emma June has known Scooter her whole eleven years. She remembers when he was scared of the dark. Now, the day is closing and Scooter is missing.
Scoot had been excited about the campout all day, so I didn’t tell him I was spooked. I looked up through the gaps in the trees and watched the clouds as they moved across the half moon like blankets trying to cover a small bed. Then it got darker. The owl hooted and we both saw its eyes, yellow and mean. Scooter said it first. “Campout over.” Then he got up and walked inside with the sleeping bag over his head.
I’m not afraid of the dark anymore. I’m not afraid of untold secrets, either.
“I’m afraid for Scooter,” I tell Frank.
“Me too.”
Excerpt from The Moonshine Thicket
I blogged many years back and stopped. Maybe I didn’t understand it or maybe I just didn’t care. But I came back into “your” fold this past August because I was on a mission. I had a goal and I haven’t done such a good job achieving it.
But, as I like to say, “there goes that universes again” — because blogging has taught me things I didn’t expect.
I have to tell you. A few people in my life, including an attorney friend of mine, worries that “exposing” myself to the cyber world could be unsafe. That “many of those bloggers are not true to who they really are.”
If that’s the case with any of you, back up, Jack, and hit the unfollow button.
(But I think I “know” you.)
Unless I’m traveling, my world is a bit of a bubble. You know, routines and such. Not that I’m complaining. For the most part, I like my sac of familiar air.
But now I have cyber friends like you, who come from all over the world, who tell me through words or photographs about their life, and interests. Many of you share the same thoughts and ideals as me. And the ones who differ, teach me.
You are writers, strugglers, rebels, photographers, dancers, chefs, visionaries, travelers, poets, doctors, animal lovers, readers, humorists. You are mothers, fathers, new adults, aging adults, “in-between” adults.
And, here is the common thread: You are all thinkers who ponder and share the world as you know it.
So what’s not to like?
It’s not you. It’s me. I’m not so good at promoting my novels to make a “difference” in sales while sitting at this particular table.
But I like this wooden table. There is plenty of room for everyone.
And it’s round.
(And yes, it’s an electronic cigarette)
I don’t feel any different after gulping Brandon’s swill. All I feel is happy to be away from him and doing something new.
Carla points to the sign.
‘Madam Zola’s Expert Fortune Teller
Past, Present, Future
Crystal ball gazing, Palm reading
Tarot Cards.’
We don’t care there’s a line waiting outside the door. We sneak to the back where no one will see us then lay on our stomachs. Carla peels up a side of the canvas so we can have a good listen to what Madam Zola’s tells her paying customers.
The first customer asks where she can find her lost dog.
The second voice is Beauty’s.
I hadn’t thought about Mama all day.
Now, I have to poke my arm to keep from crying.
From my upcoming novel, The Moonshine Thicket.
Cono’s pony, Polo
I ride him up to the front of the house, but start slowing down when I see a car pull up in front of Ma and Pa’s. Not just any car, but a brand new four-door 1931 Cadillac that I know Uncle Will paid through the nose for.
“Cono!” I hear Aunt Nolie yell, “Come say ‘hello’ to yer Uncle Will.” I ride Polo over to Uncle Will, as he’s getting out of his fancy car wearing his fancy suit, five dollar Mallory hat and carrying his fancy walking stick. Since he’s married to Ma’s sister, Aunt Oler, I know I need to be polite, but it’s hard to be since he’s always such a horse’s butt. His money never helps us out none. I’m not sure it helps him either ‘cause it sure doesn’t make him a nice feller. Last time he came over he looked at me and said, “Why Cono, ye haven’t grown an inch. You better watch out or yer little sister’s gonna catch up with ye, Ha ha ha.” I didn’t like it when he said that, not one little bit.
Polo and I ride up close to him he says, “Well, hello there Cono..”
I’m just waiting for another report about how I’m not growing and I’m about to say, “Hello sir” but don’t get the chance. He walks over to me and pulls me right off Polo with his fancy walking stick. “Well, I’ll be damned” is what I’m thinking; the shock of it all doesn’t let me think of anything else. Uncle Will laughs. I can’t believe it, but he reaches in his pocket and thumb-flicks me a shiny penny.
“Save it up fer a rainy day there, young fella.”
I pick it up off the ground and mumble, “Thank you, sir.”
Aunt Oler and Aunt Nolie don’t pay me no mind, they just go on talking. I get up, grab Polo by the reins and walk slowly back towards the house. I don’t want Uncle Will to know that underneath my hat, my dander is up. So what if he’s got an oil rig named after him? So what he just gave me a shiny new penny? It ain’t like I’ve never seen one before! As far as I’m concerned, Uncle Will’s just a short, fat, King’a Fancy Man and I wish I had his Cadillac and he had a wart on his butt. I’m just gonna go put that penny in my cigar box until I think of something to do with it.
Probably buy some paper to wipe my butt with.
From my novel, No Hill for a Stepper.
Carolyn Dennis-Willingham 