My wish for you
a castle view
a banquet at your feet
a bouquet of love
while thinking of
each stranger that you meet.
For You
2
Tag Archives: acceptance
Cono meets a “Colored Man”
Cono Dennis and his sister, Delma
1934: We walk into the barber’s shop and Dad shakes hands with Mr. Kindle. The place looks pretty much the same as Grady’s in Ranger, but instead of a boxing poster, there’s a framed picture of President Roosevelt. Something else different too. There’s a colored man standing in the corner holding a rag. Dad walks up to him, shakes his hand and says, “How ya doin,’ H?”
“I’m jest fine, Mr. Wayne. How ‘bout yerself?” They shake hands.
“Any better ’n I’d be dead.”
“Well, that’s fine then, jus’ fine,” H. laughs.
“H., this is my boy, Cono.” H. bends down, looks me square in my eyes and says, “We’ll, it’s a real pleasure Little Dennis, a real pleasure.”
I like how he’s Squatting so he can see my eyes. Like we’re playing on the same team. I don’t have to look up to him and he doesn’t have to look down on me. I stare back into his eyes where I can see right into the middle of him. What I see is safe and comfortable. So I say, “I ain’t never met a real colored man before.” I hear Dad laugh.
“‘S’at right?”
“Yeah.”
“Yes, sir,” corrects Dad.
“Yes sir,” I say.
“Well, Little Dennis, I’ve never met a young man so strong and smart lookin’ as you.” Dad gets in the barber’s chair and H. pulls up a stool to start shining Dad’s old black shoes.
I like the way H. looks at me, like I’m worth a jar full of quarters.
Excerpt from No Hill for a Stepper
Don’t criticize those who are “different”
I don’t want to answer any more of her all-the-time questions. So I ask, “Where’s Scooter?”
“Behind on his school work. No surprise there.” She laughs, but I know her son lagging behind in this world rubs blisters of worry under her skin. “He’s home with Leonard,” she continues. “I’ll swannee, my poor husband doesn’t have much hair left from the strands he pulls out trying to help Scooter.”
“Hmm,” I say, looking at Choppers.
Kids at school say Scooter’s grain elevator doesn’t reach the top of the silo. That he acts more like a six-year-old than a thirteen-year-old. They don’t know Scooter like I do. He might not be the brightest penny in the cash box, but I’ve known him all my life. He has more grain than most of the numbskulls in Holly Gap, Texas and Scooter’s worth more than the whole lot of them. Wherever Scoot skips, bounces or walks, goodness sprouts in the footsteps he leaves behind. Without Scooter, everything would grow dead.
Excerpt from The Moonshine Thicket
Daily word prompt: Criticize
Judgement
At the party, they thought she was overly concerned with her beauty.
She wasn’t.
They didn’t know her.
She had other things on her mind.
Like life.
Like what really mattered.
They judged her anyway.
She didn’t care.
Painting by CDW-(me)
NO NOOSE AROUND THIS NECK!
Once again, my sister has come through. (And wait for the “punchline!”)
Pat bought me the perfect gift for Christmas. (She has read my historical fiction novels, the last one set in 1901.) Upon closer inspection, it became even better!
First, this:
Then:
THIS, MY FRIENDS, IS NO NOOSE. THIS IS MY BADGE OF HONOR!! 🙂 🙂 🙂
Sincerely,
Bad Ass Carolyn
My gift to you
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
Who Are You?
Truly, hoo, hoo, are you?
Tell me.
I want to know.
Seriously.
Talk to me.
I’m listening.
The Shape of Emma June Crawford
First, thanks so much for liking my “shape” in previous posts.
When I posted The Shape of our Being, I mentioned how experiences shape our humanness. Here’s another example of the “shape” of Carolyn’s Being that shows up in my novels. I’ve posted Meta’s shape from The Last Bordello and Cono’s shape from No Hill for a Stepper.
Here’s Emma June from The Moonshine Thicket.
Kids at school say Scooter’s grain elevator doesn’t reach the top of the silo. That he acts more like a six-year-old than a thirteen-year-old. They don’t know diddly-squat. Scooter might not be the brightest penny in the cash box, but I’ve known him all my life. He has more grain than most of the numbskulls in Holly Gap, Texas and Scooter’s worth more than the whole lot of them. Wherever Scoot skips, bounces or walks, goodness grows in the footsteps he leaves behind. Without Scooter, everything would grow dead.
I can’t wait for you to meet Emma June when she finally gets out and about!
The Shape Of Meta’s Being
“I’m going to bet on MY ‘underdog-ness’ and give this a shot. Some might sigh a bit when they see a fellow blogger try to promote their work. But try we must.” CD-W
In a previous post titled, The Shape of our Being, I mentioned how our experiences shape our humanness, including the Carolyn Being (a work in progress). My “shape” shows up in my novels. In this excerpt from The Last Bordello, Sadie, a prostitute in a 1901 bordello, escorts the virtuous Meta (who accepted Madam Fannie’s offer to be the bordello’s pianist) on a tour of the city.
And truly, thanks for hanging with me!
“Meta, I know this is your first time to a big city. I want to be fair. There is something I want you to understand.” She paused, gathering my attention. “People in town know I’m a painted lady, a prostitute. Or, as some like to say, a lowly whore.”
“But—”
Sadie held up a hand. “Being seen with me is almost as bad as being a prostitute yourself. People will judge you. Your reputation could be tainted by merely being seen in my presence. I truly don’t want any harm or ill will to come to you. I don’t want you embarrassed by my company.”
Perhaps this was Aunt Amelia’s concern, what she wanted to tell me. If the public thought less of me for playing the piano at a bordello, I didn’t care. Weren’t even prostitutes and their customers entitled to the magic of music?
Unlashing Sadie’s grasp, I stepped a foot to the side. “Sadie, I appreciate your honesty. Now,” I said, my grin widening, “shall we walk back arm in arm like schoolgirls?”
Sadie’s white teeth glistened in the February sun. “Yes,” she said, interlocking an elbow with mine. “Onward to the next stop.”
Excerpt from an Amazon review:
Elizabeth Cady Stanton, women’s right activist
Carolyn Dennis-Willingham 