photographer

When Joe takes a photo I look and when he writes I read. 'Cause well, you'll see.

importance of self

In the not good enough you will always find evidence in the case you're pleading.

Maybe it works the other way too.

It is Wednesday the 19th. My hours are earlier and more scattered and alone and fighting with each other. This is only the second story of five, and that first one got rewritten at least three or four times.

Not good enough. not good enough. not good enough.
oh yeah. not good enough.

He sent me forty-seven pages of genius, a study of a plan in a place where huge movement happens. It was beautiful and detailed and I even said to my editor, I just want to put chunks of what he said in there. 

She laughed.

No. I'm serious. How do I follow that?

Again she laughed at me because she is awesome and throwing work my way.

Crazy. How lucky I am to have the friends I do. I told her she could always fire me if she needed to. Every time I turn something in I think.

Well, that's it. I'm not a writer anymore.




Dear you,
I turned in the Delta Bluff Scenic Byway, Desoto July article yesterday. I am not a writer. Thank you for reading three years of complete garbage while someone, namely me, attempted to put words together to form coherent sentences and take away some weird meaning. You are incredibly patient and kind and generous and I'm sure there is a medal in heaven for what you did.
me

You saw the evidence of me playing in the rain instead of sitting in a desk chair until the story was done.

Then.
Something happens.
I talk to a friend.
And.
Talk about the next article.

She says, I cried when I saw the brick streets.


Now I have to go.
Of course I have to see.
Might as well try to write about it, I guess.
Plus. I have something to prove to nobody but myself.
I am good enough. I am good enough to write about this.




Today I am grateful for a consistent and persistent goal, for the knowledge I will always find evidence in the case I am pleading.







and maybe, just maybe, if it's good enough we're looking for then it's simple. of course, you and me, we're good enough. but better than could definitely cause some problems.

layers

It was just that.
It was raining.
And we needed the rain.
And I needed to play.

Slater called. We made plans.
Billy Sue was safely under the desk. The kittens under the house.
The kitchen clean.
Laundry done.

So.

I wanted to laugh, to celebrate a good hard rain and that's exactly what I did as I hugged the side of the house, jumped to the carport, walked the deserted porch and played.

Today I am grateful to still be able to play.



I know. I know.
Get to work, me.

crop circles in my rock garden

I know. I know.


I have articles due.


It's just.


You know.

flowers in her hair

A quarter of a century ago I graduated high school. It was in the late eighties.



Twenty-five years later this past Saturday the phone rang. It was Patsy.

Girl, I know you're going to the high school reunion.

I told you I would. When is it?

Today. It started at twelve. 

I check the clock on the wall. Patsy. It's twelve fifteen.

I'm on my way. You better go. You told me you would.

Thanks for the notice.

Oh. You're not going.

I'm supposed to be going to Meridian to buy a father's day gift and grocery shop.

That's what I figured.

Where is it? Dammit.







What I will say is that when I moved back to town I asked around about Patsy. Patsy who I played basketball with, who was smart and hilarious and who I had often wondered where in the world did she go. And she was here with her masters in social work and a good husband and a teenage son. Suddenly here I am back in a community with an old friend.


The reunion? It was great.




Today I am grateful to be a part of the class of eighty-eight.

his girl

When Slater was a teenager his Dad sat next to me and said, I need for you to tell me how to be a Dad.

It's not calculus, I said. Just show up. If you tell him you're gonna do something. Do it.

It was almost as if that answer was too frustratingly simple for him.

Still. He is my son's Dad and as long as he's breathing it's never too late.






I don't know how to tell you how hard my Dad works. I think you would have to see it for yourself. It's hot here already and he never stops some pretty extreme manual labor of busting beaver dams and cutting grass and trimming and clearing and planting and fixing and checking off a list and being right there to jump in the pool with my nephew.


And I am in awe of who my Daddy is.
And I'd like to take a moment to say that there are some great, great men of this world and every one of them showed up and out for the people who needed them.



Today I am grateful for my Dad, my brothers, my friends' husbands, my friends, all those men who if you ask them who they are at least one of their answers is, I am a father/dad/daddy/pop.

heirloom

Just so you know. I wear my bra to the convenience store.


There is a sweet adorable little elderly lady standing to the right of the cash register at the convenience store. It's confusing. She is on the customer side of the counter but rather than standing in a single file line with the rest of us she is facing us.

She says to the cute young lady in front of me, Oh you are so pretty. You have such beautiful eyes.

The young lady says, Thank you.

We all smile. It is a moment of someone receiving a compliment and giving gratitude and nobody died.

Then the sweet adorable little elderly lady looks at me. Is this your daughter?

Actually she's my sister. Only two years younger than me. I didn't know I looked so old.




Today I am grateful for laughter and a touch on the arm and a sweet adorable little elderly lady who walked with me out of the convenience store.