The Death of Flowers

It's been a sad month for me. My grandmother died on September 11, 2008. As a matter of fact, the whole year of 2008 has been filled with death. So far this year I have been to 3 funerals. That's the same amount of funerals that I have been to in the past 20 years. My best friend's mother died a week ago today. I am, to say the very least, extremely traumatized. I have so much to say about the people I have lost. I want to see them again, talk to them, but mostly, I want to ask them questions. But I can't. And so now I wait until spring....when I no longer have to deal with the death of flowers.....Thank you and pray for me.
In honor of my Grandmother Annie Pearl McCoy...and all the others we have lost....

All's Fair

I went to the Fair this weekend. I love the Fair, I always have. As a kid I loved the energy of the place. There was always candy, games to play and the rides!!! I especially loved the rides because they appealed to the wild thing in me. The rides would toss me around, twirling me about, the wind would whip through my hair. It was the best feeling in the world to me, being the quiet child any other time, but free and unfettered on those rides. I loved it so much! Even now, fully grown and with my feet planted a little too firmly on the ground, I still love to go and watch the people. It's the people at the fair that I am most fascinated with. I'm a people watcher and watching people at the fair is like directing a reality show where you get to make up the plot and develop the characters. I create all kinds of stories in my head for the people I encounter...."That woman over there with the superbright smile and the gentle admonishments wants to escape from her controlling husband and their overindulged children"...."That man over there with the tattoos and missing front teeth wishes he had listened a little more to his father and not been such a smart ass". As lame as it may sound I can do that shit all night. And when I come home I an invariably thinking about possibilities and opportunities. It's as if the fair ignites something inside me that sparks my need to create. I always come away from the fair thinking about the stories that exist in the world. And about how each part makes up the whole. And about how my part fits in. What kind of story am I writing for myself? What little pieces am I fitting this together to create my whole? And If I don't like how the story is turning out how the fuck do I change it? Until I figure this shit out here's a little picture that I hope takes you some place fun and silly and interesting in your head.