A writing project

Good Morning yall!

Welcome to my new project, well at least one of many projects that I have inside my head.

If you have been reading my blogs (yes blogs, some with the same stuff)….sorry I got sidetrack looking at my email….Thank you.

Any way, this is what my life consists of:

  • frustrations over finances/success
  • boredom
  • being creative and not showing it in public
  • and just about any human experience that is given to someone who is quite

I really need to stop being so quite and be more like my 4 year old.  She says high to everyone and man what energy.  ( When I was working and on my days off I would wave to everyone when I was shopping, she did pick up that habit and it really annoyed whom ever I was shopping with.)

I do have moments that I’m less quite and they are important to me.

How did I become so quite?  Well, that is a complicated process.  My dad is always quite.  I believe some are scars from the Vietnam war and some is because he was the youngest of 8.  So it just the way I was raised.

We would hardly go to any function that would be over 20 (this is something funny since there were 4 kids at home.)  Also being raised on a farm in the middle of nowhere didn’t help out any either.

The farm like was just that farm life.  Huge open fields of beans, wheat, peanuts, and cotton.  I really like the peanuts especially when they burnt the land…fresh roasted peanuts in the ground. 

For years there we raised rabbits, chickens, quail, turkeys, gunnies,and ducks.  We had peach, plum, and pear trees.  I sometime miss it but it was a lonely life.  Our closes neighbor was about a mile’s walk away.  It did not bother my parents because that was how they were raised in Mississippi.

Mom had only electricity to her house and Dad didn’t have that.  No indoor pluming.  I still remember when my uncle got his indoor bathroom in the 1980s.

I guess spilling my life here is really not that interesting.  I mainly writing to view were my life have come from.

I need to remember some of the stories my grandma told about the depression, living in the back woods of Mississippi.  May be I’ll ask my mom and look again at grandma’s writings.

Okay, that is enough for right now…I guess this would make a good book, but again fear (my quietness) says no.

This will be continued later.  Until then Peace.

Posted in art

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