I’m ready for Christmas, ready for Christmas warmth and puppy dogs by the tree entangled in Christmas lights, candle light, peace.

Here’s the thing.  You’re going to have to knock on my door, whether you catch me disheveled, groomed, underweight, overweight, make up on, make up off, house clean, house messy, with someone, or alone.  You’re going to have to knock on my door.  Having said that, don’t think that I’m just going to be sitting here with bated breath.




The sky tonight, at sunset, was robin’s egg blue, come to think of it, it was the same color at sunrise, beautiful, deep and luminous.  The Christmas tree is up and seems more beautiful this year because I added more lights.  Our department Christmas party was this past Saturday night in the French Quarter overlooking the Mississippi; I had to decline attending because I’m afraid of breaking down at night in New Orleans; the parking in the Quarter is expensive and cabs both way high.  On Saturday afternoon, I had just finished with the tree and was watching the Army-Navy game played in a heavy snowfall, beautiful, when the phone rang.  It was my boss, Dr. Crawford, who told me he and his wife would love to offer me a ride to the party.  It was so kind and gracious, and yes, I really did want to go so I accepted.  It snowed last Friday in Louisiana, a precious little in New Orleans, but it was freezing and raining, and Saturday night, though clear, was crackling with cold.  I felt so comfortable with both Dr. Crawford and Carol riding to the party.  She is a very warm, genuine, youthful looking lady with a gift to draw you out.  She is from Laurel, Mississippi, and I never met a Mississippian I didn’t like and feel comfortable with.  I had a lovely time both with them and at the party.  It surprised me that some of the people who thought I wasn’t going came and hugged me ferociously telling me how glad they were I came.  And so was I.  And, New Orleans, at night, is so lovely.  While we waited in the parking lot, a firetruck decked with Christmas lights drove by on Decatur, big and red and cheerful, with a band on top playing jazzy Christmas carols.  It was also the night of the Santa Crawl, i.e., people dressed up as Santa Clause do bar and pub crawls all night long.  The street was filled with them.  And, the sparkling black river.  Reminds me of a book chapter I wrote once long ago, now part of landfill or probably well incinerated, about a night on the black river with two people.

I saw where GG has written and directed something that sounds like sh! but it is being acclaimed–somehow, R, had to be worked into this although R’s work never received the award attention or acclaim of this one’s to the point of being there when people arrive for work is a “technique.”  Now, myself, knowing R for the fraud that she is from personal experience, just shake my head wondering what is it about her that makes people, including you, grovel so.  But I think, with you, it’s reverse misogyny.  After all these years, it only finally hit after reading a synopsis of your latest project, that all along it has been about nothing but control, an essential for you.


So much for the behavior of the “elite,” the morally superior Liberals, the hypocrites, the West and East Coast dwellers.  This is some of the worst filth I have ever heard in my life, and to see these people onscreen you’d swear butter didn’t melt in their mouths.  Such arrogance and entitlement that comes with power and wealth.  Well, now, how the mighty hath fallen.


It is a miserable, ugly, gray day, with a crawling dampness that bring cold, but not invigorating cold.  It matches my mood perfectly.  I hate stagnant air, stagnation and people who cause stagnation.  Your useless guilt deflates me, the need this guilt causes you to say the sickening things you say, cloying in their phoniness.  You know there would be no need for you to do this with me.  I would strong recommended you read Wayne Dyer’s, Your Erroneous Zones, especially when he describes the uselessness of guilt and the reasons for procrastination.  I repeat, the uselessness of guilt and the reasons for procrastination.  You know, you can kill something with the death by a thousand cuts thing, and right now, as far as I’m concerned, you’re on nine hundred ninety-nine and 97% close to killing it all.  Since you are such the master of expendable, i.e. you could lose a hand but that’s okay  because you have another one, just remember if you lose this what’s waiting for you in the wings.  Honest to God, is truth such a bad fate that the other is preferable?  You’re sitting on my last nerve.  Just want you to know that.



Suddenly remembering Brandi’s dream of me in October, of me with the little black dog.  Suddenly remembering Labor Day and my coma-like sleep a little before noon.  There was a lurcher named Fangs in “Ivanhoe,” and a lurcher named Toby who investigated with Holmes.  Why do you do things that hurt me so?

The Same Old Dance

Isn’t it intolerably stupid of me to think that anything would be different or change.  Somehow you must always dangle a carrot because, for some reason, you need to feed off of me like a vampire, and you lay the pretty bait and you draw me in, out of your complete selfishness, and then, always, inevitably, you have to throw the other one in–publicly–and hint at your sweet wonderful life of such joy an intimacy.  My dear stupid man, do you think that now, after the “sweet” grey flannel story that I would want to see you drape anything.  Sick of this, not going there, I’ve had enough.  Period.

One Final Note Before The End Of Day

Sluggishness continues, and that pain in my side that comes and goes.  Know what that is, so…perhaps a belt of something must be a bit bracing.  We’ll see.

As it sometimes doesn’t pay to do something when you’re eyes are closing on you, the soup I made yesterday just didn’t taste like anything.  Kept doctoring it and doctoring it, and then just when I was going to have a bowl for lunch, the food gods inspired me.  It reminded me of chicken tortilla soup in a way, so I added chili powder, cumin and served it with a sprinkling of salt free tortilla chips, cheddar cheese and a dollop of sour cream.  Mon Dieu, it was delish, and very filling.  I’m so sleepy.

Been meaning to write this, tell you, ever since I watched the Jennifer Jones version of, “The Barretts of Wimpole Street” over the summer.  Love that movie, love her dog, Flush, just love all of it.  When we first began when we were both young, and you a little younger than I, I was at a stage in my life where I felt emotionally drained, I had lost my little Flush recently, there were things that had happened to me for nearly ten years that you know about that had taken such a toll, there were other matters also, not to mention a job that was anybody’s idea of hell.  Or so I thought at the time.  I later learned there could be jobs even more hellish…but I was whipped in many ways.  And then you sort of burst into my psyche, my life, my mind, you wouldn’t take no for an answer, you were persistent, you responded to me in a way that I least expected and I kept saying, no, no, no; and then, you were younger, and then your magic began to work on me that was healing and joyful.  So, I began to think of you as Robert Browning to my Elizabeth Barrett, because she had the same misgivings that gave way to utter joy.  Seeing that movie reminded me of all of that, and further down the line, how he called her his little Portuguese because of her darkness and olive skin.  As Bill the Butcher would say, Porto-gee-zie.  A lot has happened since then, and all sum and total, it is now myself who feels the younger, that you have always been older.

A nice time and thing to recall.

A Lazy Thanksgiving

My goodness, this was the laziest Thanksgiving I ever spent.  Not Thursday exactly, but Friday, yesterday, kept dozing, although I really did enjoy, “Black Sails.”  Swear to heaven I’m going to put the Jolly Roger over my fireplace one day, when and if I get a fireplace in a beach shack.  Neverthless,  awakened a little before 4 AM today; by 5:30, did some laundry, and with Earl’s quilt being one of the laundered items placed it over the chair on the back porch in the rising sun and just took it back in–one of my favorite scents–freshly laundered bed clothes aired in the bright sun and fresh air.  The living room smells of fresh air and books–a favorite combination.  Still, the bright beautiful day outside, sat in the recliner to listen to the Revs. Stanley and Jeremiah and sleepiness overtakes me again.  Must need the rest.

I remember working at Catholic Charities in the late eighties when a lady named Melanie once asked me if I liked Jane Austen.  I had to admit to her I had never read one of her books.  She was shocked, because she knew I loved to read, and loved the classics.  She castigated me in a good natured way, and then said decidedly, “knowing you, Jeanne, you will love, “Mansfield Park.”  I’m curious so I think I will read that first.  I have “Emma,” “Pride and Prejudice,” and MP.  I was hoping to read, “Persuasion” first, but I might just have to buy my own copy.  They didn’t have, “Treasure Island,” something I also wanted to read again.

Watched the LSU game last night, last of the season and they won.  Big time.  I like Coach Orgeron, gruff, good natured big bear. I was going to put Christmas lights up on the back porch, but way too tired.  I’d like to know how much tryptophan was in the turkey!

So much wish you were here.


A Pirate Fix!

After such a lazy, sleepy day, awakened at 2:30 AM stiff as a board and moved to the recliner.  Idly checked the viewing guide and I saw that Starz was showing a “Black Sails” marathon.  It’s never been the right time it seems for me to watch it before, but this morning, I turned it on.  Okay, I am hooked.  I watched at least three episodes, and decided to program taping the rest of them so I could shower at 6 AM and then run errands.  Well, errands are run, can’t believe I was back at Joe W’s this morning; going to make turkey sandwiches on King’s Hawaiian sweet hamburger buns with a horseradish dressing.  I told Geri in the Cheese Department I will never go on a diet as long as I keep walking through her section.  Despite all the poultry this week, I’m going to make a savory chicken soup; that seems to be all I want.

Stopped at the library and picked up three Jane Austens:  I’ve been meaning to read my way through her books for a while now; yesterday I watched a movie I had taped called, “The Jane Austen Book Club,” and I enjoyed it, chick flick that it was, with Emily Blount playing a character I could not stand who was supposed to be pitiful and vulnerable thus explaining her personality, but hey, FUHGETTABOUTIT.  I liked Kathy Baker’s character a lot, and Jocelyn a lot, and Amy Brenneman’s character a whole lot but I couldn’t stand her lesbian daughter and not because she was a lesbian.  Mom and I used to watch, “Judging Amy” together almost every week with AB and Tyne Daily as her mother and once she told me I wasn’t really skinny but she thought I was built like Amy Brenneman.  I had never really noticed, but I did yesterday and although I can’t see it at all because I always feel fat, I guess it wouldn’t be a bad thing to be.

A funny feeling of Deja Vu I can’t identify, but it was while I was watching Black Sails this morning, there was a shot of an after slaughter scene, with bodies scattered in the 18th century attired, smoke swirling, a palm tree on either side of a white arched building, and it was like I had been in something similar before, had seen it, lived it, somewhere in Louisiana.  Strange.  Meggie will be happy I have finally watched this show which has been developed as a prequel to, “Treasure Island.”

On the subject of Jane Austen, remembering Gwyenneth Paltrow played, “Emma,” and she has recently reported she was one of Harvey Weinstein’s sexual predatory victims, I really have to make this observation.  And it’s not giving Weinstein, the pig, a pass, nor Al Franken, the other pig, nor Bill Clinton, super pig, or any man, and that goes for the Almighty Pig physician who victimized me years ago, but knowing what Weinstein did and how he was, how could Paltrow then be in a movie produced by Weinstein, “Shakespearre in Love,” wherein she had nude and sex scenes onscreen that he would certainly see?  And, I’m remembering when she was attending all the openings of this movie, there was one in the dead of February and she wore this one layer of chiffon dress with sandals that was so transparent she just as soon as walked out in the nude.  I couldn’t believe that dress, and when I think of her outrage now about Weinstein–wow.   I do remember her acceptance speech at the Oscars when she cried out, “Grandpa!” or something and I said, gee I wonder what Grandpa thought about that dress?  Hollywood–a world apart.