About Mark Twain

About Mark Twain-

What a kindred soul is he, to call Mark Twain brother. He who has not known what lies beyond the barrier of the fog’s bow. Do you know Mark Twain?

The Fog Horn blows.

I will tell you a story, be it as it may, a complicated such, but story nonetheless, of a true fictional account of a man known only as Mark Twain. Mr. Orthodox of the Madness. He who sought discontent. He who found contempt. May he rise again in spirit and set us straight in our crooked, meandering ways. Oh Mississippi, let your winding ways show us that the course to truth may be bent.

Can you see her now, beyond the cloud low? Can you hear the tide come and go? In the ways of the flow.

I can see. I can see now everything.

Here is the story of the Truth through Twain.

I sit on the bough, dangling my legs. I cannot feel my toes; my shoes are too tight. I may outgrow my own body completely, at this rate of speedy growth.

I am here viewing the muddy muse.

I wish to see clearer. I wish to see a way to the truth. Take me, I say aloud, down the river to the Delta May. I need to hear her say. I need clarification of what I know to be the way. I call for truth to show her face.

And the ripple down the river causes me to quiver.

Twain is born.

I say to the river, you have my allegiance. I will sew my stories to your riverbanks. I will do so; I will show thanks.

Can you see her now?

Can you hear the river waves? She told me where to go. I had to know. She said, “Mr., on the bough, wading your toes, along my silky skin, you want more than you have been fed? You want the ways in which the river flows to the South? You want the ways in which they flow to the mouth. Mr., Delta can tell you no more than me, kind sir. No more than what I store.”

“I say to you, look in me.”

“Look to see what is in me.”

And, I bent over to see. Beyond my shivering limbs- I could see what I knew. I could see what I did not know. I could see my memory of what was before and a vision of what lay ahead. For me, the river said wade.

For me, I said, thank your very soul, Mississippi.

I knew you would show me the way. And from my seated position in the crosshairs of my life, I dove into the Muddy Mississippi. I dove into the murkiness to find clarity. And did she seek me all the while? Did she call on me and only pretend to be called upon? I may not know, but I do not attempt to care. Because, the clear water on the underneath is all that mattered from then on. I came up.

I came up and gathered my belongings . I went to the bank and trekked down the path to my place of home.

Did it show? I didn’t know.

I was changed. I was Twain.

to be cont. (maybe)

A personal choice- One Big Decision in One Little Life.

It's interesting- to have situations presented to me, wander across my path and consequently become my concern. It's interesting- to watch the future unfold. Some of what I see I do not like.

So, what does that mean? Where does that leave me? What do I do about it? There's a decision to make. About everything, there is a decision to be made. With each supposed problem comes a solution- not one, but many possible solutions to fetch.

The first decision to make comes from these choices: Should I choose to care or choose to ignore what causes me grief because it hurts and/or because I am but one person who makes not a dent? If I choose to care, how much do I care? Do I care but do nothing, say nothing, or do I care and stand strong in my convictions to the point of pursuing firmly the causes I am passionate about and push for changes that I think make a difference? If neither is the case and I ignore instead, could I even stand myself? If I do nothing about what I believe, what does that mean about me and my character, my life here on earth and more, my soul that extends further?

Now, after I decide, assuming the decision is to care, what do I care about? What is so clearly ingrained in me that I must stand for it?

Everything that produces an extreme response? Or do I pick my battles, choose the most important issues of which to concern myself? Do I become (or remain- depending on how I am already perceived) annoying with my relentless talk and pushy ways? Is it (my causes) worth alienating myself, somewhat, from many of the dearest people in my life in order to believe in something and have it matter in my life? Because, not everyone chooses to care.

"Ahhh", I sigh.

YES!!! (Insert Tiger-Woods-fist-pump here.)

I am now sitting in an ocean of ornaments, writing, just like I said I would be. And, honestly, I have been on the verge of explosion while waiting for this moment. I have endured so much mental chatter with no outlet, all because I have insisted on making my last entry accurate. Stubborn. Yes. But, here I am with Christmas decorations surrounding me and soon my cozy home will be twinkling with Christmas cheer. The husband helped me with my storage unit task. I didn't even have to use my eyelashes. Which is good news because if I use them too often, the impact lessens. Effectiveness is hinged on impact; impact is hinged on a thing called 'surprise emotional advantage'. Don't act like you have never used it. Especially if you are a girl, because we girls are experts at the technique. And I see nothing wrong with this whatsoever. As much as the world tries to make us all the same and alike, the truth is, we are not. Not man to woman, not culture to culture, religion to religion, or individual to individual. Which is ideal. Difference, contrast; very important in the grand scheme of things. So, women are treated differently than men, and vice versa. So what. There are positives and negatives to this. A positive... men do strenuous and awful tasks just because we ask and blink. They do all sorts of things that suck just to put smiles on our faces. This is pretty generous and lovely of them. So, during this tiny segment called American political history a woman has not been President... true. (I say it this way because so often, when people are flipping out over a woman in politics being so cutting edge, I wonder what Catherine the Great would think... And there were many women in leadership positions throughout history. Nefertiti for instance... People seem to forget women have been capable and have actually DONE it already.) But, don't think that any man, President included, hasn't hurdled a wall of thorns for a woman they wish to please or impress. That is power. If power is up your alley, there you go. You've already got the key. No title needed.

So, I may sound like an awful person for saying such, but it is factual. We are not the same. And, although I have not lived in an era when women couldn't vote (Or heck- what about when the church finally acknowledged women had souls? That means they denied such at one time. This may be a myth- hopefully, but they sure did burn a lot as "witches" for no reason.) or were disregarded, I can say that I have never been treated poorly by any man. They have all been nice, respectful, gentlemanly. I do expect it, but I have never had to say it or demand it. If I had lived in era when women were not respected, I would have most likely been one who ended up with a stone around her foot at the bottom of a pond. I would have tried to read anyway. I would have fussed loudly. And I, like the countless others, would have been killed for trying to be a person and expand. But, fast forward to now- I do not have to deal with any sort of thing. And go a step farther, the housewife cliche' of the past, no such thing in my life. I have a husband who would never, ever ask me to have dinner on the table for him by a certain hour. He says, "Don't worry about it, I'll make my own food." or we'll take turns, or cook together. He cleans after everything he does. He irons. He mops. He does anything and everything I would do. I think this is because the idea of being a helpless sucker of a man is a repulsive idea to him. He can survive quite well without me, and I, him- but the choice is what makes the magic. We just choose to be here. We choose to help each other. He chose to spend his day off at the storage unit, with me, tackling his hundreds of golf clubs that I consider as daunting as tackling a black bear. His golf clubs and staff bags are my rival. They are so heavy and of mammoth proportions! (The only other bear I avoid tackling is ironing his big, fat man clothes. How impossible! I can't get one side of the garment on the board without ironing ill placed creases in the other. Which may be why he never hints at wanting me to iron. And btw, he is not fat, I just call things "big, fat" for fun.) These golf clubs pop up in strange places. I just noticed a hybrid or something behind my back seats under the back window of my car. But, in the unit, they are out of the way now, and all my goodies are at the front of the unit for quick handling.

Today, I was in and out of the unit in 1 hour on the dot. I know this because I looked at the clock at 1:11. I remember this time always because I had a 'dream' about it. When I was done, I looked at the clock again and it was 2:11. I remember this time always because it is the most important number pairing of my life. It is my birthday. February eleventh. And eleven has been my number, my sign, my life in symbolism since I was born. And my 'life sign' is 11, and my 'soul sign' is 22. Which is 2 times 11. And they are the only numbers that don't break down and instead remain double digits. Back to point. In that 1 hour, I sort of performed a Christmas miracle. Well, I performed it, for sure. The 'sort-of' applies to whether or not it was a miracle. I packed my Audi A4 so full, organizing everything within in such a way that I needn't take two trips to storage. I did it all in one shot. Hole in one. This is how moving over and over and over pays off. I'm a pro packer. Either that or it was a bona fide mini miracle.

I got it all in the house in 33 minutes. I made a workout of it and ran back to the car enthusiastically after each drop off inside my door. By the time I was done and inside I was burning up. I ended up stripping my layers off and now sit looking like a hipster/hip hop home decor queen. I have on Merrills, jeans, a sports bra, and a toboggan with crazy long strands of hair flying around. Life is good. My new playlist from yesterday is playing from the speakers. It is a good one, I think. I will share it if you want. I can enter it later and you can look up and listen to the ones you may not know. One of them, the one on now, is what I named a soundtrack to my book. It is the music I listened to while writing it. I had to shorten it a few times. And I had to minimize the amount of David Gray on it by leaps and bounds. I often listen to him all day and all night. He's the best to me. I adore his music. The other new playlist I blared last night while Nick was reading in bed. I broke it down solo. He couldn't see me, only Selma was witness to my jive. I couldn't stop. He had finished reading, turned off the light and only asked that I turn it down a tad, so I remained below, exhausting myself downstairs before going to sleep.

Oh, yeh. Cold is here. It's come to stay this time. No more checking in and out. It unpacked the bags officially this weekend by showering Edenton with snow. I have never lived in a snowy place before. I'm very excited. I visit snow, never live in it on a consistent basis. And in Atlanta, when it snows, the city screeches to a halt. It is an economical choice for them to shut down as opposed to buy snow equipment. It rarely snows. But, when it does, it ices over and the old trees suffer and people are stuck indoors. I lived on a steep slope and a couple of times had to trek down with the dogs to be picked up. The roadway up the hill was so jammed with stuck cars that it looked like a parking lot. Everyone was cool with it though. Snow, even ice, is a novelty for the real south. Where I grew up, I think I saw flurries maybe once. South Georgia snubs snow... unfortunately.

I am writing aimlessly, but I cannot tell you how good it feels. I have been a pill lately from ignoring the urge to write. It made me moody. I apologized to Nick for it. And now, I am happy; I sigh with relief. I am sitting half-naked; in a room full of Christmas ornaments, glitter cone trees, wreaths, David Gray's music, and my pups bouncing balls around the confusion; on a cold but beautifully clear day. Today may produce more than one entry. So, until next time...