The Sale Goes On (Mad Monday)

It’s #MadMonday, kind of like #BlackFriday but on Monday- and Tuesday and Wednesday…

The Google Play Store Sale just goes on and on.

And on.

#ShoptillYouDrop

Dear, Sweet Tallulah (Friday’s free for All)

Lay your grammar obsessions aside, let your jaw relax, loosen your ears, take a long deep breath as you let your mind drift to the deep south and listen in to the privy conversation between Maggie and her dear, sweet Tallulah.

Happy #Friday y’all!! 🍻 #SouthernProud

Chapter Eleven

From Book 1 of the Clan Destiny Series

β€œAre you gonna sleep all day Mizrez Lafont? Best try to git up a bit.”
It was the voice of Tallulah attempting to rouse the exhausted Maggie. She tapped the rail of a lump beneath the bedding and continued,
β€œIma open these shades now missy, better make yo eyes ready cuz it’s a mighty fine mornin’.” Tallulah warned. Her bedraggled vernacular seemed to come from every direction at once.

Maggie pulled the Egyptian cotton over her face and murmured,
β€œThank you Tallulah but for the umpteenth time would you please call me Maggie, okay?”
β€œOkay Miss Maggie.” The drapes flew back and light filled the room. Maggie lifted the cover from her face and squinted at the morning sun.

Tallulah studied the woman’s face which was no more than a shade darker than the snowy sheets. She planted her hands on her hips and stared into the hollow eyes of her mistress.

β€œMr. Ray is comin’ home today. He’s gonna be here in time for supper, you gonna tell him?”
β€œYes Tallulah, I am going to tell him.”
β€œIs you feelin’ sick this mornin’? I can fetch you some dry toast and warm tea. That was always a help to me and to Mr. Ray’s mama too.”


β€œYes please.” Maggie strained to sit up and suppressed a gag as she spoke. β€œThat would be nice.”

When Maggie heard the door shut she scrambled to the restroom, turned the cold water on and splashed her face. The wave of nausea subsided and she raised her head to inspect the figure before her. She hardly recognized the drawn, insipid person in the mirror.
Maggie had been ill since the last night of her honeymoon when Ray carried her from the beach. She barely recalled the long flight home and blamed it on the rum but there was something wrong and she knew it.
The illness quashed her plans to redecorate the beautiful old plantation house. It had been in the Lafont family for close to two hundred years. There wasn’t much Maggie wanted to change about the historical mansion, just a few personal touches to make it her own, their own. The home of Mr. and Mrs. Ray Lafont – Ray didn’t care one way or the other.
Mrs. Turner had kept her word and came to visit at least once a week, usually staying for several days, though Maggie hardly noticed with most of her days spent between the bed and the bathroom of the apartment sized boudoir.
Maggie wasn’t surprised when she noticed her collar bones protruding like bowed timber at the base of her bony neck; after all should could not recall the last meal she had been able to keep in her stomach. Lifting her gown she could see the distinct outline of every rib – then letting her eyes drop she observed the only thing that wasn’t recessed was her belly. Her abdomen looked like a basketball had been shoved beneath her flesh. β€œOhhh god,” she moaned as her emaciated frame convulsed and heaved. Green bile splashed against the marble sink.

β€œAwe honey child!” Tallulah cried, rushing to Maggie’s side. β€œLet’s get you back to bed.”
β€œI’m sorry Tallulah,” Maggie swept a trembling hand across her mouth; β€œI’ve made another mess.”


β€œDon’t you worry β€˜bout that none. That’s what I’m here for.”
Tallulah helped Maggie back to bed and softly washed her face then held the cup steady while Maggie sipped the chamomile tea.
Tallulah was a thick framed black woman who reminded Maggie very much of Aunt Jemima, though she never said it out loud for fear of offending the angelic lady.


β€œYou have gots to tell Mr. Ray Miss Maggie! You shoulda done told him a month ago. You done let this go too long, way too long.” She fretted, dabbing a damp cloth at Maggie’s face.

β€œThere is nothing to tell Ray that he doesn’t already know. You know how he feels Tallulah – how we both feel about this. Now please…”
Without warning tea colored liquid spewed across the fine linens.

β€œHe don’t know the doctor said you need to be shed of this or it’s gonna kill ya. It caint be he knows and let you lay up here wastin’ away.” The old nurse insisted, talking while she put a fresh damp cloth to Maggie’s neck and replaced the soiled sheet, β€œMr. Ray is gone all the time, he don’t see what I see and when he calls you makes like ever little thang is fine.”

β€œNature will take its course.” Maggie argued.

β€œThat it will.” Tallulah agreed, β€œAnd maybe yo life in the doin’. Y’all can make another baby ma’am.” Tallulah paused to weigh her words and put her hands on Maggie’s gaunt, ashen face, β€œThey is somethin’ bad wrong with this one precious. I seen thangs like this here before. If β€˜n it lives and you die…”

β€œI want to sleep now.” Maggie spoke abruptly to put an end to the conversation and disappeared beneath the cotton sheets.

You better take care of yourself and make sure this baby gets born healthy, do you hear me young lady? The words of her mother ran through Maggie’s mind. It wasn’t as if Maggie had any control over it. If she did, if she could will her misery out of existence, the life sucking parasite would have been expelled weeks ago.

Maggie had just dozed off when the rumbling in her gut stirred her. It was not the usual churning she was familiar with and there was no nausea accompanying it. She lay still waiting for it. She placed her hand on her belly and felt it again, a flutter followed by a tiny thump.
It’s kicking! Maggie stretched out on the bed and exposed her naked stomach. When the flutter started again she could see a slight rise in the protrusion on her withered frame.
β€œHello in there.” She said quietly. It seemed to respond to her voice so she spoke again. β€œI’m gonna be your mother little man.” The communication went on for about ten minutes and when Maggie felt the thumps diminish she whispered, β€œYou go back to sleep now, it’s going to be okay, your mama loves you.” A single tear of relief tickled the corner of her nose and she rang for Tallulah to bring her a full Sunday breakfast.

Tallulah entered a half-hour later with a smile and a tray loaded with soft scrambled eggs, bacon, French toast, grits and juice.
β€œI never seen you look so good Miss Maggie.” She laughed as the starving mother-to-be inhaled the platter of food and kept it down. β€œMay be you gonna be alright after all. You and the young-un, yes indeed, may hap.” Tallulah practically danced out of the room with the empty tray and soiled linens in tow.

The fact that she had consumed every morsel without regurgitating bolstered her confidence as well as her energy. Maggie stood beneath the shower-head, stroking and lathering her stomach as she sang nursery rhymes to her unborn child. After showering she realized her endurance was not yet up to par and returned to bed for the best sleep she had had in months.
Two hours later Maggie awoke feeling exuberant and summoned Tallulah.

β€œWould you like to take a walk with me Tallulah?” she inquired.
β€œNot looking like you look.” The lady laughed, β€œ`S’pose I comb them rats outta yo hair first.” Tallulah guided Maggie to the balcony. β€œYou sit right here while I get a brush and lay out somethun nice for you to wear. You done got so po ain’t likely nuthin’l fitcha but we’ll make do.” Tallulah chose a light yellow poly blend dress from the wardrobe, laid it on the settee and shoved a brush inside her apron pocket. Before stepping back out onto the terrace she made the bed and turned down the covers.

β€œHere we go Miss Maggie.” turning Maggie so her back was to her, β€œLawd child yo head is nappy!”
Maggie didn’t bother remarking on the comment. She knew she looked a fright in her current condition.
β€œHow long have you known the Lafont family?” Maggie asked, as Tallulah stood behind her on the sun drenched veranda brushing out a mat of blond tangles.
β€œAll my life.” Tallulah answered, β€œMy Mama was maid to Mr. Ray’s Mama.”
β€œReally?” Maggie asked in surprise.
β€œSho nuff and her Mama was employed here fo her. See my peoples was once owned by the Lafont’s.” Tallulah stated matter of factly with what sounded like pride to Maggie.

β€œWhy on earth would you stay after the abolition – I mean why would your family stay on? Didn’t they know they could leave? Did anyone ever say?” Maggie asked, thoroughly intrigued by the information.
β€œYessum, my mother told me what was told her β€” that they was no cause to leave. Said the Lafont’s made sure they had money, land and educated um too. Said they always gave um Sunday off and Saturday if need be. Wuddint no beatin’ and rapin’ goin’ on here like in tha other parts I heard tell of. I b’lieve her too cause they paid all three of my sons through college – called it my bonus. I couldn’t a got that nowhere else.”

β€œNo ma’am I don’t believe you could have. So you’re fond of the family?” Maggie asked.
β€œLove um like they’s my own. I got one son is a doctor thanks to Mr. Ray’s daddy.” Tallulah beamed with pride and added, β€œThe other two boys is teachers. Good teachers too.”
β€œI bet they are. You must be so proud of them Tallulah– all three of them.”
β€œI am Miss Maggie, I really am.”
β€œSo tell me about Ray when he was a little boy.” Maggie urged.
β€œWhat’s be you wanna know?” Tallulah asked admiring and grooming the now smooth golden tresses of hair.
β€œEverything.”

The first memory that came to Tallulah’s mind of the young Lafont conjured cruel pictures. Images of the puppy Ray had found in an old grain silo. Tallulah could not bring herself to tell the ailing lady of how her husband had broken the legs of the tiny cur at every joint and tied its muzzle so it couldn’t cry out. She diligently searched her memories for something more pleasant.

The imposition was cut short when Maggie abruptly slouched forward grabbing her waist.
β€œWhat’ a matter Miss Maggie?”
β€œI’m not sure.” Maggie replied, straining to speak through the enervating cramp, β€œCan we go in now?”
β€œYessum. But you gots to tell ole Tallulah what’s wrong? Is you hurtin?”
Maggie nodded her head and tried to stand but found her legs would not support her.
β€œLet me help you.” She said, lifting Maggie to her feet.
β€œOh lawdy lawd child, better let me carry you.” She swept Maggie up and carried her like a child back into the bedroom, laying her gently on the bed. β€œIma get some towels – just you lay real still now.”
Maggie pulled her knees toward her chest, a natural maneuver to relieve the unrelenting spasm.
β€œOh no.” She whimpered, β€œNo, no, no little baby.” She cried when she noticed the bright red stain on her gown.

β€œUp here Mrs. Turner.” Tallulah yelled. Maggie lay motionless staring up at nothing as the nursemaid removed the bloody towels from between her legs. β€œLooks like that’s all of it ma’am.” Tallulah told her.

β€œGood lord have mercy! Look at all the blood. Tallulah were you able to stop it?” Mrs. Turner spoke frantically as she stood at the doorway and stared at the sharp contrast of crimson against the white bed sheets.
β€œTha bleedin’ is slowed to nearly nuthin but she ain’t with child no mo ma’am.”

β€œAre you sure. Maybe we’d better call an ambulance and get her to the hospital.”

β€œFor the girl may be, but look here.” Tallulah said, opening a towel for the grandmother to be, β€œWoulda been a boy by tha looks of it.”

β€œDear god, that thing is hideous! Throw it away!” Mrs. Turner screamed as the salty rivers ran from her daughter’s silent face.

Get a copy from your favorite retailer here. Google has the series lined up for you here

Clap On. Clap Off…

Many of you may (or may not) remember the Clapper commercial.

Clap on. Clap off. Clap on clap off. The Clapper.

Well I don’t have a clapper like that [and I ain’t mad about it πŸ˜‰] but I do have a Clapper account where you can view some of my videos like the one above. Come on over.

The Chest of Hope (Friday’s free for All)

IT’S JUST A SMALL BROWN wicker basket, not built to hold much –

and a bit tattered from over handling.
It’s beautiful warm browns have dulled and faded with age on the outside –

but inside the natural luster still shines.

It’s top is held in place by make-do leather ties because the first woody hasps were worn in two –

and now dangle loosely, without purpose.


What hands made the airy coffer? I wonder as I stroke the thin smooth fibers.
Was it one as handsome as the tight weaves frayed by time?


Though dust has long since claimed his finger prints – I know that he was a weaver; I imagine that he was a dream weaver…
Diligently intertwining each cane thread with my hopes in mind…


A place to store my breathing dreams so that they could be kept safe and close at hand, amassed in a beautiful fibrous reminder.
A quaint little chest of hope I will one day hand down to a child, a grandchild or perhaps even a great grandchild –
when I have used up its contents.


When I have taken the dusty lid off one last time and felt deep into the corners to make certain I haven’t left any ideas untouched…
I imagine when I offer it up to him (or her) they will look at me like I’m crazy (and I may well be) then they’ll tear the lid off, expecting to find a treasure of sorts before saying with disappointment,

β€œIt’s just an empty old basket.”


It is then I will share with them the wishes and ideas that were stored and later born of that basket.

How they were kept safe till I could see them come to fruition.
And one more time I will imagine the handsome dark skinned man who meticulously weaved the wonderful piece…
a place to store my dreams because dreams need room to breathe.


Then I will show them how to place their own aspirations into the old auburn chest with caution to keep them safe, to nurture their hopes and give them time to mature. And if my last wish were to come true I will see them realize the birth of their visions.


*I adore woven baskets and this bit of prose was inspired by one of my favorites.

The Chest of Hope was taken from Getting me Back

Getting Me Back ( #NPM )

Getting Me Back

Tissue thin, transparent bits and pieces by the millions I gave to you…

To be received, to be tended

or to be rendered useless as you deemed fit

old inhabitants of terra firma.

Slivers of my soul….

What did you do with these pieces of me?

Where are the misplaced microscopic stars of my spirit, where are they laid?

Did they dissolve beneath a soft autumn rain?

Or burn in the heat of a cruel summer day?

Were they consumed by the dust mites of fate?

Giving me away was easy….

Getting me back seems nearly impossible.

I saw a fleck of glitter this morning,

caught in an abandoned web of time.

I retrieved it ever so carefully, pulling away the tiny choking strands; polishing it in the palm of my hand till it shone bright like a minuscule star… exploding…

and I recognized it as the twinkle I once saw

in a smiling photo of me.

*The poem Getting Me Back lent its name (and guidance) in the memoir styled book of poetry. It also lured me back from the land of “bat shit crazy” πŸ˜‰

Getting Me Back is available at most bookstores

As If #NPM

As If

As if your shoulder

brushing against my breast

in a crowded room

meant anything to me…

As if your smile

would thaw my frosty heart…

As if your constant assurance

could overcome my cynicism…

As if the invisible boulevard

would never rise up and beckon.

The street lamp

glows in the bleached mist

only three floors below us.

I blow streams of smoke

into the black night and hum

to the drone of the unseen road.

Be steel my bleating heart!

Be quiet! Be silent, hard steel.

As if wearing your tee-shirt made us lovers.

From Getting Me Back (The Voices Within)

Fearless ( Pondering & #NPM )

I thought a lot about yesterday’s post; about the disciples and about believing and courage. And I remembered a poem written decades ago.

I do not claim to be bold and my beliefs have (more than once) been shaken.

I am not holy, hell I am not even considered a good Christian by many standards. I do not attend “church” nor belong to any denomination. I try to do as I should but y’all I sin every day. Every day! But don’t worry, me and The Lord have a relationship. We’re good. πŸ‘ŒπŸΌ

I think I have always aspired to be a soldier, a Christian soldier and the poem written decades ago made me remember that.

Remember April is National Poetry Month.

Poem from Getting me Back (The Voices Within)