Ladies and Gentlemen

A couple of announcements, y'all:

First, my new little niece was born Friday, April 28th, at about 2:30CST. She was about 4 weeks early, and only weighs 5lbs, 2oz. She has been having difficulty breathing, and is in NICU, but I heard this morning that she is doing better, and my sister was allowed to hold her. YAAAY!
So, CONGRATULATIONS to Heather and Tom on their new baby daughter, Amy Rose.

Second, believe it or not, 'The London Murders' is still in the making. Only, Restless Native and I have decided to wait until July to finish it up. For now, I am (officially) announcing the name of our new blog--'The London Murders'--which (for those of you who are *not* Blog Moles, and haven't already found it) has all of the previous posts of 'TLM', and, as of last night, has a new chapter.

So please visit your favorite authors, Restless Native and Femme Fascinante, at:
www.londonmurders.blogspot.com

A Post

Last night I spent a couple of hours running away from tornadoes which, in reality, were nowhere near me, and I wish I had just stayed at Panera Bread to watch the storm.

Didn't get my writing done because those darn American Cancer Society Volunteers kept coming up and talking to me.... NO--I'M NOT GOING TO GIVE YOU A DOLLAR FOR A PIECE OF PAPER JUST BECAUSE YOU ARE MY COUSIN!!! Now leave me alone.

No.

I'm kidding.

I did pay the dollar.

And I was very proud of my cousins (Ashley, Melissa, April, Marcy, Anthony and Mason, and my cousins-in-law, Chris and Suzi) for the volunteer work they were doing last night at the Panera in Edmond.

The girls sang, Anthony played the guitar and banjo, and Mason and Chris got people to buy pieces of paper for a dollar! ;)

But that was all cut a bit short because the scary looking clouds decided they wanted to start dropping tornadoes, so I left to find my grandparents and sister.

I hope we have more storms before I go back to CC. I love tornado-chasing, but my mom would never let me go, and since she's not here, there's not one to stop me!!!

WOO HOO!!! Bring on the storms, baby!!!

Oh, Look!! I Found Your Favorite Song!

"The other night dear, as I lay sleeping
I dreamed I held you in my arms
But when I awoke, dear, I was mistaken
So I hung my head and I cried.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine
You make me happy when skies are gray
You'll never know dear, how much I love you
Please don't take my sunshine away

I'll always love you and make you happy,
If you will only say the same.
But if you leave me and love another,
You'll regret it all some day:

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine
You make me happy when skies are gray
You'll never know dear, how much I love you
Please don't take my sunshine away

You told me once, dear, you really loved me
And no one else could come between.
But not you've left me and love another;
You have shattered all of my dreams:

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine
You make me happy when skies are gray
You'll never know dear, how much I love you
Please don't take my sunshine away

In all my dreams, dear, you seem to leave me
When I awake my poor heart pains.
So when you come back and make me happy
I'll forgive you dear, I'll take all the blame.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine
You make me happy when skies are gray
You'll never know dear, how much I love you
Please don't take my sunshine away"

::laughs until it hurts::
You know...it's the refrain that I find particularly appropriate.
::sticks out tongue::
Now find a pair of sunglasses.
::winks::

YAY, Matt!!

Congratulations to Matt for winning his fight!!!

YAY!!!

(Even though I don't think he ever came and read his story!)

I am on my way to Bennigan's to hear the details of the fight, so I'm off.

...It had something to do with the UFC, though. *That* I know.

Okay, going to find out more! Bye!

Easter Evening with a Monsignor

::bursts out laughing::

I AM SO HAPPY!!!!!!!!!!

::doubles over in laughter::

Oh, oh! I can't breathe! I can't breathe!!

I was in the middle of typing a different post, but I just got what it was that Msgr. Conley said to me last night!!!!

Just before sitting down to dinner at the Costello's cabin in Clear Creek, Monsignor turned to me and said, "Are you a Benedictine, also?"

"No! I'm not a NUN!" I wanted to respond (rather emphatically), but I simply shook my head and said, "No, I live about four miles from here."

"Oh, I see," he said, and went on with something else.

ALL DAY LONG I have been thinking he thought I was somehow connected with the Clear Creek Benedictines!! ::still laughing:: I could *NOT* figure out *how* he could've thought I was a nun when I was wearing a jean-skirt, a blue scoop-neck shirt, jewlery AND make-up. I mean, yeah, sure, that would be believable in most places today, but in *Clear Creek*?

::cracks up again:: That wasn't what he meant!! I can't believe it took me so long to figure out that he thought I was one of the students from Benedictine College!

Oh! gosh....I have to call Anna Marie!

The Indian and the Scot

Scotland; 16th century; somewhere in the Scottish Highlands:

The night was humid, and only made worse by the dozens of bodies packed closely together in a circle--forming the boundaries of the fighting ring--and by the torches atop tall wooden stakes driven into the ground.

It was almost time, and the men could feel it. The impatient murmurings of the crowd were growing louder, while sporadic, strained laughter seemed to fade into the night as if it had never sounded. Suddenly, a horn was blown from somewhere out in the night. The circle of men was immediately silenced, and all heads turned to the south to peer into the night.

The Scot was coming.

Tall, brawny and terribly fierce, the Scot's real name hadn't been used in years. A member of the MacDonald Clan, his strength and skill in a fight had been unmatched since his eighteenth year. Now, ten years later, the Clan feared this man almost as much as the other clans to which the Scot's reputation had been spread.

The MacDonald Clan touted the strength of their giant when they came into contact with outsiders, but only their strong Scottish pride kept them from admitting to one another that something should be done to stop the Scot from his almost tyrranical presence within the Clan.

It had been three years since any man had dared to contest him. But the Scot was surely equally matched this night.

The Indian had come a few months earlier. How he had made his way to Scotland was never quite ascertained, and the MacDonald Clan knew almost nothing about the enormous man from the New Land, or the strange Irishmen who never seemed to leave his side, Jonas and Kyle. It was from these two that the Clan found the Indian's strange name of Heneha meant 'Heartless' in their own language.

A drum-beat was heard. All heads then turned to the west. The drum-beat continued, louder and louder, making an eerie accompaniment for the horn still sounding in the distance. A collective feeling of awe, mixed with a strange fear, went through the men as the huge Indian came into view--slowly coming into the light from the darkness. Many heads turned back to the Scot; he, too, was just entering the light.

The circle was broken at two different points in order that the Indian and the Scot could enter the ring. When it was closed again, the men stared at the two in the center in absolute silence. The Indian and the Scot seemed to be unaware of the others, as they slowly circled the ring, eyeing each other and looking for weakness...of any kind.

The fight began.

Twenty yards out from the torch-light and the now raised voices, a lone traveler stood. He knew of both the Scot and the Indian. He was surprised to see the fight taking place, for many times over the previous few months the Indian had been provoked by the Scot with no effect. He wondered what had happened to result in a fight held in secret.

The only person not of the MacDonald Clan to witness the private battle, he spread an unpredjudiced account of how the Scot was beaten.

It had taken two hours. How both men could be standing after the first hour was madness, said the traveler. The Scot was the first to strike a blow, but it was quickly returned by the Indian, whose agility shocked those around him--his size was not indicative if its presence.

The traveler swore that he--who had often heard of the Scottish giant--saw fear in the eyes of the MacDonald man after the first blow was received. Pride and anger flashed through them at intervals, but the fear never left.

When the last blow was struck, it was given by the Indian. The Scot fell to the ground. The Indian's chest rose and fell in quick succession as he stood above the Scot, looking down with a strangely calm expression in his eyes. He dropped to one knee and whispered into the ear of the fallen Scot. The traveler could not hear the words spoken, but the other men claimed he warned the Scot that the beating could be repeated, and would be indeed, if the members of his clan suffered any more at his hands.

With that, the Indian left the circle of men, followed by the Irishmen. The three of them passed just in front of the traveler.
"The Indian," the traveler said, stopping one of the Irishmen as they walked by, "why has he done this?"
Jonas looked at him in silence for a moment. "They called him Heartless back in the New World," he said, as if it were explanation enough. The men walked on.

The next day the Scot was no where to be found. He had been humiliated and could not show his face among his Clan again. They were left in peace, and some in mystification as to why he had left. Years later the Clan heard he had made his way to England, another report said he had gone to Ireland, and still another that he was in Germany.

Two months later the Indian, along with Jonas and Kyle, moved on as well. It was never known by those in Scotland, but they met up a couple of years later with the Scot, who was indeed in England. There they became hard and fast friends, together they all moved on to Ireland, to Germany, to France, and to Italy, traveling for years, never quite settling.

Over the centuries history has repeated itself time and time again. Sometimes the names are well known, such as that of Robin Hood, sometimes the names are forgotten, as in the case with the Indian and the Scot, but good men are always there. Always fighting. Always willing to put themselves on the line for the sake of justice.

The Indian was one such man.

The Scot came to see the honor in such a way of life.

The Irishmen understood, and did their part in bettering, where they could, the lives of their fellowmen.

But always in silence.

The Italian Man

The tall, dark and handsome Italian with eyes that would melt the hardest heart--as long as it was female--fell for the only woman who wouldn't fall for him.

It was a sad sight, but amusing at the same time.

I watched it, laughing and shuddering by turns, wondering what it was about the phrase, "My family is from Italy" which makes a man seem more mysterious and appealing.

I think he always knew his chances weren't that great. That the woman wasn't ever completely in his presence. It was obvious she was always thinking of someone else.

He took it gracefully. Tempted, tortured, and depressed though he was. He let her go, hoping one day she would return.

I think he's still waiting.

The poor Italian man.

How Truly Depressing

The 'Letters to a Love' were not meant to be left as they were.

It was *supposed* to have a positive ending--I just never wrote it.

Ah me, the poor man in India!

I think perhaps his heart was broken and he ran off to the Himalayas. Think about it...adventure *and* distraction from uncomfortable feelings. 'Tis perfect.

Anyway, just so y'all know, the man lived happily without that woman.

Because he found a better one.

Or, rather, she found him.