Yesterday was Momma’s birthday party. She was 75 years old. All but one sister came. Her husband, my Uncle had a stroke and he doesn’t get around well. I missed them and wish they could have come. There were about twenty of us there. My brothers had been BBQing since earlier in the day. There was so much food there. The almost blew Mother’s head off. They were bringing her the birthday cake with candles lit and singing happy Birthday. They got the cake about a foot or so away from her and my husband told them not to bring it any closer because she was on oxygen. We had all forgotten that aspect of the deal. She said she might be bald from the coming radiation treatments but she didn’t think she would look good with her nose burnt off.
Ribs, BBQ, chicken breast, grilled sausages with all the fixings. We had a great time. I hadn’t seen a lot of my Aunts and Uncles in about 20 years. Some I would not have recognized walking down the street, but then again, there was about 100 pounds more of me sense they have seen me too. Who would have believed the skinniest person around would wind up being fat? A good time was had by all. I found out some of my relatives even follow my blogs. Who’d thunk? I got a compliment on my writing skills. Told me that I had real talent. Then I was compared to Mark Twain. My face lit up, because I love Mark Twain and said my thank you for being compared to him. Tom Sawyer and Huckle Barry Finn. It wasn’t until I was home for an hour or so that it hit me. Mark Twains books have been banned from the schools for being offensive and racist. I fell out laughing! I am quite a bit like Mark Twain. I speak the truth from my point of view. And I can be very funny about the truth. Some times truths are offensive. I will not change the way I write. I will continue to write offensive, funny and sometimes sad. So very raw sometimes. I have always used writing to get all these pent-up emotion out. I also happen to think I’m funny as hell occasionally. My husband understands that writing is very important to me. Sometimes we will be sitting in the living room and the wheels in my head just keep on turning. Then I jump up and tell him, ” I must write.” and take off for the bedroom so I can write. But he loves me anyway. (p.s. the fellow that said I reminded him of Mark Twain is an English Teacher.)