Monday, August 30, 2010

Resurrection in May or Maybe August

I’ve been all out of sorts lately what with all the doings and comings and goings.  No I don't need Flomax.  Isn't that just for men?  You know men who keep going and going and going?  Maybe that is a different drug like Seealice or viagrow or something.  I digress.

I have been so busy I haven't had time to read and for me that is like not having time to breath.    Resurrection in May, by Lisa Samson published by Thomas Nelson has been sitting on my reading shelf for some time.  I would walk past it and gently caress it as I walked by on my way to another seminar or mindless chore.  Finally I had a few spare moments.  I stole away into a nook with all intentions of reading just a few pages to get started.  The next thing I knew I was reading the words “the end”. 

May Seymour graduated from college misguided and misdirected.  She has spent her youth worrying way too much about what’s on the outside instead of what’s on the inside. She meets an older gentleman, Claudius Borne, who takes her in and gives her a new outlook. 

She didn’t know what else to do with her life, no job prospects and not sure about the world she decides on a mission trip to Rwanda.  May ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time and suffered through the losses and tragedies of Rwanda.  She lost everything including her faith in the genocide. 
She returns back to Claudius’ farm where she heals outwardly.  The story takes us through her struggles with her faith, herself and the outside world.  We learn with her to trust and love again.

This was such a sweet tale to envelope myself in for an afternoon of reading.  If you are looking for a sweet tale of reconnection then I recommend “Resurrection in May.”
Disclosure of Material Connection: I received this book free from Thomas Nelson Publishers as part of their <> book review bloggers program. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255 <> : “Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.”

Thursday, August 26, 2010

Equal, Not Greater Or Less Than

Here it is getting on Thursday Eve and I decided to take a break from my studies to check on Theme Thursday.  I have a hard time sometimes partitioning my time out.  I have gotten so used to lollygagging around, don’t ask me why I’ve been gagging Lolly heck I don’t even know Lolly, that I am rusty at managing my time.  Now all things being equal you would think I would be able to slot time each and every day to share one of my uber interesting stories with you.  Alas all things are not equal, not in my life and not in yours.  I looked around my little sitting area for some inspiration for equal.  What is equal?  I mean I know that 2 plus 2 EQUALS 4 but other than that what is equal?  Now I could get all philosophical and ask you what the meaning of is IS but then I would be just like an ex-president who didn’t think he was equal in the eyes of the law.  I could tell you about the sugar substitute that sits in my pantry in the little blue packet next to the big bag of Dixie Pure Cane Sugar.  I could tell you about how the topography around my home town is equal.  Instead I decided to share a story from long ago and far away.  Read my pontification of equal, plus read the writings over at THEME THURSDAY.  I’m sure Brian, Baino, Everyday Goddess and the rest will have plenty of Equal for your tea.

Gladys sat in the cafeteria watching as the two new kids were paraded around.  Mrs. Perkins fussed and fawned over the interlopers.  Gladys leaned over the table and whispered to Ima Jean “What makes them so special?  Mrs. Perkidickydido is acting like they just fell from heaven or something!”  Ima Jean kicked Gladys under the table and pointed over her shoulder.  Gladys looked up in time to see Mrs. Fenwick eyeing her “Ms. McGuillicutty, we eat our food then we have time to chat.”  Gladys averted her eyes and ducked her head “Yes, Mrs. Fenwick.” 

Mrs. Perkins made her way to Gladys’ table and stood at the end.  She cleared her throat and announced “students, this is Stella and David.  They are new to our school and I expect you all to make them feel welcome.  Now Stella will be joining Mrs. Fenwick’s class and I will need someone to help show her the ropes.”  Gladys never one to miss an opportunity to suck-up raised her hand and jumped around in her seat trying not to shout out.  Mrs. Perkins eyed the table up and down in the hopes someone other than motor-mouth Gladys would take Stella under her wing.  Gladys cleared her throat and held her hand up as high as she could while still keeping her butt firmly planted on the chair, well at least most of it.  Finally Mrs. Perkins pointed to Gladys and said “Stella, Gladys will help you get situated.  I would just be sure she let’s you get a word in edge wise.”  She then pushed the shy and intrepid child to her future. 
Gladys stood up and scooted down to the next chair “Hi my name is Gladys.  Your name is Stella.  How come you got to come into school late?  Why didn’t you come in when the rest of us did?  Are you new to town or did you just move across town?  Is David your brother?  You don’t look anything alike.  I have a big scab on my knee do you want to see it?  Where were you born?  I was found under a rock.”  Gladys spewed words non stop for a good minute and a half until she finally had to take a breath.  “Do you always talk this much” Stella asked looking at Gladys wide eyed.  Gladys took a deep breath and began her next string of questions. 

Together the girls stood up waited in line with their trays and went through the rest of the lunch-room ritual.  Gladys talked the whole time while Stella stood staring at Gladys with awe.  She walked right beside her as Gladys parlayed the latest gossip “that over there is Johnny.  He was on his way to school one day and his sister was driving and the car went around the corner too fast and he fell out and had to have a bunch of surgeries and stuff but don’t say nuthin to him about it because he’ll hit you.”  They walked past Ms.  Marshman’s class “that is the second grade teacher whose husband went off to war and she doesn’t want to be called Mrissus no more.  She is real nice though.”  Stella stopped and stared into the class room at the young teacher with the white high heels and the big hair “I wonder why?”  Gladys puffed her chest out and replied “well, don’t be tellin nobody but I think it’s cause she don’t like Mr. Marshman cause he left and went to fight over there in Vietkong.”  Stella nodded her head and they walked on.
The girls got to class and Gladys walked up to Mrs. Fenwick’s desk “Mrissus Fenwick can Stella sit next to me?  I can pull a desk over and she can just take Kurt’s place in the row.  PLEEEEAAASSE?”  Mrs. Fenwick looked a little nervous and then looked around the class “um, well Gladys, um I have a special desk over here for Stella.  Why don’t you go to your seat and Stella can sit over here in her special seat.”  Gladys looked around the room and in the back corner sat a lonely desk.  “Why does she have to sit back there?  Has she been bad?  Is she one of them kids from the bad school or sumthin?”  Mrs. Fenwick put her hand to her neck and fiddled with her pearls “Um, no, it’s just that Stella is different.  I’m afraid some of your parents wouldn’t want Stella to sit in the middle of the class.”  Gladys not being able to comprehend the inequality at play asked “Why?  She don’t stink nor nuthin.”  Mrs. Fenwick was now flustered and replied “Gladys go sit down.  Don’t you be worrying about Stella.  You go sit in your seat and try to be quiet.”  Gladys shook her head “I can’t.  Mrs. Perki, I mean Mrs. Perkins told me to take care of Stella and to show her the ropes.  I got to take care of her.  It’s my job.  I promised.”  Mrs. Fenwick coughed a little “Gladys, I will take care of Stella.  It is my job.”  Gladys started to protest but saw that Mrs. Fenwick was giving her the stink-eye.  “Okay, but if I get in trouble with Mrs. Perkins I’m tellin her it’s your fault.”  Mrs. Fenwick turned Gladys around “you do that Gladys.” 

Gladys watched as Mrs. Fenwick guided her new best friend to a chair in the corner of the room.  She watched as Stella took out the prettiest pink notebook she had ever seen.  All Gladys had was a blue cloth covered one that had already been marked all over by her older brother.  Well at least he was good at drawing cause he had some pretty funny pictures drawn all over it.  He had pictures of that big eared guy from Mad Magazine with “Who ME?” written under it and flying dinosaurs and stuff.  Gladys looked longingly at that pretty pink notebook and just sighed, Stella must be rich, that’s why she’s special. 

The day ended with out much fervor and Gladys packed up her books.  Mrs. Fenwick watched as her students filed from the classroom and noticed Gladys lagging behind.  Stella yelled out to Gladys “Hey, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”  Gladys smiled and waved back “okay!  I’ll ask Mrs. Fenwick if we can be liberry buddies.”  Gladys stuffed the last of her papers into her plaid book bag and headed toward the door.  She stopped and turned back to Mrs. Fenwick’s desk.  “Excuse me, can I ask you a question” asked Gladys as she lugged the bag toward Mrs. Fenwick’s desk.  Mrs. Fenwick put down her red pen and turned the papers she was grading over “yes of course you can.”  Gladys shuffled her feet and picked at her nail.  “Um, why can’t Stella sit next to me?  Is it because I talk too much?  Is it because I was found under a rock?  I mean if it’s that I have taken lots of baths since I was pulled from under the rock and I promise I don’t stink.  Mrs. Fenwick I won’t even talk to her if you sit her next to me.  It’s just not right that she has to sit away from the rest of us.  I smelled her and she don’t stank.  She smells good kind of like candy or something.  Really I promise I’ll be extra good.”  Mrs. Fenwick looked down at her desk and then back up at Gladys “oh, honey, you didn’t do anything wrong and neither did Stella.  It’s just that our school system is desegregating the schools and well, she is different than the rest of the students.”

Gladys stood there for a second trying to comprehend what her teacher was saying.  She just didn’t understand the words.  “Mrs. Fenwick I don’t know what desecration means.  I don’t understand.”  Mrs. Fenwick took out a piece of paper and wrote down DESEGREGATION and then the words SEPARATE BUT EQUAL. 

Now Gladys understood equal.  That meant that it was all the same, but what was separate but equal?  Mrs. Fenwick gave Gladys the paper and said “tomorrow when we go to the library I want you to look up these two things.  I will help you if you need but I want YOU to discover their meanings.”  Gladys clutched the paper with the magic words that would explain the meaning of life to her and she headed out the door.

Tuesday, August 24, 2010

Not The Way She Baked Biscuits

Suzy over at Hollywood Where Hot Come To Die, has written about her encounters with the other side.  She calls them HIS DEAD WIFE.  Well I shared this story with her some time ago and thought hum, why not share it with you.  So for your entertainment

That is Not the Way His Dead Wife Baked Biscuits

I am like that poor little boy in the movie The Sixth Sense only I don’t hang out with Bruce Willis.  You see all my life I have seen ghost and I passed this down to my own child.  Evidently I inherited this from my mother who inherited it from her grandmother.  I didn’t know my mother had this gift until I was grown and one night when we were sitting in front of the Flaming Seven machine at the casino and she told me she had always been inflicted.

It was the morning after my mother had passed away.  My sister, my brother, my father and I were in the kitchen.  My sister had just put the biscuits in the oven and I was frying the bacon and eggs.  Now my mother had a special way she cooked biscuits.  My mother was also somewhat of a tyrannical obsessive compulsive person who insisted you do things her way.  The truth was she believed that her way was the right way.  Let me be more specific she believed her way was the only way.   Let’s get back to my sister who did not put the biscuits on a paper towel, the way that my mother would have, she put them directly onto the cookie sheet then put it in the oven.  She closed the oven door then turned to pour herself a cup of coffee. 

The next thing I saw was my sister rubbing the back of her head snapping at me “that wasn’t funny.”  I looked on the floor and there was the sheet pan and all the biscuits on the floor.  I looked at my dad and my brother who were slack jawed and glassy eyed.  My dad, who had lived with my mother the tyrannical obsessive compulsive always right person for over 55 years was white as a ghost.  He looked at me then he looked at my sister and said “well I guess next time you’ll do it your mother’s way.”  My brother said nothing just continued to stare at the biscuits and said “don’t piss her off again, she’s liable to throw more than biscuits next time.”  My sister looked at the floor and said “which of you did that?”  My dad smiled and said “your mother did of course.”

Friday, August 20, 2010

Gladys Has Devilish Random Thoughts

I haven’t done this in a while but I thought I would join in the fun this week.  Mrs. GGGG yes as in 4G she is really fast like the new 4 G I-Pad.  
Photo courtesy of Social Media

What did you think I meant?  Mrs. G’s host Friday Fragments and honestly even though I’ve had 47 bazillion fragmented thoughts in just the last 30 seconds I have not had time to record them.  I thought I would take a break from my slaving away to join in a little fun.   So without any further ado here are some of my random and fragmented thoughts.  When you have read mine go on over to Mrs. G’s Half Past Kissing Time in 4-G and join the fun.
We were having a perfectly pleasant summer then someone turned on the damned furnace.  If it’s damned does that mean the furnace is in hell?  I digress, see another fragmented thought.  So someone on the east coast decided it wasn’t fair that we Californicans were having a wonderfully cool pleasant summer with cloudy mornings and 70 degree days.  That big old meany then called down to Hades and said “hey Beelzebub what’s up with those Left coasters?  Why are they the only ones not suffering the fire and brimstone effect?”  Well old Satan could not stand that someone was having a pleasant time of things and he threw some more sinners on the fire and blasted that heat right on up our way.  Just so you know it’s hotter than HELL here so tell Lucifer he can turn down the heat now.

I went shopping last week with my niece, Tooter.  We went antiquing.  I was standing next to a 50% off table and some yahoo tried to buy me.  I know I’m old but I didn’t know that I was old enough to be ½ priced at the antique store.
One of my very favoritist bloggers is Jody at Couture Allure.  She has some of the most beautiful vintage ensembles you will ever lust after.  Oh but that isn’t all.  Nope she is the master of fashion history and she is wonderful at giving us advice.  She is doing a series which is a virtual charm school.  Now I just love this because honestly couldn’t we all do with just a bit more refinement.  Heck I think even Miss Manners herself gets a refresher course now and then.  This week Jody is teaching us how to stand, last week it was how to walk. 
I have to tell you I have lost some of my charm what with all the flip flop wearing and informal causalities I have fallen into.  Then this week I was in attendance at a seminar.  I looked around in amazement at the manner of dress and deportment of supposedly educated business people.  Honestly I was appalled at the footwear choices as well as the too tight, too small and inappropriate attire.  Plus none of these women were told while wearing a dress please do not sit like you are in the gynecologist office getting your yearly exam.  Honestly NO ONE WANTS TO SEE THAT! 
Oh and one last word.  If you can smell your feet, so can everyone else.
This one comes from my daddy, Trooper Bob.  He said he was sitting in the little local deli the other day eating a sandwich because it was Doe’s hair-did day.  Anyway there he sat eating his lunch when he saw two women looking at him.  He said they would look at him the chat in hushed tones then look at him again.  Of course this made him a bit paranoid and he began thinking maybe he had forgotten to zip his fly or he had a booger the size of Pittsburg hanging out his nose.  So he did his geneflexation of his extremities “zipper up-check, nose clear-check, glasses hanging out of pocket –check, pen not leaking in other pocket-check” and found all was okay.  He continued to munch his chips and watch the two women from the top of his glasses when all of sudden they began their exit.  They, instead of heading for the door, came over to his table.  The large woman with the extremely big hair pointed her finger right at Trooper Bob and announced “You work at Wal*Mart don’t YOU?”  Trooper Bob did not hesitate, nay he did not falter he looked the woman right in the eye and said “Why Yes, yes I do.”  She clapped her hands together and replied “I KNEW IT!  You came to work just as I was let go.”  Trooper Bob agreed whole heartedly and said his goodbyes as the women walked away.  He just didn’t have the heart to tell them he has never worked at Wal*Mart.
I have been taking some wonderful classes lately and am learning so very much about why people are the way they are.  I recently was asked if I would attend a function with some one that I am very uncomfortable being around.  I thought long and hard about it and finally responded “Oh, I don’t think that would be wise.  You see I would probably say something to them they might regret.”  My friend sat there for a moment and then replied “what does that mean?”  I smiled and replied “I won’t regret saying it but they will certainly regret hearing it!”
Now as usual remember, Thoughts become things.  Think good ones.
I also want to share this little tid-bit with you.  Remember people aren’t your perception of them, they are their perception of them.

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

Brush Strokes

 “Good morning yesterday, you wake up and time has slipped away…”  Wait, What?  It is Thursday once again which means it is time for THEME THURSDAY.  This week’s theme is Brush.  Now I have to tell you the first thing I thought of was paint brushes but that is only because I have done more than my share of this lately.  I am not talking painting pictures here I’m talking painting walls.  Oh how I wish I could have been like Tom Sawyer and been able to dupe some poor unsuspecting soul into thinking how much fun it was to slather a layer of paint onto a surface.  Oh what fun!  What joy!  What Elation!  What a load of horse manure!  I had this whole thought process going on about painting walls and then another brush came to mind.  Yes this week’s theme is BRUSH and here is my contribution for others click on THEME THURSDAY and then visit with Brian, Julie, Roy and the bunch have to say about Brush.

Gladys sat on the counter as her head was being yanked back with each brush stroke.  “I don’t know where you got all that nappy hair” Matilda exclaimed as she drug the brush through her little sister’s unruly hair “must have been from them circus people who left you under that rock.”  Gladys wiped the tears from her eyes not knowing if she was crying because her hair was being yanked out by the roots or because she didn’t know who she really was.  It was a huge burden for a six year old to bear, being found under a rock and all.  She was brave and courageous and more than anything else jealous of Matilda’s beautiful straight hair. 

Matilda stopped brushing long enough to fluff of her coif and then went back to trying to tug the tangles from Gladys’ hair.   She stopped mid yank and looked in the mirror examining the reflection of her and her little sister.  “I could be Miss America.  I could walk down that runway just like those girls on the teevee.  I mean I’m just as pretty as they are if not prettier.”  Then she took the brush and held it up as a make-shift microphone in front of Gladys’ bucked tooth smile “announce me.”  Gladys giggled then replied “huh?”  Matilda pushed the brush closer to her mouth and demanded “announce me, stupid.”  Gladys’ eyes opened with understanding and she said “Ok I announce YOUR STUPID!”  That’s when the uncontrollable giggling began.  Unfortunately Gladys thought she was much funnier than Matilda did.  Matilda popped Gladys on the arm “no dummy, announce me like I’m Miss Texas being crowned Miss America!  You know just like Bert Parks.”  

Gladys took hold of the brush and in her best game-show host voice said “Ladies and Gentlemen, the new Miss America is Matilda Lucille McGuilicutty.” Then in her lowest voice she began singing “There she is Miss America…”  At this announcement Matilda grabbed the brush from Gladys’ hand and laid it across the crook of her arm like a bouquet of roses and began her walk of honor. 

Matilda slowly stepped out the bathroom door and down the hall waving to her adoring fans.  She blew kisses and wiped the imaginary tears from her eyes.  Gladys jumped down from the counter continuing to sing “There she is our ideeeaaalll”.  Then not knowing the rest of the words Gladys decided to ad-lib.  “There she goes Miss America.  There she goes with big toes.  Here she is big and fat.  Here she is a blundering rat.  There she is a pooper head…” but she couldn’t get out the next verse.  The once delicate and graceful Miss America had pounded her way back up the hall and had begun tickling the reserved game-show host turned emcee. 
Matilda turned the brush into a sword and began dueling with Gladys.  Gladys grabbed the rat-tailed comb from the counter top and contre' parried.  She thrust and withdrew then ran squeezing past Matilda racing for the kitchen.  Matilda now acting as Zorro would have none of it.  She ran after Gladys and countered her thrust they dueled through the living room and onto the screened in porch.  That’s when they heard the voice. 

“What in the HELL are you two doing?  You better be getting ready for school!” came the shout from the laundry room.  “Matilda!  Did you brush Gladys’ hair yet?”  Matilda and Gladys both stopped mid-assuat.  Matilda poised the brush over Gladys’ unruly locks and replied “Yes, ma’am.  I’m brushing it out right now, but them Gypsies must have had Brillo Pads for hair!”

Monday, August 16, 2010

Chicken Little

I hate that I haven’t been on here much lately.  I have to tell you though; I have been busier than a one armed paper hanger.  I have been backed up like the septic system at the old folk’s home after the prune Danish cook-off.  I have been hopping like a one legged man at an ass kicking contest.   I have been running around like a chicken with my head cut off.   To put it bluntly I’ve been doing stuff.  

  I do have to admit, though, that brings to mind a story.  Oh stop whining, grab a glass of lemonade and just enjoy the ride.

Little Gladys loved her quirky cousins.  She loved everything about them.  She loved that they were rough and tumble.  She loved that they toted her around like a grain sack.  She loved that they made up little nick-names for her like Ga-nat and Heebee Geebee.  She loved that they would get down in the floor and play Babies and then dress her up like a Barbie.  Nope there wasn’t anything she didn't love about her cousins.  She knew they loved her too because they would pack her up and take her all kinds of places with them.  One of her favorite places they took her was to their other grandmother’s house.  Her name was Mamaw.  She was everything her name entailed.  She could cook and clean.  She could milk the cows, slop the hogs and chase down the chickens.  She had peacocks and peahens to keep the rattlesnakes away.  She had big sweet smelling quilts on her beds and sheets dried outside on a clothesline.  Mamaw was everything Gladys thought a grandmother should be.  Gladys didn’t have a grandmother since her sweet Nanny had passed away, but she wasn’t above stealing Mamaw from her quirky cousins. 
Mamaw lived on a little farm outside of town and it was heaven.  Gladys loved driving over the railroad tracks and into the farm yard.  The chickens would scatter, the peacocks would unfold their vibrant tales and the peahens would let out a screeching that sounded like a whole passel of children were being beat.  Gladys lit from the car and bolted toward the chickens chasing them until the rooster had enough and turned the tables and chased after Gladys.  The rooster puffed out his feathers lifted up his head and charged towards her at full velocity.  Gladys stopped dead in her tracks eyes wide mouth open as Fred the rooster charged her.  She ran screaming into Mamaw’s lap.  Mamaw was sitting in her chair shelling peas and shucking corn and Gladys climbed right up in the middle of all of it and stuck her nose into Mamaw's neck and breathed in that earthy scent of soap and sweat and maybe a little bit of Pink Sachet.  “Child you best not get that rooster riled he’s libel to spur you like a wild stallion” she warned and unpeeled Gladys from her neck and with one hand still shelling peas with the other.  She placed Gladys back down on the ground.  “Now you go on out there and gather you up some of them peacock feathers” she said as she gathered up her vegetables and headed into the kitchen. 

She entered the kitchen and within minutes the world’s best smells burst through the window saturating every inch of the yard.  Gladys hid under the fig tree where it was nice and cool while the older kids wrestled and gossiped.  When Gladys could no longer stand the growling in her stomach she eased her way out of the fig tree fortress careful not to disturb the five million wasps and snuck into the kitchen.  Gladys stood at the door watching as Mamaw performed the most beautiful ballet.  She sashayed and pivoted as the bacon was sliced and tossed into the bottom of the pan where it sizzled and crackled.  Then she tossed in the freshly shelled black-eyed peas.   She glided as she added a pinch of salt and pepper and her secret ingredient that came in an amber bottle.  She covered the whole thing in water and floated back to where she had her corn and potatoes.  She stood slicing up big fat juicy red tomatoes when her eyes rested on Little Gladys “you want to pick out a chicken?”  Gladys squealed with glee “YES Ma’am!  I would love to pick me out one of them chickens.  Can I pick any of them?”  Mamaw looked past her out to the yard and replied “Well, you can’t pick that old cock out there but you can pick any of them girls.  You know the difference?”  Gladys nodded her head in the affirmative and ran out to pick out her chicken.
She was so excited.  She had always wanted to live on a farm and now she was going to have her very own chicken.  She skipped around the yard looking at each and every one of the beautifully colored hens.  She had names for all of the them.  The big red one was Henrietta, and then there was the little brown and yellow one who she called 

Justcallmefay because she kind of reminded her of her new step-grandmother, JustCallMeFay.  Gladys hadn’t ever met anyone with a name like that but when her granddaddy introduced her to his new bride and she asked her name she said “Justcallmefay”.  Her favorite hen was the one she called Chicken Little.  

She liked the little white hen because she reminded Gladys of the book they read at story time about the little chicken that ran around yelling “the sky is falling, the sky is falling.”  Well Gladys loved that story and now she knew just which hen she wanted.  She marched right up the back steps and opened the screen door.  She wiped her feet and plodded right on into Mamaw’s kitchen.  “Mamaw, I know which one I want.”  Mamaw finished drying off her knife and wiped her hands on the towel.  “Is that right?  You know which one?  Was it a hard choice” she asked as she turned and headed out the door with Gladys on her heels.  “No ma’am.  I just thought about which one was my favorite and I figured if you didn’t mind that would be the one I wanted.”  Mamaw grabbed the little hatchet from the stump and looked around the yard “Which one is it?”  Gladys pointed toward the pretty little hen pecking at the dirt “Chicken Little.  I want Chicken Little.”  Mamaw crossed the yard in two steps reached out and grabbed the little hen up in one movement.  She turned and chopped off that chickens head like she was cutting through butter, tossed the head in the bucket and was back at Gladys’ side.  Mamaw didn’t believe in a lot of unnecessary commotion. 

Gladys stood mouth agape eyes the size of grapefruit.  She tried to scream or laugh or talk or anything but nothing was happening.  She had just watched a murder.  She was a witness to the murder of Chicken Little.  She turned and looked up at Mamaw mouth still wide open.  Mamaw wiped her hands on her dish towel and said “we’ll pluck the feathers just soon as she gets done rushin round spurtin blood.”  Gladys let out a little squeak.  Mamaw looked down at Gladys’ stricken face and realized that this wasn’t exactly what Gladys had in mind “you best shut your mouth afore the flies get in.”

So that is the story of Chicken Little and Gladys running around like a chicken with her head cut off.   Oh and just so you know, that was some of the tastiest fried chicken I have ever eaten in my life.