WRITING, PAINTING, POODLE PEOPLE, ME and now some MUTTS.

 

Well, here I am again after a L-O-N-G spell away.  Been so dang busy though and so have my peeps daughters.  They've been busy being rabbits and giving me baby boys. 
As you recall, I started this blog because my house was full of little people -- baby girls -- who I call my poodles.  They call me SASSY, hence, the name SASSY'S POODLE PARLOR.  I just don't think SASSY'S POODLE AND MUTT PARLOR does it for me.  Do YOU?
I have thought about it AND I think the boys can be poodles too.  After all, my daughters named them Raynes and Whitman.  Now, if they don't sound like poodles, who the heck does??

Been really busy, busy, busy writing my memoir.  What the heck does she have to say, you ask?  Plenty, I say.  Just way too much.  This memoir started in my head over a decade ago and it gives me no peace.  It wakes me up during the night, my characters talking to me making sure I don't forget them.  "Prissy, what you mean leaving this out? You best get it right, girl!"

Guess this could be the jacket flab, as they say.
As a conservative, southern housewife of twenty-five years  -- called Prissy --, if someone had told me I would one day be driving around town with a drunk, stoned black man named Willie sitting in my back seat, begging, - no ordering him into my house for the night, I would tell them they were nuts.  It happened though, after moving black caregivers into my house to help with my husband's end of life.  Simultaneously, I became an innocent character in a tragic, but often comical series of events: three separate robberies, attempted murder and other such goings-on.

Also, if someone had told me only fifteen months later, I'd be standing at the gate at London's Heath- row airport, my tragedy behind me and a love story beginning, or, I'd be wearing a clinging black dress, wobbling in my stiletto shoes, waiting for a fifty-year-old, workaholic and life-long bachelor I'd dated three decades earlier, I would've told them they were nuts. Yet, here I am.

This is a story about second chances with your first love.  Mine had blue eyes and I'm waiting for him to step off of the Concord.

Later on my painting.  It's a surprise!