Bellwether Vance
Hounds to the Left of me/Jokers to the Right
Bellwether Vance
- Location
- bellwethervance@gmail.com,
- Birthday
- December 31
- Bio
- You'd like me. People like me.
MY RECENT POSTS
- Down Under the Rainbow
February 10, 2012 08:28AM - Petty Crimes
January 10, 2012 09:54AM - The Optimist's Lament
December 19, 2011 09:25AM - Hope in a Jar
December 14, 2011 09:42AM - An Attractive Cadaver
November 22, 2011 08:20AM
MY RECENT COMMENTS
- “hugs -- Oh I made my
feelings very clear, and yes,
I will
share this with him,
an…”
8:32PM - “Well, I guess I can look
forward to visiting my husband
in
prison since he had
a…”
8:19PM - “What memories! I know
they must comfort you -- and
you write
about them so
vividl…”
8:02PM - “Your viewpoint is so
unique and yet current at the
same time.
Our media is
really…”
7:27PM - “What does it say about
me that I really want to read
"The
Pope's
Penis"…”
7:08PM
Bellwether Vance's Links
- Posts
- The First Day of My Life, An Obit
- Southern Happy Food, A Recipe
- A Raccoon Tale
- (Really) Personal Banking
- Once Upon an Irish Soda Bread Scone
- The Good Scissors
- Sweet Dreams, Great Teacher
- The South's Last Shotgun Wedding
- The Butterbean Women, A Recipe
- Boat and Goat Farms
- Where should I hang this painting?
- What in the hell is Edwin McCain singing about?
- Fiction Friday: Hammered
- Oysters, A Love Story and a Recipe
- Loveless is a Place
- Into the Bear's Mouth
- My Sundae with Jesus
- Ode to Loretta Lynn (with Dogs)
- Good Night Lexapro, Good Morning OS
- Pudding: In Which Baby Alive is a Vessel
- Goody Two Shoes
- Stew for an Eskimo Wet T-Shirt Contest
- On Giving My Boss Ass Shots
- A Sublime Accident
- How Floridians Handle a Cold Snap
- Your Christmas Puppy
- I Slept with Tiger Woods
What doesn't kill us makes us stronger. That's the plucky
platitude from Nietzsche, of all people, who also declared "God is
dead." Attempting to annihilate a professional nihilist is
presumptuous, but I think my version is truer and bleaker: What
doesn't kill us will try again.
I know the manner… Read full post »
I can't remember who gave us the hamsters, Brownie and Blackie
(guess what color they were?), and the ten gallon tank that served
as their home. My recollections are dim, censored, fraught with
Freudian undertones.
The hamsters were two of a succession of pets that were
deliberately not a pupp… Read full post »
I'm not naturally pensive, or I say I'm not. I've been
chirping so long I've lost my lower register, maybe never allowed
it to develop, and who's to say if my natural song is canary or
whale? In any case, I don't inhabit unhappiness comfortably.
It is common for happy… Read full post »
Although my family has a history of begetting religious
fanatics, Carol belongs to my husband's side. This time of year she
becomes distraught by the widespread attack on Christmas, or
Christ-mas, as she'd prefer it to be pronounced.
Holiday season, winter break or any other secular
designation… Read full post »
My father-in-law passed away last week. He'd only partially
recovered from a stroke in March and when it became obvious his
life wasn't the shit it once was, we hoped he wouldn't linger too
long in a truly crappy state of being, while at the same time we
dreaded his final… Read full post »
Every morning I saw my mother tease her hair into a
floss that floated at least six inches above her scalp. At the
height of it you could look through into other worlds, her hair
filtering the light like a church window. So I stole the comb and
sat my brother… Read full post »
The idea took shape after a dispute with my husband regarding
distribution of labor, wherein I cried, "You are so
spoiled! You think everyone has two soups to choose from!"
A ridiculous statement that nevertheless allowed me to win the
argument and spawned a dream.
I have a fridge full… Read full post »
I'd never heard my father hiss like that, with such force. Not
the slow stream of air from a leaking tire, a despairing deflation,
annoyance at one thing or another, my tenth refusal to buckle
my sandals or let anyone else do it for me. This was a burst
of venom,… Read full post »
Make plans now to attend Mule Day! Mule Day is held the
first Saturday in November in Calvary, Georgia, a tiny town north
of Tallahassee, just across the Florida state line, between Havana
and Cairo. My fear-of-flying self thinks -- Georgia also has a
Rome! Why would anyone need to leave… Read full post »
If you've ever picked peas, you know that pea picking minutes
are some of the longest in existence. I'm told only cotton picking
minutes are longer, but I have no experience with cotton and pea
picking minutes are plenty long enough.
These are pea picking minutes: The sleep is still… Read full post »
JULY 14, 2011 9:25AM
Goodbye Girl
Picking up her food bowl, that was hard. I left it down for
days. A week later, while shopping online, I was prompted for a
password. For more than a decade I've used her name, or a version
of it, to buy yoga pants, spices, books and music. I knew I… Read full post »
My Odysseus set sail last September
on a twenty-seven foot, forty-year-old, triple keel sailboat
named The Albatross. I suggested he rename it
Safe Passage, Home in One Piece or Mama Said
No. "It's bad luck to change the name of a boat," he
said, and anyway, he liked the name. He/… Read full post »
JUNE 8, 2011 9:21AM
Ain't No Sunshine
Every spring in our little town, a construction dumpster is
placed at the intersection between the courthouse and the middle
school and folks haul out their rusted wheelbarrows, brokedown
appliances and ephemeral artifacts. It becomes a meeting place for
bargain hunters from all walks of life. I've b… Read full post »
Sandy runs the Asian Market downtown. I think of her as my
Thai doppelganger. We're the same size and shape, and about the
same age. We have small oval faces that square at the jaw, and
similar haircuts -- dark bobs with bangs. Her studious,
black-rimmed glasses could be exchanged for… Read full post »
The woman selling the treadmill tells me it belonged to her
husband Richard. Six weeks ago, he collapsed in the Walmart parking
lot and hit his head. She runs her finger in an arc from her temple
to behind her ear to illustrate the length of the incision doctors
made to… Read full post »
Comments are now closed for this post.
The family moving in next door had a daughter my age. Her name
was Darla Larson, and seeing the Barbie Dream House coming off the
moving truck, I knew we'd be best friends. Standing in the
driveway, my mother and Mrs. Larson made friendly small talk. My
father and Mr. Larson,… Read full post »
MARCH 16, 2011 11:39AM
Let Go and Let Godzilla
One of my husband's long-time friends – Jimmy –
has ALS, amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, also known as Lou Gehrig
disease. Well into middle age, he's kept his boyish appearance;
he's lanky and tow-headed, with eyes that promise mischief. You
have to be on your toes around Jimmy. He and his… Read full post »
On the last day of my sixth-grade year, I waited outside Mrs.
Barber's busy classroom for my turn to say goodbye, to give her the
book of Robert Frost poems I'd purchased with my allowance. Next
year I'd begin Junior High, far from the protective gaze of my
mother and her… Read full post »
One thing keeps me from being insufferably smug about all the
vegetables and fruits I eat. That one thing is fish. Other
than beer and lying, fish is my only vice. While I can't eat
calves, lamb, piglets, chicks or their grown-up counterparts, fish
remains something I can't not eat.
A few years ago, we invited our new neighbors, Evan and Nora
and their two young daughters, to a Mardi Gras parade. I explained
our strategy, how we'd arrive early, take up posts at the beginning
of the parade route, before the street widened from two lanes to
four to six,… Read full post »
We must have looked like monkeys with fright-wide eyes
reflecting a first glimpse of fire, on that evening in 1996 when we
powered up our newest computer, inserted a disc labeled "AOL" and
waited, listening to a long medley of beeps and chirps. Then,
suddenly, we were Welcome!
In this… Read full post »
The streets of our neighborhood are clear; the driveways
contain cars I recognize, no out-of-state plates. The visitors --
the parents, the children, the college students, the grandchildren
– have all gone home.
On my morning walk I follow their scat: Spent bottle rockets
and twined rows… Read full post »
JANUARY 4, 2011 9:07AM
Getting Plastered
If Granny hadn't been born in a time when a lot of country
girls quit school after the eighth grade she might have been a
nurse or even a doctor. As it was, she became a lowly nurse's aide
at Florida State Mental Hospital in Chattahoochee, hired for simply
being saner… Read full post »
In the weeks leading up to Christmas, I promise myself I will
not get caught up in the gifts, the commercialism. I will not stack
my son's presents next to my daughter's and freak out because they
are slightly unequal. I will not fret because my parents give us
far more… Read full post »
The pecan grove on my Nanny's farm looked like a magical place
to play. A dozen trees held court in the space between the house
and the barn. They were gnarly barked, ancient creatures; their
branchy fingers far far overhead laced with one another so
thoroughly that they could have been… Read full post »
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