Chyna Zoo

Back When I Had Attitude

2012-01-04T21:25:00.000-06:00

Do you ever look back at yourself and wonder where you went? Parts of your life you have forgotten or wish you could go back to?

I have been fortunate lately that much of myself I thought was gone is suddenly resurfacing with a vengence. In the photo here, I was somewhere around six years old. This was one of the best times of my life and I am glad I am starting to remember things I had forgotten. I had attitude plus in these days (but I always did what my grandma said) :>) She was a handful herself at 5 foot two and a hundred pounds. She taught me to be me no matter what and to follow my heart. Another thing I had forgotten. But this girl is baaccckkk! Love you nana! Look out world. We are going for a spin!

© Joyce (Tidwell) Burns, ChynaMoon Creations 1997-2011

Warm your heart this Christmas

2011-12-08T00:00:00.000-06:00

I can't begin to tell you how much it bothers me that their will be lots of children this December who won't have a Christmas. Nothing! Not a single present, not the comfort of God (as many haven't been allowed in this current society to know him) or the warmth of a family. Children feeling forgotten as everyone worships the power of money and what it will buy. We are fast becoming a country of the haves and have nots. The former forgetting love, hope, charity and compassion. Many go to bed now with hunger, for there is no food. You say there are programs to help these people! But guess what? Many are simply falling through the cracks and no one cares! You think it can't happen to you, but you might be the very next victim of this economy and the thieves who are orchestrating it.

Christmas was and is the birthday of Jesus Christ! These days folks have tried to hide him in all their political correctness but he won't take a back seat to all the false gods you are worshiping and placing before him these days. But try as you might you will never be able to eliminate almighty God!

You say I am one person. What can I do? You can let your one light shine as you may be an inspiration to the next person, like a fire catching up from kindling! Be amazing. Do it!

Let your warmth grow into a blazing fire this Christmas season! Help at least one person. If you don't know anyone who needs your help ask someone! We have a list of 17 children at my work place that no one was helping. There are hundreds. This is not a huge task. All I'm asking is that you help one person! It won't hurt you one bit. You may find you even like helping others! At any rate I promise it will do your heart good. Best medicine there is for hearts! So what are you waiting for?

The Wind Beneath My Wings

2011-11-25T23:51:00.000-06:00

My brother, Ronnie was a free lance writer. He wrote a variety of things in his lifetime from local articles to national magazines. He also wrote poems and was working on a novel at the time of his death. He was one of those persons who was so smart that at times he was scary. I fell in his shadow a lot, but I was always content to be there as I was so proud of him. We were always as close as two peas in a pod though there was seven years in our age difference. He looked out for me all his life, I think in part because Dad chose to leave when I was only two weeks old, never to return.

When Ronnie died it almost killed me. I had always written poems and journals but nothing seriously. After his death I started writing in earnest. I think it was partly to feel close to his memory and also to make him proud.

I published a poetry collection last year and have recently had a couple of poems published in anthologies. I have also been entering contests. Today I received notice that I had won first place in one of the categories of the Writers Unlimited Mississippi Poetry Society, South Branch 40th Literary Competition, for a short story I wrote and 1st Honorable Mention for a sonnet called "Winter Moon". I was so excited and happy but all I could think about was wanting to tell Ronnie. I could almost feel him smiling today and it made for a sweet Thanksgiving.

I am so thankful that I had a brother and family that always supported me what ever crazy thing I did. But there was no one like my big brother! He truly was (and is) "the wind beneath my wings". I will always love you and thank you for the gift you have given me to see life with curiosity and a smile.

So Ronnie, this one is for you!

True Friends Have Fur

2011-11-17T20:45:00.000-06:00

True friends have fur, four feet, cold noses,

and tails that wag faster than a NASA rocket.

True friends come in rainbow colors,

are different shapes and sizes and personalities.

True friends have deep wrinkles, bright smiles,

and more love in one paw than most of the known world.

Some can also speak!

True friends love you no matter what . . .

They lay a quiet head in your lap when you are sad.

Snuggle up to your back on a cold night.

Share leftover pizza and bring you presents from your yard.

True friends play Frisbee and ball with style, grace and high jumps.

Warn you when you are in danger, and protect you from

anyone who would do you harm.

Yes, true friends have fur and

are usually a cut above people friends.

I love my friends with fur.

From: Life in the Pond, A Collection of Poetry by Joyce Burns

© Joyce (Tidwell) Burns, ChynaMoon Creations 1997-2011

The Path Home

2011-11-14T21:32:00.001-06:00

One of my computer art projects. I call it The Path Home.

© Joyce (Tidwell) Burns, ChynaMoon Creations 1997-2011

Exasperation

2011-11-09T22:53:00.006-06:00

My mind

is locked tight as a drum

for I can’t stand

one more

ounce

of your insanity today.

How

can you be so blind

to all that is around you?

You

close your eyes,

ears and heart so

tightly,

it’s a wonder

you don’t explode

in a fiery

heap.

What you call

stubborn

is actually

blatant

stupidity,

as you

close yourself

to the thing you want

most!

Sometimes,

my best answer for you

Is no

answer.

Lochinvar

2011-10-30T21:29:00.000-05:00

South of Pontotoc, Ms. is a piece of history that over the years has become a legend. There, nestled on a ridge is a beautiful old antebellum home called Lochinvar. It is currently owned by doctors, Forrest Tutor and his lovely wife Janice and they have lovingly become her caretakers and family.

The history of Lochinvar is amazing and can be traced all the way back to Scotland to the Gordon family of castle Lochinvar. The Gordons were very wealthy land owners and after coming to the United States this branch of the family continued to build wealth taking over land that had once been owned by the Chickasaw Indians. This territory became what is currently North Mississippi.

Lochinvar was built for Robert Gordon's young wife, Mary Elizabeth, and no expense was spared. Later when war came, Lochinvar survived the Civil War because of a kindness by their son, Colonel James Gordon and many years later Lochinvar survived an F4 tornado because of the love so many had for her. This time love of the community and the Tutors would come to her rescue, when common sense was screaming bring in the bull doziers.

I was privledged to listen to Dr.Tutor talk about his beloved Lochinvar for almost two hours last week at our local Historical and Geneaology meeting. He even mentioned her ghosts. My tiny blurb here doesn't scratch the surface on the history and stories Lochinvar has to offer. But if you want to know more about one of the most interesting places in the state of Mississippi, I suggest you research and read all about this wonderful lady.

Here's a link to a wonderful book Dr. Tutor has written about his amazing home and her history. I promise you will be both amazed and delighted. http://www.gordonsoflochinvar.com/

About My Friend

2011-10-27T00:13:00.000-05:00

I am surely not the best person to write this post as there were many who were much more suited, much better with words and much closer to Raymond. I wasn't in the daily, inner-circle but he was one of my co-worker family at NMMC and a friend, and was always kind to me, so I will simply speak from my heart from my point of view.

I have nothing but love and total respect for all the Emergency personnel in our lives. They work long, tiring hours away from their homes and families for little pay and are always the first on the scene to pull you out of some crazy mess that has endangered your life. Medical folks are constantly bombarded by life and death and all that lies between. If you work in the medical field in any aspect, you get it. If not you may never understand the thing that drives these folks. It is 100% pure heart. They care until they bleed. It's a calling. And they are special angels.

Raymond had it. Raymond got it and he did it well ! And he did it for many, many years. He helped save many lives, earned the respect of his coworkers and as someone has already said, made many friends along the way. Raymond was witty and could make you smile when you just plain didn't want too. He was compassionate. He loved his job. He loved his family and his dear friends. And he was no doubt a music man.

The thing is. When you look around today as you are celebrating his life and are missing that crazy mug, see the huge crowd of people who are honoring him today and take in the enormity of all the lives he has touched. This is a true testament to who Raymond Steele was (and is today in heaven). He was a good man, a good friend, and he was and is loved. In knowing him you have been a part of something special on this Earth.

Remember Raymond in all the ways you shared his friendship and keep his warm memory in the pocket of your heart. Rest in peace my friend.

Shadow Thoughts

2011-10-15T23:48:00.000-05:00

Swirling mists,

and deep,

dark

shadows.

Shadows

that aren’t shadows at all

but appear

with familiar hazy forms,

hiding in corners

of quiet rooms,

waiting

with long

ghostly fingers

for

unsuspecting

victims.

Whispery,

quiet voices

that rasp or giggle,

a tap on the shoulder

or sometimes

a deep throaty growl

in pitch blackness.

Yet I,

seek to know the answers,

of why you are here,

seek to find

where you have gone,

to find those who

have gone before,

and those still

with stories to tell.

But be careful

of what you seek in the

eerie, unnerving silence

for you may find

that curiosity

is a devouring

lover.

© Joyce (Tidwell) Burns, ChynaMoon Creations 1997-2011

Tupelo Historic Tours

2011-10-07T22:24:00.001-05:00

When is the last time you truly wandered the streets of your hometown and wondered about all the things that used to be there? What happened when you were young? What places and stories do you remember? What happened before you were born? What buildings once stood on places you see daily? What things occurred at these places both gruesome and good that make them what they are today?

I just spent a couple of hours this evening with some of the crew of a new business in Tupelo, Ms. called Tupelo Historic Tours. They offer several tours from Elvis to Historic Tupelo, the Civil War and my favorite Haunted Tupelo. These folks have dug deeply into our past and have uncovered many stories and facts that are both interesting and amazing about the place we live. I might add that they have verified this information with historians and eye witnesses of merit. And of additional interest, our EMF detector spiked a couple of times along the way when we were discussing historical hangings on the Court House lawn!

So if you would like to spend a little time for a wonderful evening or an earlier tour (they offer several time slots), or if you want some true ghost stories for Halloween, just go to their website (link below) and sign up for one of the several available tours. I hear the Elvis one is really good too.

And such nice and friendly folks! Thanks guys. It was great fun : )

http://www.tupelohistorictours.com/

Photo above copyright Tupelo Historic Tours

Miami Book Fair International

2011-09-27T22:24:00.001-05:00

I am so excited. My poetry anthology Life in the Pond is going to be featured at the Miami Book Fair International which will be held on the Wolfson Campus of Miami Dade College in Miami, Fla. on November 13-20, 2011.

This is the 28th year for the book fair and this year they will exhibit over 250 publishers and booksellers and over 350 authors reading and discussing their work. It's sure to be a fun time for all so if you happen to be in Miami in mid-November be sure to drop by and check out the fair.

To learn more about the Miami Book Fair check out their link below:
http://www.miamibookfair.com/

Talk Like a Pirate Day

2011-09-19T19:13:00.000-05:00

Several years ago my co-workers and I happened upon some fun 'guys' John Baur and Mark Summers on the internet. As they were slinging pirateisms at each one evening they realized how much fun swearing in 'pirate' could be. Turns out it's an entire language, so they thought it might be fun for everybody to celebrate the fun side of pirates on September 19 each year.

It's all in fun and adds a smile or two to our work day. Talk Like A Pirate Day has spread across the entire internet matey. So shiver ye timbers and join in the fun. And if you want to know the whole story of how things started, 'here be' the original pirate merry makers website. Aarrggghhhh ye bilge rat, bring me my grog and cast them land lubbers overboard. http://www.talklikeapirate.com/about.html

That Crazy Bank Robbery

2011-09-16T22:03:00.000-05:00

I work for a large regional medical center and there has never been enough space to house all the ancillary departments and employees. Areas like insurance, billing, payroll and information technology have always been housed in off campus sites which have moved around every few years. Things are much more stable now and we are in a rather large building with the insurance people though we are still off-site from the main medical center.

Years ago the medical center had leased a building for our group that we affectionately called ‘the motel’, as that’s what it looked like. It was a long, low slung, one story building that had seen better days and was nestled next door to a music store with woods bordering the backside. The music store had previously been a Volkswagen dealership, and there was actually a group of tax lawyers and accountants in the far end of our building. It was a strange grouping to say the least.

There were actually two buildings of our people here. The other building which housed our computer room was about one hundred feet east across the parking lot. Most mornings, early, we would walk over to the big building to get coffee or sodas or to work in the computer room. We were back and forth between buildings all day for one reason or another.

On the other side of the second building was an ATM machine, and a little farther over from there was a branch bank where most of our folks deposited paychecks every other week. These were days before direct deposits became the norm. So every other Thursday afternoon we would trek across the parking lot to the bank. The bank folks were really nice people and we had become friends with a lot of the people who worked there.

One morning my office suite mate had been across to the other building and was just about to wander back in the door when a car came sliding to a halt in the parking lot. She looked up to see her step-father in the car and all he said was “he robbed us at the bank”. “Call the police!” My friend took this to mean that her stepfather had been robbed. She ran into our building screaming “call the police, call the police, he’s been robbed!”

In the South, friends are loyal to the core. As soon as we heard, “ he’s been robbed”, we all hit the parking lot to see what was going on. Inside, calls were being made. Outside the stepfather had driven off to look for the robber.

We were standing outside the building when all of a sudden, around the wooded corner of the building, came a man running at top speed with his arms wrapped around a heavy, bulging towel full of money. He was struggling to hold his payload as bills spilled out and tumbled to the ground. He saw us, just as we saw him. And he turned on his heels and started running like the wind in the other direction. That was one huge chunk of money in his arms!

By now insanity had taken hold and three of us, all women, started chasing him on foot. This was probably the dumbest thing I have done in my life as we had no idea if he was armed or what had actually occurred . We still thought our friend’s stepfather had been robbed, but it started sinking in as he continued dropping more money as he ran. Later we were told we were screaming so loudly that they heard us in all the buildings down the street and people started to file out of their buildings to see what was happening. As we got to the main street, he darted across. So did we, right behind him, just like in the movies with all cars squealing brakes and dodging people. Somehow we didn’t get run over and we were not going to let him get away after all this trouble. One girl was running in heels.

About the time we crossed the street we saw him run in to the nearby salvage store. The police started to arrive on the scene and quickly put a stop to our adventure. They came in with guns drawn and canines showing teeth so we thought it might actually be a good time to stop. But we didn’t go far.

The police surrounded the salvage store. I think every person on duty must have shown up as there were blue lights everywhere. The squad moved in and turned the dogs loose inside the building. The suspect was found hiding underneath a counter still clutching what was left of the money. It was amazing how fast those canine officers had him rounded up. And as they led the bank robber away to the squad car it was said he told the policemen not to let those crazy, screaming women near him.

Most of the money was picked up and turned in. The police later told us there was still around a thousand dollars missing. We looked all around our building but never found anything, except on the wooded side of the building where we found a snake in a tree and had a whole lot of screaming going on. But that’s a story for another day.

We did finally realize it was actually the bank that had been robbed. All the bank staff was alright but we shared some tall tales next payday. They told us he did indeed have a gun. I guess with all the running and the money in the towel it was not very practical to draw a gun. I really never felt we were in danger though, as I never believed he would let go of that towel. He just wanted to get away.

The other girl that was running with us got stuck in high gear. She was talking so fast that no one could even understand her until after lunch. We made the paper as the crazy, screaming women who chased the bank robber. They had no idea we thought we were helping our friend. The bank robber went to jail and peace was restored to our tiny kingdom. We always did wonder what happened to the rest of the money.

I did learn one thing that day. I found I certainly have some interesting (and fast) friends and I hope they will be around for a long, long time.

Joyce Burns

© Joyce (Tidwell) Burns, ChynaMoon Creations 1997-2011

Just Shoes

2011-09-15T22:28:00.000-05:00

Ballerina slippers and military boots,

discarded baby booties

from early days,

steel toes, mules and high heels

some destined for salvage stores

and others worn by millions

who died in the agony of wars,

displayed in museums

so we don’t forget history

or those who died.

Shoes, once full of life,

left in a heap, by unsuspecting humans

with little or no thought for tomorrow.

Unsuspecting people,

who think

their journey

will never end.

Mud from the picnic in the country;

cotton candy and gum from the amusement park,

making for sticky bottoms.

Running shoes, cleats, driving shoes, golf shoes

and those for the garden;

favorite sneakers

that her toes curled in when she got her first kiss

from that summer boy,

under a gigantic yellow moon.

Shoes,

take on our print,

tell our story and leave shapes

on our soles

and souls.

Some neatly polished,

others, ragged and worn,

summer sandals and winter lined boots.

Shoes,

a part of us, daily

seeing all those things that no one else

is supposed to know,

keeping our secrets and our treasures

until one day,

we simply leave them in a heap

to transition in our shadows.

and perhaps to

new feet.

Joyce Burns

© Joyce (Tidwell) Burns, ChynaMoon Creations 1997-2011

Pretty Wallpaper

2011-09-13T23:42:00.001-05:00

Your laughter, down the hall

aligns the routine

of my

compact

work day.

I smile

as morning begins

with coffee and

your soft chattering

on the phone.

I have come to love these

quiet sounds

that unfold my morning

like a worn newspaper

from a quiet,

unruffled

Sunday.

Some people

quietly,

and

unassumingly

become

players in the heart.

They stick

like pretty wallpaper,

to the lining of your soul

and teach you

all about yourself,

and what you are lacking.

They give you

smiles,

and heartaches

and occasionally

bend you toward the light.

I love you my friend

with all your complexities

because you,

are uniquely you

and simply knowing you,

makes me a better

human being.

How blessed am I.

Joyce Burns

© Joyce (Tidwell) Burns, ChynaMoon Creations 1997-2011

Remembering 9 -11

2011-09-11T01:15:00.001-05:00

As the sun filled the sky

on a quiet September morning,

life forever changed.

So many stories

between lines of time and pain.

So many lives,

bursting with promise and hope

suddenly gone,

but never forgotten!

Ten years of memories

and still we cry,

as we carry the weight

of our broken hearts

and lost innocence.

May this day

be filled with new beginnings,

as souls at last find peace

beneath the whisper of trees

and murmuring waters

surrounded by bronzed remembrances.

Let the sun shine on us again

and may we learn the meaning of peace

and move forward into a new day,

being mindful

that the tragedy here

was born of others’

hate.

May healing begin

and life renew,

and may we always remember these

beautiful souls

and those who died after them,

seeking freedom

in their memory.

Joyce Burns

© Joyce (Tidwell) Burns, ChynaMoon Creations 1997-2011

Quiet Solipsism & A Case of Confusion

2011-09-07T22:50:00.001-05:00

I thought we used to be

pretty good

friends,

friends with a mission,

real friends -

but

no more.

I am invisible to you now,

unless you are forced

to be in my company.

I am someone

you tolerate

as you hide behind a drink

or your

good deeds at church.

But good deeds

won’t get you

into heaven.

Am I so vile

because

I have grown old,

or because

I am not so pretty?

Or Is it because

you now have lots of money

and a big house,

and I don’t,

and you are ashamed for me,

pity me,

think me crazy,

to ease you mind

and your guilt?

Is it because I have no children

and we now share different

life experiences?

You work to be seen

at every social event,

even though I know

how you despise those crowds

and their dusty lives.

Have we grown to be so different

than the realities we once knew?

Is it because I have suffered much

and you have not?

Life has the appearance

of perfect bliss for you.

But somehow I doubt that it

is all that it appears to be.

Are you afraid my pain

or my poverty will

some how

rub off on you?

Or is it because

I know all those quiet secrets,

the ones you cannot afford

for the world

or your now rich neighbors to know?

I am the same one

you have always known.

I know your true heart

and your soul.

It does not belong here

among a myriad of

things

and polished silver.

Why are you here in this barren land?

I will move on now.

I will keep your secrets.

And I will try

not to think of you

again,

for where you have gone now

breaks my heart.

But I have no right to judge,

though I will pray for your salvation.

For I am,

and always will be,

your friend.

Joyce Burns

© Joyce (Tidwell) Burns, ChynaMoon Creations 1997-2011

If I Swallowed the Moon

2011-09-06T23:12:00.000-05:00

© Joyce (Tidwell) Burns, ChynaMoon Creations 1997-2011

Remembering 9-11

2011-09-05T01:09:00.001-05:00

As the sun filled the sky

on a quiet September morning,

life forever changed.

So many stories

between lines of time and pain.

So many lives,

bursting with promise and hope

suddenly gone,

but never forgotten!

Ten years of memories

and still we cry,

as we carry the weight

of our broken hearts

and lost innocence.

May this day

be filled with new beginnings,

as souls at last find peace

beneath the whisper of trees

and murmuring waters

surrounded by bronze remembrances.

Let the sun shine on us again

and may we learn the meaning of peace

and move forward into a new day,

being mindful

that the tragedy here

was born of others’

hate.

May healing begin

and life renew,

and may we always remember these

beautiful souls

and those who died after them,

seeking freedom

in their memory.

Joyce Burns

© Joyce (Tidwell) Burns, ChynaMoon Creations 1997-2011

Sunday Mornings

2011-09-04T21:35:00.000-05:00

The quiet of a Sunday morning.

The house is still asleep.

As outside rain tumbles from low, soft clouds.

The aroma of blueberry muffins

and the sound of distant cars implant in my memory.

I sink into the soft leather couch with my notebook,

hoping to catch my thoughts

as a curious wide-eyed puppy appears looking for his human.

I smile as my simple pleasures unfold,

and my thoughts drift to you my love...

still lost in your hazy, quiet dreams.

Ghosts of past and present drift by like butterflies on the wind,

their soft colored wings beating on my soul this morning.

I silently thank God for another quiet, unruffled day.

Soon appointed duties force me to rise, but I

save these memories in the folds of my heart to recall another day.

I love the quiet cracks in time on rainy, Sunday mornings.

Joyce Burns

On Being a River Rock

2011-09-03T23:34:00.000-05:00

As a river rock,

the days wash over me

and smooth my lines.

I was once large

and jagged,

but now I am smooth

and small

and wise.

Fear not the storms,

but heed the daily ripples.

Joyce Burns

Links 4 Writers & Creative Minds

2011-09-02T17:39:00.003-05:00

More than once during the past year I have needed experienced individuals to guide me through the maze of writing do's and don'ts.I am still green, but beginning to find my way.I have met some of the nicest people along the way who have freely shared what has worked and not worked for them.

I have learned much!

Although I have a long way to go, I wanted to share some links from my journey thus far in hopes that these will help other people needing assistance or just wanting to find some wonderful websites, art and books.

Simply look to your left to browse the list, but be prepared to spend a bit of time. Lots of information here and much more to come.

Thanks for dropping by. Hope you'll come back soon.

And if you know of any other cool links I need to add please email me or catch me on FaceBook. And thanks for your support!

September Treasures

2011-09-02T00:06:00.002-05:00

September days,

Sunlight beaming through windows at a slightly different angle, signaling Autumn.

Outside, leaves are starting to say goodbye to Summer, one by one.

The quiet of this perfect morning is so peaceful and healing.

My mind drifts to tomorrow,

When everyone will be hurrying back to nowhere,

but in getting there must be faster at everything, than any person next to him.

I stay still and quiet this morning to learn what is appointed me this day.

I watch humming birds dart to and fro, for treats on my porch,

and dozens of butterflies have come to dine and visit.

As the last rose of summer opens triumphantly to capture my heart;

it radiates, on the lightest breeze, a smell so sweet the angels smile.

So many gifts laid on our parched souls if only we open our hearts and minds.

Yet most choose not to see, scurrying away –

searching frantically for what is missing.

I return again to my stillness and drink in deeply,

savoring these treasures in my heart for the long, cold days to come.

Joyce Burns

Don’t Blow Up the Backyard When the Preacher is Visiting

2011-08-31T20:30:00.001-05:00

For those who asked for one more story...

Once upon a time in another lifetime, there were mischievous boys. Not mean boys or venomous boys, just mischievous, extremely intelligent, and bored out of their minds during late summer boys. If “an idle mind is the devil’s workshop”, maybe this is where the saying started.

The” boys” were out of school for the weekend. School had just started back after a long and eventful summer. Every day was another adventure and though it was only days out from the trouble they cooked up this summer with copious science experiments from the chemistry sets, the wheels were never idle for long in these young minds. The chemistry sets were last year’s Christmas presents from clueless parents.

I have explained previously in another story how it came to be that the “boys” had learned from the local library this past summer how to make gun powder! Who needs the internet?

In today’s world making gun powder would be a real problem as times have changed so much since the early sixties. I'm sure we would be called terrorists now, but thankfully this was a simpler time. Life barely resembles the free, imaginative world that I grew up in. Many times I long for those simpler days and the chance to be a creative, imaginative child without being thought of as a menace to society. I’m not saying that we didn’t do some things we probably shouldn’t have done, but in this time period parents ruled with discipline, a good belt, and the fear of God. There was also the “talking to” that was sometimes worse than any imagined spanking.

So the boys had their gunpowder. They tried various things like making their own firecrackers and blowing up plastic soldiers, the ones they hadn’t melted with magnifying glasses, and blowing holes in the ground and exploding things in open culverts. Culverts always had that pleasant echo. Most experiments were tried carefully out of earshot of home and parents. Of course these small events were gradually escalating as the boys became bored.

We could all see where this was leading. Things were destined to happen sooner or later. It was just a little sooner than later.

It was a bright, clear-blue cloudless Sunday afternoon in early Autumn. Leaves had begun their slow swirling dance with mother- nature, but the temperature was still just warm enough to be delightful. The air was dry and there was a slight southerly breeze today. It was the perfect afternoon. Church was over a couple of hours ago, Grandma served up a fried chicken feast fit for a king at lunch, or as it turned out today, the preacher. Actually because of the preacher’s visit, the kids had been delegated to play outside for the duration and try to be on best behaviors.

That statement became short lived as Jamie asked Ronnie, my brother, “what would happen if we put that in a metal pipe?” They had their usual debate over what would happen and seemed to feel the noise would be minimal and the damage almost none existent. To those of you who haven’t been paying attention, this idea equated to what you would hear about in today’s news as a pipe bomb.

The kids had a piece of left over pipe from a plumber’s recent visit. They proceeded to fill it full of gun powder and sealed it up. I’m not sure if they did anything else or not as playing with gun powder was not my forte until later, but I know they added a fuse and buried it in a hole in the ground partially sticking out. I was beginning to think “boy this ain’t gonna be good”, but I too was fascinated and glued to the spot. They made Jamie light the fuse. He always got the bad jobs because he was the skinny kid and could run faster.

Five, four, three, two, one . . . kabooooom!!!! “Holy crap” I yelled as the sound reverberated around the block. I was thinking to myself they just might have used a little too much powder. Dirt and metal flew everywhere. The sound was deafening! There was a big push of warm air. Windows rattled all the way down the street and then came my Mother flying out of the house. Grandma, Grandpa, the preacher, neighbors, visiting aunts and uncles and even the dogs! Mother had initially thought the water heater exploded. Then she exploded, all over us! She made more noise than the gun powder. She looked around to make sure no body parts were missing and then she yelled for everybody else to “leave now”. She added something about “just wait until your parents hear this one” as my brother and I were summoned into the house “now”!

It was not a pretty sight when the preacher left. I think she broke a belt on Ronnie’s behind. I skated off scott-free with no problem as I was just an innocent bystander. Right. But it worked to my advantage. There was grounding and grounding and more grounding. Ronnie just couldn’t make her understand that it was only curiosity and he just wanted to see what would happen. That set her off again, but there was only so much yelling she could do. We were sent to our rooms and tomorrow was a school day, so that was a blessing. I think this was the night he thought up the sulfur smoke bomb, but that was something else entirely.

Things quieted down in a few days. Neighbors started speaking again and soon the Autumn days turned cool and into Halloween. Thoughts and comments about the pipe bomb in the backyard melted away but the memory survived.

I will never forget those glorious days of total freedom and my love of childhood friends. I can still see the explosion after all these years and every time I do I smile. Not just a turned up corner smile but the big one, like that Cheshire cat. And where ever all the boys have come to be, I still love each and every one of you, pinky swear!

Joyce Burns

Switching Gears

2011-08-30T19:17:00.001-05:00

Watercolor Manipulations

I love, love, love photographs. Taking them, looking at them and manipulating them, especially with watercolor techniques. The above are a few samples, but it's a favorite thing to do. Nothing is more fun than adventuring out and taking photos in the most unlikely places at the most unlikely times and then bringing them home to play with.

After living in a cubesicle all week it does a lot for one's sanity to get out and away from the fast pace and see what mother nature has been doing. But a word of caution. Always be aware of your surroundings and have an escape route planned. These days anything is possible and one runs up on the most unlikely events. Just ask some of my close friends what I ran into on the Natchez Trace taking photos in the woods!

Art also comes in handy for doing your own book covers and illustrations if you are planning to publish a book. Art can be quite an expensive commodity. And don't let anyone tell you what you should do. That's why they call it original.

The main thing is to have a lot of fun at what you are doing. Being a little crazy helps with creativity but make sure its the good kind of crazy :>)

More fun later. Got to feed all my four-legged kids (and maybe a possum).

Possum and Grits, Oh My

2011-08-29T21:36:00.002-05:00

Forget the grits. Without a doubt, this story belongs to the possum!

Years ago, I had a lot of cats. And for some odd reason, the cats had cats, cat cliques if you will. At dinner time they brought home friends, just like your kids do when you have planned a meal for four people and six extra bodies show up and eat you out of house and home.

But as I am tempted to quote occasionally, “life happens”.

Somewhere along the way the cats began inviting possums to dinner. The first time I noticed anything odd was at feeding time one night when I looked out my sliding glass door and saw a really u-g-l-y cat with a hairless tail, sitting in the middle of one of the food bowls, eating with all the other cats. A note here everyone, I did not have my glasses on at the time of this sighting. On closer inspection a night or two later, I saw it was actually not a cat but a very brazen possum. I let it dine that night too, as its teeth and claws looked quite sharp gleaming in the moonlight. After dinner it moved on.

The possums and cats soon had a close kinship. My cats love everyone and it got to be a routine thing that they would occasionally invite the possums to dine. So be it I thought. There was always room for one more.

I wasn’t quite ready for my next adventure, however.

You know how sometimes in the middle of the night when you are snug and cozy in your soft warm bed and mother nature is determined you are going to get up and trot all the way to the bathroom? You try so hard to resist getting up but your kidneys are plotting against you? Well, it was one of those nights.

I rolled out of bed, made the quick trip down the hall and turned on the light. Another note, I don’t always turn on a light on nightly adventures as I am like a sonar detector in the darkness. I can go from one end of the house to the other without so much as a bump. So I am not sure what made me flip the switch on this time, but in retrospect I’m certainly glad I did!

There in the hazy, fluorescent glow of my otherwise sparkling bathroom, was a site to behold. Smack in the middle of my commode in all its furry glory was the cat-food-eating possum. However, he had eaten his last kibble. He was stone, cold dead. Somehow the possum had drowned in my toilet! It was a site to behold, though one you don’t necessarily want to remember. How he came to be in my bathroom and met his tragic end is a mystery for the ages. Some things we just aren’t meant to know.

The next step was fishing it out. All I could find to remove the critter was a bent, metal coat hanger. But first I made a picture! You may think me morbid or ghoulish, but believe me no one is going to believe a story about a possum drowning in your toilet without the picture to prove it! So I took my picture, which I have to this day and would show to you, except for showing respect for the possum.

Eventually I got him fished out of the bowl and disposed of the remains in a respectful manner. After all, meeting a death like that deserves a little dignity.

And later, when I finally made it back to bed and couldn’t sleep because I thought I heard an army of possums scurrying around everywhere; a thought occurred to me quite clearly.

Can you simply imagine a slightly different scenario where I didn’t turn on the light and the possum was in the toilet but wasn’t dead? I still get shivers thinking about that one. And further, can you imagine if I had to go to the emergency room at the hospital where I work and explain to my co-workers how I got possum bites on my hind quarters at three o’clock in the morning?

Sometimes you just know that God, in whatever form you perceive him to be, is truly watching over you!

Rest in peace, Mr. Possum. Hope you made it to possum heaven.

Joyce Burns, 2011

Gentry's Barber Shop

2011-08-28T00:06:00.001-05:00

Some of the best memories I have are of hanging out in my grandpa's barber shop. He, Earl Gentry, was a barber all his life and worked in and owned several shops from New Albany, Mississippi, to Aberdeen, Verona, Tupelo and even in Arkansas. He loved his job and all his customers.

I can still see the combs in their sterilized solution jars, hear the clippers and smell the hair tonic, aftershave, and talcum powder and I still keep his bag of tools even after all the years he has been gone. I remember sitting in that big chair, with him smiling down at me and cutting my bangs, the cool marble chair arms and the black leather seat. The foot rest I loved to sit on when no one was in the shop, the letters Koken embossed on the foot rest. And grandpa, always in a freshly starched, crisp white shirt with a bow tie and dress trousers with perfectly shined shoes. I remember the nickles he would give me and my brother to go get a coke or an RC cola in the tiny country store next door, and the dusty parking lot when the roads were still made of dirt or gravel. I can almost taste the time.

Barbers in the early days had to have a lot of training to be certified. My grandpa traveled around a lot teaching at schools to help students get certified. He told me one time that one of the tests was to shave a balloon with a straight razor. I know how very sharp those razors were and many times watched him sharpen them on his strap.

I remember stories too. One man that was a regular customer was known for being a little tight with his money and one day as he was sitting in the barber chair, grandpa happened to look down at the man's feet and noticed the man had his feet crossed but something didn't look right. What really caught his attention, was that the man's shoes were on the wrong feet He later discovered that the man was known for occasionally wearing his shoes on the wrong feet so the heels would wear evenly and he wouldn't have to buy more shoes or have them repaired.

Grandpa always had something interesting going on in the shop and always had wonderful stories to tell. And he never met a stranger.

So next time you happen to be in a barber shop, remember my grandpa. If I know him he is still just around the corner some where in heaven making folks look nice for Sunday.

The Boys and the Chemistry Set

2011-08-27T00:44:00.001-05:00

In another lifetime, when television was brand new and mircowaves were years from invention. Way back before Homeland Security, terrorists, political correctness, the internet, video games, recording devices for movies, cell phones and everyone “saving you from yourself” or minding your business, there were simpler times.

In this era of the late fifties and early sixties there were very intelligent and very bored kids.

In my tiny rural town in north Mississippi, there was a small group of boys, my brother included, who were notorious for their mischievous natures and for getting themselves into trouble. Not the kind of trouble of today where one human being is mean to another or hurts someone, but what folks used to call “creative mischief”.

Back in this time period, kids got really cool presents for birthdays and Christmas. Gifts for boys were very science or sports oriented, sports being baseball and football. The science interest was due in part to the space race. Hopefully little boys would grow up to be scientists that would somehow save the world. This being said, the most popular gift of the day was a Chemistry Set.

I doubt if a genuine set could even be found these days, but if one was found it would probably be considered something lethal. These “toys” were not watered down anything. They contained real chemicals, weather instruments, measuring devices, gyroscopes, microscopes and many other small bits and pieces for performing experiments. The goodies came packed in large metal, fold-out cases with a place to store these treasures for future use. Usually they had big bold lettering on the front in bright colors announcing to the world that a kid had scored the ultimate gift.

Also before the internet was the public library. The boys would visit the library for hours in the summertime. It was their research laboratory and only a short bicycle ride away. Maybe you might see where this is headed but parents were oblivious, being more concerned with weekend outings than what their darling children could be doing. Besides, going to the library seemed like a fine idea. They were growing their minds for the next school year.

What the parents didn’t know was that the boys, always fascinated by western movies, dime store spy novels and heroes making their own bullets were studying how to do this. So these quiet children put together the formula to make gun powder! The ingredients at that time were readily available and it wasn’t long before the group began playing and experimenting. By the time school started that year they had become quite expert at small explosive devices, mostly used like fireworks. Not really anything harmful.

Then along came Halloween. One of the boys got the idea to put some gun powder in one of the cannons at the local Civil War monument. They had argued previously over how far a cannon ball could shoot out of a cannon. They discussed circus people being shot out of cannons, all manner of stories ensued. There were all sorts of opinions. And then it happened. One of the group double dog dared the others to prove the cannon would shoot.

It was Halloween evening, late. Scientific curiosity had gone awry. The boys headed to the Civil War monument and there they stuffed their home made gun powder into the barrel of one of the cannons in an effort to prove their scientific theories. Of course they didn’t have any cannon balls so the stuffed the barrel with bodock apples (the grapefruit sized fruit of the southern bodock tree, very hard and green and sticky with a milky substance that oozes out),as many as they could stuff into the barrel.

They picked the skinniest kid to light the homemade fuse as he could run the fastest. The other boys waited patiently across the highway. It was after midnight. Sammy lit the fuse and ran like the wind. He made it just to the edge of the lot when the flash and the resounding boom hit the cool night air.

It sounded as if the Earth had split into! The horse apples (bodock fruit) exploded into a million pieces and splatted out, but the flash from the barrel was a site to behold! The noise was deafening and nearby windows rattled in in their frames in the blackness of the night. The other boys had already made it two blocks down the street before Sammy could get across the highway.

He was the only one to see the caretaker running across the street in his underwear to the still smoking cannon. Running around the monument in circles and swearing like a sailor, seemingly looking to see if anyone had died.

Down the street the boys were fearing death from parents and the retaliation of the Civil War memorial people as they waited for Sammy. When he caught up with them and finally quit swearing, they headed home, each one separately sneaking into the safety of their warm beds.

In the morning they feared the worst but everything was eerily quiet. The explosion didn’t even make the paper.

Later that day when the group finally gathered they breathed a sigh of relief and swore they would never do anything like this again, however as being scared wore off they all related to each other how cool the event had been. Things were quiet for a few days, at least until the following Sunday afternoon when something in our backyard exploded while the preacher was visiting! But that’s a story for another day.

The cannons were welded shut and the chemistry set is gone now, but that gift has lasted a lifetime. And an additional note, the boys were later known to occasionally put cherry bombs in those cannons, experimenting with the intensity of the sound, of course.

My brother is gone now and everyone has scattered to the four winds, but that wonderful chemistry set and those lovely boys will live in my memory and my heart forever.

For my guys, wherever you are : )

Joyce Burns

The Elvis Connection

2011-08-25T23:30:00.003-05:00

Elvis Presley was born in Tupelo, Mississippi on January 8, 1935. People come from all over the world to see the small house in which Elvis was born and pay tribute to the"King of Rock and Roll". Elvis is well remembered in his hometown and each June there is a celebration in his memory," The Elvis Festival ". Lots of music, food, impersonators and good times.

There are many "Elvis" attractions around town, but none quite so unique as the 21.5 foot guitar at the corner of Green and Crossover streets in Tupelo. It was built by Precision Machine, Transport Trailer and FastWrapz.com. The strings and frets of the guitar are made of fiberoptics and change colors as it plays Elvis music 24 hours a day. Owner, Larry Michael says the giant guitar is inspired by smaller guitar sculptures in downtown Tupelo, which were created by Digital Impressions. More about Tupelo later. It's quite a town!

Thoughts for Today

2011-08-24T23:22:00.001-05:00

Thoughts on Memories

It’s funny

how angry words

are only spent and recognized

in present time.

The yield of hurt Is indisputable,

yet in retrospect,

all that is truly remembered

are soft sided,

gentle words,

smiles,

and warm touches.

Harsh words

of rage and hate

for all their perceived power,

simply float away

on the breezes of time,

leaving only

the residue of happiness

as we

bask in the sunlight

of warm recall;

that which we want

and choose

to remember.

Strange,

this wedge

of the human condition.

Joyce Burns 2011

It's Been a Sweet Summer

2011-08-23T21:34:00.003-05:00

Though the weather is still hot, good ole summer is almost behind us. It has been a really hot one, but at the same time a lot of fun. During the summer I had quite a few outings in the local woods and back alleys seeking places to take nice photos. I love to have warm memory photos on cold winter days so they instantly transport me back to the steamy heat of summer and all that she has been.

This particular photo frenzy was on a quiet, late Sunday afternoon trek to a place where I wanted to get some nice railroad track shots. As I was standing in the middle of the tracks, close to a curve, my feet started to vibrate against the rails. It suddenly occured to me that there would be no warning whistle should a train suddenly appear. Duh! Yes, just then a train suddenly appeared! Instinctively I jumped from the track and rolled downhill to watch the train pass. The third photo on the right was shot from my landing place in the bushes, and though not a good shot, it serves as a reminder to be a little more cautious next time I venture out alone in the middle of no where. But then, that's why they call it an adventure, right? Life is good!!

Who reads this stuff anyways?

2011-08-22T21:41:00.003-05:00

I've been told I should 'give it up' that 'nobody reads this stuff anyways'.
Maybe you're right. I haven't seen anyone beating down my door, yet, but somehow it's therapeutic whether a single person reads it or not. Hopefully someone might. Hopefully something might ease a heart, comfort a pain, heal a soul, grow a smile, twinkle an eye, ... just maybe!
I keep thinking about author John Lock. A million in ebooks in 5 months because he refused to let anybody tell him how to do the whole process! He did it his way, and it worked. It's called c r e a t i v i t y. And I love it!
Folks are out there you just have to take them somewhere they haven't been before and make it an adventure they will never forget. So saddle up folks. Pretty soon we are going adventuring!
"To have something you never had, you have to do something you never did". Not sure who said it, but I like it. Hope tomorrow is a wonderful beginning for each of you : )

Ahhhh Saturday, but much to do

2011-08-20T10:14:00.001-05:00

The sun is shining and although it is still quite hot, the hint of autumn is in the air. I look forward to being outside for a while. It's been so incredibly hot this summer, things that I usually enjoy outside were just too miserable to do for very long. Because of the heat I got a lot of writing done, but after being at work all day I long to get out and about.

Wanted to say CONGTATULATIONS to the new Southern Writers Magazine. The inaugural edition has hit the streets and is great! The staff has done a wonderful job and deserves applause for helping to give Southern writers a new voice. Tricia Goyer is the featured author for this edition with so many other wonderful writers in the wings. Please support their efforts with the wonderful publication.

Also if you are in the Gulfport, Mississippi area today stop by Negrotto's between 3 and 6 pm for a book signing. The book is "Ndovu the Elephant" by Phillip Levin. A pictorial of Africa with a heart warming story. I'm sure you will enjoy the afternoon immensely.

On another note. I wish to say I am also very proud to be associated with the Mississippi Writer's Guild and the Gulf Coast Writers Association. Both are excellent resources of information and support for beginning to professional writers. Thank you for the wonderful job you are doing to help promote writing!

You Can't Make Me Fit in a Box!!!

2011-08-18T21:20:00.001-05:00

Hello world! A new adventure begins.

While thinking about my virgin post here I considered many things. So many topics I hope to discuss, friends I hope to meet, debates I hope will challenge my grey matter, other opinions to make me think, and so much more. I love creative people and hope to meet many here.

Today what is on my mind is the journey I just completed with the publishing of my poetry book, Life in the Pond. It's been out for a year on the 20th of this month, self-published (did I just say a dirty word)? I actually had the opportunity to go with conventional publishing. It was a difficult decision, but I turned them down. The contract was limiting, they wanted my rights tied up for a period of time, I was basically not going to make much money since I was unknown, and on top of that, it was poetry (another dirty word)!

Agents don't want to touch an unknown poet. Poets, like cats, are independent and don't fit into a box. Unless you are a best selling author of other genres, a successful poetry book is an underdog, however it is published. Add the words self-published to your book and it will just about kill it.

I'll admit whether SP or conventional, there are some very bad poetry books out there, but also some very bad regular books. Just because a book is self-published doesn't automatically mean it is bad. Give the good ones a chance. Keep your arrogant opinions to yourself until you actually read a book. Then you can judge your heart out.

Like everything else, most times it's who you know, how much money you can throw around, what you are willing to do to have a best seller, or another option, old fashioned hard work! So market, market, market, but smart market.

I was about ready to throw in the towel earlier this week until I ran across self-published author, John Locke. He was like a breath of fresh air. You may like or not like his books but you have to admire his spunk. He sold one million e-books in five months! Wonder what conventional publishers have to say about that? He writes what he thinks and feels and doesn't care if every single word or grammer phase is perfect. That's not to say he doesn't make everyone as perfect as possible, but truth is NO PUBLISHED BOOK IS PERFECT! Doesn't exist. You will find errors in any book you pick up if you are savy enough to catch them.

So you don't get me to quit this round. Thank you John Locke for you amazing words.
Hope you sell a million more. Hopefully when I get my path figured out, I will follow you to the Amazon club! Keep writing everyone. It is good for the heart and soul. And don't let ANYONE put you in their box.