I haven’t felt inspired to write in a while, but this weekend that changed because I watched some soccer players play basketball. Now I feel quite ready to tackle anything. My 15 year old son and 5 of his friends signed up for a basketball tournament. None of these boys had ever played basketball. They are soccer players. Why did they sign up for a basketball tournament? Why not? And for the love of the game.

They were truly the underdogs. They barely had enough players, they made their own uniforms, no one had proper basketball shoes, 2 of their players bailed, and they had no coach. Their unconventional moves put them somewhere between the Harlem Globetrotters and The Bad News Bears. The crowd went wild.

When the games began, everyone seemed to be wondering why they were there. Between their mismatched uniforms and mismatched skills, it wasn’t obvious. When they kept playing at 100% despite the score of something like 13- 42 in the first period, and not just playing, but smiling and having a great time, it became obvious. These young men just loved the game and wanted to be a part of it.

By the end of the day, everyone knew about those “soccer boys” and they had kids begging to play with them, cheering for them, and yelling encouragement. Other players from all over rushed the court at halftime and rallied around them. They lost. They lost big. But they were the winners. And the crowd went wild.

Sometimes I feel the world is just spinning too fast. Everyone seems to want everything bigger, louder, and instantly. Everywhere I look, someone is wanting their piece of the pie, their fair share. I used to hear it’s the little things that matter most. Now everyone is telling me go big or go home. And I am supposed to hurry up about it.

This was especially evident recently when my husband and I celebrated our 25th wedding anniversary. Well-meaning friends said, “25 is BIG! Go on a cruise. Go to Paris.” Go big or go home. Knowing an elaborate vacation was out of the question, I did daydream about Paris. After all, it’s Paris. I imagined myself standing in front of the Eiffel Tower in the City of Lights, wearing a beret, my long red scarf blowing in the wind.

“Bonjour,” they would say.
“Bonjour, ya’ll,” I would answer back.

We would visit museums. We would shop. We would eat fancy pastries. We would go big. Then we would go home.

Of course, the 3 boys that live under my roof were not in my daydream. And being the good Momma I am, I wasn’t really going to run off to Paris and leave them so far away. So we settled on Warm Springs, a mere 45 minutes from home. Because the good Momma in me always thinks about the what ifs.

Warm Springs holds a special place in my heart because it’s where we spent our honeymoon. As a broke young newlywed blinded by the hearts in my eyes, it was the most beautiful place on Earth. It was quiet and sweet and full of antiques and Christmas lights. It was right out of a Charles Dickens story.

I wondered if it would seem different after all these years. Would it seem small-ish? After all, it doesn’t get much more not Paris than Warm Springs, Georgia. Somehow, in a world that has continued to spin out of control, this little place has indeed remained small-ish, wonderfully small-ish. Maybe it was the hearts in my eyes or the millions of little twinkling white Christmas lights, but The City of Lights didn’t hold a candle to Warm Springs that night.

We went small, and we went home. And it was big.

Recently, my appliances have been teaming up against me. First the dishwasher quit, then the washer and dryer. Last week when the washer died, she was in the middle of a cycle and full of water! AND she was a front loader! After I gave her a few swift kicks, I thought to myself So much for Nellie Whirlpool and that is where the idea for this post came from. Creative inspiration is everywhere :)

Obituary for Nellie Whirlpool

Nellie Whirlpool expired this week. The cause of death is unknown, but an autopsy revealed she was full of mold. There is also speculation that she may have choked on a mouth full of clothes. She was quite picky. It would be nice to say she lived a long and full life, but the truth is she was lazy, did not live up to her potential, and expired young. There is some comfort in her death, knowing that she was accompanied by her partner, June Whirlpool. June was under severe distress and frequently became severely overheated. She also expired at an unusually young age with a mouth full of unmatched socks. Both Nellie and June were preceded in death by Frankie Frigidaire who at the tender age of 10 decided she was quite finished with life. She became sluggish, leaked on the floor, and expired with a belly full of very dirty dishes. The three of them have been replaced and will not be remembered fondly.

Honored to be on Southern Writers Magazine's Blog, Suite T today. To read the article, click the link below:


southernwritersmagazine.blogspot.com/2018/04/whats-point.html

Click below to read Harlan and Gert, a flash fiction published in New Southern Fugitives Issue 12 from Southern Fried Karma Press.

Harlan and Gert are aging, but they aren't ready for a home, no matter what their kids say!

​http://www.newsouthernfugitives.com/issues/issue-12/harlan-and-gert/
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Duke the Dachshund is back with his Christmas tale for Susanna Hill's Annual Holiday Contest. Read Duke's story below and here is the link to the contest so you can read the other wonderful stories.
https://susannahill.com/blog/

A Hot Dog’s Christmas
(194 words)

“Here Duke,” my humans call.
“We have a surprise!”
I jump and waggle.
I can’t believe my eyes.

There is a present
Under the tree.
A present they say
Is just for me!

“Hurry Duke!” they call.
“Hurry! Run!”
“You’ll like this, Duke!”
“This is fun!”

Suddenly, I am cautious.
I stop dead on my feet.
I’ve heard this before
When it was Trick or Treat.

I remember that night.
Now I want to run.
I remember they dressed me
As a hot dog — in a bun!

But, it’s almost Christmas
So I go to the tree.
I slink over
To get the gift they have for me.

After all, it’s a surprise.
But it isn’t any better.
This present?
It’s a sweater!

This is not right!
This is wild.
I’m a dachshund,
Not a child!

I am so insulted,
This isn’t fair.
I don’t need a sweater!
I’m covered with hair!

I want a toy, a leash, or a bone.
But on it goes, over my head.
I look ridiculous,
Like Great Uncle Ned.

I want to bite an ankle,
Maybe a knee.
But I don’t dare
Because Santa is watching me!

Recently, I had the pleasure of taking a master writing class taught by Rick Bragg. I learned so much and afterwards, I asked the Pulitzer Prize winning author to sign my copy of one of his many books. He winked at me and asked where I am from. I said, “I’m from right here.” He signed my book, “Tonya, from right here.” Mr. Bragg has a wonderful sense of humor, but those words got me thinking about where “right here” really is…

“Right here” is so much more than a hometown. It’s a corner of time and space that belongs to a person. Today my “right here” is a very old house filled with dirty dishes and piles of laundry. It is a life full of unfinished projects, aging parents, and growing kids. It is a kitchen table full of bills to be paid and lists to be shopped.

I am learning to embrace the mess, even the laundry that seems to self regenerate minus a few socks every week, because it’s my mess. It’s my circus and my monkeys and my bills — everything in my “right here” is about someone I love. Most importantly, my “right here” is a life full of the love and laughter of my high school sweetheart and our three boys. It is a life unfinished with so much fun, so much promise and I thank the Lord for all of it, every day.
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So, the next time I wish I was somewhere else; I am going to remind myself to be thankful for my “right here” because “right here” is where I belong.