Last Night I had a Crazy Dream

I friend said they really enjoyed this last year. I thought I would repost it.
        
          It was cold and dark and as I walked through my neighborhood I was scared. The weather was whipping against my body.  It was the pressures of life and no one was around to help. My clothes were tattered, hanging, and with my arms folded in front of me, my head was down to keep winter off my face. Pushing, I seemed to be searching for something but didn’t know what or why.
         Suddenly, a gust of wind lifted my head and stopped me in my tracks. There, to my left was a snowman, a pleasant Christmas decoration with a happy smile, but it upset me.
         “What? You’re mocking me, too?” I yelled. You think everyone is happy at Christmas? Wipe that stupid smile off your face!”
         I reached back, to slap that carrot nose and he came to life. I was taken aback. My eyes widened, frighten, I stood still.
         The snowman removed his scarf, and sticking out his hands, presented it for me to take. I backed up instead. He then raised it, slightly, as if to say, “Here, it’s yours.”
         Cautiously, I took the steps toward him and reached out, accepted the scarf, and quickly proceeded to wrap it around my neck. His arm then moved and pointed down the street. I didn’t know what to do so I dipped my head in gratitude and walked on following his direction, once again, noticing the cracks on the broken sidewalk.
         Onward I trekked, again keeping my head down to spare my face, when another gust of wind lifted it. There, next to me were more decorations, these of a children’s choir with hymnals in hand, dressed in early 20th century Christmas clothes, bundled and warm.
         This time the choir came alive, and I jumped back as it began the song “Joy to The World,” the loud boisterous rendition startling me. I smiled in amusement as the choir sang and watched as a little girl removed her earmuffs and hand them to a little boy. The little boy then removed his gloves and handed all the articles to me. Politely, he said “Merry Christmas, sir,” and pointed down the street.
         Again, I dipped my head in appreciation and moved on until I came to a house with decorations in the yard depicting presents under a Christmas tree. One of the presents was lit brighter than the others so I walked toward it, and written on the box was my name. I was shocked. I thought, “This can’t be. This isn’t real. I’ve never cared about these neighbors.”
         Suddenly, the box started moving and I retreated. It shook, violently, as if ready to erupt and with a loud pop a large “Jack in the Box,” popped out with a heavy overcoat in his out stretched arms. I fell backwards to the ground. It scared the living daylights out of me.
         I took a moment, and on all fours, slowly crept to the Jack in the Box. I grabbed the coat but this time started running, putting the coat on as I went. When I was far enough away I slowed down now nice and warm with my new scarf, gloves, earmuffs, and coat.
         I couldn’t believe my luck. I was ready to find more. I wanted more. What more can I get? Maybe, I can find that snowman again, and get his hat, too.
         Walking again with my head held high, in the distant down the street, I saw a house with what looked like more decorations. This time I ran to it, elated that I would find more. As I got closer, comprehending what was coming into view, I slowed my pace. I was humbled when I realized it was a life-sized nativity scene complete with a manger, Mary and Joseph beside it, the animals, wise men, all real, all alive and to my astonishment the baby Jesus lying in that manger. The light upon him blinded my eyes. I shielded them, now, feeling not worthy to receive him.
         Staring, I felt others, and upon looking behind me saw a sea of people, all nationalities, admiring the beauty of the light, the power of it, reminding me my gifts were his gifts to me. I walked toward it. I reached my hand out slowly, wanting to touch the brightness, wanting to feel it's warmth, wanting to know if that light was my light. I was just about to touch it when I felt my shoulders shake, and heard…
         “Larry, Larry, wake up, you’re having a dream.”
         Noticing I was in my room, I realized it was my wife.
         “Are you all right?” she asked. “You were dreaming.”
         “Yeah, Yeah, I’m OK… Man that was weird. I was… talking to Christmas decorations… they were coming to life. Oh man, that was strange.”
         “You scared me, Larry. You kept screaming, “I’m not worthy. I’m not worthy.”
         “Really?”
         “Yeah.”
         “Wow… Well… I’m okay now… Go back to sleep, honey.”
         “Don’t do that again,” she said looking into my eyes.
          I smiled and trying to comfort said, “I’m alright. I’m fine. I’m OK. Go back to sleep.”
         I rolled over, shut my eyes, and tried to go back to sleep, but while remembering the dream, I thought about all the wonderful things that I have in my life.
        My eyes opened again. I asked the wall, “Am I worthy?”

Jon Claude “Bill” Dufrene Dead at age 70

Montegut, LA- World renowned, South Louisiana duck carver Jon Claude “Bill” Dufrene was found dead in his Montegut, La. work shop early Saturday morning. No foul play is expected but oddly noted was his prize carvings strategically displayed in order by the years in which he achieved his premiere successes.

His wife of 51 years, Madeleine, said, “He had been feeling under the weather but when he got up Saturday, everything seemed okay. I mean, he first was his ornery self but then I served him his Captain Crunch. Oh, he loved Captain Crunch, being a Navy man for all them years. I went check on him ‘bout 11:30 in the shed, for his lunch, and that’s when I found him dead. I called the 911 but I think he was gone because he always quickly turned off the TV when I came in. That and he had a sly, wicked smile on his face.”

Jon Claude first received recognition as a duck caller in West Monroe, Louisiana. He was a young friend with the now famous Phillip Robertson of the Duck Commander Duck Calls and reality television show Duck Dynasty. Rumor has it that at the state duck calling competition as boys, Jon Claude was a clear winner, but Phillip got the first prize. When the two young men were on stage to receive the blue and red ribbons a fight ensued, Jon Claude taking an extreme shot to the mouth. Jon Claude’s lip was split and required stitches. After removing those stitches, Jon Claude had a massive scar and because of that injury he couldn’t achieve the sound he needed to call ducks. Jon Claude bitterly quit the sport. Some say he would never be the same.

But, the love of water fowl hunting consumed him. He picked up a knife and paint brush and started to carve while watching the PBS painter Bob Ross on TV, learning the strokes needed to be “happy, happy, happy.” Something he coined on the microphone that night at that fateful competition as a boy.  

He started winning numerous local, state, and national duck carving contests and in 1995 voted top five in the world, his forte being the bill, thus, the nickname. His peers would say that he always achieved the perfect duck bill.  He was quoted after a long night of drinking at BJ’s Lounge, “Man, it’s the part the duck talks with, damn it. The curves, the seamless line into the face, you gotta get that right. Let’s say the duck wanted to call people. He’d use a people call, right? But if his bill ain't right, if he can't communicate, he can't speak to his people friends, his buddies as a boy. Look, I love making all my special little birds but I can’t talk to them, not the right way. Damn it, you don’t understand. I can’t use that telepathy.”

The locals loved him, too, always going to shows and giving pointers, never too tired to speak to the young people to inspire and keep the art of duck carving alive, and never too afraid to take his prize carvings out in the field.

Jon Claude once said, “At dawn, with the sun coming up, I like to look at my art work out on the pond. I imagine they could fly, take off with the others that came in. Well, the one’s that didn’t get shot. They would fly, high and away, and come back next year, my friends that I created, with their perfect little bills. They’ll speak to me, tell me of their adventures, and I’ll understand. Sometimes I cry at night because I can’t answer their questions.”

Services will be Tuesday.

 

Cyber Monday

By: Larry Hyatt

(Sung to the tune: Monday, Monday
By: The Mamas and the Papas)

Cyber Monday (Ba-da ba-da-da-da)

Don’t need a tree (Ba-da ba-da-da)
Computer all day, (Ba-da ba-da-da)
At work I’ll be. (Ba-da da-da)

Oh, Cyber Monday,

I’ll be joining, millions, clicking with glee…..
I’ll be on line; I’ll save the time,
But I’ll pay the fee (Ba-da ba-da-da-da)

Every other day (every other day)

Every other way in the week is fine… yeah.
But when Cyber Monday comes (but cyber Monday comes)
I won’t be standing
In some freakin’ line.

Cyber Monday (Ba-da ba-da-da)

Won’t spend on gas (Ba-da ba-da-da)
Cyber Monday (Ba-da da-da-da)
Kids, no pain in the ass. (Ba-da da-da-da)

Cyber Monday (Ba-da da-da-da)

Just love that day (Ba-da da-da-da
Cyber Monday (Ba-da da-da-da)
Is Christmas in decay? (Ba-da da-da-da)

Oh, Cyber Monday,
No work done fun day,
Oh, Cyber Monday.

Black Friday

She was late to the bargains. Last night was the worst of all nights for her young child to climb into bed and turn off the alarm. She knew the best deals were on the “front line,” that’s where it happens, the push/pull, the get out of my face. The "head bob" or the "snap and extend" would be passé on a day like this. Today you can't flinch or it's coal in a stocking, at least for “The Brain Dead Demons-350,” that not only annihilates zombies, but can kill at a rate of fifty per second, collect their brains and transform them back to their living state.

She hurried to the cue and took her place at the end; behind a guy she thought shouldn’t be there. He was alone and she thought, “This is woman’s work, beating the hell out of someone for a toy. What the hell is this guy looking for?”

He was dashing in his uniform, the military look, fatigues that made her think he just came back from the war.  Of course, standing in the garden section he could have blended right in. 

She overheard him mention to the couple in front that he was just back from fighting in Afghanistan. Tilting her ear she caught it was brutal, lots of anxiety, and he had lost three very close friends.

A bit cold, moments later, hands in his pockets, he nonchalantly turned to her and asked, “You’re alone today, too?”

“Yeah, I would have gotten here sooner but my alarm didn’t ring, long story.”

"What are you here for?”  

“Brain Dead.”

“No kidding, the 350?”

“Oh Yeah,” she smiled. “The 350… gotta have it… transforms them zom-bo's back to themselves and all.”

“Must have a son, huh?”

“No. It’s a little girl. Believe it or not she loves pink, Barbie and decapitated zombies… all nice… sugar and spice.”

“You’re funny.” He said and extended his hand “My name is Cahjay… I know it’s weird.”

“Hi, my name is Laverne. And don’t even go there.”
He chuckled and asked, “So, a little girl who likes to fight, huh?”

“Yeah… go “action” figure.”

With the smiles now lingering, the seconds felt extended waiting for someone to say the next words, but just then, the doors opened and the line erupted into mayhem, the people making a mad dash for all the things that make Christmas special, the hustle, the bustle, the “gettin’ while the gettin’s good”, the gifts from Santa, the reason, the rhyme, the want of everything, if only we could.

Oddly, the young soldier took a small step toward the wall and it puzzled her. Then the crowd behind them started forcing their way past, bumping her, pushing her aside, he grabbed her arm and pulled her close just before the exhilarated mob would have knocked her down.

“My goodness,” She said, looking closely into his eyes, “Thank you… They could have hurt me.”

Lips, inches apart, he told her, “Well you got to get that 350.”

Upon realizing she didn’t know why he was there, she asked, “Are you getting a present for a girlfriend?”

“I wish. I’m here for the quiet!”

Thanks for the Wishes

Thank you for the birthday wishes but instead of gifts this year, please donate a goat, sheep, or bison, in my name, to a third world country through the Heifer Foundation.

Or, give the perfect gift and buy “How to Reach for the American Dream… (and not get it.) By: Larry Hyatt .

Available on Amazon.com, Barnes and Nobles, or Muddy Bayou Press.
 

Click on picture to left.

Now please disregard this shameless promotion.

Interview with Larry Hyatt

Author interview with Larry Hyatt

http://authorashleighblanchard.blogspot.com/2013/11/larry-hyatt.html

Ash'leigh Blanchard: Larry Hyatt

authorashleighblanchard.blogspot.com

60 Seconds Inside a Bimbo's head-Thanksgiving

Oh hell, my boyfriend wants me to go to his family’s house for Thanksgiving…My sugar daddy is going to be pissed…I could say I’m not hungry, but I used that last year…I know, I could say I don’t want to gain weight… No, he already knows I’m on Jenny Craig, Weight Watchers, and Nutrisystem… Nutrisystem, I like that one...Marie Osmond is much prettier, now...She really should have won on Dancing with the Stars…Shit, What do I do? I don’t want to lose my boyfriend. He’s young. He’s hot. He’s really good in bed… I don’t want to lose my sugar daddy either. He’s umm…umm…umm…he’s, rich….It’s like that that Chinese phrase…One’s my bling and the other’s my bang…Oh, geez, what am I to do? Piss off my boyfriend or piss off my sugar daddy?…Either way, someone is going to be really mad…I know, I'll flip a coin and do heads or tails...One in the afternoon the other at night...Someone gets head and someone gets tail…I sure have a lot to be thankful for.