Mystery of Unknown – Page 3 – Hot Dog Cool Cats

Last Night In My Dream

We were driving side by side…On a highway to no known destination..(IZ)

No wonder The Wanderer loved it! From Morguefile.com IMG_0522.jpgBy wallenberg — From Morguefile.com
IMG_0522.jpgBy wallenberg

Sleep is such mystery…one minute you may be in a recliner, thinking how many pounds of turnips to buy, what color of sweater you should wear, when to plant the flower seeds and the next minute you have lifted the veil on the here and now and disappeared over to the other side, where today’s reality with it trials and troubles cease as you step in to the you.. that was, that is and ever will be.

RIP Daddy's machine. Fr: Morguefile. OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA — RIP Daddy’s machine. Fr: Morguefile.
OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

The scene that unfolded was not an over exaggerated never could happen circumstance….no, it was glorious in its simplicity. Momma and RIP Daddy, many moons ago, driving, in his blue convertible with the top down, the radio loud, the stars and moon hanging so low you felt if you stretched out your arm, you could touch them with your fingertips.

Older, wiser, still fun Momma & RIP Daddy (with the Runaway Princess looking on. — Informal fun Momma & RIP Daddy.

Although Momma’s long hair was tied back, it came loose, whipping her face with a blinding force that both crippled and energized her. RIP Daddy was so young and happy, so proud of his machine, willing to pay the price for the speeding tickets and demerit points he collected, the pain of sitting before the Authority figure, justifying why he should be able to keep his driving license, just for the thrill of the here and now. There was no conversation, save the music and the wind, rendering a lullaby so sweet, you would wish it would never end.

Ah, but just as sleep steals in, bringing yesterday back, so does an inner alarm clock, rudely jolting you back to the here and now, where RIP Daddy only can appear in dreams these days…

No longer able to share today in person, RIP Daddy smiles benevolently in the framed picture, at Momma, Wonder Boy and all the world because…he’s over there now…waiting…with his blue convertible and until Momma makes it to his side in Heaven….every once in a while, he’ll invade her dreams and take her for a quick spin…til they meet again….because…last night…

The Road tosomewhere, everywhere, nowhere...Fr: Morgue files. — The highway with the no destination…Fr: Morgue files.

I saw you in my dream…We were driving side by side…On a highway to no known destination…Last night in my dream…I saw your face again….
We were there in the moonlight forever…(IZ)

When the Work’s All Done

And the sun is setting low…Thank God I’m a country boy …(John Denver)…

So that it has been written, so let it be done… Those poor local cops, scratching their heads…the good folk of the town wanted more…more explanations, more dirty laundry now that Misfit Molly had left them a treasure trove of information…like everyone, end of day, wondered…had their names made it in the journals? Had she found out about the time…..??? You know what I mean….

Ok, it is not a fiddle but all Wonder Boy has is guitars... — Ok, it is not a fiddle but all Wonder Boy has are guitars…and drums,an organ…

The consensus was no one should be charged for a harmless hobby….well except the Judge who put away someone’s son, father, cousin nephew or friend on trumped-up charges….did not even keep him local but sent him off to a tough provincial prison where you are lucky to get out with your life…now that was a chargeable offense,

Where deep, dark secrets lurk, be you Sinner or Saint.

And what about the Organ Lady? Sometimes in life, especially if your country born and bred,( like for the last eight generations), you stumble upon deep, dark secrets which never should see the light of day… like the Organ Lady who righteously played the organ in the local ‘All ye who are sinners‘ church, must be going on forty years now… so high and mighty, if a farmer would cuss in front of her she would slay him with a haughty look and put him on her naughty list……telling anyone who would listen that he was uncouth, past redemption, Amen! Shoe was on the other foot now…

That being said, Misfit Molly had plenty to say about the Organ Lady in those volumes of journals….Seemed all these years, the Organ Lady had been stepping out, with a married man…with children. Like a Satellite, outside human command, Misfit Molly recorded all activities, benign or toxic and ‘Let the Good Lord Sort It Out.’ Let’s see the Organ Lady in Court for Perjury, pretending to be a Vestal Virgin (a stretch, but did she not break an adultery commandment?) Nah, it was decided that would be vindictive…she’ll have to face St. Peter at the Pearly Gates soon enough…now was a good time to start working on cleaning up her act.

Casting shadows. From Morguefile. — Casting shadows.
From Morguefile.

Scrying in some form (like gossiping) had been going on in that area since Moses was a pup. Yet no money changed hands…and it is not like they killed people although sometimes they foresaw dark shadow gather over certain unfortunates. Darned if there was any criminal activity in a hobby that predicted such mundane things as a good crop one year and a bust the next.

That left the Judge to stand alone, much like the Cheese in the Farmer in the Dell. And so it was that a Grand Jury was convened by a recruited city-slicker (Gasp) Lady Prosecutor, with no skin in the game, so-to-speak, that had never stepped foot in the county or even the country side before.

The Judge on the left Panel, the Jury on the Right.

There were many outstanding citizens (whose names so far had not surfaced in Misfit Molly’s journals) who volunteered their services to be part of the panel, just to hear the lurid details. They swore to decide, based on all evidence, if the Judge, a proud member of the Secret Society of Scryers had actually, in bad faith (or even better a bribe) and without the evidence to support the charge, locked up someone’s son, father, cousin nephew or friend, whether for personal (come election day) or monetary gain.

We got a Prosecutor (even if it is questionable since she was a Lady). Check. We got a Jury. Check. We got a questionable abuse of power. Check.

Let the games begin….

If Only You Believe, On A Moonlit Night

If only you believe, on a Moonlight Night, the Fairies will reveal themselves, frolicking among the flowers, skirting the stepping-stones….
Peeking out from behind the miniature roses & Impatiens,

Tutus the color of rainbows.... From Morguefile.com ING 1554 By: Violet Dragonfly — Tutus the color of **rainbows**….
From Morguefile.com
ING 1554 By: Violet Dragonfly

Their tiny iridescent wings & tutus the colors of a rainbow,
As they prepare for Circle of the Fairy Dance, in the flower garden.

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to the neighborhood, across the street from the flower garden, a victim of cancer, chose to forego traditional treatment so as not to prolong the agony.
Abandoned by the medical world, she struggled to find relief from the pain, with Jack Daniels.
Her options narrowed, and she lost the fight to live, while man’s best friend,

Fairy and angel in the gaden. — Fairy and angel in the garden.

her faithful dog, guarded her bedside from harms way.
When her spirit finally escaped the shell of her wasted body,
we believe, the Fairies , in the flower garden, across the street, paused, to welcome the latest member to join the Circle of the Fairy Dance.

Look at these tiny little Garden Fairies, relaxing before the Circle of the Fairy Dance has them twirling on their toes, to music only they can hear. — Preparing for **Circle of the Fairy Dance.**

So on a moonlight night, if you take the time to enjoy the flower garden
You just may see the Circle of the Fairy Dance with a new Lead Ballerina

Her earthly tribulations behind her, she twirls effortlessly in pink satin slippers, her gossamer wings & tutu, the very color of the powder rose petals.

Ballet slippers From Morguefile.com File 5471309965933 KaKisky — Ballet slippers
From Morguefile.com
File 5471309965933 KaKisky

If only you believe.

Is It Too Late Now To Say Sorry?

Is it too late now to say Sorry? Yeah, I know that I let you down, Is it too late to say I’m Sorry now? (Justin Bieber) Psst…are you a Belieber???

So you know, no secret (except don’t tell Vladimir Putin…well, he probably already knows anyway) but Momma is a Canadian so like Justin Bieber, she is ‘Sorry ’ a lot….she has let your Comments grow, balloon, and fester as she did the bedside vigil for Little Sister Itty Bitty who miraculously and with the medical intervention of a sleep induced coma in Intensive Care (aka ICU), crawled out of her Alice In Wonderland Rabbit Hole, without even a rabbit to show for it.

Oh, there is a white rabbit now...... Bunny Family From Morguefile.com deemac1 — Oh, there is a white rabbit now……
Bunny Family
From Morguefile.com
deemac1

I mean Momma was expecting a polka dot, a pink or even a white rabbit but ‘nada.’ Even more frustrating for Detailed Oriented, Analytical Virgo Momma, Itty Bitty does not remember a thing. Her memory base, like a computer has been scrubbed clean for a two-week period. Wow, if only poor beleaguered Democrat Candidate Hilary Clinton could get her hands on that technology so her emails would be Gone With the Wind. The Lord Giveth and the Lord Taketh Away…..

But still that greedy Momma wanted to hear when Itty Bitty crashed, had she talked with the Angels…nope, Grandmama or Grandpapa, nope, nope, what about RIP Daddy…did he appear, well no, but sort of in a dream, he had some advice about her wild sugar rides, both of them being diabetic with high and low no medium slow, for those two…and well, everyone knows where RIP Daddy is right now, so probably not best to heed him.

Here in Canada, we even like our Security Guards to be mounted. From Morguefile.com 000839318485 Clarita — Here in Canada, we even like our Security Guards to be mounted.
From Morguefile.com
000839318485 Clarita

There is so much ground to cover….like the ICU with the I-Got-the-Sickest-Relative-Dance…I mean, not only could one family claim that dubious title, but hands down their whole clan were more dysfunctional with gossip, innuendo, cheating, money grabbing infidels…and they literally moved into the Family Lounge, hogging the telephone (No cells???), taking two chairs each, (the second one for a footstool), grabbing hospital blankets and pillows to sleep overnight. Their overbearing attitude had no limits. They could not possibly have been Canadian….could they? Like where are the Security Guards when you need them? Even a Been–There–Done–That Momma was agog with each revelation.

Okay, okay, sorry...they are Momma's Great Grandparents....not Ma and Pa Kettle. — Okay, okay, sorry…they are Momma’s Great Grandparents….not Ma and Pa Kettle.

And so like a true polite ‘please and thank you, you-are-too-kind Canadian,’ ‘Sorry’….I ignored your Comments but the train is back on the track, even if Itty Bitty is still wandering around in the woods…Still, Momma, always the Optimist is thinking everything will all be back on schedule sometime soon, like Ma & Pa Kettle: ‘When we get round to it.’

Commencing Countdown, Engines On

Check ignition and may God’s love be with you..(Dave Bowie)

Momma has us all gathered around because she has a story to tell us….not really a story…no, a dream she had, she says. ‘Now, Jakita, you dream lots, did you ever dream about going to Heaven?’ asks Momma.

To begin with, correct me if I am wrong (not very often), aren’t dreams inside your head, the content invisible to all except the dreamer? I am confused. How does Momma know if I dream dreams about chasing butterflies and romping with kitties? Then there are those nightmares where big, mean slobbering dogs are chasing me, growling ferociously, their tongue hanging out, just about to pounce on top of me, when I mercifully wake up. Well, you know finger-on-the-pulse-Momma. Apparently she can see inside my head and watch the dream unspool in my head. But dreams about Heaven? Not so much, Momma. I am a grounded Pedigree Havanese Aquarius, not a frivolous make-it-up-as-you-go-along mutt of questionable origins, you know.

Ignoring any offense intended, Momma tells her dream of both science and wonder that had happened years ago, before RIP Daddy died. It had been a long day. Momma fell into a deep sleep but was awoken by a translucent globe of blue at the foot of her bed. Unafraid, she quickly sat up to better survey the ball of light which, like the earth’s path around the sun, was both moving forward and rotating towards her.

In the twinkling of a *, Momma claimed she was sucked inside, instructed to spread her hands and feet, in a V formation, to touch the furthest points possible of the translucent globe. It appeared to Momma that her body had become a bright white light, semi-transparent but clearly recognizable. The globe continued its journey moving forward and rotating, along a darkened path to an unknown destination. Momma said she was more curious than traumatized, not even questioning, just enjoying the Tom Sawyer-like adventure.

All of a sudden, it was like a space shuttle re-entry to the Earth plane, as the globe materialized in to an aircraft, that pierced through the darkness to a land of dazzling white buildings, walls, and inlaid marble stone. Even all the inhabitants wore white togas. Wait a second. Somehow a white toga had materialized on Momma…and there was Grandmama and Grandpapa to greet her. They were so thrilled to see her. Still they made it clear, Momma had not yet earned her way to Heaven yet. Her life plan was not completed – there were things to do, places to go, all to be revealed in God’s good time. So sorry but here is a Return-to-Sender Label, oh, and leave your toga for other In-bounds. Heaven is very Green – the 3R’s (Reduce, Reuse, Recycle) rule Supreme, don’t you know! See ya later Alligator…in a while Crocodile….

Heaven's dazzling colors. — Heaven’s dazzling colors.

Just like that, no further explanation, Momma was awake in the dark, in her bed. There was no globe ride home, no pretty lights. Momma says had been allowed a peek so she could look forward to the treasures in store for the future.

Now, I am not saying I believe or that you have to believe, but you know our Momma, she swears by, it so that is good enough for me.

Go Ask Alice, When She’s Through it All

So sorry, but Momma’s sister, Itty Bitty, like Alice in Wonderland has gone chasing rabbits down an unknown rabbit hole and until she comes back, Momma will be at her bedside in the Intensive Care Unit where an induced coma and a machine to breath for her, keeps her tethered on Planet Earth….

Itty Bitty - before — Itty Bitty – before

Thanks for understanding…can’t wait to tell you about the Rabbits Itty Bitty caught in that black, black hole, in her pursuit home.

So soft, so sweet. Who could be mean to a little white, fluffy bunny rabbit with pink stick-up-straight ears? From Morguefile.com IMG_7421.JPGBy xandert — So soft, so sweet.
From Morguefile.com
IMG_7421.JPGBy xandert

And if you go chasing rabbits….And you know you’re going to fall

Tell them a polka dot rabbit….Has given you the call

Go Ask Alice…..I’m sure she’ll know….Paraphrase: Jefferson Airplane

What Happened in Mayberry, Stayed in Mayberry

Follow the path, turn to your right, walk 100 feet, take a sharp left...in to the unknown. — Follow the path, turn to your right, walk 100 feet, take a sharp left…in to the unknown.

Let’s have some straight talk…there has been mean girls and bully boys, since Adam and Eve. They may not have been taunting victims on cyber space, but they got their licks in, under the all-seeing eyes of parents and teachers. Then there were those who saw, heard and ignored the obvious signs of distress.

Now, this is not a story with a lived–happily–ever-after ending…As a matter of fact even till today, it has an unknown ending. That is why Momma thinks it is important to reflect on the past, pick up that mirror and scrutinize that image peering back at you. It may not feel comfortable but it is all about making sure it never happens again.

Mirrors are so spooky. There is always an image hovering, lurking, breaking through the surface. — Mirrors. There is always an image hovering, forcing you to face the truth.

It was not exactly Shangri–La, where Momma was born and grew up, miles from a city, yet still touched by all known human sins and errors (sometimes of omission). No, it was more like boot camp, with parents, teachers and principals of the school able to hand out attitude and corporal punishment at will. As the adults bore down on the children, Momma says that children retaliated by bullying the weaker who lived among them.

In order to make your way through this maze it was a big help to not be too smart, too slow (mentally or physically), too fat, too poor, too pretty, too ugly, uh, you get it. Otherwise you were ignored, cast away, ridiculed, sometimes served cruel teasing from all those who met the unwritten standards, written in indelible ink in our brains.

It has been a girl nicknamed Melancholy that haunts Momma. Her family was not only poor, the story was told that they abused poor Melancholy mentally and physically, making her sleep in the barn.

Shining floor, deserted hallways. Where do you go from here? From Morguefile.com IMG_2999.JPGBy ArielleJay — Shining floor, deserted hallways. Where do you go from here?
From Morguefile.com
IMG_2999.JPGBy ArielleJay

She came to school with her beautiful platinum blonde hair that we all would have died for, in an absolute rat’s nest. She wore the same tattered, smelly clothes day in, day out. And so everyone ignored her. No one talked to her, not even the teachers interacted with her, since they probably thought to center her out, would make her feel more uncomfortable, so it was best to ignore her.

One day Momma met up with Melancholy in the washroom where they were both washing their hands. Their eyes met in the mirror but Momma did not even acknowledge she could see her. Until today, Momma doesn’t understand why, the quintessential cheerleader that she was all of her life, no peer pressure because no one else was around, did not say one word, ask her how’s it going, what’s up, to Melancholy.

All Momma knew is, one day, Melancholy never came back to school. Since she was invisible, or so it seemed, no one questioned it… Still it haunts Momma. Did the teacher or principal of the school finally report the angry bruises all over her skinny arms and legs… to the Children’s Aid or the police? Was Melancholy relocated, put under protective custody, in a home where she at last she found love, peace and security? Or did she finally get the nerve to run away from home? Did a more grisly event happen to her?

Those of us in loving homes were so blessed.

Momma likes to think that Melancholy went to a good home, grew up, worked hard, fell in love with a good man, had 2.3 kids and lived–happily–ever-after At the end of the day we’ll never know but:

I Remember, I Remember….Those days are hard to forget. Why did we deny your very existence? You live in memory, our only regret.

Little Girl Lost

When you grew up in the country there were three things that you believed in…to varying degrees, depending on what day of the week, or what time of the year it was.

He is so sweet. I just want to kiss his little hands. — **Sweet Baby Jesus**. I just want to kiss his little hands.

First and foremost was Sweet Baby Jesus, next Santa Claus, although it boggled your mind how he could give gifts to all the good boys and girls on one night and that he had winter boots just like your fathers’….then there was Little Girl Lost.

No one knew how Little Girl Lost actually got lost. Some said that she died during the birthing process and her devastated parents never had another child. Another story had her lost in the woods and befriended by a family of dire wolves. Somehow Little Girl Lost never got to enjoy her crib or four-poster bed, although stories passed down through the generations do get a little sketchy.

Now nothing was recorded so there was a bit of argument the first time she appeared to the country folk. Was it the late 1770’s or the early 1800’s? And when was the last time she was seen? Frequently, maybe even last summer. Unlike the townsfolk, Little Girl Lost never aged. Even Miss Misfit Molly had recorded a siting in her journal on the Summer Solstice, 1967. Now I know you are thinking…

The spooky mirror pool.....There definitely is something going on in there! — The **spooky mirror pool.**….There definitely is something going on in there!

The Secret Society of Scryers …sure ….they see a lot of things with their mirror pools but no, it was other folks, reputable, never took a tipple, who swore on a stack of Bibles that had encountered her….sometimes several fine upstanding citizens, in different places, on the same night.

Okay, okay, settle down....it is not Little Girl Lost but the hair is so Little Girl Lost. — Okay, okay, settle down….it is not **Little Girl Lost** but the **curly, blonde hair** is so **Little Girl Lost**.

One thing for sure was that either by coincidence or fact, through the generations, Little Girl Lost was always said to be totally angelic, about five years old with long, curly, blonde hair, cascading down her back and glow-in-the dark sapphire blue eyes. She wore a long flowing robe, almost like a nightgown, with pale pink smocking. In her glittering slippers, she would whirl and twirl, emerging out of the shadows, into the light…now you see her, now you don’t. And everyone wanted to see her because she was so whimsical, magical and brought forth Seven Blessings not only to the Seer but their families, like bumper crops for farmers, or financial gain or love….or whatever your heart desired to bring you happiness.

Momma said she had to tell the truth…she can’t say for sure that she ever saw Little Girl Lost . However, one time, late at night when Momma was walking home she almost convinced herself that she saw the back of Little Girl Lost, her long gown trailing on the ground, her golden hair flowing behind her. At that moment a cloud passed over the moon, casting shadows that masked the night. Little Girl Lost had evaporated before Momma had a chance to scientifically prove that there may be some things in the world stranger than fiction.

Like, do you believe??? — Like, it’s a Momma story…**do you believe???**

So… let us know if you see her. I am anxious to help Little Girl Lost get home….where ever that is ….because home is where the ♥ is.

There Are Strange Things Done

True. Story. So. Help. Me. Hannah. I have mentioned before, yeah, we got some interesting folks who cut though our street to access downtown, where there is always something happening.

Being just a tad high-strung myself, I try to suss them out at a distance and figure a change of direction so as to avoid them because I am so sensitive to frequencies other than a calm Zen State. Momma does not like it when I get anxious and over react so she tries to correct me…and sorry, that makes me spin more out of control.

It reminded me of when all the cats would accompany Momma and I on our walks. It was a disaster with my head going in three directions, like the Exorcist, trying to make sure everyone was safe.

One hot summer day, a normal enough looking man, came to our door. I sensed no frantic energy level. He stood there with a big pink box in his hand, all bedecked in ribbon, very pretty. However, something from inside his pink box was dripping, all over our front porch, all over his nice white shots, even on to his toes sticking out of his leather sandals. Now we had never seen this man before (to our knowledge). What ever did he want?

A Welcome to the Neighborhood ice cream cake. Fr: Morguefile File # 0002081437875 By: earl53 — A Welcome to the Neighborhood ice cream cake.
Fr: Morguefile
File # 0002081437875 By: earl53

It seemed our visitor wanted us to take the dripping box, which contained an ice cream cake, and put it in our freezer. Then the minute we saw the folks across the street come in, we were to take the pink box over to them to welcome them to our street. Very peculiar, since it just so happened our new neighbors had kept their heads down when they moved in, kept their heads down when they came and went so they weren’t really the join in the fun in the neighbor hood type. Oh, and as is usual when you encounter these Martian like individuals, one morning, we woke up and they were…you got it…Gone, Baby, Gone.

Momma tried to explain she did not know them, had no idea about their schedule and did not have room in our freezer for such a big pink box. Our visitor – from that point forward known as the Ice Cream Cake Man, left with his dripping box, but he was not happy at Momma’s poor attitude. He was the one who had put out the cash, why couldn’t we do our share? Momma, well, you know…she is Quite Contrary.

Yes, the Martian neighbors are long gone but not the Ice Cream Cake Man. We see him often walking along, always neat and tidy, well dressed, carrying a black back pack, like a mature student. Momma and I always used to try to take an alternate route when we saw him coming. It got tricky because he had become a friend with Scooter Man, who really gave me a good scratch behind the ears every time we met so I did not want to miss out on that. As usual, I like Scooter Man better than I like his little grey black terrier dog. And, as time went on, I came to even like the Ice Cream Cake Man.

One of RIP Daddy's Masterpieces - like a Van Gogh Renaissance...well, he was Dutch, you know. — Our front garden just invites fairies and angels.

Yet, you know the truth… ‘There are strange things done in the Midnight Sun…the Urban trails have secret tales…that would make great stories told. (paraphrase R. Service). The Ice Cream Cake Man, always so debonair, had history. I did not understand its relevance, Momma did not believe it but t gave you cause to pause. Apparently, like the Four Footed, the Two Footed are not always the package presented. According to the Ice Cream Cake Man, he said, he did, that he was first cousin, once removed to a musical genius.

There is more to come…it is just that Momma is pondering the possibility. This is the same Momma that channels dogs, cats, squirrels, birds, bees, and even trees. What can I say? We’ll. Be. Back.

Life Is Nothing But A Funny, Funny Riddle

Miss. Misfit. Molly. McMatchet. The Miss was a label. You hadn’t quite made the grade. It told the world, (her world), that she hadn’t been able to snag a man. Who needed one? Miss Misfit Molly had a roof over her head, food for her belly, the Scryers Club, oh and her truck. What else does a body need?

Truth was many young farmers came calling ‘in the day,’ but Miss Misfit Molly, had the gift. She saw right though those suitors. They wanted the McMatchet Farm, not her. Anyway, what husband in those days, would put up with a wife going off on a full moon and creeping back when the sun rose?

Everyone knew Miss Misfit Molly in Momma’s little town. They heard her boxy old 1940’s something classic black Ford pick up truck coming, long before she arrived…and if a chicken crossed the road, at the exact moment, she would engage her ship-like horn that could be heard in seven counties, so the story went. Now, not too many women were driving in the 1960’s and certainly, if they were, they had a car, not an old pick up truck with a sumptuous cab, classic truck bed and white wall tires.

Ah, but those country folk, they smirked when they saw her coming. They kidded her unmercifully about her mechanical skills. What woman could change the oil, put on tires, fix the engine of a pick up truck? Miss Misfit Molly could….and she would do yours as well, if you could stop laughing long enough to ask her.

Miss Misfit Molly’s passion was the Scryers Club which she had managed to wangle a front row seat, as a child, many years ago. Having a Teflon Brain, she would race home after every meeting and record minute detail of the images on the mirror pool, of who said what, the plans going forward and the results to date.

Misfit Molly's MagicTeapot and what do you know.... Is that her image on the silver tray? — **Misfit Molly’s Magic Teapot** and what do you know…. *Is that her image on the silver tray?*

Then it started happening to her. Miss Misfit Molly started having visions, seeing things, not only in the mirror pool but in a teacup….a suitcase meant, you were going on a trip, a star, you would be honored before your peers, a heart, you would receive a marriage proposal, a black crow, very ominous, get your affairs in order, your days on earth were numbered.

Now the housewives liked to dilly dally in this nonsense, get their tea leaves read but sshh, they did not tell their husbands who would tell them it was all stuff and nonsense. No, they kept it a closely guarded secret, never even telling their mothers or sisters or friends, for fear of being laughed at. Yet Miss Misfit Molly knew and although she never told in life, had legions of ledgers, filled to the brim with the names of clients from the very families who founded this town. However, in death, when her black crow came calling, she was set free and could divulge all.

Oh, to be in that place, at that time as the ledgers opened and the secrets poured out. Kind of put life in perspective….What the world needs is more of the like of Miss Misfit Molly. Yep, those ledgers, like Facebook today, gave more information then we ‘needed to know.’

Ruby shares the story with Charlie, Gen, and Jakita using Tigger as a head rest. — Momma shares her story with **Ruby, Charlie, Gen, and Jakita** using **Tigger** as a head rest.

Still, the shoe was on the other foot. The smirking faces went stone cold serious, because like Momma always tells us, ‘The truth can set you free or bury you,’ as it hovers over you, revealed only in God‘s good time.

Be sure your sins will find you out, one day!!!

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