A Coon’s Age

My Williams grandparents (ie, not the ones I normally talk about here) were from Kentucky and used to say things like, “I haven’t seen you in a coon’s age.” I have been dying to use that phrase on someone for the longest time– not that I intentionally abandoned you! I swear!

So what HAS been going on to keep me away from thee so long, mine readers? I shall fain tell thee. (I have no clue what ‘fain’ means, or even if ’tis a word real. And that last bit sounded more like Yoda than Shakespeare? I digress.)

First of all: Dance. Oh MY. I had a dance camp somewhere in this month (what day is it? huh?) and it was basically 4 days straight, 3 hours each day, with Rebecca as the teacher. She has the sweetest Irish accent, the most kindly demeanor– and she is a slave driver. A very nice one, but still. While the other teacher attempts to bribe me into higher leaps with “pretend Justin Beiber is on the ceiling. Like baby, baby, baby, o-oh!”, Rebecca just says, “better lift, PLEASE” and you do it. She’s amazing, though, and taught me a great hornpipe step and was very helpful and encouraging. Plus, how scary can you be when you say “us” like “oos”? And oh, speaking of dance teacher accents, there is one teacher who is Scottish and no one, absolutely no one, can understand what he’s saying. He was teaching the younger kids a ceili dance called High Caul Cap, and we could hear him calling out, “Get all ghetto!” (Translation: “Grab your girl!”)

 Also, Writer’s Conference!!!!! For the past two weeks it’s been all about finally wrangling everything together for the conference, which took place today. And it went great. Huge sigh of relief/contentment. Just the right amount of people showed up, the speakers were great (especially the ones I found, cough cough) and I left feeling inspired and a little bit starry-eyed because I met real authors. But they’re not like Cinda Williams Chima, where it’s like their success was so big that it seems unattainable for me. I looked at these authors I met today and I thought: that could be me. Not a titan of the literary world, but still successful and with a career in Writing Books. I mean, I’m all for being a titan, but it’s nice to see that you don’t need to be you-know-who (not Voldemort, but his creator) to have a writing career.

Oh, what else? Yes, the garden of course, but that is another post. So is my experience with a certain movie, a certain new book (I feel slightly guilty that I am getting so much enjoyment out of Borders closing, but hey, lemons into greatly discounted Penguin Classics lemonade), etc and so I think I shall say good night for now.

On the morrow we shall converse further! Oh, that which we call a wookie by another name, would smell as– never mind.


PS: I keep having this weird hallucination that my phone is ringing. All day, I swear I kept hearing “yeeeeeeaaaaaahhh, oh-oh-oh-woahwoahwoah-oh-oh” even though I knew it was on vibrate. Have I gone mad?
PPS: A shadow moved and I thought it was a mouse. Someone please force me to go to sleep now.
PPPS: “force” pun not intended.
PPPPS: because it was a pretty crappy pun.
PPPPPS: that is all.


3 thoughts on “A Coon’s Age

  1. Francis

    velkcom back, my dear. I am ‘specially happy to hear you say that you could see yourself as a writer through the eyes of those who write. You are a writer, my dear. Let no fire, nor storm, nor huro-cane, ever steal this very fine gift bestowed upon you from above. Not above as in clouds. You know what I mean. Ta Ta. Fare thee well. And whatever else one might say in passing thee by on this sunny bright day. Ha Ha. Love you, much and much.

  2. crescendocroise

    oohhh! I love you so much…. Write and be an author! Your gift of writing is so beautiful. Never forget that you are beautiful and that I will love you always!

  3. I’m so glad the Conference went well! You are such a writer!

    No, you are not going crazy. Sometimes I think the cellphone is ringing to…..it’s very annoying, and a little eerie.

    Your section about dance made me luagh…..haha….

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