My name is Merrily and

Hi. My name is Merrily and I am a chocoholic.

Hi Merrily.

I haven’t had a piece of chocolate in three days. 

Oh wait.

I had a fozen cafe mocha this afternoon.  

Okay. Okay. 

I haven’t had chocolate in 6 hours and 

37 minutes.

I guess it all started on my first birthday. 

I was sitting in my high chair minding my own 

business when an enormous piece of chocolate 

cake was placed on my tray in front of me. 

I tried one little morsel of that chocolate and 

it was off to the races! I was so giddy with the 

flavor I could barely hit my mouth - I slathered 

it on my face and in my hair and up and down 

my arms. And I began my secret plotting to get 

more of this incredible stuff, this manna from 

heaven, this food of the gods.

Halloweens were always tough for me. 

My sisters and I would sort all of our candy 

to see who made the best score. We would 

negotiate and trade and bicker and eat. 

My candy would be gone in no time. 

I would steal a piece here and there from 

different sisters so as not to be discovered.

And Easter? Oh the torture. My oldest sister 

would wait until my chocolate bunny was 

devoured before pulling hers out untouched. 

Licking its ears and taunting me about my 

long gone bunny. Oh, she was relentless all 

right but when I was 12 I outgrew her (no 

doubt with a little help from my chocolate) 

and she was afraid to tease me anymore.

My mother taught me how to make her 

infamous fudge. I was the only one she taught 

because it was so hard to judge the timing and 

she knew I would stick with it. It required 

stirring for about an hour after it was cooked 

to achieve the right consistency. All the while 

I would pull the full spoon up like she taught 

me, letting the thickening elixer slowly pour  

[over my finger] into the pot. By the time that 

fudge cured my stomach would ache. 

Ah but I was sated.

When I was sixteen I got a job at a little cafe 

that made hand rolled chocolates. I walked in 

the back room and discovered the large vats 

of chocolate cooling. If I waited until just the 

right moment I could pull the long spoon out 

and break off a hunk of the stuff before it 

hardened too much. [I know my chocolate, 

yessiree] I would put it in my apron 

pocket and gnaw on it all day. Good times. 

Good times.

Well I could go on and on but it was when I 

began nibbling on semi-sweet Baker's chocolate 

squares that I knew I'd hit rock bottom. I mean 

where do you go from there - dumpster diving 

for wrappers to lick?

So I stand in front of you today a broken woman. 

I can't stop - I need help. 

It will take something greater than me to make 

this craving go away. 

Does any body have any heroin???

The art of the award

Lest Natasha, my friend over at Exile on Mom Street thinks 

me a TOTAL INGRATE I must thank her for the Premios 

Dardo Award she gave me nearly a month ago. 

Not very timely at these things I am afraid. Her friend 

Christine told her this about said award:

"Given for recognition of cultural, ethical, literary, and 

personal values transmitted in the form of creative and 

original writing... created with the intention of promoting 

fraternization between bloggers, a way of showing affection 

and gratitude for work that adds value to the Web". 

Pretty fancy, huh? They call it the Smoking Typewriter 

Award. So it is written. So it shall be.

Rule One of accepting this prestigious award calls for me 

to put my name in a Google image search and share the 

results. Turns out there is an artist with my name who 

does some, um, interesting stuff. Check it out.

Now I don't know what you see here or what the artist's 

intention was but what I see is, well:

A Perfectly Formed Turd

And then there was this little number:

Seems to me that A Perfectly Formed Turd has been 

stretched out a bit, petrified and is holding a young lady's 

legs apart. Um, I got nothin' on this one. Certainly nothing 

fit to print in the same blog mentioning a fancy award. 

Perhaps Blogland would like to provide comments on 

this one?

None of this seems to be very cultural, ethical or literary 

but maybe the inventor of this award never counted on me 

getting it and apparently NEVER Googled my name. So I ask 

you, can I help it if those are the rules? 

And so onward and upward hopefully.

Rule Two of award acceptance calls for me to pass the 

award along to 10 worthy bloggers who also exemplify the 

spirit of the Premios Dardo. Now you'd think this part would 

be easy, I mean if I got it the bar is pretty low here...

(No offense Natasha - you are the bomb!) 

I will do a few anyway...

1. Jim and Wood over at Sweet Juniper! An amazing look at 

life in America's most dangerous city and raising a family in it.

Thought provoking and powerful and amazing photos to boot.

2. Idiot's Stew for allowing us an inside look at a thinking 

man's thoughts.

3. Irish Gumbo ditto on #2 description.

Wow so far they are all men (number one is a husband and wife 

team) - I didn't even follow any men for the first few months...

4. Her Bad Mother Again a thought provoking blog - willing to 

go where no one dares with dignity and grace.

5. KEEP BELIEVING Angie is facing life in the aftermath of 

losing her true love, her soulmate and her husband of nearly 

12 years. Written in letters. Moving. Amazing.

Y'all run off now and read these amazing bloggers. I got 

nothing here...

Penises and powerlessness...

Spring break is over - praise the Lord and pass 

the mescaline! The Bunny Rabbit and The Dolly 

Llama were wearing each other out - way too much 

togetherness. And frankly they were about on my 

last nerve.

They were bickering and telling on each other and 

generally just being really sick of each others face. 

I heard them squabbling the other day and the Dolly 

ran in to tell on the Bunny.

‘Mommy? The Bunny kicked me in the penis.’

‘You don’t have a penis Dolly.’

[pregnant pause]

We all dissolve into laughter...

Perhaps a brief anatomy lesson would be in order?

                                  * * * * *

Friday night I saw The Old Crow Medicine Show at 

The Fabulous Fox Theater in Atlanta with The Husband 

Understudy. It was as raucous and rowdy and down-home-

kick-arse-show as you ever want to see. I’ve been all 

‘y’all’ and ‘fixin’ to’ and ‘your mom-n-’em’ ever since.

                                  * * * * *

We’ve been having some VERY irratic weather here 

in The Deep South - I know y’all Up North are feeling 

extra sorry for me but we often get all four seasons 

every week. Occasionally we get weather that we are 

clearly not meant to be getting. Back in the early 90’s 

we got a hurricane through here and we are at least a 

five or six hour drive from the ocean any way you slice 

it. And I drive pretty fast. I lost all power for one week. 

Seems a big ole tree tangled with some powerlines and 

phone lines, tore the lines apart and made a fierce 

little electrical fire. I could see the white light where 

the live wire lay on the ground from 10 houses away. 

There were little fires all along the wires strung between 

the poles. I walked by the spot the next day where the 

heat had turned the sand on the ground to glass. 

Now THAT is something you don’t see every day. 

Unless you are a glass blower. Even then I expect 

you’d have a day off here and there.

Lately we’ve been having some humdinger storms. 

Wind and drenching rains and thunder and lightening. 

So much rain they say our drought is over. Problem 

with earth soaking rains and powerful gusts of winds 

after a drought is trees tend to up and tip over. 

BIG trees. OAK TREES.

Our neighbors tree tipped over smack dab on some power 

lines and a utility pole today. The utility pole snapped in 

two, the guy wire broke in the middle, all of that mess 

smashed 3 out of 4 of their next door neighbors cars and 

left a chunk of us without power. Apparently this happened 

all over the city.

Needless to say I am writing this by candlelight on a 

battery operated computer. I guess we’ll be getting power 

back sometime tomorrow. Until then I will be lulled to 

sleep by the neighbors LOUD ancient generator and the 

constant traffic being redirected to our street on account 

of the downed trees and power lines over on the main road. 

And I will be in seclusion - I am nothing without my blow dryer...

Power was restored sometime in the middle of the night...

Died and gone to Whoville?

It is spring break in the Deep South...

The number on the caller ID was Grammy and Poppy's 

so no formal work greeting was necessary.

'Hello'

'Mommy, when are you going to come home? 

The Bunny is mad that you haven't come home yet'

'I don't know Dolly - you knew I had to work today'

But when are you going to come home? 

The Bunny is mad and I am mad and really sad!

'I'll be home soon Dolly'

20 minutes later...

'Who's mad. And who's sad? You should be glad!'

Hugs and kisses all around.

Burning down the house

We celebrated Bryan's birthday complete with cake 

and gifty bags at the end for everyone. The Dolly 

and the Bunny Rabbit cannot conceive of a party 

without gifty bags.

I really wanted to see what 30 candles looked like lit 

and Bryan had been grumbling some about how old he 

was getting [yeah, tell your story walkin' Dude]. 

So being the sensitive person I am I lit all 30! 

FIRE! FIRE!

Smoke central.

It's my child's birthday

Today is Bryan's 30th birthday. 

Several years ago Mom-of-Bryan [MOB] sent me this from an 

Ann Landers column. Her mother had given it to her back in 

1980 [the year of Bryan's first birthday] and MOB had carried 

it in her wallet until it fell apart so the beginning of it is 

missing.

...child we adopted will celebrate a first birthday then.

Amidst the joy and preparation of adoptive parents, people 

have a tendency to forget the heartache that was suffered by 

the birth mother when she parted with her child.

This poem is a reminder to all adoptive parents everywhere 

that a very big price was paid by a selfless woman who gave 

up her precious baby so he or she could have a better life.

                                        - Please no name or state, Just Grateful

A BIRTHDAY

It's my child's birthday

He just went dashing by

His eyes are sparkling with the excitement meant only for today.

Presents, kisses, hugs, cake, ice cream

It all seems so natural.

It's a day of looking back and looking forward.

But there is something different happening inside of me.

This should be a day of complete joy

A day of thanksgiving

But in the midst of all this excitement

I pause because my thoughts are about someone 

else for a time.

It's my child's birthday

I have no memories of his life growing inside me and 

fighting to be released.

Another someone was there

Another someone suffered for my joy.

It's my child's birthday

But someone somewhere is feeling emptiness inside,

I'm sure she is wondering what he looks like

If he is big or small

Wondering if he laughs much

It's my child's birthday

And in the midst of this blessed day that was given to me,

I have a prayer,

Oh, God, that I may never forget that someone suffered 

so much to give life to my child. 

That someone loved my child so very much that she gave 

him the right to live. 

May I never forget for a moment and especially now, today, to 

offer a prayer of thanks for someone, and that you, dear God, 

will always be there for that someone to help her through the 

hurts she will have when she stops to think that 

'Today is my child's birthday'. 

Amen.

Thank you MOB, I love you.