I am raging with anger at times, a torrential downpour on flood soaked land, one more ember that jumped in the fire to make a larger blaze, and I wrote it all down in a book by the same name as my Blog.  Watch me, and do not cross me, for the first time I gave birth was to Simon and Garfunkel’s, “Bridge Over Troubled Waters,” when I was a tiny young woman, just 21 and in Walter Reed Hospital in Washington, D. C..  I think they were good to the service men, but to the service wives, to say they sucked would be frought with lack of gratitude to the one kind doctor who would deliver my baby and then who I would not meet again after he watched me writh from 10:30 AM until 8:30 PM when he pulled my baby out with forceps even after having made a cross cut that looked like The Crucifixion of  the Christ, and I blew it, for instead of begging every one to stick their heads in between my legs to see the Holy Stigma left on my genitalia; no, I just wept and wept as they wisked my baby away until feeding time in the zoo or the new, “Rooming In,” ward, as they called it at Walter Reed then.

Give me back my baby, you Painted Waisted Army Jerks, as a good Staff Stargeant of a Marine Band member’s wife should have said.  Oh Lord please forgive me when I see you again, having almost got there this past year, but you have to realize a Marine’s wife think’s Poontang is a lake your going to retire on, and Gopher Headed Asshole is just another way of saying someone was a bigger rat which ate your cat while you finished the newest edition of  some book about, “Anger Management.,” so I want my baby, I want my baby.  Next I was remembering all of the hours of preparing the nipples for a hungry little baby whom I would tak we in my arms, my sweet sweet baby.  I stretched my arms out, and my gown was pure white cotton with long sleeves, lace which fell off my shoulders, and a sunray was shining on us while my dark and long hair covered most of me and my baby and all the pinkness of the breast ready to feed and the baby lips red as cherries.  Oh, I held him, smothered him with all the kisses a mother can when she smells the little head fresh from birth.  He was a long baby who draped his feet through the blanket folds for air, and his peachy little head just turned in to me, and I could hear the symphonic music that was my husband’s career from, “Ode To Joy,” to Pachabel’s Canon.  I felt as if I was removed from every ugly green wall, that I was in a scene from some Victorian mother’s life, and this moment would last until the end of all time.

Oh Holy Mama – Ouch – What the Fu–!  I awoke from the dream of all dreams, for a crying boy with the prettiest little hands I ever held was laid on my still soaked hospital gown, even after a three hour rest, and I could feel that sticky birth remains had not been cleaned well as I parted my legs to move up and to be raised in the bed for my baby to have his milk for the first time, and all of the sudden a Hoover Vacuum clamped down like clothes pins, and the reality of nursing at 1 AM began, but I looked at him, my baby, and Frank came back in, Sargeant Frank, and we looked at our baby with his peachy little cone head from nailing through the Cross to get to this moment, Mama, Daddy, but most importantly, food.  The pain went on for days, and I would call and hear;  Just suck that milk out with your syringe for the baby to have a bottle, and Lord I tried, so here we went from Hoover to being molested by my own medical equipment.

No one told me that cracked nipples were not normal and that engorgement was something unrelated to the formation of volcanic activity, so that began my earliest lessons in this, “Inner noise,” A sweet loved one calls it, pure, unrelentless pain.  Drs. were mostly men then, and were they not men, I fear that many of them were not the cute ladies of today.  No, these ladies had some hormones that gave them the appearance of a little too much androgenous material with testicular potential there, for the medical schools figured that if a woman got in to med school that, for the most part, she was going to live in a man’s world, so dammit! – That cow was going to look like a man and to be able to kick a service man’s ass across the Potomac River.

You got the picture, and if you haven’t, then do not come whining to me.  I had spent 17 years of my life learning to be beaten with the limbs I had to break for myself, and I do not know if I would have remained motherless to have awaited a time when I was better prepared psychologically and physically, not to mention, spiritually to have my baby.  Mother’s do not usually know the vocabulary of the Marine Corp, but my  husband brought it home from the barracks in Southeast Washington, and the sweetest girl from Tennessee began to think that she was going to have to suck on a bar of Lifebuoy to get it out just to sound like me again.  I would have been smacked across a ten acre cotton patch had I said, “Shit,” though Daddy could curse when he wanted too.  Mama tried to hold it in, for she thought God added extra coal to hell’s fire for a quip as simple as to pee.  Yes, I mean this, a Southern woman never went to pee unless it was away from her sisters.  How to wee wee and that other thing which had no name ever occured was usually made with a sign.   Penis had no name either, though the boys usually called it their, “Goober.”  Georgians probably laughed themselves silly hearing about all the Tennesseans who ate, “Goobers,” which was our word for, “Peanut.”

It all seems so pure speaking of it now, and I want to go back to Washington, D. C., and I want to move again to Cincinnnai, to be the young wife just once more, then to take the family home in San Francisco when Frank was haivng problems, and I could take care of everyone, but it has happened to me, this thing called pain, and it is not the aching heart pain of lost loves to which one almost wants to feel again.  No, my body has a lot of, “Inner Noise,” the pain that happens, because, as the Dr. said last week after an extensive physical exam, “You have inflammation everywhere, your blood vessels, and that is why you almost died from the blood clot last October.  It is in your bones and your joints, and that is why you are no longer ffive foot seven;  No, you are only sixty five inches, but we will give you a five foot three.  You have spinal compression, and you are not talking right.  You are seriously a very ill woman, and it washed over me, like the day my baby was born, only this time the future was not all of mine to make, and no matter what you may think – I made my future with a few angels along the way, but I am missing some of them tonight.  I am missing them really badly, for where are they, and are they older like me now.  Do they know pain like I do, this nasty friend that just will not give me a rest, for it knows that if it does, then I am still going to hike The Appalachian Trail, and I am going down to see the Sisters of Mercy, for they need a hand.  Just let me go, you arrogant Lake Poontang, bone crushing, deeply daunting pain.

I want to be with my first sweet boy tonight, Mark Schneider, for I will be only 18, and I will learn what it is to feel a boy kiss me like it can only happen once, just once.  I want to know where you are Kathy Essic and Carol Skelton McGuigan, for I loved you so much, still among the prettiest girls that I have ever known, and you taught me to laugh.  You taught me to dress like a city girl, and to walk with the strut of the love child when the boys were around.  Please where are you my first new friends of Washington?  Can’t we have a party tonight the VISTAs and the Peace Corp guys with their faces so fresh, young, and so damned ceertain they were not going to let this world become what it is now, this world of America. 

We were going to live in love and peace, and joy was going to flow over the land.  I want to hear about Michael Panellla, and the Italian Thanksgiving when Kathy ate until she almost burst, for Italy was in America behind their door on that Thanksgiving day, and Kathy’s over sized breast were struggling out of her bra at the table as she gained a pound an hour.  God,  I am talking to you now;  Do you hear me, please hear me, the peaches will be ripe early in Deleware this year, so let me go with Kathy Barr and Isabella Bates and let us stuff ourselves with those, the sweetest peaches on the planet, then lets go back, eat with our husbands and babies, drink the wine we shouldn’t, and then make it to our homes just in time for the babies to sleep and for us to make love to those husbands so much they will want to stay awake the whole night, even when we know they cannot.  Where are you all, I am asking, and how did the late 1960s become this hell which has been eatting at me for a while now.

How about all of you;  Oh my loves;  How are all of you?  We are like my white gown flowing, and we are so beautiful that it is impossible that some of you are gone now, and I want to find you just to say that it was such a great time.  George Takos, Stam Stefan, the ones who watched after me then.  Are you alright my angels;  Please be alright, for now it all seems impossible that you are not just like you were back then.  I never wanted any of us to end, and I have to keep it a horrible secret to the young that, “This is the deal,” as my brother Van might say about much of this life, “This is the deal.”  Mom, Dad, the old friends and loved ones, they knew it too, “The Deal,” but I am only 63 now, so did this thing called, “Pain,” have to come on so soon, and can I beat it just like I hope that all of you have beat the hell out of the same monsters when they have sat on your doorsteps. 

Be there my friends, and look out wherever you are tonight, and I do not give a damn where you are as long as you are there, some where dreaming and remembering that we had some days, and we had some hours when hurt was loving, when pain was remembering that we forgot to love, and no matter where you are or who you became;  You can be surprised about me too, that I am still around too, for there have been all of these miracles, tender miracles of children, pageants, springtime nights and graduations, pumpkin patches, and the first cool winds of autumn.  “Oh Mommy, Come see,” and I would not have missed this for the world either.  “Your pain med makes you forgetful,” said the Dr., and then I knew that he did not really know one damned real thing about me, for he does not know that my bags are so filled with memories that the moonbeam I am going to climb up is going to break under the weight.

My old friends, I am still out here, and I did all of those things you never expected.  I had enough credits for two degrees, but I settled on one, I got six plus years of college in my brain, I am still married to the guy that I last saw you all with, and I have loved him. Hey George, I’m still a Catholic, and Kathy I sitll have the little book of poems you made for me when I just could not take being robbed outside my front door, and I have dreams that are wishes for everyone of you that maybe we will time travel, pass over this solar system, meet our God and the gift given will be that always, yes always we can remember one another in some beautiful way as I brush away a strand of hair, and the white gown flows gently over my body and thoughts of you fill my soul like the mother’s breast for her first hungry child.

Written For The VISTA friends and  for the Peace Corp boys who came back to Washington, D.C. in 1967-68, and all the old friends of Washington D.C. days, way back then.  Dream of Cherry Blossoms, and we’ll play together whether I am at home in Ohio or California, wherever the stars may fall.

Barbara Ellen Everett Heintz – Author of “Pinkhoneysuckle,” the book available on Amazon, Kindle Ready, Create Space, and Indes Across The Country.  And when the spirit moves me, author of this blog space.

Dear George,

I am worried about you, and tomorrow and the, “Stop and Rob,” when every one is going to be getting in the Pat Boone’s Farm, and the really expensive stuff, because it is foreign, “The Fizzy Bubble Wild Irish Rose,” just in time for the Holy Day, you know; the one you learned about as a kid, St. Patrick’s Day – Day when our precious saint, and may he bless us all, caused all the potatoes to turn green at, “The Home For Way word Irish Lads and Ladies,” which later became a house of prostitution dedicated to the rights that the good wives of Ireland did not want the Sots home at now anyway, and rededicated each year by the standing Bishop, that is if he can stand after St. Patricks Day, but George, I mean, “Mr. George Clooney,” our patron Son Of Ireland, Cincinnati, and that other state across the bridge, Kentucky,  We’ll be gathering to ask the big question;  “Why The Beard, George?” 

People are talking you know, and the rumors are wild, and we are all petrified at the truth.  “He is covering something up,” said Sally Doorplay, and we usually discount Sally, for she gets her nighties from – that other place called, “The See Breeze,” and it too, being blessed my Our Precious Bishop;  Bless his every frock; Pray us in to Heaven, and all of that, Meaning no harm to his taste in blessings to pass out, but she gets a few pardons each year, for what you can see in the breeze might just make you go blind if you scratch the scratching post where all men she has laid low has had to scratch when she is on a bender and not around to serve our good wives, so they can get a decent night’s rest.

I think you wanted to look might mature when you went before our Congress of The United States for whom Hell tolls for their sorry lack of action over the past four years, and I used to think I was a Democrat until they joined forces with Hollywood to make Our Precious Mothers and Fathers of all Faiths look like dimwits, because The Faithful have a few questions to ask like;  “Are we going to share anything moral and beautiful anymore which just might even vaguely look like your every day ordinary family getting along before their son, Theodore announces that he is marrying Gus, and their daughter Mary Merry Jane is having a baby by the City’s Fungus Control Officer.”  It is no wonder that you go to Africa and endeavor to take care of the people of Darfur and now the Sudan considering this country has lost its ability to be so pathetic as to feel that unless it is good enough for the socialites of Beverly Hills, then it has no place in our culture.

Come to think of it, on St. Paddy’s Day, I want to raise a green grog toast to those who are brave enough to stand up to our entertainment morons; “I do not mean you and Brad, George, and I am sick of having to repeat that to you two, but as my Great Granny Varner might have said, “There is a pot full of boiled taters, and a pot full of shit; Which do you want to eat, and which do you want to empty?”  From our recent entertainment on television, I think the folks who are doing a lot of the entertaining these days have sunk to the depths of the latter, and you know who you are, and you know what I mean.  Now that, “Dancing With The Stars,” has become the academic show to watch, then we need some new blood out west;  “Oh wait;  Here comes our check out guy,” the one who said he had to do something out back.  “Shut up Orville,and Pardon me; We’ve been waiting all this time for, Rob, better known as;  “Rob Us;”  Pardon me for not hearing he was on his back.” 

When did things go so wrong, Mr. George Clooney?  I know you want to help out in the worst places, but if we got some decency on board back here;  Then you wouldn’t have to go so far.  I told you in my book, “Pinkhoneysuckle,” Amazon, Kindle Ready, Create Space, Heading for The San Francisco Book Festival,”  that there are some mighty awful places here.  “Orville,”  Shut up!”  I will advertise when and where I can, because, you know what I wasn’t a whole lot better off than some of those little kids far away.  I sure would have like some of that peanut butter stuff once upon a time, but I lived in America, the land of opportunity.

George, you all should know though that it takes the poor to help the poor sometimes.  Our poor boys always went to the front lines first;  Ask your Daddy, but fortunately they could shoot the britches off of a jay bird, so a lot of the poor old boys came home.  I do not believe in war, Mr. Clooney, and I know that you want to help so much, but how can you fight such tribal injustice, and God have mercy on those women who are treated like vacant holes in the ground for the depository of people who have machine guns and no soul.  I wish that I had not broken my own back and worn out my own knees so long ago, for I was taught to work myself to death, but as crazy as this might sound, I wish that I could just wash their bodies, put them some clean clothes on, and pray over them, for they and their girls do not have a chance.  I used to take care of the dying, and I could see them relax just to have kind hands on them, bathing them.  You see, Mr. Clooney, I was the river, and my hands were not mine, but I think they became Holy objects for a while.

Those folks in Africa, these kids killing themselves in Appalachia, and all over this world need to know about, “Hands,” “Warm Hands,”  the wells in the desert, and the blooms and new shoots of redemption, and we are losing there, and we are losing over here because folks want to be Billionaires, and have big smiling pictures in Forbes.  As long as we have this much greed going on, we shall remained wounded.  Now that public TV in family time cannot teach about the potential for family life;  Then we do not stand a chance, and as long as evil exists and finds channels for evil just like on this internet where vultures search for hard luck children and mother’s sons and daughters.  Then innocence died.

I am going to ask the ladies of, Our Perpetual Indulgence, Order of Hypochondriasis and Mortified Widows to pray harder for us;  That’s it;  Pray a little harder;  Give a dollar for a loaf of bread to The American Red Cross – “I’m finishing up, Rob, a whole lot faster than you obviously could, but after we get off the subject of Mr. George Clooney’s beard and the shock that he is a Democrat and not a Cup A Tea Party kind, then we can take our stuff, pop the corks early and snap the caps, feel a little joy, because my guess is if you are not Irish;  you probably have some blood in there somewhere from the hay loft, so it is time to sing the old songs and ballads, and I want you to here this in the name of my Blessed Mother; “Stop your drinking when you are pissing green stuff, and from all of us at The Stop And Rob, Have a most joyous time.”

As my Daddy would say, “Stop acting a damned fool,” so that sums it up from here.

Author of, “Pinkhoneysuckle,” Barbara Everett Heintz, On These Eves of St. Patrick’s Day — I write nothing but the truth, so check me out on Amazon.

How do I spend all of these hours speaking to unknown  faces and tongues which speak their truth to themselves as I also struggle with truth.  “You’re going to get a whipping if you lie,” so I never lied, but Mama would so often just whip anyway, so I let her live in the myth that other families had it as hard as ours, for she would have beat me senseless had I told her the truth; “Mama, You are the liar!”  But I hurt for this woman, for she was a Mad Woman for a large portion of her life.  The last time she ever looked at me before her death, I promised her that I would forgive her if she could forgive me, because even when she was older and became an old and mad child, she tried to make it up by baking cakes, one after the other – Our mother made cake for those coming home from the far away places we tried to become real, for when we leave such infliction and brutality, we cannot measure right and wrong, and even love glances far away from us.

I have told the Drs. now;  “No more talk therapy,” even though I have night terrors, the same PTSD, just like the men who came back from war shell shocked.  I remember asking myself;  “What does it feel like to be loved?”  I saw people bearing each other in the life that I left.  So how does it feel to love when you are ready to leap like an antelope, because you do not want the bruises and the cuts.

The problem which I was left with was that no one learned to sew up holes in hearts, so for those of you who know that it is difficult to nurture and to care when you thirst for something unknown;  I am going to write a few notes to you, and some will come from the purpose of my book, “Pinkhoneysuckle,” when I finally told the story, the horrible story of which I needed to be free..  I am hoping to take my book to The San Francisco Book Fair, and there I hope to find the miracle where unconditionally someone might say even, “Thank you,” for you told my story too.

I leave you with this thought this night;  How much can children possibly bear and come out unbroken, for people of the place that I am from think that we made it, what ever it is to make it;  But how do we measure suffering, and what makes some just fold like a piece of old laundry and others of us to run, to just run as fast as we can for help;  For the fox holes are cold, and they are lonely, but compared to awakening and facing people who are your parents who simply keep you as shattered as an old ice tea glass;  Then I ask you  what made a few of us forgive in the end and to see the mad ones off to heaven, because one day we woke up from the nightmare, and we took it on.  We called, “Shelter,” by its first name, for that is what you are doing when you are begging for the flames and warmth of something to be shelter enough to come in from the cold.

So I leave you with the question of why most children just stay behind and the rest of us leave under the pretense of being well of all being well with our souls.  Tell me;  Won’t you, for I do not remember the breaking point.

“Pinkhoneysuckle”  Amazon, Kindle Ready, Create Space, and From Little Indes from here to the west coast.

Be safe, for more storms are to come tonight.

Oh My Lord,  Another beautiful life has been claimed in the world of great singers, and they sang her toward heaven today where she began singing in your name a long time ago.  Whitney Houston had an incredible voice, and to say that she was a beautiful woman is an under assessment, for she was exquisite, but something horrible called her life away, and we will not know for a few weeks, but the rumor is out there that it was probably something to do with drugs, and we want to ask you why?  “Oh dear Lord;  why has another child who sang your praises been taken from us before her voice could even become the elder voice like Mahelia Jackson on a Christmas morning?”

We are asking, and it is troubling, so troubling, because it is taking our children, our children’s role models, and every soul it can snatch like a viper in a cage with a lock too loose;  Oh yea!!  It is taking the best, the beautiful, and the kids like Lindsey Lohan, and we ache in the suffering.  It is as if they are all in church and the poisoned water is just too poison and those who think that the apostle,, Mark, meant to literally drink poison water in  the house of God to show the devil you have no fear, and the water taste sweeter than usual and all who drink too much lay near death, and the devil is soaring over them with smiles, dropping dead flowers like the ones that will cover their graves when the sun gets hot.  Mark should have said it better that the water was that which flowed pure and clean and washed away the sins of man, right there, down there at the River, Jordan, not a concoction the devil wanted you to try like the drugs laying out on a table luring folks to take these in;  “Take these in,” whispers the devil,” for the anti Christ knows not to speak loudly, or the message will not sound so sweet.

Swing low little girl, “Whitney,” and meet the others there who knew too late that the voice in the night was too dark, and the fool lover who invited you in to that nasty miserable place you got in and could not leave–They will show you that his teeth sparkle like diamonds on the other side, for he sold his soul to have yours.  Sleep little girl, just sleep, and we are all going to rest with one eye open, for if an angel like you could be claimed, then what chance is there for a bunch of sick old bones like the rest of ours.  You were so exquisite though, that Evil’s thirst might feel satisfied for a while, but I am thinking about you tonight, knowing that you sang out loud and pure for the Lord.

I want you to know too that once a preacher told us one Sunday morning that Saturday night was the Devil’s night, and I did not think much of it until this day when the television showed them taking you from that church in a fine coffin, and your voice was singing, “I will always love you,” and you will and you did;  But something happened and they laid you to rest of the Devil’s day, this Saturday, when the night is wrong, warm in winter, and all that hurt you that was evil stood on the sidelines getting ready for the Devil to come, for it is after all, a Saturday night.

Rest sweet child, and sing so we can hear your voice from the grave.  Oh yes;  sing little girl, for maybe some other child might hear before the pounce on her with their evil deeds and wicked souls.  Hush now;  listen lonely people, but listen from the grave, for the Devil is often hungry on a Saturday night, and it is going to take a child to fix all of us.  Swing low Little Girl;  Go home to Jesus, for he’s calling again, and it is your supper time.  Sing and be done, for your body hit the ground today, but your soul;  It is swirling like the soft wind over Detrot in the years when it is wrong for it to be warm in February.  BEH — I;m sending some pinkhoneysuckles, and you will know that I knew your secrets — Those that made the vault just crack when the last note was sung…

Hello Dear Friends,

Here is the latest update on my book, “Pinkhoneysuckle,” and that is what I have to write this month.  If you go to my Amazon site where people have so generously written in their regards and what they think of my book after having read it;  Then all of the world seems very rosy!  The truth is that I am out here treading water for new ideas of how to advertise a book that is getting real and not contrived five star ratings.  I think we can safely assume that people do not feel up to endeavoring to sell twenty copies for a free trip to San Francisco, and it did not fit in with Valentines plans for this year, so what next amazing thing can I possibly do to entice you a book which is thought of so highly by the readers.

There are so many guides and how tos about selling self published books that I should know it all by now, and I have failed to do the one thing which is highly suggested, that one join a writer’s group, many writer’s groups, and then you sell books to your friends, and book by book, and as you get along with the other writers, then you can hope for a reputation and that maybe you can get out of the book what you put in to it.  I want to know how many Xangans are on Xanga to promote their skills as a writer.  I would love to hear from you, and Lord being my witness;  Please do not go in to self publishing without talking to me first, for you are a child of God, and I do not want you to get your heart  broken.

Do I have a broken heart now?  I think that I have not turned over the last field for planting yet, and I have sought input from several of you about this writing thing, and I have come up with the bigger question of:  How does anyone sell enough of anything on the internet to make it worth their advertising and getting out their to spend for marketing folks as well as to make enough money to have their own small company.  I want you to understand that real internet advertising cost a whole lot of money, and it is money that is absolutely a gamble.  If you have a product like perfume, a purse, a nice pair of men’s undergarments that make them look like a body builder with constant wear;  Then you have a product, and up until the past two years, a book was more of a product.  Now it is something you do not have to own unless you know and love the person or if the subject matter appeals to the population, because you are a star;  You are an astronaut; or you are just selling, “Your Self,” as the product, somewhat like the Khardasian sisters or a certain Hotel grandaughter who was just born gorgious, uninhibited, and got her name on every non sacred magazine in the country as our darling, Paris Hilton, did especially in her wildest party days.  So yes;  one can sale themselves if their is something unique about them, something which causes other products to fly out the window such as certain shades of lipstick or a scent that is uniquely the delight of such a person who only has to be beautiful and open to letting their private world to become a side show.

Information on the internet is free, so how much do you want to pay extra for information which is so extensive that in your lifetime you could `chisel at it, and you could not even leave an imprint of your having been there.

I am at a loss.  My book, according to those who are reading it, deserves great recognition, so what can I do to make it a product that people buy, and I did include sexual interludes, because they are a part of our passage which helps us tremendously or turns us in to very lonely people depending on our choices when our body chemistry is exploding like a volcano which runs down and on out to the sea.  The book is a good story, and I thought that was a product, but bless your hearts, for a lot of you have some powerful stories to tell on your own, and maybe they are not published, but every one of you have a life which is incredible in some way.  If you learn nothing else from me;  Know that you are beyond measure a unique human being, and I pray that that uniqueness has brought you Faith, Hope, and Love, the words of our beginning and the words well said in our passing, always appropriate for any time you need to share a tribute to some person or, on a down day- Apply such words to yourself, because you deserve them all.

I am beginning to just ask questions, the if you were me, then what is the best route to take.  I have a couple of Xanga friends who have stuck in and have lifted me like no others at my darkest moments, and you know who you are, my appointed angels;  Oh yes, you know who you are, and you like me, would have a cloak for a cold and broken soul.  That is the story of how some of us get off in this life, the little ways which help others to know they are not trash or throw away people.  No one who seeks love has to go without love, and some search for it in very heart breaking places, not considering how their behaviors effect anyone but them.

Weight loss;  Now does my book contribute to weight loss, for that along with sex, outward beauty, and longevity in regards to life;  All of these things sell for a time until we awaken and realize we’ve bought another useless diet book, our how to sex manuals have long been burned as useless to what one with imagination can figure out on their own, so we are getting past the point where folks fall for all of these how tos anyway when sex education and dieting are now drilled in second only to a few yeaars of learning to read and coping with the more taxing chemisty, xciences, mathmatical, and other higher learning which is way beyond me;  But my book is challenging, and it holds mystery, humor, though it is dark.  You might could lose a few pounds if you would walk with it to a favorite reading spot and forget the cheese on the burger for a year or so, but wait;  I do not want to be a diet book writer, and sex?  I come unglued with some of the stupid things people do to get their bliss;  Oh Please”  If you are cutting off your airway, then you are playing with the devil I do not care how long the extra orgasm is, for doing that kind of trash is suicidal, and you know it.  By the time you are older, if you get older, then you are apt to be a miserable, lonely, perverted human being, because you do not know where to draw lines.

How do I sell books though???  Mine is a good book;  Just read the reviews, and mine can change the lives of younger people who live even worse lives than I did, for at least a few older people knew when to step in, for they were God sends.

I am going to tell you that I am going to add little packages to the ones who order directly from me, but it will be just little charms or treats to thank you for buying the book, and if you  order from me, it will always take longer; but I have a book to sell you, and it is about a life which almost ended, because this world just seemed too hard to bear, and from it you will learn that even children can get through some of the most dangerous of times, because someone appears, and they are your guides.  I want you to know about angel, guides, and that every child needs extra attention, for that child that says the least may be the one that has an existence so beyond the realm of your imagination that only you can save them in a moment, in an hour.

So, for those who want to sell me, “How To Books,” I feel really sad, for pretty soon they are going to be on the thrift store shelves with worn out cook books.  You cannot write a best seller without some Divine Intervention, so I shall end this day with the prayer that one, “George Clooney,” reads my book and knows that the most incredible attrocities that he saw in Darfur may have been nearer his own back steps than he ever knew.  God;  Take this message to George, for I need a hand, and for the already outstretched hands, I am your servant in faith and in hope that we will all celebrate this story together, For the ending leaves you knowing that Love is surely, fully, and wholly the end and the answer to all things.

Dear Friends, Beloved Ones; All the ones who have contributed to the reviews which make me cry, because the are so wonderful about the book which I labored over with physical pain from staying up at nights; Spiritual pain from having made myself look back over the years to wonder how the heck any of us got through our life along The Appalchian portion of the mid-south where it appeared that God even forgot we were living back there all taken from the world back then except as a bunch of laborers, field hands to family and neighbors, not to mention our own farming needs; Oh I pray for you and with you in Thanksgiving that you have come to my little spot on the internet on Amazon, Create Space, Kindle, Or Xanga when I know for certain you had many needs of your own; But you have come, and the feedback fills my body and soul with the strength needed to go face to face and to say; “Thank You,” and I really mean it when I say, “Thank you from the depths of all that I am,” and I bless you with the spirits gone before who did not know just how much you would care when the news got out about us.

Our lives were supposed to be kept secret, for Americans were not supposed to know about a bunch of white folks livinig off the land with hardly shoes to wear, and eatting the food thrown away at the local school when winter got too hard, and poor Mom had gotten carried away with canning her cucumber pickles and tomatoes, but the cows had dried up, and on top of that; The hens stopped laying until spring. Along about February things got pretty pathetic, for we worked no matter the time of year, and it was hard to work if you were getting that ache in your belly which meant that you were hungry. Mama thought powdered milk could get us through some of the time, but sadly; Mom could never follow a reciped, and powdered milk tasted terrible as it was, but she thought if she added the powder; Then it was twice better for us; Instead, we just choked it down and prayed those heifers would start calving soon, so we could have some milk again. Thank God Mama had not started milking goats, or we would have been choking that milk down after the goats ate whatever they could find in the barren pasture over the winter, and Please do not start picturing Greek Yogurt, for those goats would eat anything they could swallow to keep from starving themselves, so if it was poisonous, stinking, or awful; Then such would have been the biproduct of our goat’s milk. Boiled goat was bad enough, and I am surprised that, like every thing else, Mama did not try to pass off fried goat as chicken, but the firmaments of hell will have roast goat on a spit, for it is smelly meat at best. Meanwhile neighbors could not get enough of Poke Salat or goat’s meat, so we were not normal fhe beginning.

Now, you can read plenty more in, “Pinkhoneysuckle,” and if George Clooney has a lick of sense; He is going to find that book, my book which tells the truth about some of those coal families living on the edge not to far from us, only in Kentucky, and then he is going to make a movie which is apt to kick some white folk’s ass, any of them who even remember voting for, “Dwight D. Eisenhower,” whose administration may as well have come through like Sherman’s come down and burned our garden and our shacks, and I would have gladly cooked them cornbread all the way to the sea coast if they would have just left my underwear alone, but most folks that were manly started wanting to take it off about the time my Mama made me give up my bottles for James or William. I still remember how Mama’s home made formula tasted, and she would be surprised as hell to learn that I was not just a crying, sorry other female child, but I was something called, “Lactose Intolerant,” and considering my DNA structure looks way back into the mortals from which I would descend; It appears there may have been good reason, for I seem to have gotten to the
Americas through Asia down and and around somewhere some millions of years ago when men stunk like apes, and women were sort of like the heifer cows in the spring time. Now I am not going to go on telling you all of this stuff, for you don’t believe it in the first place; So; You just wait until George decides to let the cats out of the back and I do not mean along Elk River any how.

I need your help; XANGANS; I NEED YOUR HELP – DO YOU HEAR ME? You see I have endeavored to do some clever maketing; Sleep Peak endeavored to do some special marketing for me and for my very easy to read 400 pages plus books which I made more pages, so that your eyes would not hurt so darned much when you began to read, but instead; You thought these infamous words, “This book is too damned long to get started on,” and you have been afraid to try. Next time; I think I shall ask them to do my book in that tenie tiny writing like this, so then maybe you would get the picture; It is an easy read!

Next, I wanted to reward you someway if you bought my book, so for the absolute last time; ANY XANGAN WHO IS NOT A PERVERT, CRIMINAL, INDECENT, ILL BEHAVED MORON AND WHO HAS BEHAVED WELL ENOUGH THEY CAN COME UP SITH A COUPLE OF DECENT REFERENCES, NOT TO MENTION; WE WOULD DO A BACKGROUND CHECK BEFORE WE ALLOWED YOU TO COME TO OUR HOUSE; THIS IS THE CONTEST — SELL 20 COPIES OF PINKHONEYSUCKLE THROUGH AMAZON, CREATE SPACE, KINDLE, OR AN INDEPENDENT SHOP YOU MAY HAVE, AND IF WE GET UP TO 35 PEOPLE WILLING TO ENTER SUCH A CONTEST BY MARCH 30, SO THE CONTEST IS WORTH MY TIME AND YOURS; THEN YOU CONTACT ME BY XANGA, TELL ME HOW, WHERE AND WHEN YOU SOLD YOUR COPIES BEFORE JUNE 1, AND IN EITHER JUNE, JULY, OR AUGUST, YOU CAN WIN A FOUR NIGHT STAY AT A SAN FRANCISCO HOME; MINE AND MY HUSBANDS, and YOU CAN BE A SAN FRANCISCAN AT OUR COST FOR THE EQUIVALENT OF FOUR FULL NIGHTS, AND WE WILL EVEN GET YOU BAK AND FORTH TO THE AIRPORT!

Our neighborhood, Delores Heights is among the sunniest in San Francisco. We are one block from a BART station. YOu will be provided with snacks, on the flat where you will stay, and you will also have access to do your laundry. It is a large house, and it has views second to none in San Francisco, and you will have internet access. We can help plan day trips, but once we have 35 people who can sell 35 units of my book, show me that number has joined in for the drawing which will take place June !; I will need; Proofs of your sales, How you sold them is not important as long as it is legal, and YOUR, SINGULAR, YOUR AIRFARE WILL BE COVERED IF YOU ARE THE WINNER; AS I SAID IT IS GOING TO TAKE 35 PEOPLE TO ENTER, AND YOU MAY INVITE OTHER BLOGGERS FROM OTHER BLOG SITES TO JOIN IN THE CONTEST TO GET UP TO OUR 35 PEOPLE SELLING 20 UNITS OF PINKHONEYSUCKLE BY ME, BARBARA EVERETT HEINTZ, AUTHOR, ON AMAZON, CREATE SPACE, KINDLE READY, OR ORDERED THROUGH BOOKSTORE OF YOUR CHOICE!

THE WINNER WILL HAVE A CRIMINAL CHECK OF BACKGROUND, AND WE ARE MAINLY A FAMILY OF LAWYERS; SO KNOW THAT WE MEAN THAT. WE ARE NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR ANY INJURY, PAIN, SORROW, SCRATCHES, FALLS, MUGGINGS, NOR YOUR GETTING ARRESTED FOR ILLEGAL THINGS YOU MAY DECIDED TO DO IN SAN FRANCISCO. WE ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR GIVING YOU A CLEAN BED, BATH, THOSE SNACKS I AM TALKING ABOUT, ONE BOTTLE OF CHEAP CALIFORNIA SPARKILING WINE. YOU MUST BE 21 YEARS OF AGE OR OLDER. YOU WILL BE RESPECTFUL THAT YOU ARE EXPECTED TO BEHAVE LIKE A NORMAL GROWN UP, AND THE ONLY PRAYER YOU HAVE OF BRINGING A PARTNER IS THAT YOU WILL BE FULLY RESPONSIBLE FOR THEM AND FOR THEIR AIRFARE. WHAT YOU DO ON BROADWAY IN DOWNTOWN SAN FRANCISCO OR IN THE CASTRO IS YOUR RESPONSIBILITY AND YOURS ALONE.

We are kind, considerate, often help with some day trips, and my husband, a native San Franciscan knows our city like the back of his hand. YOU WILL BE WARNED OF AREAS BEST TO STAY OUT OF, BUT WE ARE NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR WHERE YOU GO UNLESS YOU BRING BUGS INTO MY HOUSE OF WHICH I WILL HOLD YOU SO RESPONSIBLE THAT YOU WOULD PREFER TO GO STRAIGHT TO HELL. CLEANLINESS IS MANDATORY. You will have breakfast items to eat, but we are not cooking such for you. Usually, you get a general tour given by us of all the basic places everyone just knows you must see such as Fisheerman’s Wharf. Falling any where in the city is your own dumb luck, and again, we are not responsible. If you are disabled; We are not prepared for the disabled with my deepest regret, but we are a private home, not a public building.

Because none of you got in on the Valentine’s Gift Day, Then I shall announce at this moment that small envelopes of beads, papers, pieces of pretty ribbon and a couple of candies will be sent to 34 of our folks who will not win the prize as described above; But your envelopes would be filled with a dolllar’s worth of little sweet tokens, and you will be glad you entered and that you can say that you are part of helping an older lady get her book out, and aren’t you going to be proud of yourselves for taking a stand and helping an author out.

DATE IS NOW MARCH’S END TO MAKE UP YOUR MIND, AND WE HAVE TO HAVE 35 TO HOLD THE DRAWING. HOW CAN YOU KNOW SUCH A DRAWING WILL HAPPEN; WELL, BECAUSE WHEN WE HAVE 35 ENTRIES; YOU WILL SEE THE JAR; SECONDLY, I DO NOT LIE, FOR LIARS AND CHEATERS, AND CEOS WITH BILLION DOLLAR BANK ACCOUNTS ARE APT TO BE THE FIRST IN HELL. I AM A CHRISTIAN, BUT I WILL NOT DISCUSS RELIGION WITH YOU. RIGHT NOW WE HAVE ME, MY HUSBAND, A YOUNG LAWYER, AND A CAT WHO LIVE AT OUR HOUSE IN SAN FRANCISCO. SO WHO CAN GET THE COMPETITORS. AS I HAVE SAID BEFORE; IF YOU WENT DOWNTOWN; YOU COULD NOT AFFORD THE VIEW WHICH WILL BE YOURS, AND REMEMBER; 34 WILL RECEIVE JUST AN ENVELOPE OF SMALL GIFTS WHICH YOU SHOULD KEEP AWAY FROM LITTLE CHILDREN OR YOUR ANIVALS. IF YOU WANT A BUS LOAD OF MAFIA TO COME TO OUR HOUSE; THEN LIGHT UP A DARNED CIGARETTE; AND THEY WILL BE THERE. WE ARE A NON-SMOKING CITY, SO PLEASE KEEP THIS IN YOUR HEART.

GET THE WORD OUT TO OTHER XANGANS! All bloggers are welcome to hit the contest as long as they can sell 20 units of, “Pinkhoneysuckle,” by me: Barbara Everett Heintz; FOR EACH FIVE YOU SELL OVER 20; YOU CAN HAVE ANOTHER ADMISSION, AND ANYONE WHO DOES A GOOD AND KIND COMMENT OR REVIEW, AS LONG AS THEY HAVE SOLD THEIR 20 UNITS, MAY ALSO GET AN EXTRA CONTEST ENTRY; JUST COPY YOUR LETTER OF PROOF.

So, let us endeavor to do this again; Go to your bookclubs, your offices, any where with access to Chapter one, and thus far; After Chapter one; You have someone who wants a book.

Blessings, and you need only come to contack me when you see that you have your 20 units sold. Just please, do not expect East Coast living on the West Coast. God Bless You, and Good luck,

And just dream of four nights of fog horn sounds, one of the world’s best cities, gracious host and hostess, and one of San Francisco’s tawny districts where you can go to church at Mission Dolores, take in a movie at the Castro; Eat at the best bakery in the world, “Tartines,” and just think of all the other restaurants and food from around the world. We will host you one night at our house, and that is for certain.

See you soon? Get your entries in, and please feel welcome.

Barbara Everett Heintz

It is very late at night, and some wait for the new day. I listen to classical music, all the bassoon parts, because I have heard them for almost 45 years, and along the Ohio only the rare barge passes now as the cars along the Parkway have driven themselves home to keep some drunk passenger from killing themselves or not others, for the bars close for a time, not enough time, for some will not see the light of day as a drunken and aching head thinks it wants a drink upon awakening. Their heads feel like marbles crushed within a vice, but they cannot say, “Goodmorning,” to the new world having not let the old ridivulous one clear from their veins.

I could never drink a lot for long, because I would be like a person poisoned, head over the toilet, praying for ease from the pain, thinking how bourbon stunk the second time around and hating a ceiling that I could not tell from the floor, the twirling, swirling, the lost, depraved stupid body that had to purge itself of the awful taste and the smell which the night before had seemed like an awakening.

Oh my souls, my beautiful souls; Why must you stick needles in your beautiful veins, and does the white singing of your nose make you a king or a queeen as you snort poison from The Devil Prince, or The She Monster that disguised herself as a friend until she wanted to jump your bones and make you a fool with no heaven, no hell, just the empty can of another night when you could sit at the bar, or lie in the ground getting acquainted with the dirt that would be your life’s end, your body picked over by the last hungry worm.

What became so horrible that we had to kill children, to destroy our families, to pretend that we were without when all around us knew we had more than we ought. They are there you fools! Can’t you see them setting their babies on fire, burning the home around them, leaving the spouse in an unmarked grave. Can’t you see them, The Devils, The Witches, practicing under the dark moon to destroy beauty, and they waited for you most of all, because your eyes could portray beauty. That a wary hear of stone would be stollen from the night, cut from your chest, laid bare on the table, for you became one of them and needed a heart no more. Can’t you see them? The Devils, they are all in disguises and think their brilliance will show them the key to the other world when the earth must be reborn, but I can see them; I can hear them, and I have heard them cry; Oh God the Demons cried when they are cast into hell, and no one can catch them, No one can give them back their years; No One; Can’t you see.

I see them with Michaelangelo, and they are cast away the lot of them, and they are in the forever freefall, and they are the fire, the flame, the misery, the dark, the imprisoned in wretched places. It all began with sweet drinks, little puffs of smoke, a cracle from a pipe, and the burn on the nose. Oh watch for them; Please watch for them, and be warned, for the whispers in their ears will sound like sweet words.

See them; Can’t you, or will you become the one that feels that little tremble just thinking about the places to bitter to go; So Hear them; Please hear them! They are between here and home, and one colapsed like a ragdoll between your legs, because she had you; Your heard was over the toilet bowl; She cleaned you; Listen, for she is cleaning you with a smirk; She has you, and you have it the disease which eats at your flesh and bone, all that is left, only now you will not listen; For if you heard; Then you would know that you are dancing on the devil’s back, and children are their token, and no one wants you near their own; For you have joined in The Devil;s Dance.

Author of, “Pinkhoneysuckle,” Amazon, Create Space, Kindle Ready, and other Independent Dealers

I am not a lesbian, bisexual, trannie, homosexual in any way.  I do not find women to be attractive in that way, and I am sad to say that I just believe that as a  species we were meant to be gender specific, for our parts match up that way.  Secondly, it takes something of a male and female to have egg and sperm, and I find it quite strange that so many  who choose the alternative live style want to stick to organic diets, skin to skin mothering, nursing, everything which is natural except for the fact many will allow the fertilization of an egg and sperm to happen out side of the womb.  I fear that you can spin the yarn any way you like, but;  Penis fits in Vagina; Copulation occurs, and if you want to do everything naturally, though I know that every, or most babies begun in careful laboratory insertion of sperm into ovum is the least natural thing which works well in many cases;  That process was not NATURAL.  I required years of scientific research and trial and error to get there;  So if you are hung up with issues of wanting everything to be natural from love, food, sex, birth, and   and , “The loving embrace,” will only work naturally if you leave out labs, plastic equipment to insert semen;  Well you get it.

Natural is the old male/female thing, though all children are Holy no matter how they came in to this world.

Why am I writing this?  Well, because within a one week’s period of time, I have had what appears to be females stating they want relationships with me.  Ladies;; Get real! I am 63, and five children came into this world which were the product of one woman and one man;  My husband and me.  I think someone is goading you into sending me these letters aobut how YOU want a relationship with me, and suggesting that you know me.  Unless you are aware that I am only interested in being a wife, and as Jimmy Carter said;  “He had had lust in his heart;” Most of us have to say that we are only human, and that is part of our experiences.  I have lusted for people of the opposite sex in my day, just as has every woman and man, for we do not develop blindness after marriage, especially since we were taught that genital manipulation of our own making, especially the men, could cause blindness; The state of marriage places us peacefully in a union as such we do not have to fondle ourselves.

Get it;  I am married to a man.  We procreated together.  I have arthritis, a lipids disorder, and now I am on coumadin, better known as rat poison, so my blood will not clot rapidly.  I have, by February’s end half a dozen grandchildren, and I get these goofy letters that women say they are attracted to me!!!  You do not know me from Adam and Eve;  If you feel that way and it is overwhelming;  Then you are simply a person who needs a pschiatrist really fast, for your feelings are sadly misplaced.  In faith, In nature, and by the hormones God gave to me;  I am as female as it gets, and you do not know me;  Do  you get that?  You do not know me, and if you did, then I would probably tell you that I had erotic dreams as a child about Richard Chamberland, Clark Gable, and Gene Autrry, and I was little, but these men took my breath away, and most of us were in love with Elvis Presley, we females, that is, and I would cry sometimes, because I did not know why my body felt like I would fall apart emotionally because I could not have these grown men on television in my life, and remember the blindness thing;  Who could risk going blind in puberty by touching one’s self in a private place.  Notice all of my dreams were about men, not about women;  Never about women, and all I talked about with other young women as we grew older was about boys for whom I had great feelings for, but as with many girls from my age;  We could abide abstinence, for one would not place shame on their parents being the high school, Whore.)”  So young ladies;  I want you to know this.  I pray for you, because you are missing out on the years of being a young woman loving the thoughts of letting nature take its course.  Only because I respect that you are young, and Hollywood and trash like Madonna has endeavored to make you think you are incomplete unless you make love to a woman;  Get it;  they are trash, and you are being led by people who do not even respect Gays and Lesbians much less we straight people;  Pardon the pun;  But they want you to go sexually GAGA and break all of the natural bonds, because it makes them money;  You stupid girls;  It makes money, and everything comes down to money now.  There are Lesbians, Gays, and people of many alternative lifestyles, but most are just sad, and they want to be like Hollywood, Paris HIlton, and that flithy old play boy old guy who wants to watch girls on girls, men on girls, girls on men, so do you get it that our money for film and star power is going to people who want to sell you on even more sex than you are prepared to handle.  You stick yourself out there for guys in your early years who can hardly keep dry pants unless they masturbate or have a few girls in which to drip seminal fluid, and then you wonder why you got pregnant.  Then we have those who could not choose a decent boy or man if someone shoved that person in their face, so;  Oh Boy;  The woman thinks she is lesbian;  No you are just a person who made poor choices.  If you dreamt about boys all of your life before, then you are just hurting yourself and everyone you know with your exploits, for life just centers around your genitalia.

I mean it!  When are you idiot girls and young women going to get it that you have been had by the Hollywood culture, and you cannot even think rationally any more.  Sex us not the be all and end all of your whole life, and I wish you had some brain cells that helped you to see that a small part of the country wanted you to become the counterculture to gay males.  That being the case;  However, get this!  I am a figment of your imagination on the internet.  If I wanted to get to know you, then I would.  Please stop contacting me, or I am going to see that you have a little reminder from your local police, so please understand; You do not know me.  I am a wife and a Grandmother, and I am on this internet, because it is a place to write which I am good at a lot of the time.  I am not your friend, I am not your lover.  We do not have a relaitonship, never have and never will.  I am sorry that you have had sorrows in your life, and I pray for you and for your souls, and if someone tricked you in to contacting me;  Then you should talk with that person, for it is not funny, just brainless, and from hence forth, I do not want to hear from you in any shape form or fashion.

Thank you.
BHZ — “Pinkhoneysuckle”

D Sear George,

“WAIT IT IS GEORGE CALLING ME1′

“Hello Mr. Clooney;” “George Is Alright With You?”

“Sweet, Sweet; Oh that is so sweet of you, for I have been waiting for this call half of my life!”  “Well, you see George, I just turned 63, and was that a surprise to The Grim Reaper, for he thought I was one bad porkchop last October when I had the blood clots.”

“You did not realize that the devil was a cannibal, George?” So  I took the time to explain to our sweet hero that Satan did not have those fires for tuna burgers, and I think he got my point, though I did hear him mumbling something like, “Sparkling Foam,” or did he say;  “Speaker Phone?”  It is just not clear to me what he said, but I will tell you that I am just blushing, breathing hard, worried, for I have to talk to him about, “Pinkhoneysuckle,”  and I am not cetain that he is going to be pleased that I used the, “F – Word here and there,” so I asked him if I was about to become famous, and he just said in that absolutely sexy voice about ten or more years younger than me something which made no sense about Fame not being something which came for cheap these days.

“Lord have mercy on me this anxiety laden Mama,” for didn’t he just give me this call to give me the news that once I was tied to his little red wagon, we were going to just too big for this city to hold me down by myself,” but we talked, and I said what a thrill it was to come home from Stop and Rob to this phone call which was life affirming.” 

“Affirming, he said,” then I got it – That he did not know an aging old bat could be affirming much less firm, so he and I arre going to get along just peachy.  “Had anything from, “Burger Fast?” For breaking the ice with someone like George takes talent, and I am a writer, not a talent scout,” but he admitted that he had a few of our Cincinnati Acid Guaranteers.  We went from there to the subject of ice cream to if I had nursed my babies, and then I saw the problem;  We could not talk about my book until I put some make-up on like a great Midwestern Mama would, so trembling again;  I asked;  “George there is an embarassing situation going on here,” and you know what I mean, but I need for you to hold while I go into the bathroom to get some makeup on.”  It never occured to me that he was probably secretly filming me as this great author and all,”  But, a woman cannot talk to George Clooney without having her face all painted up, the old Ava Gardner look he prefers, so I just said;  “I have got to find my face,”  And he said,

“Whaf?”  Now this is just before my stardom hooked to that red wagon he bought me for some crazy kind of fun, but George replied, “Do you have on your running shoes,” and I’m thinking he’s getting a little too personal,  but yes I did, just not my make up for his call and that reassuring feeling one gets with all their pores plugged up with, “Pore Stopper,”  Oh that, “Yeargens wild and crazy kind of guys!”

“Off I went to brush my teeth, slather on the foundation, smack on the brush;  I mean, the blush, and no woman over 60 should go out without checking those thin eyebrows and eyelashes.  I use Lard to give them a natural, home girl look, and then I picked up the phone, confidence high, voice – clear and charming when I said, “Hello George,” now that we were friends and all, and then my day was shot, for there that stinking bitch at Cincinnati Bellvue was;  “If you’d like to make a call, then hang up,” that same twit who gives me acid reflux everyday, so I slammed that phone against the wall, broke it and all of its old parts, and I wondered if I would ever hear from him again.

“I got this little message one day in a business envelope from G. C. Productions, and it read;  “I am sorry dear that I ever asked you about those shoes, because I was not expecting that you were going to the toilet making a, “Race,” but I, George Clooney understand,” And if I need to get back in to town to help my parents pick the first dandelions, then maybe you and I can talk about your book.”  It said, :No reply,” but it was not just an everybody;  “No Reply,” for it was underscored as if to say;  “Baby, How I miss you,” so I have another month or two to wait, dreaming of the contract in his hands, so I am going to see if Wendell is home to hear the good news.

Wendell has been such a remarkable young man recently though for he has joined, “Hamster Lovers of America,” and though he knows not to bring those little rats in to my place;  I give him credit for Participation with a double P.  Wendell grows on one;  Harmless as a flea, and opinionless, the qualities one admires in marriage these days….

Well that is bout it for you all to gossip about this week.  “Yes,” I am talking to my fans Wendell, so, Shut Up!

To find out more about George and me, you must go back into my blogs,  It is fairly personal, but your excitement overwhelms me!!!

Hello Dear Friends,

I sit within this winter’s day loving every drop of ice outside this window, praying for the rain to turn to snow, worrying about my grown up children, and our 6th little grandchild to be born on February 28th in Seattle.  Oh Our New Family Child;  Be safe, for the birth journey is the hardest and the most difficult, so much so that you will forget it and not remember the moment your Mother and Father cried the tears of joy on your birthing day.  You have parents who have given your brother the treasure of you alone for three years now, so this wee girly will seem so tiny, so sweet, and so smart. She will be a legacy for Yale and Harvard, but knowing the kind of parents from which she comes says it all;  Some events are the great genetic pool where  of which your blessings are as deep in the jar of fabulous traits that you will be as smart as your sweet brother.  Sleep and rest now,, for we loved our five so much that we worked too ridiculously to remember.

A NEW REASON TO CHECK OUT PINKHONEYSUCKLE.  I would like to send you a tiny package for tiny things inside to emphasize that a small gift can be filled with love.  Send me a proof of purchase from my, “Pinkhoneysuckle,” and I will send you a little bag of pink and sweetness for your valentine at my expense, better than a card.  At cost from Barbara’s mind that would love such a similar gift any time in February;  Included will be stickers of my choice to cheer you or yours;  A few stars to stick on a love note,  a sweet or two to eat just to have a sense of sweetness in a world which challenges us to offer such things.  Tiny wrap for a small box you may wish to give is again simple, like little bits of confetti in the bag.  A pretty bead or gem or two guaranteed to be treasured in a scrapbok or on fishing line to make the invisible necklace, for a keepsake, maybe a carm, Gifty tiny notes for a purse or in a place where you want to remember your love in words, and a surprise from you with little time.  That I have sent you this dollar package and paid for it at my own mailing sense leads to the note.  A birthday candle, and other little stickers will round out your day.  You use the gift at your own risk and keep away from children.  The little sweets are fresh, and the proof of purchase envelope will remind me that you have chosen my book Pinkhoneysuckle, the book is on Amazon, Kindle, and Create Space, so this is just another little enticement to encourage you purchasing it in the form you want.  Only a callous soul would not like this little treasure, and the offer will continue throughout February, so buy, “Pinkhoneysuckle,” and see the reward of  small things which are easily their dollar value. “Pinkhoneysuckle,”  I know my book is being rated five stars, so treat yourself to a book and someone who loves small things to a little package of scrapbook like materials plus a heart chocolate or similar.  It is all pure, clean, without additives of any danger, but you know yourself that I have to use a stupid statement like this, “I am not responsible for any damage caused by material afixed to or in this package.  Prove your purchase via a note of date and time or purchase for me to check Amazon.

Please, what other book seller is giving you anything, and why am I doing this?  The people who purchase my book deserve a little something more of me.  I love Valentines and scrap booking, and this is an early thanks for taking the plunge toward reading the book.  I do beg that when you get hooked on the book, or after you read it, please leave a note at the comment/review section of Amazon for my book, “Pinkhoneysuckle,” by Barbara Everett Heintz, and I consider it an honor to make a little bag for anyone who orders my book or Kindle from Amazon.  It is my Valentine to My Readers.  Send proof of purchase to:  Heintz – 1617 East McMillan Street – Cincinnati, Ohio 45206 (Condo 603) – where I finished most of the book. 

Again, though the contents are fully harmless to an adult, Keep all materials away from children, and though no allergens are packaged in the bag purposefully, the chocolate or candy made by another company is given in good will, but if you fear allergy from chocolate, soap leaves or any thing which might be ingested without forethought to taking care;  You are the one and only person responsible for this bag of  decorative with some pre-wrapped candy inserted.  How sad that I cannot just say the truth that this is a sweet little bag, your purchases are being rewarded, and contents of bag would exceed the dollar I am quoting as worth.  Enjoy what I send to you at your risk but with my love and reassurance no products included are intentionally used to cause harm.  It is my Valentine to you, my February offer.

MEAN WHILE, AGAIN, PLEASE GO TO THE EARLIEST JANUARY AND POST CHRISTMAS BLOGS ON XANGA TO SEE HOW YOU MAY WIN A FOUR NIGHT VACATION TO A PRIVATE HOME IN SAN FRANCISCO.  BY SELLING or purchasing 20 books of “Pinkhoneysuckle,”  or Kindle copies of Kindle and “Pinkhoneysucle,” Thus making 20 units;  With as little as 35 entries by March 15th, Have you ever had odds as low as one in 35 chances to take a vacation anywhere? You will be eligible for the drawing; and lack of 35 participants deletes the contest, so talk with other Xangans; Get some competition, for I want company out at our place in San Francisco;  Do understand the rules, and note that I corrected my error that only same sex couples were eligible.  That was a ridivulous error, but I remind you that a friend can be brought along, meeting all the criteria we would expect for our guest; I had KIDS on my mind and kids are not eligible for this contest, the only catch being that YOU pay for the other person’s airfare.

Now, Are these workable market techniques?  They are if you want to give a  great book a try – “Pinkhoneysuckle,” by Barbara Everett Heintz, Prologue by Robert Van Everett.  Go check out our few reviews;  Become a reviewer yourself, and I am looking for, “George Cooney,” to film our story, though he hasn’t asked yet?  Where in this earth is George?  No one could bring this book to the big screen but him, So, Mr. Clooney, You worked too hard last year, so save some energy for our story.

Get in the door before Pinkhoneysuckle decides to host a , “Book Launch,” For my book is worth your time.

“No Brad, I appreciate the call, but George is the gold standard of directors,  And Woody, I would consider you, but I do not think you know how a bunch of white southerners lived being a New York City boy.  Jack Nicholson used to be my big screen all time man, but could he be too Californian.  Jody Foster;  Now she could pull this off, but I want Meryl Streep to get a shot as a woman for becoming our director, for she is like a sponge soaking up until her  go out of or in to a character, and she would study my people, finding the other moments and places in time;  But could she find us?  We folks of the mid south mountain and valleys need that person who will go into, “The Heart of Darkness,” for only there will they find yesterday, and maybe answer the question of why beginning with Eisenhower, then worse, Johnson’s sad ideas of how to fix our families of hidden America.  After those two came in and fully screwed over the south, knowing the rust cities could  take their hit later in the 20th century.  Just remember all of us sometime;  Now will you, for the dream catcher is fading once more.  Barbara Everett Heintz

 All of My Love and Blessings:  More real blogs coming soon!
Pinkhoneysuckle