Little Mary's Little Blog

Fred

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Little Mary of the Rose and the Giant Baked Bean is the story of a girl who neglects her baked bean demon and turns into a hot air balloon. This is the saga's third episode.

Blue Roses

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Little Mary of the Rose and the Giant Baked Bean is the story of a girl who neglects her baked bean demon and turns into a hot air balloon. This is the saga's second episode.

A Little Death

Holy Moly Boo. It has been a little while. A huge little while, I know. I am so very sorry for all my little invisible friends out there. After my best little friend “passed away” I must admit I got a little indulgent in my depression. I traveled deep into the darkest corners of my little hole. This little hole that I call home. There were no more little sunny thoughts, it’s true. And so I stopped writing for my little blog. Because I didn’t want to depress you, little invisible readers. But what Crystal said went straight into my clouded over little heart. It pierced right through the thick black clouds. And it hurt a little. A good kind of little pain. I guess it woke me up! What am I thinking in my silly little head?! Me! Little Bouncy Rosy Silly Beanie me?! No no no. This won’t do. It is no excuse that my little invisible reading friends are shy and silent. It surely does not mean that they do not exist!

That’s one thing that I have learned. During this little death of mine. Do not believe what your five little senses tell you. Just because you see something doesn’t mean it exists. Just because you don’t see something doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. And the same little thing applies to every one of our five little senses. I mean, sure they can be very helpful, but they don’t always tell the Truth. So you gotta have faith in your little heart and in your little soul. Because they are not little at all. Even if your faith is only as big as a grain of sand. Cuz that is just as big as a Giant Baked Bean. There is no little faith or big faith. You either have it or you don’t. Bla! Enough little mumblings.

I is back! I went deep into my little hole and when I thought I was ready to come out I couldn’t because a giant mountain of snow was blocking my door. And so against my will I crawled back in. All the way down the deepest littlest corner again. And now the sun is back out and the loud little blue birds are screaming. They think it’s sweet music but it’s not… It’s okay. They are happy. Crumpled Paper had turned to mush and so I bought him snow boots for his little paper tires. The plantations look pretty desolate. My rosies all went to sleep with the snow. It’s going to take some work and positive energy to revive them and replace them. In the end it will be a better garden. With better, stronger, more beautifuller roses. Funny to think that it was a Rose that woke me up and came knocking on my door to say the sun is out again. Cool beans.

Thank you little invisible but no so silent friend.

My Little Friend Phyllis

I have a little friend. Her name is Phyllis. She is not at all little, actually. She is giant in every way. Her feelings, her thoughts, her heart, and sometimes, though not so much anymore, her anger. Phyllis can be a little dark. She likes vampires. She doesn't like talking on the phone. She doesn't like talking, for that matter. Not to people, anyway. Animals she loves. She is sort of like a recluse, I guess. But then, so am I. In a different way.

Phyllis hides from people. Not so much anymore. She's gotten a little better. People hurt her when she was little. Tiny. People she loved very much. People she thought were supposed to love her unconditionally. Her mom left her when she was 10. Her dad lied and her sister betrayed her. So she ran away from home. And she never ever went back. Or talked to any of them again. And then it seemed like every one else she met along the way always managed to disappoint her. She had so much anger inside her my little roses wilted when she walked by.

Phyllis wouldn't eat for days. She didn't sleep. She didn't care how she looked. She was always broke because she always quit her jobs. One day I asked her why she was doing this to herself. She said she was doing it to them. She was punishing all the people that had caused her pain. She wanted them to see what they had done to her. And I asked her: "Even if, in the end, it is hurting you? Don't you want to be happy?" And she took a long pause. Then she said: "Of course I want to be happy. But I guess I'd rather make them hurt..." I don't think she'd ever realized that. Until she said it out loud.

We have to do what's best for ourselves. Always. But we need to be honest with ourselves first. We all have our little idiosyncrasies. I live in a hole on the ground, in the middle of some woods, in the middle of nowhere. I have a fish. I grow roses. I have a car made of crumpled paper. And I talk to all of them. People think I'm weird.

If you have to be alone, be alone. There is nothing wrong with that. You don't have to love anyone but yourself. No matter what "they" say. And it's not that you have to love yourself before others will love you. I don't think that's true. Others will always love you. It just won't matter. If you don't. You'll either not notice it or you'll hate them for doing it. Remember the mirrors. If you want to see a hat in your reflection you gotta put one on.

Our little lives are so complicated... Because we are such complicated little creatures. We are fascinating, don't you think? And we are surely too precious to break ourselves over people who hurt us. Forget them. Until you can forgive them. Be a little selfish. Do it for you and nobody else.

This little post is dedicated to Mimi. The very first person to write me a comment! Lots of love and beans to you, Mimi.

Little Thoughts, Little Seeds, Big Consequences

I know. It's been a while. I have been a little bad. I have been doing a lot of thinking. Maybe a little too much. Ever since that whole thing with the bean. It's like my brain got bigger. And now it's got room for more thoughts...

Roses have it easy. Little rose seeds, I mean. You know why they are so successful in becoming roses? Because their tiny little brains have room for only one tiny little thought: rose. That's how come they become roses. You can get a little rose seed and mix it up with a bunch of carrot seeds and plant them all in the ground and the little rose seed will still grow up to be a rose. It doesn't wonder what it would be like to be a carrot maybe it would be better being a carrot carrots don't have thorns carrots get to be all sorts of things, from carrot cake to salads and stew. It can't. Its little brain has no room for such thoughts. The most it can accommodate is a color. Red rose. White rose. Pink rose. And, occasionally, blue rose.

Humans would be so lucky... We want to be everything. We are scared of missing out. Of being short changed. Of making the wrong choice. What if I wear the red dress and Little John doesn't like red? I want to be a doctor but ballerinas are so pretty. I'm tired of waiting, I want to leave, but what if Godot shows up? I guess that's just part of being a human. It must be why we have hearts. We get to follow it when our brain gets confused. Our hearts seem to always know what we want. Deep down. We can feel them beat faster. There's no mistaking that. We just ought to learn to listen to them. Shhhh. Listen...

A Little Tired I Am

Sometimes I want things to happen very very fast. Not a little fast, instantaneously. Sometimes I feel like I just work, work, work. You know? I'm not whining. I am very happy with what I have. But I want more! And I work for more. I run for more. But sometimes it seems I'm running on a silly, little treadmill. I'm in a terrific little shape but in the end I'm still standing in the same little place. This is how I was feeling when I was trying to get my Blue Roses. And then I got them! And now I want more. So, what did I do to get them? What was the lesson? I am not sure...

The answer turned out to be right under my nose. But I hadn't seen it. Not until I got stung in the head by the Bean, turned into a hot air balloon, saw God, met Santa's cousin, almost drowned, found Beloved Leader and came back home. So the lesson was, in order to see the answer to my little problem, I had to open my little
eyes in a particular little way. In order to open my little eyes in a particular little way I had to experience certain little things. Mostly things I did not want to experience. Things I resisted experiencing. Which only made things harder and crazier.

It seems when there is something we must do that we resist doing the universe goes out of its way to make us do it. Whether it is by sending aliens to capture us, drawing crop circles or creating giant baked beans that come out of the sky dressed as bumblebees to sting us on our little heads. I hope I can figure this one out on my own before the Universe deems it necessary to send another crazy creature to "help me out"...

Heavy Little Post Number Three

These first two posts are a little "heavy", aren't they? I am not usually like this. But I've never had a BLOG before! I'm not sure what to write. I have a lot of little thoughts in my little head but I promise you they are not all that intense. I have some light and airy ones, too. I guess I have been hiding in my little hole for way too long. Having no one but Maurice, my fish, and my roses to talk to. (It is okay after all to end I sentence with a preposition). Anyway, Maurice and the roses don't talk back. Even though they are also cartoon characters. Though neither do you for that matter. Are you even there? Is anyone? Oh no. Here I go again...

The little thoughts in my head are not, unfortunately, proof enough of my existence. Not to me, anyway. Even when I set them free in the anything-but-little ether of cyber space. Not even when you see them. Not until you respond to them. You respond therefore I exist. This must be a phase. Some sort of pre-tween existencialist phase. I guess even cartoon characters have those. I'll be nine in August but I am a little premature...

I must admit I miss the crazy Bean. He made me angry and extremely explosive but he provided definete proof for my existence. In my craziest lonely hours I almost believe he was just a product of my little, but fertile, imagination. Because memories are also not enough proof. Memories of people and their actions toward us. Memories are so unreliable. Words or actions. Loving or hateful. Air. Maybe that's why women want babies. Physical undeniable proof. Of love. Of contact. Of existence. I don't want a baby. I'm too little. And they are too loud and need too much attention. I'll settle for a response. One little letter. Is anyone out there?