This robust rooster painting comes from a Georgia artist, Robin Robinson.  She’s my kind of gal when she says, “When I create something, it’s just me, figuring out how to express my vision…not a formula for creation.”  My sentiments exactly.

Robin’s rooster musters up a special memory; it revives one of my mother’s WWII stories.  The family farm was close enough and my Maman Denyse would occasionally ride her bicycle  to collect fresh eggs, butter and vegetables to supplement they meager rations.

“HALT!” screamed the menacing guard at checkpoint as the young lady eased on the brake pedals.  Aghast! realizing she was late for the curfew.  I can imagine how heavy her heart must have pounded as his harsh tone touched her ears.  Mon Dieu!  My God!  My mother quickly thought, “I have no choice but to charm this ogre so he will me go home.”  Thank God!  He toyed with her gorgeous smile, not even noticing the satchels full of rationed goodies and let her go.  With her head to the Mistral wind, she began pedaling as fast as her heart was beating.

iron gate

Meanwhile my frantic grandmother Mame Jane had flung open the iron gate as soon as she spotted her Denyse flying through the town square, her legs like jellyfish as she spun into the family courtyard.  Needless to say, that Sunday night they enjoyed an omelet with crusty buttered bread and sipped red wine.  Although emotionally drained, they both were very hungry, yet most grateful.  My mother never missed a curfew after that harrowing experience, or else, I wouldn’t be telling you this war story.  Now that calls for another OMG!