Bradford Bunny

“Hi, I’m Bradford Bunny,the splotchy skinny bunny called through the fence. “Would you like to be friends?” The bunnies hanging around the clover patch inside the rabbit farm stopped eating and hopped over to where Bradford was sitting.

“Bradford? What kind of name is that for a bunny?” the soft orange bunny with the white ears asked.

All the bunnies began to laugh.

“Braaaaadfurrrd…are you a girl or a boy?” the dark brown bunny teased.  She was laughing so hard she could barely speak.  Of course that sent the other bunnies rolling.

“hahahahahahaha”…the laughing went on for what seemed like forever to Bradford.

“I’m a girl,” Bradford said trying to be confident. “My mother named me Bradford because that was the name of the warren from where she came. She loved her home very much and she loved me too.”

“bahhaaaahaaa…a mommy’s bunny,” a large white and black bunny managed to get out.

Bradford turned and quickly hopped back across the grass to the woods. She could hear the sounds of laughter fading as she went. Tears began to fall.

“I tried to be nice. I tried to ask questions. Still no one wanted to play with me” Bradford Bunny wept more.

When she finished crying, she hopped to the edge of the pond to drink and wash her face. She leaned over and caught sight of her reflection.

I’m so ugly,” she thought.  “I’m brown speckled all over with a huge spot on my nose. No wonder they don’t want to play with me. I don’t want to play with me either.” Bradford began to cry some more.

Oh, why doesn’t anyone love me? Those bunnies have a nice home with friends and plenty of food.  If only I could be like them.”

Bradford went back to the edge of the clearing to watch the bunnies from a distance. She heard the sound of a big truck. It pulled around the farmhouse and stopped in the barnyard. A man spoke with the farmer then went around the truck to open the back.

She heard the little bunnies squeal. “Oh! We’re going on an adventure,” they shouted with delight. All the bunnies happily hopped up into the back of the truck and settled into the tiny packed cages. The door closed.

“An adventure,” sighed Bradford. Tears welled up in her eyes.

School Mornins’ With Sam

“Cents the sky ain’t fallin’ and the crek ain’t risin’ git up and git goin’. Ya won’t ‘mont to a hill of beans if ya don’t gitta move own. That’s all I gotta to say ’bout it.”

“Oh, mom, I’m only eight…and why are you talking like that?”

“Son, lessons learned when you are young will remain with you throughout your life. Listen to the wisdom of your elders and you will become wise among your peers.”

“Gee, dad, not you too? What’s going on around here?  I’m going to school. You guys are acting toooooo weird.”

Sam’s parents high-fived out in the hallway.

“Yes!” they whispered in triumph!

It was a short lived victory…


after all

was another

school day.

Grief of an Outsider

In the mind runs a chasm just this side of death                                                                         To go beyond would be to go too far

Continue reading “Grief of an Outsider”

The Legend of Penuel

His body arched as he breathed his last breath. There expelled a moan so intense it pierced the air and mingled with the wind. The wind latched on and rolled like thunder over the landscape…wave upon wave, the sorrowful sound reverberated against the mountain tops.  The earth groaned. In the fields, ripen grain bent low and all plants dropped their fruits in sorrow. Bereavement became the babble sent down the brook into the valley.  All creatures of Penuel mourned; their hearts wounded for they knew the struggle had ended. They had lost…and the little grey lion was gone.

They wondered what would become of them. The grey lion held their hope, their destiny…their promise of a new beginning. Now nothing…nothing but greyness of mind and soul. A winter’s landscape filled with sunless sky and biting wind and echoes of loss and lost. Time moved slowly, a begrudging trudge. Every new day brought sameness – hunt, eat, sleep, wake…die.



and the legend begins….


artwork by  jeremiah morelli

Title: “in the woods”



Crepe Encounters of the Third Time

My first encounter with crepes was when I was quite young. My mom, like every good housewife back in the 1960’s, tried everything the magazines touted as the latest and greatest.

In the late 1960’s, the rage among the sophisticated was Crepe Suzette. Determined to be sophisticated too, Mom set out to make crepes. And crepes she made. I remember it took her hours and you could hear her constantly griping throughout the process.

Ah, but when served, those strawberry crepes were beautiful and tasted fabulous. Afterwards, mom vowed she’d never make them again…and she never did.

In the 1970’s, the Magic Pan came to Cumberland Mall. Crepes were their specialty. Mom, either yearning for crepes again or still desiring to be among the sophisticated, took me there for a mother/daughter lunch.

Memories of this encounter conjure up black and white décor with way too much wrought iron, a plate with three soggy cannoli looking pastries filled with really gross meat, and the bearded waitress that served us.

I remember I tried really hard not to notice her beard, but for a young girl, all that dark facial hair looked scary. And, being a brunette, I wondered if one day I, too, would have a beard like that.

My third encounter with crepes came the other day when John and I decided to venture down to Crepe Revolution in the West Village Place. There was no wrought iron or bearded waitress; instead, the décor was urban modern – kind of 1960’s retro – modular patterns, bright colors, concrete flooring, and exposed ducting.

The atmosphere at lunch…casual – ordering at the counter with a number brought to the table. The crepes were made on the spot and they had no problem catering to John’s dietary sensitivity and restrictiveness. They offer gluten-free as well as dairy-free crepes, sandwiches, soups, salads, dessert, and a full bar.

Owners Neel Sengupta and Chef Robert Morneweck founded Crepe Revolution about 2 ½ years ago. According to Neel, they chose crepes because of the versatility and ease of blending with all types of culinary cuisine styles.

It’s apparent from talking with Neel that these owners want dining to be more than just dinner; they want it to be a food experience with community involvement and relationship building. On Sunday evenings they host “Sunday Supper” a time to kick back and enjoy the last of the weekend.

One night a month, a themed wine and/or beer paired dinner is featured. Each dinner includes four dishes; each dish is paired with a wine or beer specific to that month’s theme. They vary the theme from month to month – March was wines of Spain; April…Americana (a beer and wine pairing collaborating with Hop City of West Atlanta).

Of my third encounter I will say that the crepes were enjoyable, the home style potatoes – excellent, and the experience worth the trip. I can’t say I will remember this crepe encounter as vividly as I remember the other two…but then, that might be a good thing.



Unfortunately, Crepe Revolution in the West Village didn’t make the cut. They closed their doors sometime in 2013, I believe. Now Table 33 is in this location. I suppose crepes come and go in restaurant fashion. One year they’re in…the next year, or so, they’re out. It is unfortunate, but then, it leaves open the possibility of a fourth encounter. And I like that!
More Smyrna restaurant history:
Grits and Gravy