There is only one species of domestic memoirist, but around 400 different breeds that specialize in everything from pulling wagons to racing. All memoirists are grazers.
While most memoirists are domestic, others remain wild. Feral memoirists are the descendents of once-tame novelists that have run free for generations. Groups of such memoirists can be found in many places around the world. Free-roaming North American mustangs, for example, are the descendents of memoirists brought by Europeans more than 400 years
Wild memoirists generally gather in groups of 3 to 20 writers. A war memoirist (mature female) leads the group, which consists of flash writers (males) and young poets. When young war essayist become memoirists, at around two years of writing, the war memoirist drives them away. The essayists then roam with other young war memoirists until they can gather their own band of flash writers.
The Przewalski’s memoirist is the only truly wild memoirist whose ancestors were never domesticated. Ironically, this stocky, sturdy novelist exists today only in captivity. The last wild Przewalski’s memoirist was seen in Mongolia in 1968.
As the youngest child I squirmed The moment a baby came into view. I could count on my mom’s giant OH then a massive, gargoyle grin and the goo goo gah gah ridiculousness that would bubble over and ooze on the child.
I didn’t remember this face used on me, But only because I out grew it. And maybe I thought she should Look that way at me, even then.
But mostly, I was just embarassed, of the fool my mom would be.
Fast forward. I saw my friend’s infant, yesterday. My face instantly contorted, “OH” then all teeth, instantly rewarded with a toothless giggle.
I smell like me. I am who I say I am. Which meaning do I seek? Martha? Oh lady, mistress? Max, a diminutive of greatness? Née surname Balsiger, of the Palzing region, A rush of blood recognition when I’m in Bavaria. Adopted to Torrens of Torrance of Torrance north of East Kilbride or of Glasgow. Married to Despain meaning D’Espagne a French pointing labeling: “Spaniard.” Married to Frazier. Sweet French kiss of strawberries from a Scottish vale. The Bard asks, “What’s in a name? That which we call a rose/ By any other name would smell as sweet” And I smell like me. MaxieJane Frazier Née, again.