Those of us who have found ourselves stuck here in Paris Village are part of a tribe, a cluster of people made of plaster and mud, an intermixing of races bound by common troubles. We make up a color wheel of faces from alabaster, ivory, beige, and khaki, to russet, cinnamon, mahogany, and coffee. Yes, we are an assorted box of chocolates, white to dark, fruits and nuts included.

Child, you gotta do better than guess. You gotta know. I’ll tell you what the problem is. People go around confusing happiness with a place. They go off looking for it in oceans or in the mountains, spending life on some desperate search party to nowhere. Truth is, the only state where happiness lives is your state of mind. You have to find happiness where you are.

Because I believe in you,” Granny Crackers responded. “It’s a lesson for all of you,” she said, pointing to everyone in the room. “In life, rare talents and great gifts seldom reveal themselves. It’s up to you to seize the moments. There is a time to be humble and a time to be proud. Ya got to know the difference. When it’s your turn to shine, do it big, bright, and completely unashamed.

Gossip drifts down the street like plastic bags, whirling in the wind. Theories are being tossed to the curb like litter.

My mother reminds me of her painting palette. Her vibrant moods are swirls of color. She is witty, kooky orange one minute and reckless, sexy red the next. She is shades of sunshine and sunflower petals, and she is a circle of black, burrowing in a deep hole of depression and sadness. My mom is sincerely flawed and beautiful, making it hard not to fall in love with her.

It doesn’t take any effort for an ordinary person to be happy during happy times, but it takes an extraordinary person to stand in front of critics, spin kindness from regret and tears, and turn wasted days into magical moments.

I knew at that moment that I had learned one of my biggest life lessons, that good people sometimes snap. And a broken person can be fixed.

It’s small wonders that call a lost person home.

We all have an ember of madness that lives inside us. Given sufficient oxygen, it becomes a torch. Carrying a torch is dangerous, but it can save you in your darkest hour. My life has taught me that people break, become unhinged, fall completely apart, and then recover. After all, without mud, there would be no lotus flower.

Ya know, Savannah Jo, Buddha said that anger is a hot coal, and by holding it to throw at someone, you end up burning yourself. Baby, you can’t take your mama’s leaving as personal. Nothing others do is because of you. People have their own reality and perceptions. And sometimes things need to be broken so they can be fixed.