Posts from @deeanndmathews

21 October 2026, Freewriters Community Daily Writing Prompt Day 3263: bronze statue

deeanndmathews — Thu, 22 Oct 2026 19:03:27 GMT

On a particular day, Capt. R.E. Ludlow was sorting certain documents about his father for his nephew Edwin III and niece Garlene, and, as always when he did such things, he left his study open in case his father's great-grandchildren and their little cousin adopted with them were curious about what he was doing and who Edwin Ludlow Sr. had been in the memory of his baby son. “Baby Bob” Ludlow was the child of his father's relative old age, and so he had a lot of material his mother had collected toward the end of Edwin Sr.'s celebrated but also hated career.

“Envy is real,” Edwin Sr. had been known to say, “and it is a blessing to have a reason for someone to envy you instead of it just being somebody's pure mental folly.”

Ouch. Ludlows were blunt. That had run down faithfully into Edwin Sr.'s baby son Capt. Ludlow and into most of his great-grandchildren through the captain – especially five-year-old Lil' Robert, eight-year-old Edwina, nine-year-old George, and occasionally – though glided with all the elegance of her great-grandmother Helen Ludlow, wife of Edwin Sr. – eleven-year-old Eleanor Ludlow.

Six-year-old Grayson Ludlow, however, took after the other side of his great-grandfather, who rarely did interviews over most of his career: Grayson was quiet, but his mind and hands were working all the time. He especially seemed to pop up when Capt. Ludlow was looking at the things that pertained to the captain's father, and because he was quiet, he also tended to be underfoot if Capt. Ludlow did not watch out for him. The captain just left copies of interesting things his father had said about different projects out in strategic places so that Grayson would not get all up under him just reading something before the captain realized he was there.

Grayson also was following the path of his big brother ten-year-old Andrew, who kept notebooks handy to copy down anything he thought was interesting or important. Grayson was not quite as organized yet about writing, but he made careful blueprints of anything he was serious about building in Legos or clay with white crayon on blue construction paper, and he had begun writing down things he thought were important with blue crayon on white paper.

“He is daily moving, even in color usage, toward my father,” Capt. Ludlow said.

So, Capt. Ludlow heard the rustle of paper and looked over to see Grayson, on this particular day, copying something Edwin Ludlow Sr. had said.

“Found something good, Grayson?” the captain purred.

“Yeah, this is real good here,” Grayson said, and brought the article over to his grandfather. “It's a lot to copy, but, I'm taking the main part about why not to have a statue put up.”

Capt. Ludlow looked, smiled, and then read the quote from his father aloud: “I desire that Lofton County spare me a bronze stature in my memory. Keep my buildings up, and in good order, and that is more expensive, and enough. I have given the local birds enough to sit on, but at least the people can sit in what I have built, like God has given birds the trees to sit on and in. A bronze statue is for a vain man who does not know any better than the birds what trees and buildings are for.”

“That last part, Papa,” Grayson said. “That's real good because I never see anything happening on all these statues in Lofton County but birds hanging out and doing what birds do, while buildings are helping people and trees are helping birds.”

“And, y'all are both right,” Capt. Ludlow said. “Copy it well, grandson, and keep this in mind: all things made just to show off end up being for the birds.”

“I'm gonna add that on, too … I'll just put Papa Edwin up here, and you right underneath,” Grayson said, and Capt. Ludlow watched with deep affection as Grayson carefully copied what he wanted, and then put what he had copied away. Capt. Ludlow made a photocopy of the article, and circled the quote from his father in blue crayon, and gave that to Grayson too.

“It's called primary sourcing,” he said gently, “so when you see what you have copied, you know where it came from and can show your siblings and someday your children.”

“Oh, this is great – I'm just going to need more folders – thanks, Papa,” Grayson said, and went to put the article with his copying.

20 October 2026, Freewriters Community Daily Writing Prompt Day 3262: those jeans are cheap!

deeanndmathews — Wed, 21 Oct 2026 21:36:15 GMT

“Listen, friends don't let best friend's parents do dumb things in fashion and since you are Gracie and Velma's mom and Milton is OK too when not getting bad ideas from my brother George, I have to save you – yes, those jeans are cheap but you get what you pay for and those jeans' imitation low thread count weak seam behinds are the biggest blue red flags I have seen this week! I can't let you be caught up in a crime of this size against fashion and common sense, Mama Melissa!”

Whereupon eight-year-old Edwina Ludlow literally dragged Mrs. Melissa Trent away from a video ad showing eight jeans for $24.

“You know, you could have just clicked skip, ” eleven-year-old Velma Trent said as she went to help her mother out.

“Sometimes you gotta FLEE FROM TEMPTATION – the Bible says it!” Edwina said as she continued pulling Mrs. Trent onto the front porch. “Look, Mama Melissa, the heavens declare the glory of God – God has everything we need! There's straight-leg, wide-leg, boot-cut, low-rider, high-top – all kinds of jeans out here. There's no need to get caught up on having eight pairs of nonsense that costs less than eight bottles of the Ludlow Bubbly – and as bubbly as our soda is, why would you want jeans like that?”

Sgt. Vincent Trent had come to his wife's aid from the yard, but had to turn around and walk back for a minute because he and Mrs. Trent couldn't even look at each other without busting out laughing.

“Actually,” Mrs. Trent said, “I was noticing the color … denim blue is kind of well-known but they were doing a kind of off-blue thing I've never seen before.”

“That means they didn't get enough dye to even make that whole batch and so probably melted some off-brand blue crayon off in there,” Edwina said.

By this time, Mrs. Thalia Ludlow had made it over to collect her granddaughter but also couldn't meet Mrs. Trent's eyes and so had to walk away...

“Horrors!” Mrs. Trent said to Edwina. “They're out there doing THAT?”

“You just can never tell,” Edwina said, “but, see, I live by the words of my honorary great-grandma, Mrs. Selene Slocum-Lofton: 'Cheap things are cheap for a reason: if the makers don't want it, you don't want it either!'”

The way Edwina arched her eyebrows and did that Old Virginian gentlewoman accent … Col. H.F. Lee didn't even know what the conversation was, but that imitation of his maternal grandmother took him out, laughing uncontrollably!

“Capt. R.E. Ludlow, paging Capt. Ludlow – come get your grandbaby girl twin Edwina before she slays the neighborhood!” Mrs. Gladys Jubilee Trent said as she and eight-year-old Gracie Trent her granddaughter walked up on the Ludlow porch. “Got folks falling off their porches doing ballet they never learned across their yards, trying not to laugh and fall at the same time!”

“Yeah, my best friend is kind of wilding out right now, and I forgot to pray over some water this morning,” Gracie said.

“What now – EDWINA!” said Capt. Ludlow as he left his porch with a smile and a shake of the head.

19 October 2026, Freewriters Community Daily Writing Prompt Day 3261: galley

deeanndmathews — Tue, 20 Oct 2026 22:07:57 GMT

Sometimes, eleven-year-old Eleanor Ludlow got reminders of who her people were … a few of them were some dangerous individuals though in a special way harmless to her.

“I can confirm that the story is true, Sgt. Barnes,” Eleanor's cousin and one-time caretaker Col. H.F. Lee was saying as he was walking across his lawn one fine morning. “Yes, I as an army colonel was ship's cook on a Navy destroyer for a month – yes, down there with the rest of the galley slaves – but I can't tell you any more than that. No, it's not classified – whole different situation. I mean I can't tell you before being on my way to kill you. Yeah, that level.”

To Eleanor, Henry Fitzhugh Lee was one of the kindest, most peaceful men she had ever met, and she had lived with him and his wife Maggie while her grandparents and adoptive parents Capt. R.E. and Mrs. Thalia Ludlow were away. The colonel's temperament was calm and warm toward children, and like Eleanor's eight-year-old sister Edwina said, “I just need a him my age and size – well, that's basically our brother Andrew, but I just need one not my brother and I am set for life!”

Eleanor, however, was just enough older to understand why her cousin, her grandfather, and their neighbor, Sgt. Vincent Trent, all presented as calm men who sat around and encouraged each other at times in de-escalation strategies in a world made crazy by Covid-19.

“Roll up on the wrong veteran, on the wrong day, and all your problems can be over – civilians don't understand so we must be responsible,” Sgt. Trent said.

Maj. Ironwood Hamilton, another of Eleanor's cousins and serving as police captain in Tinyville, VA, had started a “Blessed Are the Peacemakers” Bible study, a thing about which Eleanor's grandfather chuckled.

“Yeah, but Ironwood is the most peaceful man to ever serve in Special Forces,” he said to Col. Lee. “The war was waiting for him at home, however – how these corrupt police got together and had him at 50 percent to his kill list in a single day I will never understand.”

“Well, but it was Ironwood,” Col. Lee said. “He could have made it 200 percent, but one-third I took out non-lethally at his request, one-third gave up, and the one-third who wouldn't were killed in the crossfire we and the Deacons of Defense 2.0 set up for them.”

“See, if I were police captain in this town – or even you – fools would not have rolled up in the first place,” Capt. Ludlow said.

“Behold the efficiency of the element of surprise,” Col. Lee said, and Capt. Ludlow rolled laughing.

Eleanor knew who her people were, and that they all loved her, and...

“And we gotta live right and not get into situations these people need to get us out of,” she said to cousins-adopted-as-siblings ten-year-old Andrew and ten-year-old Glendella Ludlow.

“Yep,” Andrew and Glendella said.

17 October 2026, Freewriters Community Daily Writing Prompt Day 3259: on the other side of the fence

deeanndmathews — Mon, 19 Oct 2026 00:05:18 GMT

“OK, I have looked into this, and I have determined that the grass is only greener on the other side of the fence if they water and we don't.”

Ten-year-old Andrew Ludlow had his notebook out and notes about Google Maps research he had done, and 16-year-old Tom Stepforth his older friend was listening intently.

“Generally speaking, leaving rain out of the picture, people who actually take care of their lawns and gardens get better results,” Andrew said. “So, what I'm saying, Tom, is, you need to investigate that guy in your story in the Lofton County Free Voice some more, because if a man is a politician looking for a greener lawn and he doesn't know how to water his own lawn at his big age, he probably can't be trusted.”

“Ain't it the truth,” said eight-year-old Gracie Trent, Tom's cousin. “Even I know how to hook up the water hose, and once prayed over the hookup and stopped a whole Edwina situation in Andrew's house with God's help and holy water. If you don't know how to pray, that's one thing. Freedom to miss out on having God help you exists. But if you have that kind of job, but you don't know how to hookup a water hose, maybe you should go back to elementary school.”

“Well, they're not wrong, Tom,” news editor Nathan Turner said on the other end of the phone when the children had gone, over the background of editor-in-chief James Varick IV laughing heartily.

“I just thought it was nice to know we are picking up my generation of readers,” Tom said. “Andrew and his grandfather really do read the Free Voice. I guess we gotta keep investigating, but we knew that, because sometimes the grass is greener because of all the money folks steal and drop on it.”

“Hey – wait a minute!” Andrew's seven-year-old sister Amanda said as she came running. “The grass can be greener because of green marker – that's how I do mine!”

There was the sound of someone large falling out of a chair on the other side of Tom's phone.

“Yeah, go look for green markers while I get my uncle off the floor, Tom,” Mr. Turner said with a chuckle.

18 October 2026, Freewriters Community Daily Writing Prompt Day 3260: not a kangaroo

deeanndmathews — Sun, 18 Oct 2026 03:36:00 GMT

“So, as we grow up, we learn to deal with things that are sometimes disappointing, but we mature and grow because we are not God and so we have to expect some things to not work out.”

Mrs. Thalia Ludlow heard seven-year-old Amanda Ludlow saying this to ten-year-old Glendella Ludlow on a Sunday afternoon and just started laughing gently in advance, which got Capt. R.E. Ludlow's attention so he could be put into full retreat, laughing....

“So, today Glendella, I learned after our Sunday School lesson that although I did pray first before putting on my apron, and putting my arms up the right way and jumping around and also saying 'Boing-boing,' I am still not a kangaroo. It just isn't God's will for my life.”

Glendella considered this.

“Well,” she said, “the nice thing is, kangaroos can definitely jump rope, but not hula hoop. Hula hooping is definitely part of God's will for our lives.”

“Yeah, and I'm good with that,” Amanda said. “God said to be content, and, I am.”

Five minutes later …

“But their theology is really good for their ages,” Mrs. Ludlow said to her husband rolling laughing in their bed, his head in three pillows to keep his basso profondo from blowing down the neighborhood.

16 October 2026, Freewriters Community Daily Writing Prompt Day 3258: going through the archway

deeanndmathews — Sat, 17 Oct 2026 06:43:09 GMT

“OK, so did going through the Arc of Triumph in Paris make you more triumphant, Dad? Because if it did, we need to get up on that.”

Nine-year-old Milton Trent, having nothing to do while waiting for best friend nine-year-old George Ludlow to be de-skunked, happened to notice his father, Sgt. Vincent Trent, looking through some photos of his time in military service.

Sgt. Trent laughed.

“Going through the archway definitely did not,” he said. “I did the things I was expected to do in the great city of Paris, but I was miserable, and was taking the pictures for someone else who would love them. Now, though, I do feel kind of triumphant.”

“So, what happened?” Milton said.

“This was my first major deployment after marrying your mother, and I was homesick and lovesick,” Sgt. Trent said. “I took the pictures so that I could send something home every day and say, 'Still wish I was there.'”

“Awwwwwwwww!” Milton's elder sister eleven-year-old Velma said.

“Ain't it the truth,” Milton's younger sister eight-year-old Gracie said.

“Yeah, there is no place like home, and home is where the heart is,” Sgt. Trent said as he reached his arms out for his children. “Your mother and I had no idea how much we would have to go through to be together and back together, but now, I look back on the foundation of love we built then while separated from each other, and YEAH, God gave our family the victory!”

“Yeah!” Velma, Milton, and Gracie said as they snuggled in their father's embrace.

“Yeah!” Mrs. Melissa Trent said, and joined the embrace.

“OK, but do we get to go to Paris and drive under the Arc of Triumph and celebrate?” Milton said from somewhere in the middle.

“Put it down for after Covid!” Sgt. Trent said.

“Yeah!” Velma, Milton, and Gracie said.

15 October 2026, Freewriters Community Daily Writing Prompt Day 3257: that skunk has a gun!

deeanndmathews — Fri, 16 Oct 2026 05:24:54 GMT

“I'm telling you – that skunk has a gun! There's no other way to explain it!”

“Yeah, the long-range action does seem to suggest a Jubilee-of-the-mountain connection.”

Nine-year-old George Ludlow was telling the story of how he had gotten into the position of being in a No. 1o tub outdoors with both his grandparents piling very ripe tomatoes in with him, telling the story to nine-year-old Milton Trent, his best friend. Milton's grandmother was a Jubilee-of-the-mountain, and that family was known for long shooting.

“I'm telling you, Milton, your grandma's family must have raised this skunk because I thought I had been shot – I mean it was a skunk drive-by – it was just going rapid fire and there was nowhere to run and hide. And the accuracy!”

“All right, George, go on and get busy rolling around in there,” Mrs. Thalia Ludlow said. :

“What a blessing Salton's Farm has a bumper crop of tomatoes this yeat!” Capt. R.E. Ludlow said as he went back to the car for another crate.

“So, are we making George into tomato sauce?” said seven-year-old Amanda Ludlow, George's sister.

“No,” said ten-year-old Andrew Ludlow, George's brother. “We re making tomato sauce that no one is going to want to eat except the worms in the nearest compost bin.”

“Well,” Amanda said, “worms need to get some good food sometimes, too.”

14 October 2026, Freewriters Community Daily Writing Prompt Day 3256: frame it

deeanndmathews — Thu, 15 Oct 2026 00:54:51 GMT

“OK... we need to frame it, though … and it needs glitter!”

“Edwina … I'm still not giving you the key to the glitter cabinet.”

“Oh, come on, Papa!”

Capt. R.E. Ludlow, in contemplating the beautiful painting given his family by Velma Trent of them represented as trees, smiled gently at his granddaughter's frustration.

“I don't fault you for trying every way possible, Edwina,” he purred. “Surely you are my grandchild, and my beloved daughter by adoption. You would wear down anyone else, so, of course, you are mine.”

“Yeah, I sure would!” Edwina said. “I'm not even trying to hide that – but I still wouldn't want to be anyone else's granddaughter and daughter – I LIKE A CHALLENGE!”

Capt. Ludlow cracked up laughing.

“Well, I suppose we do get a lot of fun out of each other!” he said, and picked her up and kissed her before she went running away laughing.

Shortly thereafter, eleven-year-old Velma presented Edwina a quick crayon drawing called “The Almond Tree and the Sweet South Wind” in four panes … the wind was moving strongly through the white-blossomed tree, but it looked for all the world like the immense tree was just getting tickled...

“Yep, that's definitely me and Papa!” Edwina said and burst out laughing as she saw that the wind had pink and purple sparkles in it.

“Well,” Velma said as she gave her friend a hug, “I knew you needed some glitter, somewhere.”

12 October 2026, Freewriters Community Daily Writing Prompt Day 3254: underneath the almond tree

deeanndmathews — Tue, 13 Oct 2026 00:05:06 GMT

“Here y'all go – no, never mind,” eleven-year-old Velma Trent said as she re-covered the canvas she was working on. “I don't know how I missed this – give me until tomorrow.”

“OK,” six-year-old Grayson Ludlow said. “Your tree picture of us Ludlows will be a day better, then.”

Velma was well on our way to being one of the best-known artists in Lofton County, VA because of her way of relating nature to people and their situations. Her neighbors the Ludlows and Lees had almost as many portraits in their homes in honored places as the Trents and Stepforths her family did.

Grayson Ludlow was on his way to fill the 21st century room his great-grandfather and great uncle, Edwin Ludlow and Edwin Ludlow Jr. had held in architecture and engineering in the 20th century in Lofton County. So: Grayson and Velma already related as who they would be, recognizing the creative genius in each other.

“So I saw a picture of an almond tree in bloom,” she had said to Grayson the week before, “and I thought of your grandfather's white hair. I would have done Pop-Pop, but my grandfather refuses to leave the iron gray behind, so I gotta do him in silver afternoons where the clouds are thick right where the sun comes through and smiles.”

“Can I see the picture?” Grayson said, and Velma went and got it. “Oh yeah, because Papa has so much hair, mustache, and beard.”

“Male pattern baldness does not seem to know the Lees or Ludlows just like it doesn't know Pop-Pop,” Velma said. “You and your brothers have a ton of hair, too.”

“Yeah, but unless you are sick, men don't start going bald until at least 20,” Grayson said.

“At least,” Velma said. “But see, there are winter trees for those kinds of pictures, too.”

So Velma set to work, and then set to work another day – “Your grandmother's hair looks more like red-leaved plum tree leaves with almond white blooms woven in than does like cherry blossoms – I gotta darken up some some things.”

The next day, Grayson brought the portrait home, and his grandparents instantly recognized themselves and the eight little Ludlows … the almond and the plum tree had grown into each other, but the almond was taller, so underneath the almond tree, there the plum and eight little seedlings were all thriving in the sunshine also blessing the almond tree.

“Wow,” Mrs. Thalia Ludlow said. “Velma is truly blessed of God, because that is us Ludlows, indeed.”

Capt. R.E. Ludlow's reaction was quieter, but it was just as deep; he touched his white hair, and then looked again, and then a tear fell from his eyes.

11 October 2026, Freewriters Community Daily Writing Prompt Day 3253: not another loan

deeanndmathews — Mon, 12 Oct 2026 04:24:33 GMT

“No, man, not another loan – I need you to come do some work with Team No Sleep and get some non-debt cash because the borrower is servant to the lender and you already have too many corporate masters and it is nowhere near 1865 and the Union Army is not coming to save you.”

21-year-old Melvin Trent was talking to a cousin of his and ten-year-old Andrew Ludlow was listening with wide eyes, understanding something he had no idea was possible.

“See, man, what happens is, slavery is technicaly illegal but the Bible is still right – they don't come with chains but they bring credit card applications to freshmen in college and also encourage young men like us to have our way with women and put ourselves in the way of child support payments. Before you know it, you will be working for a company to get money to give money to other companies and other households and be building nothing for yourself – that's how it's done, cousin. Time to escape!”

Andrew went and got his grandfather's Bible and checked it out – “Oh, my, it really does say this in the Proverbs!”

“Says what?” ten-year-old Glendella Ludlow, his cousin adopted by the Ludlow grandparents as sister to him.

“So, basically, people who take loans out become servants to whoever they owe,” Andrew said. “Folks are signing up for as close to slavery as we can get and skin color has nothing to do with it!”

“Well, yeah, that's been going on,” Glendella said. “So, when I was over there with Grumps and Bad Grandma, I found out one of their friends runs a local bank, and the way he used to talk about the people who took out loans is like the movies about slavery and how folks used to talk about the ancestors of our friends. The name calling is a bit different, but, they only see you as profit once you owe them money and they start getting that interest.”

“This is why Bruh Melvin is trying to get his cousin out of this situation,” Andrew said.

“Yep,” Glendella said. “See, once you know, you can't un-know it.”