Daily Cascade (Book)

a day ago
In response to "In Flatwoods"

Good one, Joy!

iKïyå§ama De-Muses

a day ago
In response to "In Flatwoods"

I still say it's an owl.
I should know. I was there and saw it all happen.

2 Like

Joy-Happy 26th WdC!

Sep 11, 2026 at 3:28pm
In response to " Remembering 9/11"

Thank you, Witchy Woman

, I definitely cannot forget that day...ever!

Sep 11, 2026 at 2:55pm
In response to " Remembering 9/11"

I agree it is impossible to forget that horrific day. Like many of us, I never dreamed anything would happen on our soil, that we were impenetrable and that day sowed me what a naive view I held of our country and world.

That's a beautiful tribute, Joy. I can't believe how many names are gone from WDC too.

Joy-Happy 26th WdC!

Sep 10, 2026 at 5:03pm
In response to "Last Week"

, thanks for the encouragement. However, I'm done with the Writing Season, besides any November is busy for me. In my own time, though, if I feel like it, I'll continue the story.

Sep 10, 2026 at 3:35pm
In response to "Last Week"

If you ended up loving it, then you should definitely consider it for November!

Sep 9, 2026 at 1:06pm
In response to "Old Things and Time"

I'm like you with not keeping things that have gone past their prime... tattered, faded beyond recognition or so many chips and cracks. Things that are old and well cared for I do keep mostly because of the memories involved.

I'm sitting beside my Halloween village, Vic and I began collecting that together 26 years ago. I love setting it up but I do wonder where it's going to live once I'm gone. Amanda is not a fan of Halloween nor is Lyv right now. Mikhayla loves Halloween like me but she has a small house and a new baby on the way. It takes up a lot of space and it's to fragile for a smaller child's world. So I know the memories I have of it are going to end with me. When it becomes to difficult for me to set up or if one of has passed the collection will not expand. And sadly, we will sell it to someone who will appreciate it's beauty. The wallhangings Lyv wants one and Mikhayla wants the other. I don't know about all the other things. Guess, I'll have to outlive their life expectancy.

Lazy Writer est 4/24/2008

Sep 8, 2026 at 1:31pm
In response to "My Grandmother's Baking"

That sounds wonderful!

iKïyå§ama De-Muses

Sep 6, 2026 at 4:08am
In response to "That Something in Loch Ness"

...can eels really grow to be that ginormous?
Honestly, the more I stare at the image, the more I think it's just someone with a really flexible arm pulling a fast one.

Sep 5, 2026 at 1:12pm
In response to "That Something in Loch Ness"

I like the eel analogy because if they have a good food source they will grow to unexpected sizes.

September 13, 2026 at 12:21pm

#1124171

About Writing Advice

Prompt: Tell that story!
“Tell the story that's been growing in your heart, the characters you can't keep out of your head, the tale that speaks to you, that pops into your head during your daily commute, that wakes you up in the morning.”
Jennifer Weiner
What do you think of this quote about telling a story that urges to be told? Does Jennifer Weiner's writing advice work for you. always, sometime, or never?

========

Frankly speaking, I don't think I ever wrote a story that urged to be told. If I had, I would probably think I was going mad.

On the other hand, possibly now in old age, some memories and events of the olden days keep popping up in my head, but not as writing. Some of those memories I like to remember, others bug me to no end.

I think, however, some part of me still sneaks into my writing, with or without my consent. Sometimes, I catch it right after the fact, and at other times, I see the connection when I re-read the item or after someone nice points out a correction or two.

As to Jennifer Weiner's idea, however, what pops into my head during my daily life and wakes me up in the morning is probably a distant memory my mind decided to bring forward or a nighttime dream, which I still recall in the morning, and neither of those pester me to write them as they are. It is possible, though, they may show up in a character's actions or events in a story, but I don't do that knowingly.

Also, who knows which writing advice is useful or if it is useful at all? To begin with, good writing advice doesn't obsess over rules and it recognizes that a writer is a human being and human beings differ greatly among themselves as well as the writers and their writing ways, habits, and styles. In other words, in writing, one size doesn't fit all and there's never a single best way to write anything.

In addition, it is almost impossible to recognize the kind of advice we writers should listen to. So, even if we search for advice, it is up to us, our choice, our story at hand, and our understanding of the craft.

I do think, though, some good advice is out there, but possibly not this one of Jennifer Weiner's. This one, on the contrary, can discourage writers by making them think, "Why do I not get such an urge to tell my stories?"

I hope none of us writers are really listening to any convoluted advice based on some narrow point of view.

September 12, 2026 at 1:07pm

#1124066

In Flatwoods

Prompt:
Investigating the possible crash of a UFO, residents of Flatwoods, West Virginia, encounter a creature they describe as 10 feet tall, with glowing eyes and claw-like hands. Skeptics dismiss the “monster” as likely an owl. Here's your chance to share your take on what happened in Flatwoods. Have fun!

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In Flatwoods

The three people of Flatwoods had agreed on one thing: whatever they had seen that night, they would never, ever go looking for it again. Unfortunately, none of them had agreed on what they had seen.

“It was ten feet tall,” Tommy insisted.

“It was more like twelve,” said Eddie.

“You were both screaming too loudly to measure it,” Sally replied.

---

That night, they were standing at the bottom of the dark hill, staring upward. The woods were unusually quiet. No crickets chirped. No branches rustled.

Then, from somewhere above them, came a strange metallic hiss.

Sally swallowed her breath. “Did you hear that?”

“No,” Tommy whispered.

Eddie nodded rapidly. “I heard it.”

Then, a pale greenish light suddenly appeared between the trees and all three of them froze.

Slowly, something enormous emerged from the darkness. It was nearly ten feet tall. Its body was dark and strangely shaped, with claw-like hands hanging at its sides. Two glowing eyes stared down at them.

At first, nobody spoke. Then Tommy whispered, “Maybe it's friendly.”

The creature took one long, silent step toward them.

“Maybe not,” Tommy corrected.

But they ran. They tore through the fields, tripping over rocks and grabbing branches for balance. Eddie lost one shoe. Sally lost her flashlight. Tommy lost something far more important.

“What did you lose?” Sally shouted at Tommy. Tommy whispered trying to catch his breath, “My dignity! For being so scared.”

“Keep running!” Eddie yelled.

Behind them came another hiss. They ran faster.

When they finally reached the safety of the road, the three collapsed beside a fence, gasping for breath. For several seconds, there was complete silence.

Then Eddie looked down. “I lost my shoe.”

Tommy stared at him. “You're worried about your shoe?”

“It was my good shoe.”

Sally shook her head. “A ten-foot monster with glowing eyes is chasing us, and you're worried about a shoe?”

Eddie shrugged. “It was a really good shoe.”

They started laughing. Not because anything was funny, but because if one is terrified, his brain apparently has nowhere else to go. But then, the laughter stopped.

The laughter stopped because, from a distance came the sound of something moving through the trees.

Crack.. Crack...Crack...

The three stared at one another, then at the huge shadow at the top of them, its two glowing eyes looking down at them.

Tommy whispered, “Run.”

No argument there! They ran all the way home.

Years later, people would ask the three witnesses what they had seen that night. Yet, each told the story differently.

Tommy swore the creature had been ten feet tall. Eddie insisted it had been twelve. Sally said they were both terrible at estimating height. But all three agreed on one detail.

The creature had glowing eyes and claw-like hands. And it had followed them.

At least, that was what they thought.

Yet, the next morning when they walked on the field they had seen the monster last, they found something lying in the grass: Eddie's missing shoe. There were three long claw marks across it.

Eddie picked it up carefully. He looked at the others. “Do you think it was trying to eat my shoe?”

Sally stared at the enormous scratches. “No.”

Tommy frowned. “Then why did it take it?”

Nobody answered.

Because from somewhere deep in the woods came a faint metallic hiss. Eddie immediately dropped the shoe.

“That's it,” he said. “I'm buying sandals.”

Sandals or not, today in Flatwoods, a Flatwoods monster chair, on the lawn by the Town Hall, welcomes visitors.

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September 11, 2026 at 1:57pm

#1123968

Remembering 9/11

Prompt:
It's been 25 years since 9/11 a lot has happened, think about one thing in the past 25 years that has scared you as much as that day did. Tell us how you handled what scared you. It doesn't have to monumental event but something that stuck with you.

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The morning and the day of 11 September 2001 certainly was one of the most, if not the worst, terrible day of my life. Before that day, we all felt we were safe from everything, and any ill that came to us as a country happened from inside as personal vendettas. Yet, 9/11 changed all that.

That morning, the terrorist group of Al Qaeda hijacked four planes and crashed two of them into World Trade Center's twin towers. The third plane crashed into the Pentagon and the fourth, Flight 93 tried to crash into someplace, possibly the White House, but the passengers in it seeing what was happening elsewhere on the plane's TV, fought back, and the plane crashed into an open field in Western PA. To this day, I admire those passengers, their courage, their love of our country, and their love of humanity. They certainly didn't die in vain.

That morning was like any other morning for my husband and I, while we were dawdling at the breakfast table as he watched CNBC. The lady speaker suddenly said, "Something's happening in New York City" as she asked the cameraman to direct the cameras toward the window. And there, on the screen, was a plane half hanging from the side of one of the twin towers.

Was that an accident or what? Those in the studio didn't know what to think. The weather was very good that day, and the sky was bright without any clouds in sight. Then, the second plane hit.

After a little while both towers started crumbling with the firefighters who were sent after the first crash in them. We both worried about the firefighters. Then, it was decided that this had to be an act of war or something like it. Right then, I screamed my older son's name.

He was working downtown in an office in NYC very close to the twin towers. He would have been at work at that time.

My husband was just as worried, but being much more calmer and clear-minded than I am, he said, "Let's not jump to conclusions. We don't know what happened to our son, yet."

Luckily, sometime close to 11 o'clock, our son called us. Then and still today, he lives on Long Island, and at that time, to go to work in the city, he was taking the train in the morning. Was that a divine intervention or just luck, I can't tell, but he missed the first train. So he took the next train half an hour later. When he got out of the train, he heard what had happened, but the police was everywhere and they wouldn't let anyone go south toward downtown. He couldn't go back home, either, because all the trains were halted. In fact, there was no way for him to go anywhere. So he started to walk with many groups of people toward a northerly direction.

Then, throughout the day, he kept informing us where he was. He saw the Pentagon attack and flight 93 on TV, after the fact, in an uptown tea house where he had stopped for lunch. He walked around NY then, mostly uptown, until about 4 pm when he heard that the trains were operating again. By that time, the charge on his phone was gone and we only heard from him later, after he had reached home.

This was a terrible day for us on a personal level. My son had a serious problem after that. He couldn't work at any one job for long. Every few months, he kept quitting his jobs, although he was quite well educated and those who hired him couldn't figure out what had happened. Worse yet, he refused any psychiatric help, even from his own father. He just refused to talk about any of that ever again.

As for me, at the time, WdC was in its babyhood, and I had been a member since June, just about three months. Out of my grief and also anger, I put together an item as if meaning to comfort us here in WdC (Stories.com then), but in hindsight, I was trying to comfort mostly myself.

A Monument from Feelings 9-11-2001 [E]

A small monument of feelings of site members right after the attack on USA on Sept.11

by Joy-Happy 26th WdC!

Plus, several other WdC (Stories.com) members wrote into this item about what they felt.

By now, most of those members have left, but I'm still keeping that item because forgetting 9/11, 2001, is impossible.

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September 10, 2026 at 1:37pm

#1123866

Last Week

Prompt:
What achievements did you accomplish last week and this week?

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Wasn't that a fun week! My biggest accomplishment is that I lived through it. The games and what not the WdC friends cooked up added many feathers on our hats.

Also, I did write in my blog and sent a review everyday as I had promised myself to do several months ago. Plus, I finished the Fun Run challenge, in addition to my other work on the site.

This challenge, I took it my way. I didn't write into the item just anything. I started a whole new story to stand on its own. Moreover, I had no idea what I was doing as I had no outline or a shadow of any idea of what I would be typing. The only thing I started out with was a name, April, which is my neighbor's name. I had figured, if push came to shove, I'd write about her. But then, I didn't have to write about her. Each day we were given prompts, so I used a prompt from each day. I couldn't have written about my neighbor at all anyway, because the first day's story came out as something far out, much different than my usual jottings.

Then, writing, after that far out beginning while using the prompts, became a kind of a game, and I ended up loving it. Is the story finished? Not really. At best, it looks like it is a first book in a series. Shall I continue with writing it? Time will tell.

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September 9, 2026 at 12:04pm

#1123709

Old Things and Time

Prompt:
"The love of old things is a way of respecting time." Write about this quote in your Blog entry today.

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I am not so sure I want to respect time. Maybe because I got old myself and now I feel as if time fooled me, but I do love old things, at least some of them. Yet, I don't see why people keep many other old things, though.

My grandmother was into old things a lot. She called them antiques. She was even keeping an old rug that was in tatters, which she claimed was over 200 yrs old as it was handed down from family on her father's side. My mother, on the other hand, hated too old things like that, and especially that rug. She thought too old things might have germs and what not, which could hurt those who keep them. So, Mom threw away that rug as soon as my grandmother passed away.

In my case, I guess I feel as if I'm stuck in between the two of them; my mother and my grandmother.

Old things, in good condition, I may keep. But if tattered, icky, or broken, I think it's time to get rid of them. On the other hand, I have a love for old books if kept in a still readable condition.

The way I look at it, old things often carry something that new things cannot; that is, memories. An old book may have been held and read by several generations. A scratch on a table may have come from a child, like my husband's old desk on which our older son wanted to write right on the wood and scratched the surface, instead. Faded photographs may preserve the faces of people who are no longer alive. Even something as ordinary as an old kitchen utensil can remind me of meals, family gatherings, and people I loved.

The sadness in old things points to the fact that time keeps moving whether I am ready for it or not. So, in their own worn-out ways, old things also teach a lesson in impermanence, and something or other about time.

As to time itself, I cannot stop it or go back into it. All I can do is to remember, and for that reason, I do feel a certain disrespect toward time. Time, I feel, acts as if all else is meaningless except for time itself.

So selfish of time!

Still, there are those old things that time leaves behind as if consolation prizes for its bad behavior. And in those old things that may be outdated, worn out, or faded, hide the most favorite things: my memories.

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September 8, 2026 at 1:05pm

#1123565

My Grandmother's Baking

Prompt: Food and People
Which foods do you associate with the people close to you or in your family, say parents, grandparents, uncles, and aunts? Did you like those foods or did you hate them?

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Funny, this morning's prompt in the Fun Run is "The Inherited Journal." I'm going to have my main character find that journal. I wonder if I should add the food idea to it, too!

As for the food and family, I really loved my grandmother's baking. She was a good cook all around but her baking was phenomenal.

Just maybe, it wasn't only the food but warmth, comfort, and the unforgettable aroma of a kitchen she filled with love. It must be that love, which made her not to measure anything, but she'd take a handful of this, a pinch of that, add things haphazardly, and squirt the oil on top of the mix. At the end, what we ended of biting into with delight would be the best food ever.

Yet, she took no shortcuts. Her doughs were rested properly, batters were beaten by hand, and flavors and taste were given time to develop. Hard to believe, but, there was no secret ingredient. To this day, I think her secret ingredient had to be love and intention.

I mean who else but her could produce such perfectly flaky pie crusts with spiced fruit inside, fresh yeast breads, gingersnaps and other cookies from molasses and chocolate, dense but perfectly glazed bundt and pound cakes. It is a miracle that none of us became overweight, too. I think her love and caring may have had something to do with it.

My mother on the other hand wasn't gifted with baking, but she could put together a mean bruschetta, topped with fresh tomatoes, basil, and olive oil for the cocktail time, and other finger foods. My grandmother would look at my mother's creations and smirk, "So you think this is food?"

Most of us, like my aunt and cousins just cooked edible foods so people can survive, and some of us did better than others, but so far that I can tell, none of us ever reached the heights of my grandmother's baking skills.

And the guys in the family? Well, some brought the wine and other drinks. Others just ate and smiled happily. And that was all my grandmother was asking for.

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September 7, 2026 at 1:29pm

#1123409

When Teachers Fail...

Prompt:
What do you think are some of the worst things teachers can say to students? Did you ever have any such experience when you were a student?

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I was quite a good student, so I didn't get much negative input from any teacher. In those days--I am talking about the 1940s and 1950s--a teacher could say and do just anything to a student, and rarely if ever, she would be held responsible.

I had the same teacher, unfortunately, from the first grade to the fifth grade. Even though I wasn't subject to her shenanigans much, she scared the heck out of me with her comments and actions to the other students, and she was very tough with the boys.

When I complained about her at home, my mother said that the teacher was that way because she could never had kids of her own, which she had told my mother about it on a parent teacher conference. But why was she so tough and cruel to the boys? I still don't know. Women's lib wasn't around in those times, either.

I remember her knocking on a boy's forehead and saying, "There's nothing in here. And you think you are a person!" Well, no wonder some guys hate women inside themselves, even if they don't admit that hate to even themselves!

She also made the students, boys mostly, to stand in front of the class and admit that they had done wrong with one thing or another. If the student resisted, that student was sent to the principal's office.

There are so many things I can tell about this primary school teacher, but for now, I want to jump to a high school memory. In this one, the bias wasn't against any gender but against not having famous or very accomplished parents. This school was a private school to which the richest and the most famous people's kids attended, and it was really a very good school by reputation and that was why my mother sent me there even though the school was quite a distance away.

In that high school, we had a philosophy teacher who adored the extremely rich and the famous people, and to her, their kids could do no wrong. The rest of us were trash. So I kept my quiet during her class, mostly. One day, while handing out our corrected test papers, she called me to the front of the class and shoved my test paper to my face. "Why? Your answers are perfect. They can't be. This means you cheated. You should be getting a suspension or something."

I denied it because I never cheated in the first place. She didn't believe me because, I think, my mother wasn't as famous as she would like a parent to be, and my father had been dead since I was nine. Luckily, a couple of other students, students she favored, came to my rescue, and told her that I was a good student and I wouldn't do such a thing. So, she had me sit in front of her and pushed a blank paper to me and said, "You are taking the test again." This time, she wrote down her sort-of-changed questions on the subject, and made me take the test again. Although I was very nervous, I still got an 85. After that, she let me alone.

Yet, all through my school life, I hated her intensely. I think I still do, however not as intensely, even though a few years ago--for my own self-protecting reasons--I promised myself to forgive anyone or any ill done to me in my entire life. Mostly I've succeeded. In this teacher's case, time will tell.

Imagine a Vending Machine

September 6, 2026 at 2:18pm

#1123266

Prompt: Vending Machines
What do you think about vending machines? Do you use them? What if a vending machine could offer something important to you, which might not be an object?

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I have used vending machines some, but in my entire life, I never really depended on them. Once, in a small town where we were staying for a short while due to my husband's work, I wanted to get something from the vending machine in the hotel's lobby. The machine took the money but never gave me anything. That was the last time I used any vending machine.

Yet, vending machines could be useful, if only they could dispense what the human heart needs and according to each specific person.

Well, don't laugh! I can imagine, can't I?

So, do imagine with me, please.

Imagine a special vending machine sitting somewhere ordinary like a train station, a hotel lobby, a hospital hallway, a library, or perhaps simply on a quiet street. It has no candy or soda inside. Instead, its buttons bear words such as: regret, courage, forgiveness, a second chance, something lost, an answer, peace, hope, truth, a memory, a reason to live...etc.

The remarkable thing would be that the machine would know what I really need before I do. Imagine me pressing a button for "Something I lost" and expecting an old photograph, something I wrote once but threw it away, or maybe, a piece of jewelry.

What if the machine, then, drops a paper slip into the tray, saying something like, "You lost the belief that you were loved" or "Since you like writing, why aren't you writing all the time?" Now, that would really freak me out.

Accordingly, let's imagine a frightened child pressing, "Courage" and the machine tells the child, "You already have it. Search for it inside yourself." Now, wouldn't that be a revelation!

I can also imagine this: What if the machine charges not money but something else, something like an apology, a promise, something one is willing to let go of? Wouldn't that be scary or rather a violation of personal space and freedoms?

Also, there could be a button that would say: "What I really need" This would be a button nobody knows what would happen if that button were to be pressed. Then, after being pressed, what if the machine would say, "Are you certain you want the real answer?"

And that question could be more frightening than anything else this vending machine I dreamed of could possibly dispense.

That Something in Loch Ness

September 5, 2026 at 12:59pm

#1123104

Prompt:
In 2019 on this day, a new theory suggested the Loch Ness Monster may be a giant eel after DNA study reveals no plesiosaur or sturgeon DNA found. Here's your chance to write your own theory about the Loch N

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Geez! I had totally forgotten about that Loch Ness monster. Once upon a time, my sons, when much younger, were talking about it as if that were the most important event in the entire universe. So let me see, what I can come up with on the idea. Here it goes:

Some people have claimed to see a huge thing moving under the dark waters of Loch Ness. Those who saw the monster said it was an enormous serpent, a long-necked creature, or a prehistoric animal.

At the time, I sort of believed it to be something prehistoric or an image that people just imagined as if something of a mass hysteria.

Was I right on the prehistoric thing idea? That eel might have entered the loch way back when and survived there for thousands of years. It (or they) might have adapted to the cold and dark waters and might have grown to extraordinary sizes.

If that monster really exists, I think there might be more than one of them living in that loch. From a distance, people might see only several humps moving through the water and imagine a single enormous creature instead of several playing together.

Then, maybe, the giant eels rarely come up to the surface, but stay in the depths of the loch. After all, being prehistoric in essence, they can survive better in the cold and the dark. At certain seasons, however, they probably rise up to feed, mate, or follow the underwater currents. Possible, isn't it?

Looking at this from another angle, people over the centuries might have seen what people today see but they might have interpreted it according to what they knew in those days. They had no cameras, sonar, or scientific vocabulary for describing an enormous eel, at the time. They simply knew that something huge and alive was moving way under the water.

Then, just maybe, somewhere in the cold depths of Loch Ness, a giant eel may still be moving silently through the darkness, waiting for the water above to grow quiet before it rises again.

If there is only one monster there, that monster, perhaps, was never a monster when it jumped into the loch for the first time. It was just an eel that grew far too big, like any imagined outsized gigantic phantom.

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September 4, 2026 at 1:37pm

#1122879

That Old House

Prompt:
Have fun with these words, phrase and quote: skeleton, pumpkin, scarecrow, ghosts, when witches go riding and “Be careful what you wish for, especially during the season of the dead.” — Byrd Nash

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The old house had been empty for twenty years, but every October, someone left a *pumpkin on the front steps.

No one knew who did it or why.

Mary had lived across the road all her life, and she had never seen anyone approach the house after sunset. Yet, every Halloween morning, there it was, a perfect orange pumpkin sitting beneath the broken porch light.

This year, curiosity finally overcame her fear.

At midnight, Mary crossed the road.

The garden was choked with weeds. A crooked *scarecrow leaned against a dead apple tree, its straw stuffing spilling from one sleeve. Beyond it stood a small stone shed.

Mary opened the door.

Inside was a *skeleton. She screamed and stumbled backward.

Then the skeleton moved.

Its fingers curled around the edge of the wooden chair on which it sat, and two empty eye sockets seemed to stare directly at her. “I've been waiting,” it whispered.

Mary could not move, but she asked: “For what?”

“For someone to make a wish.”

A cold wind swept through the shed. Outside, the scarecrow began to sway although there was no wind. Then, came a sound from the road, a soft laughter, followed by the distant ringing of bells.

The skeleton smiled.

“Listen. It is the hour *when witches go riding.”

Mary suddenly remembered the strange warning her grandmother had given her as a child:

*“Be careful what you wish for, especially during the season of the dead.”

But Mary had never understood what it meant.

Until that night.

She had always wished to know what had happened to her mother, who had disappeared when Mary was six.

So she whispered, “I wish I could see her again.”

The skeleton lowered its head.

“You should have been more careful.”

The door slammed shut.

When Mary opened her eyes, she was standing in the old house.

Candles flickered along the walls. Shadows moved across the ceiling. Through the windows she saw dozens of pale figures walking silently through the garden. They were *ghosts dressed in the clothes of people who had lived and died in the village long ago.

And among them was her mother. She looked exactly as Mary remembered her.

Her mother smiled sadly. “You came looking for me.”

Mary rushed toward her, but her mother stepped backward. “You must leave before dawn.”

“Why?”

“Because the dead are allowed to visit the living only for one night.”

Behind Mary and her mother, the skeleton began to laugh.

And somewhere high above the roof, bells rang again as witches went riding across the moon.

Mary understood everything then, about the pumpkin, the scarecrow, the skeleton, and the ghosts.

They were not warnings. They were invitations. And she had accepted.

She ran for the door.

Behind her, her mother's voice called softly: “Next year, Mary, don't make another wish.”

But Mary already knew that some wishes, once made during the season of the dead, never truly disappear.

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September 3, 2026 at 12:50pm

#1122699

Feet and the Heart

Prompt:
"Your feet will lead you where your heart is."
Irish Proverbs
Write about this quote in your Blog entry today.

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'Simple yet profound,' were the words that came to my mind when I first read this quote. Then, just maybe, tjis quote is talking about our deepest desires, even those we are not consciously aware of.

Truth is, it doesn't matter how carefully we plan our lives or how we try to convince ourselves that we have to go along with the family and the culture we were born in. Inside us we are separate human beings, and our hearts often know that, and sometimes the heart can lead us toward the direction we really want to take.

The "feet" in the quote may represent what we do. These may be the places we go, the choices we make, or the paths we follow, while our hearts represent what matters most to us. In fact,what matters could be love, belonging, dreams, memories, and the things that give our lives meaning.

Personally speaking, I had thought I was doing okay by obeying my mother's rules and living a quiet child's and then a teen's life under her personal wishes. Yet, when I left her house, I found out that I wasn't really favoring myself then. I was only keeping the status quo intact and worry-free.

As such, most of us may tell ourselves this or that just to go along with the family or the crowd we think we belong with, but our feet, surprising even to us, can move in another direction. I guess the heart leaves breadcrumbs to follow for the feet. Just like in the story of Hansel and Gretel.

This means the way we live our lives isn't as deliberate as we think. It is possible for us to discover where we belong by only following our hearts that know where we really want to go. If we don't obey the pull of our hearts, even if we have built a successful life, we may continue to feel the yearning for an unfinished dream.

I think, therefore, in its deepest level, this quote is referring to our inner truths. In other words, we can choose many roads, but eventually, we tend to walk toward what we love the most and what we really want.

September 2, 2026 at 1:03pm

#1122515

For the 26th.

Prompt:
What activities are you participating in for WDC 26TH Anniversary?

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For the moment, I am keeping up my promise to myself to write in my blog everyday and to write at least one review a day.

I see so many interesting contests and activities on the site that I don't know anyone who wouldn't want to join. Except we all have our other lives and time is a rare commodity, now.

So, I joined the September Fun Run, and let me tell you, it is really fun. I started writing something with no outline and no idea of what to write. So, I picked a lone woman of about 40 yrs. old and I'm writing whatever comes. The first entry is far out. That is, it is not the kind of story I normally write. This one began as a supernatural something. Here it is: "September: Fun Run"

Today, I added another few words and sort of tamed the supernatural, so the rest of the thing will be about a character. See, I said thing. This is because I don't know what I am doing, except like feeling like a fish out of water. So, I'm not saying short story, novel, or whatever. I'll know that at the end, if it isn't a total flop.

Still, I'm thinking since the supernatural is in the beginning, it seems as if it is a promise. So maybe I can sneak it in here and there. The problem is I really don't know what I am doing with this Fun Run thing, except for having fun.

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September 1, 2026 at 11:46am

#1122329

That Old House!

Prompt:
"When you finally go back to your old home, you find it wasn't the old home you missed but your childhood."
Sam Ewing
Describe a house you lived inside when you were a child. What do you remember about it?

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My childhood home was a wood-frame, three-story house. Downstairs was the entrance, a small room, and a hallway with a half bathroom and a full bathroom. That hallway led to a very large kitchen, so large that we used to eat there, even with guests up to 14 people, around a huge table in the middle.

The second story had two large bedrooms and a huge space in between them that had a bathroom. The third story had the exact rooms and a bathroom as the second story. Except it had a door that opened to stairs to the attic room. The attic room was a beauty. It was very large and well-kept. In fact, my grandmother's foster daughter lived there and by her choice. She could have had any of the bedrooms downstairs, but no. She wanted to be on top of everyone.

The house had a small garden in the back with a huge well on the side. When I was a bit older and was difficult to keep an eye on, my mother fearing that I'd fall into that well, had it filled up and covered. So instead of the well we had a large patio to sit in. I don't know why my mother was so afraid of the well. For one thing, The well's sides were high above the ground, at least four feet high and it had a sturdy covering. I still feel bad about that well.

I stayed in that house until I got married. I remember a lot of things about that house, as do my cousins and they used to adore the house, possibly even more than I did. Most of them, though, recall the mischief we would concoct when we were all together.

However when alone, I was a very quiet kid with her nose in books, as soon as I had learned to read at four years of age. Yet, when my cousins came over and some came to stay overnight, some for several nights, my mischievous side would pop up. Funny thing is, my mother liked to have my cousins over because she didn't believe I would be okay as the only child in the house. So, to this day, when we come together, my cousins still recall those days and that house.

If I could write about everything I remember about those days and the house, it would make a whole book. But that would mean admitting to some mischief, some of which we kept hidden from the adults. I bet they never found out some of it, and if they did, they didn't let it on that they knew.

What Makes Some Objects Important?

August 31, 2026 at 12:41pm

#1122220

Prompt:
"The mind of the painter must resemble a mirror, which always takes the colour of the object it reflects and is completely occupied by the images of as many objects as are in front of it."
Leonardo da Vinci
Objects...Why are they important? Especially those we somehow get emotionally attached?

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To Leonardo da Vinci: Right back at you! Would we even know your name today if it weren't for the Mona Lisa and The Last Supper and Virgin of the Rocks and Lady with an Ermine, etc., which are all objects (i.e. paintings)?

See, objects are important! Objects hold our memories, tell our stories, and help us express who we are. Also, looking at a familiar item can instantly bring back feelings of joy, comfort, or sadness.

Objects are also reminders. They remind us of people, tell stories from our personal lives, and they keep the memories of past generations alive. Possibly that must be why I still keep the outfits of my sons when we first brought them home from the hospital. In fact those baby outfits remind me of a very special time in my life. They remind me of the pleasure of motherhood and family. They also remind me how much I like the color of those outfits: light blue.

Then, objects show self-expression and a sense of belonging like the ways we decorate our homes, and our personal goals like me having tons of pens lying around and several still empty notebooks and notepads.

In addition, objects connect us through our shared experiences and they help us to see the world through our friends' and families' eyes. In their essence, objects are intertwined with our life stories because they tell us about ourselves and others, while they hold memories and emotions in their own right.

That is why we pass them down through the generations as family heirlooms, and it is why I, like many others, cherish and take care of the objects I treasure.

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August 30, 2026 at 12:48pm

#1122140

Last Minutes in the Supermarket

Prompt:
"A person buying ordinary products in a supermarket is in touch with his deepest emotions."
John Kenneth Galbraith
What do you think about this quote and/or have you ever been to a supermarket just before it closed for the day? What do you think the workers there were feeling like?

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I never go to a store at the last minute because I don't like to drive during the late afternoon traffic. So, here's a story, imaginary, yes, but very possible:

Five Minutes Until Closing

All day long, the supermarket has been buzzing with life. Carts squeak, children scream, cash registers sing their little electronic songs, and somebody is always asking, "Excuse me, where are the pickles?"

But five minutes before closing?

The employees can feel it in their bones. The end is near. They have been on their feet for hours. Their backs hurt, their shoes have become their enemies, and their smiles are beginning to require conscious effort.

One of the cashiers looks at the entrance as the automatic doors open. A man walks in. From the looks of him, it is easy to see that he has no awareness that the store is about to close. The cashier closes her eyes for a second. Maybe he'll just get one thing!

Right after him, another person enters...then another. Just where were they all day long!

The manager announces: "Attention, shoppers. The store will be closing in five minutes. Please make your final selections and proceed to the checkout."

The announcement sounds friendly although the employees know full well that it isn't. It really means, "Please, for the love of God, go home!"

Yet, these last minute shoppers hear this differently. "Excellent! You have five whole minutes!"

One woman suddenly remembers that she needs laundry detergent.

A man decides this would be a good time to compare twelve different brands of mustard.

A young couple stands in the middle of the cereal aisle discussing whether they really need cereal.

"Do we have any at home?"

"I don't know."

"What kind?"

"The kind in the blue box."

"There are three blue boxes."

Thus, the philosophical discussion continues.

At this very moment, an employee stays standing at end of an aisle holding a broom, but he is not sweeping. He is waiting, thinking about his couch at home, calling to him. And the TV in front of his couch buzzes in his imagination.

Yet, in the produce section, another employee is stacking oranges into a neat little pyramid. He knows no last minute shopper will buy oranges.

At the checkout, one of the two cashiers, the woman with huge eyes, stares at a customer approaching with a cart overflowing with groceries. She checks the clock on the wall. Only three minutes left.

The customer smiles. "I hope I'm not too late!"

The cashier smiles back. "Not at all." This cashier is now feeling like a fake, automated person.

The customer starts unloading. Then she stops.
"Oh, I forgot the butter!"

She runs toward the refrigerated section.

The cashier rolls her eyes and stares at the ceiling. Another employee passing by, whispers. "I'll pray for you!"

Then, just when the cashiers feel safer, the automatic doors open again.

Another shopper enters. This one is moving quickly, though. He races toward the bakery. The employee at the bakery looks at him with an exhausted expression. "Yes?"

The man points to a cake. "Can you write 'Happy Birthday, Mom' on it?"

She offers a fake smile. "Of course!" She's dead tired but she is the employee, expected to perform miracles.

Just then, the loudspeaker announces: "Attention, shoppers. The store is now closing. Please proceed to the checkout."

This time, the message is unmistakable. The lights in one aisle go off. Others follow.

Suddenly, everyone remembers how to walk quickly.

Carts begin racing toward the registers.

One man who reaches one of the registers, proudly announces, "I made it!"

The cashier, scanning his items, says in a fake joking voice, "You certainly did!"

Outside, the parking lot is nearly empty.

Inside, the employees are counting registers, collecting carts, straightening shelves and turning off lights. Someone checks the clock.

Closed.

The manager locks the doors. Employees grab their belongings.

"See you tomorrow," someone says, but her words hang in the air, for they all know what tomorrow means.

The doors will open again.

The carts will roll.

The children will scream.

The pickles will go missing.

Still, the employees will smile, stocking the shelves, ringing up groceries. And always, there will be someone who asks for an item they couldn't place. And someone, with a huge smile, will be willing to point the place of that item.

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August 29, 2026 at 12:37pm

#1122070

Shadow Work

Prompt:
Dolly Parton suggests each of us make a list of the things you love about yourself. What did you discover about yourself that you hadn't thought about it?

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Another list? Maybe that's not a bad idea, but I try to write about myself in my private longhand journal I keep at home and it is for my eyes, only. Btw, this question sounds like one of the questions on Jung's shadow work. I bet Dolly Parton was impressed with Jung, too.

In which case, instead of bragging about myself, I think I'll write about Jung's shadow work, which I got into during the last year or so.

Shadow work is the psychological and personal growth practice of exploring the unconscious, repressed, or hidden parts of one's own personality. This is the baby of Carl Jung who defined the "shadow self" as the dark or unacknowledged side of the human psyche.

The idea is, ever since childhood, in order to adapt to the world around us, we hide parts of ourselves. But these are not only bad things. Our shadows can also repress positive traits like assertiveness, ambition, or sensitivity if they were discouraged early in life.

So shadow work brings things to light by letting us observe our strong emotional triggers, our judgment of others, and repeating life patterns not by negativity but with curiosity, and without judgment. This is so that we accept ourselves as we are, instead of fighting or trying to hide or get rid of these parts of ourselves.

This may lead to some benefits such as greater self-awareness and emotional regulation, better, healthier relationships, reduced shame and harsher self-criticism.

If anyone is interested here is a blog entry that talks about this in length and much better than what I just wrote about it. It also includes 30 Jungian questions you might use, if interested.

https://blog.mylifenote.ai/carl-jung-shadow-work/

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August 28, 2026 at 1:15pm

#1122010

First Job

Prompt:
Write about your first job and what it taught you.

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Ouch! You had to remind me!

My first job was tutoring. I was thirteen at the time. It started with a neighbor's daughter about two years younger than me. She was failing a subject and I was quite a good student and had a good reputation in the neighborhood. Her mother asked my mother to let me work with her daughter because the daughter couldn't get along with a private tutor she had hired.

Both my mother and I didn't think they'd pay me but her mother did, at the end of the sessions, and luckily for me more than her, she passed that subject. I, however, learned from that experience that being a good student doesn't make one a good teacher. Of course, knowing the subject well did help but there is a lot more to teaching.

Yet, this wasn't all. My mother's good friend having heard my so-called expertise asked my mother that I also tutor her daughter, not only in one subject but practically all of them. In hindsight, I think that second girl had some attention deficit problems and in a big way. Moreover, she looked up to me as if I were a big sister. That meant, for me, establishing some serious attention in her part would be a problem. And it was. We'd start to work and she'd get silly and joke about just anything.

I told that to her mother, and said that she'd be better off with an experienced tutor who knew how to teach way better than I could. But the girl resisted and she cried her eyes out, and begged for me to continue teaching her. Her mother again asked my mother to talk to me about it. My mother told me she couldn't say no to her friend and would I please continue and just do what I can. Well, I did. I had to. They were our friends.

This student, the daughter of my mother's friend, stayed as my private student until she graduated from high school, when at the time I was also graduating from the Uni. Luckily, by the grace of God, she ended up passing her subjects with various iffy degrees of learning success and could graduate.

Encouraged by these two, other people started to show up for me to teach them this or that because they heard there was a good tutor living in our house. Some, seeing that I was only a young girl, didn't show up again, but others did, and I got into tutoring a lot.

In fact, I ended up loving it. So much so that, years later when I received my teaching license and began to teach a classroom full of students, I wasn't very comfortable with it because I had grown into tutoring on the one-on-one basis so much.

Still, from my two first students I learned a lot. Both girls taught me greatly, though most of the time, I felt like I was fish out of water.

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August 27, 2026 at 12:45pm

#1121947

On Happiness and Aging

Prompt:
How do you define happiness? Are you happier the older you get?
Write about this in your Blog entry today

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I guess there could be many definitions for happiness. Maybe there is no such thing as perfect happiness and it is possible that we are lying to ourselves that there is.

The way I see it, there is that short-term happiness and there is the other larger kind. The short term one may mean immediate pleasure and joy and the larger one may have to do with the fulfillment of one's life purpose, whatever that life purpose means. I'm not sure about the larger one because my purpose or expectation from life has always changed.

As to the life purpose, I suspect only our Creator knows what that is, because how could a newborn, or a young child, or even an adult can know their own life purpose since things and situations always change according to where we are and what our always dipping and rising circumstances are?

Come to think of it, my own life purpose, at this point in my life, is to live as independently as I can and not be a burden to anyone. Added to that, it would make me happy if I could really help someone whenever I can.

Am I happier the older I get? Well, I'm not unhappy, but I can't say I'm happy either. I'm content to be able to keep up with I have to do, and for that, I put myself on a daily schedule. Then, old age has many negatives, as I'm finding out. In the meantime, I'm trying my best to keep my mind and body working satisfactorily enough, while understanding that this will never be easy, and in fact, it gets harder and harder as one ages.

Just maybe. as we age, we are more tolerant of our own mistakes and those of others. We, therefore, develop a larger capacity for forgiveness and we are grateful for every little joy that shows up on our way. In my case, that joy is my younger son, who comes to visit me once a week, bringing me fresh produce. Not for the produce but for his gentleness and show of affection, I feel so happy, and maybe, this is adding to my resilience in life.

In old age, we the elderly\ don't think much of "time" or "future". We learn to live from day to day and not give a hoot about others' opinions about us. Most of us also understand that the end of life is near and death is an inevitable fact.

In my case, however, death doesn't scare me. If I'm called in today, I'm ready to go. On the other hand, I try to make my each day as peaceful and positive as I can manage it to be.

So, compared to my earlier years, I may not be as active as I have been, but still, I'm active in a different way, my way in my own time and my own schedule.