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 |    Online journal capturing the moment and the memory of moments. A meadow meditation. |
   L'aura del campo 'é a lua, é a lua, na quintana dos mortos' ♣ Federico García Lorca ♣  L'aura del campo. A breeze in the meadow. So it began the last day of Spring, 2005; on the 16th day of the month of Light of the year 162. This is a supplement to my daily journal written to a friend, my muse; notes I do not share. Here I will share what the breeze has whispered to me. PLEASE LEAVE COMMENTS! I L  V COMMENTS!On a practical note, in answer to your questions: IN MEMORIUM VerySara  passed away November 12, 2005 Please visit her port to read her poems and her writings. More suggested links:  These pictures rotate.   Kåre  Enga~ until everything was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow! And I let the fish go. ~ Elizabeth Bishop, The Fish |
| Write your entry inspired by the word “nurture.” What does it mean to nurture something or someone? How were you nurtured growing up, how are you currently nurtured, and how do you nurture others? Multiple questions in one. "Nurture your Nature" was a blog I still have... although I haven't posted in 7 years. I could. I should. I shall. Nurturing someone isn't quite as easy as it sounds. Humans of all ages, other sentient beings as well and nature in general all have different needs. So easy to kill plants by over-watering, for example, or forgetting that they DO need a slurp now and then. Cats and dogs are different. Dogs want to be part of the family; you're boss. Cats want servants. And humans... tricky. Most need to be gently watered regularly... and they don't survive without "family". I took someone in once. Worked at getting him ID. Managed to teach him how to drive. I took in refugees from many countries or many years. I had parties for my neighborhood, my friends, my co-workers... Later someone took me in when I had no place to stay. I could write books about this. Here in New Blogville I read blogs. I comment. I try to connect. But... everyone has a different definition of what being supportive and nurturing means. Nurturing isn't everyone's strong point. Which brings up family. I was fed and watered. I was looked after. I was told to not speak. My friends were 'chosen' for me. I became very shy and withdrawn. I couldn't see properly and I was very small and malnourished. Yes, I was loved but I wasn't properly taught about a lot of things. By age 13, I felt as if I were born into the wrong family. I didn't thrive in the community either. I look back and wonder what I could have done differently. But why beat myself up? These days I read and write. I travel and meet people around the world from myriad cultures. Today I went to market and had a good time. Stopped to smell flowers on my walk. Tonight vanilla ice-cream with Vernor's ginger ale. It's a small pleasure. So was reading in the bathtub last night. So is sitting here in silence. There are may small ways in which I can nurture myself. ACCOMPLISHMENTS: An hour there and back, but I sent money to a friend (I dread it). Wrote two flash fictions, one for a contest prompt. I'm learning. I remembered to take my pill. Fortunately, I have a doctor's appointment next week to talk about my health. BLOGVILLE: stuffed animal, cat, cat, cat, kitty, nightingale (burp); dog, bear, mantis... IMAGES: fruit trees in bloom (relatives of the apple), green lawns, art and crafts and cookies and coffee and... the markets were packed on a very pleasant warm day. Bare business streets without trees. Bare parking lots. Egg salad with salmon cream-cheese. Battle plan His battle plan was forgotten between one beer bottle and the next. — Gimme another — Cole been in the navy and knew how to walk the decks, knew his starboard from aft, knew a bowline from a stopper knot, but couldn't untangle himself from daily family drama before his sea legs gave out. He drank. A lot. Liquor was quicker but a Bud was best. He considered Bud his best buddy. — Gimme another — The bartender answered softly — eat some of these chips and rest a bit. I'll be back with a Bud after the game — While watching Cole remembered he had to come up with a battle plan. His two sons wanted to surf. His wife and daughter pleaded to go to Vegas. Either would cost and a stay-cation wasn't an option. While his sons bickered over which beach had the best scene, the women whined over which casino was the new hot spot. He felt trapped by their arguments. Every night the same-old-s***. It wasn't right! The game went into overtime. And then another. Neither team seemed to want to win. Cole smiled and caught the eye of the bartender. He'd come up with the answer. — that Bud? — Cole felt like King Solomon or was that Old King Cole? He'd split the money and send them-all away and call for his fiddledeedee. They could do whatever they wanted. He'd get to visit his very best friend every day. At home. Maybe even get to sail. Alone. © Kåre Enga (11.mai.2019) [176/79]
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). That said, use what the Muse gifts.