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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 |
| I will be stealing prompts from wherever I can. BCOF: "Write about your Mother's or Grandmother's favorite flower or candy." I chose this because I actually know the answer! We grew up visiting my grandparents every August. Horribly hot in Pennsylvania... every year. My grandmother loved nasturtiums and we were sent out to pick them most every day. She grew them in big tires painted white. My grandfather on the other hand had hollyhocks. He was considerate to die in May; it was lilac time. I was 11. Whisked away by my uncle to Florida my grandmother grew gardenias. When she visited us up north I asked her about eating nasturtiums. Of course one can! Odd that we had never had that discussion when I was a child. I always thought her flower was the nasturtium, so when she died in December, 1985 at age 93 I bought some silk ones. Needless to say my aunts advised me that her favorite flowers were pink carnations. My mother at age 97 still has opinions. When I think of her... hyacinths and portulaca... but favorite flower? I probably should ask! At least I know that as a child she loved the bonbons that her maternal grandfather always gave her. |
| Congratulations on making it to the last day of the competition! What was your favorite prompt from the last month? What was the most rewarding aspect of participating in the competition? I think the one written May 11th from the perspective of an animal gathered the most enthusiasm and that showed in the responses and interactions. May 16th's prompt to encourage reading and commenting was brilliant. Overall, I wasn't impressed by my own responses. I may have revealed more than intended a couple times, but that's to be expected. Otherwise my writing was too heavy and clunky. It's been a difficult and frustrating month for me. I'm tenacious enough to slug through it, but stubborn would be a better word. I participated in Poetry month every day in April so that's two months of daily blogging. And two months of reading blogs and commenting on most. Many times my comments were easier to write than my own blog entry. I've blogged for years so it's hard for me to look at it with fresh eyes. I've added everyone's blog to my reading list, but interactive blogging is passé so we'll see. Looking forward to tomorrow because blogging is a habit and I'll blog regardless prompt-or-no-prompt. I don't expect to blog every day in June though. See folks around Blogville. |
| I need help building the stock of prompts in the Challenge War Chest! Write four prompts of your own and then choose one to write your entry on. I'm so glad others will come up with good ideas. My fountain-of-thoughts isn't overflowing at the moment. The plumbing is clogged. I WENT THROUGH WHAT I WROTE BELOW AND CHOSE 4: A. Have your seen your neighbors today (this week)? What did you say or do? K. In writing we are asked who our audience is. Who is your audience (other than yourself)? Why? How do you find and connect to them? I. These are four uncommon words (any four will do). Pick one and write whatever comes to mind. F. Where is the line between killing and murder? Is it ever justified? Who or what does it apply to (look up Ahimsa)? Are intentions a factor? I wrote to "I" (below) because I'm used to short prompts for poetry and flash-fiction. So no need to read my ruminations further. Certain prompts were difficult for me this past month. I felt as if I were submerged into a suburban-working-family-american-middle-class culture. There is nothing wrong with that, it's just not my reality. Let me give some anti-prompts: 1a. What's your favorite memory while riding a horse... 1b. What's your favorite ride in an amusement park... Both would be fine but not everyone has ever been on a horse or interacted with one. And not all places have amusement parks. 2a. What's your favorite Christmas tradition. 2b. What time of day is best for you during the Fast. Both assume that the writer comes from a particular religious background. Hard to write a blog if your answer is, "I don't". 3a. What's your favorite European city? 3b. What's your favorite National Park? Again, presumptions. And oddly narrow in scope. Not everyone has been to Europe. Not every place has "national parks". What makes a good prompt? Well, perhaps one that is general enough that most everyone can answer. All of the above would be great for someone, just not everyone. My thinking cap has been malfunctioning this past month. But I was able to write a couple blogs when I was sorely tempted to pass as the topic didn't apply. So coming up with good prompts is tricky. I guess we all live somewhere, eat most everyday and interact with people. And just that can be a source of a hundred blogs. Every life may be boring on the surface, but there's plenty stirring beneath. A. Have your seen your neighbors today (this week)? What did you say or do? B. Breakfast, lunch, dinner or snacks? What's your favorite or most important? C. Pets or no pets? D. Clutter or minimalism? Or one could get more philosophical: E. When does life begin, end, recycle? Physical? Spiritual? Does it matter at all? F. Where is the line between killing and murder? Is it ever justified? Who or what does it apply to (look up Ahimsa)? Are intentions a factor? G. When political, community, religious leaders become insufferable what is the best way to replace them? Or does one just accept? H. Water is essential for life. What is the best way to manage it? Bottle it? Keep it clean? Distribute it? What is an abuse? Should it be free? In poetry and fiction challenges we are sometimes given a form, a word, a phrase to focus on. I. These are four uncommon words (pnyx, malachite, ketuvim, ogging). Pick one and write whatever comes to mind. PNYX: I go to the place of gathering at midnight when the winter storm howls as if it may never end. I listen to the complaints of the wind, speak sweet-nothings to the stones to reassure them they will still be here come the end of Time. To be a leader and stand here alone is no great burden when the tempest is upon us. While others sleep, decisions are made. If I choose wrong, there will be others to take my place come morning. We each play a minor role in the never-ending play called Cosmos. I am grateful to play my part on this small stage. So in my case, I wax poetic. but others might write an essay, a short fiction, relate a personal event. J. "When writing the story of your life, don't let anyone else hold the pen." I found this by googling "quote of the day". K. In writing we are asked who our audience is. Who is your audience (other than yourself)? Why? How do you find and connect to them? L. There are many writing forms. In fictional prose: drabble, flash-fiction, vignettes, short-stories, novels, novelettes, epic novels. One can sort by genre like romance or mysteries. In poetry: there are thousands. What do you prefer to read or write and do you try others? My ideas aren't well focused this morning. I need another coffee. I should reduce this blog to 300 words max, but I just don't care today. Somewhere in here there is an idea lurking. I wrote this yesterday and read it to my group last night. One person exclaimed, "This is flash-fiction". Maybe I'm getting there.
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On this last Talk Tuesday of May, let’s talk about bias. How do your own biases influence your life? Is it possible to ever be truly objective? A much better topic! 1. I was raised in a certain place. 2. I was raised by a certain family. 3. I grew up in a certain time. Believe me, I didn't pick any of them! Add experiences: 1. I went to university out-of-town. 2. I transferred to a university in another state. 3. I spent a year abroad. I chose these. They didn't all turn out well. 1. I worked, had a house, had a car, had pets. 2. I was homeless for two years. 3. I moved and decided to travel abroad. Mistakes? Plenty, but I hope I have learned something along the way. All of these provide me with biases. 1. I'm fairly skeptical of people with money, although many have helped me. But, I've found the poor more generous in general. 2. I have had people of every marginalized group in my life. Every color, size and shape. I wouldn't trade them. 3. I've lived in the inner-city, the suburbs, small towns, in a trailer home in the middle of nowhere. Nowhere isn't perfect either. It's hard to convince me that I should just hate someone because of the label someone else has hung around their neck. I have too many images that come to mind of friends, family and even kind strangers. Every face I have known, every place I have ever been. So am I biased? You betcha. I fight it whenever I recognize it but I was raised deaf, dumb and blind by my family and culture, the time and place I grew up. But being objective doesn't hold much sway with me. My strength is my emotions and the connections I've spent a lifetime nurturing. Those I don't easily give up. K. What I wrote beating the flash-fiction deadline. I'm not giving up on these either... at least not yet.
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| Today is Memorial Day here in the US, a federal holiday for remembering and honoring persons who have died while serving in the Armed Forces. How do you honor those who have passed (whether they served in the military or not)? My dad (1916-1999) served in North Africa in WW2. He didn't talk about it much. A poem from March 21, 2004 about my father: Sapeur-télégraphiste He ran the wires behind the lines that in the north of Africa defined hell-fire's divide of us and them. Communication brought no comfort to the front of war, where barren back of brother tangled with the wires, cooled silent in the coffins. He aspired to the signal corps, felt ired when his back was broken, retired to a family life, expired at the age of eighty-two, running out of time and wire beyond the lines dividing us, defining us in life's hell-fire. [161.4] I found it in an old blog entry from March 2, 2006. I'll need to edit it as well as choose a new title. Took an hour to find it. That said... our family did not celebrate war. I still don't. "Make peace not war" was closer to what we believed. In truth, there hasn't been a war on American soil since 1865 except for a couple incidents in the 1940s. Americans do NOT know what it's like to have foreign troops shooting at them or marching down their streets. I've visited Serbia and Kosovo where the US was involved in the 1990s. They knew... and still remembered. Do NOT ask my opinion about saber rattling in the Mid-East to goad Iran into a conflict.  As for my community: it was the custom where I grew up to place flags and flowers on the family graves. My flash fiction for the day from the viewpoint of The Cat:
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| Share an instance in your life when you would have liked a do-over. With all due respect these prompts are killing me. To be shallow and snarky: I would have been to the manor born with an accountant, housekeeper and lawyer at my beck and call. I would have gone to any school I wanted to and been able to pay cash. Any failure would have been corrected by my staff and more cash. I would be living a Burger King life (having it my way) without ever having to develop the empathy that comes from struggling. I could be president. But... that's not my reality. There are numerous times when I would have liked a do-over. I've mulled over them for years. I've been severely traumatized by a few. I do not think it wise to blame and shame myself here. If I wanted to share I would. I don't. A do-over isn't merely correcting the color of nail polish or the type of shoes one wears. We all make mistakes. But some can go deep into the core of one's being. "O SON OF SPIRIT! Noble have I created thee, yet thou hast abased thyself. Rise then unto that for which thou wast created." Hidden Words of Bahá’u’lláh, 22 (Part 1 from the Arabic). The flash fiction I wrote today was politically incorrect on so many levels. How do you mix a Cowboy, a horse (think Equus), a witch, a cauldron with its own mind, a cat and a group of vampires? In less than 300 words. This will never be considered among my best but someone might find it funny (in an absurd way or if you are warped!):
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| Write about your plans for the weekend. If you had 48 hours to do whatever you wanted, no holds barred, how would you spend your time? I don't have "weekends", so let's stick with 48 hours. RUNAWAY As a child I did not run away from home, but I wanted to. As an adult I ran away more than once. I tell folks that I died where I grew up once and left, came back and died again, that there will be no third time, that I'm too tired to rise again. But 48 hours... ...tempts me. I'd visit family I haven't seen in over a decade. My sister still lives in the family home so it would be a shock to walk around the old block and see what is still there... and what is missing. Maybe I could spend the night... maybe not. And I'd drop in on a friend I last saw May 13th many years ago. Yes, I should call first. But all I want is to take him out to lunch and sit and chat. More than that may be stressful. I've only met members of his family once. I'd try to not be pulled down into the vortex of trauma that swirls around that place, not be tricked by ghosts that guard it. I'd want enough hugs to last another decade or two, but no new overwhelming memories nor regrets that haunt. Just a quick stop-in and run-back-out. ***** Today's flash fiction three word prompt is: law, noise, dark. I think I may fashion a cowboy romance with a touch of vampire blood. What say y'all? Yesterday's flash:
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| Congratulations on making it to the last week of the competition! You all should be proud! How do you celebrate your successes? What is your favorite thing to give yourself as a reward? I'm not a celebrator. I have thought about this prompt and literally cannot come up with an answer. After reading other writer's blogs I still don't know. I'm not saying that we are a bunch of party-poopers... but... yeah, appears that way. Although... partying isn't quite the same as celebrating as I'm sure someone would point out if anyone were reading this and commenting. A comment is grounds for celebration. It makes me feel visible. But I'm not going to reward myself in any way that society considers a celebration. When other people graduate from school or college they celebrate, right? I didn't. When I am acknowledged for something I write here, I will probably share my joy. I'm sure that may annoy some people, but I'm chronically depressed, so it's more like coming up for a breath. If I'm too joyful it borders on mania... and take my word... that's not good. If it's a big celebration (like a birthday party or winning the baseball championship in high school) and others want to include me, I hide. It's 10 a.m. now. I'm still drinking my first coffee with sugar and a dab of butter. Breakfast will be two hot dogs on a piece of bread. I've showered. I'll go out today to visit a friend for lunch. Yesterday I didn't leave. I already celebrated the day by bothering to get out of bed.
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| What is your learning style? Do you prefer to learn through reading, images, audio, discussion, hands on, etc.? What is something new you learned in the last 30 days? Yep. Just learn me something. I learned from reading as a child but it took me years to realize that I heard what I saw on the page. Audio-visual is better than just one or the other, but my sight is poor and my hearing is poor so it needs to be right in front of me. I prefer no extraneous stimulation at home. I like to discuss but I don't know how much I learn. My hands were always in the dirt as a child and even as an adult, but that was more grounding than learning. I'm close to balance brain so I suspect that a multi-style approach may work best. And repetition. Do it until it is known without thinking. My travels are a good example. I stress regardless but I don't have to relearn how to book a hostel or a flight. I know how to catch the train in Oslo for instance... done it so many times by now. There is little new I learned the last 30 days (I've been stuck in routines). I've been writing flash fiction daily. I struggle with the idea of narrative. I'm not a natural story-teller. Other than that, nothing I can think of. I entered this as flash fiction but what it really is I'm not sure:
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| When you were little, what did you want to be when you grew up? My Town I was 10 playing in the dirt under the swing set. I used odd shaped blocks of wood for houses, weeds for trees, clay for roads. I had plastic and metal cars. My favorite was an old Dodge. I dreamed of becoming an engineer even though I didn't know what that was and everyone around us worked in the factories. I decided I was going to Purdue University although I'd never been to Indiana. But I also had planted my first garden in the corner the year before. My father believed in grass. Every year my gardens grew bigger. But my favorite wild flower, the scarlet pimpernel, grew in the lawn. I dreamed of trees, lots of big trees, arcades of spreading elms, orioles hanging from their boughs. But I lived on clay marshlands, abandoned strawberry fields with rabbits, cottonwoods, dandelions and a few robins. I envisioned a world of beauty playing in the dirt and reading books. My reality wasn't pretty and my dreams weren't practical. ***** By 11 I wanted to visit Tennessee, by 12 Norway. My book on Japan kept reminding me of beauty. I was learning French, could sing "Stille Nacht" in German. Any practical dream died bit by bit and wasn't replaced. I withdrew into my own world. ***** By the time I went off to college, I was known for my gardens in a town that didn't give a rat's ass. I hated English class and Phys Ed and didn't care about studying so my grades were up and down. I did well on my exams though. Except I freaked out on one that would've given me a scholarship and there was no do-over. I was accepted to the honors program in Wisconsin... but we didn't have the money... so I didn't enroll. ***** Dreams continued to drift. ***** As did I. I still gardened. I still loved beauty. My degree in Biology was almost "worthless" but it did help me get jobs doing things I didn't want to do and didn't have the skills for. ***** I did what I could. I served my community and tried to get to know myself. Neither worked out well. ***** Now I call myself a writer. Because? I write. I'm a traveler because I travel. ***** Dreams are not always practical. |
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). That said, use what the Muse gifts.