%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 |    My random thoughts and reactions to my everyday life. The voices like a forum. |
| I do not know quite what happened or when , but my hubby and I now qualify for seniors' discounts at some venues. This creates a quandary; in order to save money, but not face, we have to admit to our age. HMMMM..... We definitely do not consider ourselves to be old. In this day and age ,when people as a whole are living longer and healthier lives why are 'young seniors', those in their fifties, like moi, considered 'old'?? It's so true that age is just a perception! "Maturity" is very objective/subjective, and I object! Whew, a few years have skittered by since I composed this biography block. Those "fifties" are in the rear view mirror and they are distant, fond memories. Oh, I do not plan to stop writing any time soon. |
| PROMPT May 10th Think back to a time when you felt completely calm. What made you feel that way? There are a multitude of times when I felt the polar opposite of calm. Internally, I screamed and wailed. I struggled to focus. I swallowed the claustrophobic specter of my fear and helplessness. My mind raced with one scary scenario after another. For better or worse, I know what it feels like to have my heartrate accelerate within a second and my heart fling itself against my chest. I forced myself to breathe. I concentrated on the present, the tangible, and grasped it tightly. Over the years, my offspring have subjected me to one stress test after another. My son especially has survived more than his share of accidents. Bike accidents, car crashes, sporting mishaps, a dog mauling, a cat attack, flying falls from furniture, workplace incidents, and an afternoon trapped in an army tank form a scarred tapestry of our experiences. Not once did I ever feel calm. Not once could I afford to panic. Have I ever felt completely calm? Have I not always felt tension, friction and unrest? Sure, there's the calm before the storm, but it's a brief waiting period, a respite. My guard is on high alert. It does not know relaxation. What's that expression? I wait for the other shoe to drop. To outward appearances, I may seem calm. I'm not pacing. I'm not ranting and raving. I choose not to throw objects, lash out, or kick. I refrain from confrontation. I suppose I am in control. Well, in control of my reactions. Much of life is beyond my control. I'm wracking my brain. Since I embarked upon the pot-holed path of motherhood I've been on standby, alert and ready for whatever should happen. Calm? Cool? Collected? I am at my calmest when I am absorbed with reading a book. Time ceases to exist. Human concerns such as thirst and hunger become irrelevant. Background noise becomes muted. My location doesn't matter. I shall always be grateful that respiration is a natural reflex. Never do I command my eyes to blink. When I read I am immersed in the storyline. No one need ever command me to calm down. If someone wishes me to calm down they need only to hand me a book. |
| May 9th prompt : Write about language. What do you wish you could speak? What's the most pleasant sounding accent? What's the funniest word in the English language ( or your native language)? Whew, so many questions today. My brain is whirring. This feels like an English exam. Is this a trick query? Are there funny /strange / weird English words? Of course there are! I salute any one learning to speak, write and navigate this contrary language. Rules, what rules? 'I' before 'e' except after 'c.' Weird. Pronunciation, shmunciation.Cough does not rhyme with dough. Shoe does rhyme with blue and two and stew. Then there is hi, hie, and high. Never mind the different meanings of words that sound alike. Utterly mind-boggling and I grew up with this language. Does the perfect accent exist? Si. I love the Spanish accent. It is musical, magical and it rolls off the tongue. It would be wonderful to become fluent in it.I'd combine my new smooth talkin' with trips where it'd be appreciated. Hasta la vista amigos! |
| Prompt May 8th Write about your favourite outdoor activities to do in the summer. Are there any that you want to try? Wait, is summer on its way? I ask because a day ago I experienced most forms of weather save snowfall. Howling winds slashed me with pelting rain before hail struck. For a few brief minutes, mini ice balls pounded my vehicle. Sunshine burst forth and parted the ominous dark clouds. Then the pouring rain returned. I switched on the windshield wipers and created a steady swish swish only to cease their rhythm because the shy sunbeams shimmered once again. Yes, there was wonky weather... So, when and if summer sashays into my neck of the woods bestowing balmy temperatures, I'll be ready.My flip flops are standing by and I've banished my snow boots to the dark recesses of the closet. My socks know their company will not be required for much longer and our days together are limited. Shorts and t-shirts are standing by.I anticipate a smooth transition to summer attire. One of my most 'favouritest' summertime activities is lawnchair reading reclining. There's really not much pre-season strength training needed. Cradling weightier novels and rifling through several hundred pages during the winter builds endurance. Pulling on down-filled parkas and shovelling snow creates the required muscles for unfolding and positioning a canvas deck chair. Pretty much balancing / perching on anything will condition the derriere to the necessary sitting posture. Besides reading, I also like to swim, but I have learned over the years to not combine the two. Books as a rule are not waterproof. I discovered that even a few drops of moisture will fuse pages together. Unless I am lucky enough to be swimming in the lake alone, I must be aware of others. It's like driving and navigating traffic. Lakes become congested too and splashing about with my nose buried in a book may cause pile ups and collisions. Strangely, dripping wet people are not always cool-headed. Is barbecuing considered to be a summer sport? Oh, some will know this time honoured method of cooking as grilling. Charbroiling my food is a summer tradition. There's such a fine line between rendering meat 'unraw' and cremation. It's a challenge. Nerves of steel, patience, and quick reflexes are a must. I do enjoy a campfire of an evening. This is my social venue. This is relaxation combined with star-gazing. This is conversation mixed with off-key singing. This is game-time challenges paired with laughter. Summertime is for camping.I choose a slower paced lifestyle. I am always outside soaking up the sun and inhaling fresh air.For a few months, I eschew t.v. viewing. I enjoy meeting fellow campers and the camaraderie we share. We stop and smell the smoke from our campfires. My days of water skiing are behind me now. My arms thank me and they do not miss being jerked from their sockets. My legs never did like to strain themselves pretending to balance. My style lacked flair of any kind and I teetered and crashed more than I skied. Perhaps I shall attempt tubing again. There's nothing to compare to the teeth-rattling, bone-jarring, eye-tearing, and white-knuckle gripping of a water tube ride. Being flung into the air and crashing into the boat's wake is a singular thrill. I anticipate an entire summer to recover. |
| PROMPT May 7th In your entry today, write about dreams. Do you dream often, or do you rarely remember your dreams? What is the strangest or most memorable dream you have ever had? No one could, or should call me a dreamer. I'm a tosser-turner. Every night I struggle to fall asleep. I relate to the internet memes that depict the brain asking strange questions as its host attempts to slumber. It's as if my brain decides to enter a marathon just as my head hits the pillow. Snippets of conversation swirl amid news reel scenes. Memories resurface to bounce and bob along. Writing nuggets clamor to be noticed and are only silenced if I rise, search for a pen and paper, and scribble them down. Plans that had not existed pre-bedtime float into focus. That elusive word, or phrase that niggled just out of reach all day jumps up and shouts, "Here I am." That comment I meant to share earlier waves. I don't count sheep. I tend to scrutinize each one and think how to best describe them. I wonder why the heck some consider this a sleep aid. Why must the sheep jump? Where should they jump from and what kind of jump is best for them? Are sheep mindless followers? Oh, aren't gullible people referred to as 'sheeple?' Huh, sheep get a bad rap / rep. Why am I singing Baa Baa Black Sheep? Did any one other than Mary have a little lamb? Ack! I've tried forced and controlled relaxation of my various body parts. This seems to take too long. By the time I've willed my head and neck to relax and I'm concentrating on one of my arms my nose develops an itch. If I somehow manage to reach my lower limbs my neck is screaming that it's uncomfortable and it's imperative that I change position, or risk permanent paralysis. My legs refuse to cooperate at all. They moan and groan. Nothing makes them happy and they prefer to thrash about. At their most contrary they surprise me with an excruciating cramp, or charlie horse. My reaction is the polar opposite of calm and serene. So, no, I never dream. To be accurate, I rarely experience restorative sleep. By the tortured time I finally fall sleep I'm exhausted and in a brief time I'm awakened by my body's urgent need to roll over. |
| PROMPT May 6th Write about a community service or volunteer experience you’ve had in your life that made an impact on you. "Okay girls has everyone washed their hands? Oh, and dried their hands. C'mon please use a towel, not your shirts." I take a deep breath and glance at the Girl Guides gathered around the kitchen island. I grin back at them and stifle an urge to join in their jostling. I'm a leader and as such I must set an example. "Who would like to crack an egg? In a bowl. This is an important first step in making a cake. Yep, egg guts can be slimy. That's okay. If the shell falls into the bowl, you can scoop the pieces out with a spoon. Don't worry about it, all of us have dropped eggs on the floor. Watch out, don't step in it. Egg guts are slippery, too. What are you doing with the salt, Rebecca 1? Huh, that's a smart idea. I've learned something new. Salt congeals the egg, nice." Eight giggly girls are eager to bake three cakes. This means there is the potential for triple the mess, but, hey, it's a process. One recipe is passed around and scrutinized. They form 'teams' and measure out their ingredients. Sugar scatters all around us, but sugar likes to do that. Some of it grits under our feet. Fine flour dust floats in swirls and coats every surface. Rebecca 2 decides that we should look like bakers and this means dotting each other's noses with a hint of flour whiteness. Most of the Guides agree shortening feels 'funny', yet one slathers a dab on her hands as if it was hand cream. Someone, could it have been Kaitlyn, dares her fellow bakers to taste baking soda. I laugh at the screwed up faces. Only girls can over-exaggerate a gagging reflex. Everyone wishes to stir their mucky mixes and not all of the batters remain together in their respective bowls. Stirring takes strength and finesse. The transfers to a cake pan proceed without too much fuss. Of course, not all of the wannabe cakes will be created equal. With careful planning, everyone has a sample to lick from the bowls and a few eschew spoons for fingers. Taking one last peek with noses pressed to the hot glass window of the oven, we turn our attentions to the clean-up. This occupies our minds until the cakes are edible. Oh, there is grumbling. Who likes to wash dishes? Soon, we are dampish and the growing puddle on the floor causes our sneakers to squeak and the girls to yep, giggle. Water sploshes. Elbows collide. Every available dish towel is pressed into service for drying duty. The cutlery drawer is only pulled all the way out from under the counter once, but that's all it takes to tip the contents onto the floor. At least everything was super clean afterwards. The oven timer shrills and eight Guides stampede to it almost ripping the door from its hinges. "Remember the oven mitts! Perhaps you should move all the soaking wet towels to make room for your cakes. Oh, did I not share with you the good news? You may eat one of those cakes this evening. The other two are for next week's Mother and daughter tea party. Won't your Moms be surprised?" |
| PROMPT May 5th If your job gave you a surprise seven day paid break to rest and recuperate, what would you do with those seven days? First of all, let me state how shocked I am. Basically, I am self-employed. The years of working 'for the man', or for anyone else are behind me. Now, I decide what I will do and when I will do it. I'm not saying a pay raise wouldn't be appreciated. I'm not refusing a well-deserved break either. I am surprised though. How did I manage to arrange this without arousing my suspicions? I had no idea I would, or could do this. Woohoo, I'm giving myself an all-expenses paid trip to somewhere other than here for an entire week. No need to inform my boss that I shall be temporarily unavailable. She is now aware. Since this is all in the spirit of a fantasy I presume I may carry on as if Covid-19 restrictions did not exist. I am free to travel without boundaries impeding me. No inconvenient virus will scuttle my plans. I'm loathe to admit it, but I'm tired of binge-watching t.v. secluded in my home. For once I'd like for someone else to decide what I am going to eat and then cook it. A break from making my own bed, washing my own dishes, and taking care of my own laundry would be a dream come true. What I crave is some pampering. What I need is a change of scenery. I will fly first class from Ontario to Alberta. My seven-day getaway will be all too brief and I will not waste a minute more than absolutely necessary in travel. To fully rest and recuperate, I need generous leg room and an attentive steward catering my unlimited beverages. At the airport, I will be whisked away in a chauffeur-driven limousine to The Fairmont Chateau in Lake Louise, nestled in the Canadian Rockies. How wonderful it is not to lug my own bags to my spacious light-filled suite. The fresh flowers perfume the air wafting around me, but I do not linger in their beauty. I have much to experience and the clock is ticking. In the real world I've always wanted to downhill ski. My clumsiness, lack of coordination, and contentious legs have prevented any efforts on my part. All of these issues collude to make even walking fraught with adventures. Here, in the brisk mountain oxygen, I will ski. I will glide down a mountainside of glorious, sparkling powder the breeze I create whipping my hair and snatching my breath. I will whoop with glee as I slide to a stop unscathed and ready for another pass. Not for me the bunny hills. I schuss with the best of the seasoned skiers, my knees oblivious to the moguls. I banter about with ski jargon and marvel that the only 'shush' I'd ever known before was intended to quiet my verbiage. After a full afternoon defying gravity, I'd lounge in a steaming hot tub situated on the balcony next to my room where I'd drink in the magnificent scenery surrounding me. Once I accepted that my muscles had relaxed I'd visit the dining room for a much anticipated gourmet meal. Of course, I'd indulge in a decadent dessert. Any potential calories would've been pre-burned and discarded during my strenuous skiing. Every day I'd repeat all of the above. I might throw in a spa day of luxurious pampering. I just might explore the area bundled atop a horse-drawn sleigh. I could skate 'round and 'round an outdoor rink. Why not? If I'm enjoying myself skiing, I will enjoy skating, too. Ah, seven days of being spoiled and free of knee pain, awkwardness and potential accidents. I'd definitely return rested and fully recuperated. |
| PROMPT May 4th May the Fourth Be With You! Write about a movie franchise or book series that you love. Am I the only one objecting to the 'a' in today's prompt? Does this not infer a singular response as in one favourite movie franchise, or book series? Who only has one favourite? I've viewed many movies and read oodles of books that I enjoyed. Not one deserves to be the most memorable. Each had something that appealed to me. Not all movies have a sequel, or a franchise. Not all books have a series. When I first discovered I really liked to read and my family members referred to me as a bookworm with her nose always in a book, I devoured a most glorious book,Black Beauty. Oh, how I commiserated and identified with the main character and narrator, a horse. He described his life as he experienced it with other horses and various owners/masters. From an idyllic colthood he grew into a working horse. At the hands of different taskmasters he knew kindness and cruelty / neglect. No one broke his spirit. He persevered. |
| PROMPT May 3rd What was the best thing that happened in your life over the weekend? Looking at the week ahead, what are your goals and how will you motivate yourself to achieve them? I may have to resort to my usual stalling technique and repeat the question as I ponder an answer. What was the best thing that happened in my life over the weekend? Did anything happen this past weekend? Hmmm, qualify the word 'anything.' I'd have to admit nothing much happened. I spent the weekend alone as I suspect many people did thanks to yet another Covid-induced lockdown. Social distancing and the closures / suspensions of anything remotely considered recreational tends to limit my forays out into the public world. I venture out once a week to grocery shop and that constitutes my 'change of scenery.' Any other shopping is not available at the moment. My hubby has been absent for several weeks and I myself returned from a trip to Quebec seven days ago. I spent this past Saturday and Sunday enthralled by my own witty company. Most likely I spoke to myself at some point, it happens. If I don't exercise it, my voice will become rusty. I don't recall that 'we' argued, or disagreed. Wait, wait a minute, I do recall binge-watching several Britbox crime drama episodes. I like to get my money's worth from a subscription, after all I spent good money for this service. My indulgence kept me up late, so I enjoyed sleeping in both mornings. At one point, I almost succumbed to a craving for something fresh-baked, but I drowned that urge in copious amounts of hot tea. So, no, I did not scarf any delectable cookies, or muffins, or cakes. Sigh. I also did not forget my knee-strengthening exercises. As is their unstinting habit, my patellas complained . I'm wise to their stabbing, throbbing, and aching. I ignore it. I seem to recall replying to a couple of newsy e-mails with my own scintillating updates. I like to keep up to date with mutual Covid commiserations. Damn, I've given name to and mentioned this scourge more than once. What would I have preferred to be doing this past weekend? Well, let me see. There's an autumn and winter's worth of fallen leaves to rake from my seasonal campsite. The trailer will need to be opened, aired and cleaned. The squirrel squatter in the shed and the groundhog under the deck will be expecting my return. I'm curious to see if the raccoon, rather rotund and slow, survived the freezing temperatures. How many mice partied in my trailer during my absence? Do I have goals for this next week? Yes, I sure do. I plan to continue languishing in, or is it with my current level of activity. I will rise every morning, curse stupid Covid, and count my blessings that it has not devastated anyone I hold near and dear. |
| PROMPT May 2nd What smell or sounds brings back great memories of your childhood? The rhythmic slapping of a skipping rope against pavement evokes memories of school recesses. Feet clad in sneakers beat a repetitive tattoo. Chanting of rhymes floated in the air and encouraged the skipper to keep pace. As the tempo increased the skipper's breathing became more laboured with panting. Sometimes, the rubber soles of our shoes squeaked as we miss-stepped or slid. None of the songs made any sense, but they rhymed and were simple to memorize. Everyone accepted that the faster the singing the faster the skipping. This was a test of endurance after all. Sooner or later, the skipper would make a mistake. She might fail to clear the moving rope, or two-foot a landing. Perhaps she'd stumble, or miss-judge the speed of the rope turning over her head and slipping under her feet. I can still hear these chants, but I wonder if my feet and legs remember what to do. I suppose I once had coordination. Miss Susie had a tugboat her tugboat had a bell. Miss Susie went to heaven her tugboat went to ... Hello operator Give me #9 And if you disconnect me I'll kick you from ... Now if the poor gasping skipper did something to disrupt the round and round of the rope, immediate silence descended. The slapping, the rat-a-tat-tat of the pounding feet, and the chanting ceased. This lull only lingered for as long as it took to introduce the next girl willing to make her own jumping record. During outdoor recess, muted shouts and squeals punctuated the air. Rattling from the metal perimeter fence competed with thuds and hoots. Rarely, the shrill screech of a handheld whistle sliced through the air. Laughter echoed all around us. From somewhere distant to our schoolyard, horns honked, sirens wailed, dogs yipped and yowled, vehicle traffic hummed. We played in our own protected bubble. When I close my eyes, I recall humid summer days spent swimming at Eddie's Pool, a local municipal hangout. Every excursion meant careening along on my bike with my towel flapping from its perch around my perspiring neck and my long, loose hair streaming behind me. Brakes were for sissies and we leapt from our rolling bikes as we bumped over the curb and guided the still spinning wheels up against the chain-link fence. I can hear the chorus of clinks vibrating from the hundreds of bikes waiting for our return. As we approached the outdoor pool, the roar intensified. Voices, squeals, shouts, laughter mingled with a P.A. system blaring upbeat rock music. Splashes competed with the steady monotonous hum of a filter. Just like the school playground, the shrill blast of a whistle could bully its insistent way into and above the raucous revelry. Anybody who was anybody graced Eddie's with their presence. The unmistakable smell of chlorine will still cause my eyes to tear and transport me back in time to Eddie's Pool. Those were great times, memorable times. |
| PROMPT May 1st Write about one (or more) of your creative idols. Who do you look up to? Whose work are you most inspired by? Why? I suppose I've always been drawn to humour. I appreciate a good laugh and I respect the people who can cause me to snort and spit out my drink reflexively. Humorists appeal to me. They portray the absurd, the strange, and the all too real. One of the first such people that could tickle my funny bone with her wit and descriptions of what many would describe as mundane is Erma Bombeck. Good ol' Google depicts her as a humorist "chronicling the ordinary life of a midwestern suburban housewife." Erma wrote of the everyday struggles, disasters, triumphs, and hilarity of a family. Any member of a family could relate and see themselves in her writing. I love her joie de vivre. Basically, she coaches us to laugh at ourselves and not sweat the small stuff. Life happens. "If you can't make it better, you can laugh at it." "Marriage has no guarantees. If that's what you're looking for go live with a car battery." "No one has ever died sleeping in an unmade bed." "When humor goes, there goes civilization." I admire her all the more now that I've discovered she wrote her newspaper columns and books while living her life with a hubby, three children and polycystic kidney disease. She made time for her writing. It was important to her, but no more important than her family. I don't imagine Erma would be comfortable in the role of an idol. She shared her viewpoint from the perspective of a mother and partner. She had a gift to see the funny, the silly, the ridiculous. She understood that none of us are getting out of here alive. Life is what we choose to make of it. Thanks for the laughter, Erma. |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
