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 |  Impromptu writing, whatever comes...on writing or whatever the question of the day is. |
    I've been blogging all through my days without knowing that it was blogging; although, this isn't necessarily the only thing I do without knowing what I'm doing. Since I write on anything that's available around me, my life has been full of pieces of scribbled paper flying about like confetti. I'm so happy to finally have a permanent place to chew the fat.  So far my chewing the fat is on and off.  Maybe, I lack teeth. Feel free to comment, if you wish.  Thank you very much, Cindy, for this honor and the beautiful graphic.  This Blog Continues in "Everyday Canvas "    |
| The very first poem I wrote was about a purple field violet that grew in the wild. I was in second grade, seven or eight at the time. For its bent neck I had called the flower shy, which made a big impression with the teacher. Then, I had an aunt who grew African violets and gave them away as gifts. After I got married, I found out one of my husband's aunts, someone I liked at first sight, also had a love for African violets. She had several windowsills filled with African violets. Over the years, I had plants in the house, but only a couple of African violets, for mostly I worked the garden. Then, I stopped all my plant involvement stuff due to a sudden onset of allergies. In the meantime, we moved south and the house with the two-acre yard was sold. I was given a few houseplants as welcome gifts in the new place, but I ended up giving them away. I couldn't take care of them anyhow, due to travels that suddenly sprang up. A few of my better orchids and other plants, I gave to my daughter-in-law, feeling fed-up with asking neighbors to take care of my green crew when we went away. A couple of weeks ago, I received a gift of an African violet. I put it in an empty windowsill where the light is constant but indirect. It did so well that, yesterday, I gifted myself with three more pots. It looks like we'll be staying home more, so I hope they will be okay. For short trips for ten days or less, they will survive, because the plants have saucers under them and I water them by filling the saucers once every week or so. The renewed appearance of African violets merges with my internal landscape well, handling light and shade like a master painter and bringing back memories of loved ones. The leaves with their velvety feel and their petals remind me that purple and magenta hues have always been my favorites. My windowsill in the dining room looks great and all the plants seem to be healthy so far. |
| "At present its (literature's) role is to entertain, to serve the fun culture, to de-emphasize the negative side of things and give people hope, a light in the darkness." From the Nobel prize acceptance speech of Gunther Grass I was in my teens when I read The Tin Drum by Gunther Grass, the German writer born in 1927. The Tin Drum is the fictional autobiography of thirty-year-old man named Oskar Matzerath. Oskar was in a mental institution. He played his tin drum and screamed, providing a look at the Nazis, the German history and humanity in general. That book impressed me greatly, then. I looked up at Gunter Grass as a German writer and peace advocate with a deep insight. My views have not changed...not even after Gunter Grass declared yesterday that he had been an SS officer, but not necessarily by his own choice. Even so, he is burdened by his past, his country's past, and his writings are proofs to that. According to BBC, Gunther Grass had "At the time" not felt ashamed to be a member, but he acknowledged, "Later this feeling of shame burdened me." Gunther Grass said: "For me... the Waffen-SS was nothing frightful but rather an elite unit that was sent where things were hot and which, as people said about it, had the heaviest losses. It happened as it did to many of my age. (He was 17, then.) We were in the labor service and all at once, a year later, the call-up notice lay on the table. And only when I got to Dresden did I learn it was the Waffen-SS." The Waffen-SS was declared part of a criminal organization at the Nuremberg Nazi trials after the war. What a tough load to carry on one's shoulders! "My silence over all these years is one of the reasons I wrote this book [Peeling Onions]," he told the Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung in an interview. "It had to come out, finally." I can't remember the names of everything this author wrote but I remember "Rat" and "Dog Years." "Peeling Onions" (to come out next month or so) will be his memoirs of the war years. It is difficult to forgive anyone who has taken part in crimes against humanity. At the same time, it is important to forgive people who were forced or duped into taking part in such atrocities especially if they have truly regretted their actions. In my opinion, the writings of Gunther Grass have always demonstrated that regret. Some may accuse him for his years of silence. I feel for him for having carried that guilt with him for so long. |
| When I heard what might spill on the place where a baby's butt is placed on a shopping cart, I almost gagged. It must be the age thing. While I was raising my children, such images never disturbed me, maybe because I was wallowing in them. Then the other day when I picked a shopping cart, the stickiness from its handle invaded my grip. Obviously, a candy-eating child's saliva had polished the handle. Luckily, I carry a tiny bottle of hand-sanitizer in my purse. When you observe the grocery cart in any supermarket, it has all kinds of things for the protection of the child, from "Never leave a child unattended" warning to straps and a seat plate. Special carts for mothers with the child sitting in a special fun seat are really good, because they protect everybody, not just the child. The child sits in a toy-carlike partition and the groceries go into the wire mesh basket. Obviously regulating the shopping cart design is more desirable than regulating a child's behavior, strike that, a parent's behavior. Some parents let their slightly older children with muddy shoes stand inside the shopping cart's basket. As if I am a shopping cart sentry, I feel like saying, "Excuse me, but in there goes our food material." Protect the kids. Add belts, shoulder straps, or even helmets to the shopping cart, if you wish. Then, protect us, the consumers, who have forgotten all about childraising or those who never had any children, also. Don't we deserve cleaner shopping carts? |
| Any disaster prevented is a success for humanity. I admire the way UK has handled the latest terrorist threat. There were some questions in the minds of a few, but surely, there will be doubting Thomases each time something positive is achieved. I think everything the Scotland Yard did helped catch the culprits, well, at least a few of them. Officials on the other side of the Atlantic acted smartly by not notifying the airports and following and eaves dropping on the terrorists for several months. If the terrorists suspected, they wouldn't be caught. I also applaud that, so far, no wise alec in the media has shown us how the liquid explosives are made. I believe UK has better ways of protecting the public by not letting their media catch on to things, but the people in the media in US will sell their own mothers for any titillating bit of news. The one question I have, not for UK, but for our Homeland Security is: Why, after 9/11, the experts who are supposedly second-guessing what the terrorists may come up with next did not check into the various types of explosives? I am sure they knew about liquid explosives then. After each stupid incident, a precaution--for that incident only--is taken, but why don't we check for things beforehand? |
| Yesterday, I bought a pound of coffee from the fancy coffee shop where they have coffee beans in glass jars from all over the world. As I looked at the labels on the jars, I recalled what a friend who had just returned from a trip to Guatemala had said. In the plane on her way over, she had rejoiced that she'd be drinking great coffee once they landed. She found out that the people over there drunk only instant Nescafe. It seems, to help the economics of the country, all the good coffee is imported out of the country. I just wish the world was a more even place--at least as far as the world's riches are concerned--and I wonder if we really deserve drinking the best coffee in the world. I ended up buying the house-mix. When I came home, my husband complained: "You could at least have bought Colombian Supremo." On second thought, maybe I should buy the Guatemalan beans. Would it help? |
| Today's News: "Four-time Iditarod winner Susan Butcher died Saturday Aug 4" Susan Butcher was the Iditarod Champ, the one woman who made the 1152 mile grueling trip from Anchorage to Nome several times and won four times, but more than that she was a woman who loved all animals and the wilderness and she fought for animal rights. That she won other sledding races, that she knew more about dogs, especially huskies, than a professor at a veterinary school and that she shook off gender discrimination is not as well known as her four Iditarod championships in 1986, 1987, 1988, and 1990. It was my husband who told me about Susan Butcher first. At the time, in the eighties I believe, I was too wrapped up in my life. I didn't even know exactly what Iditarod was, although I had been aware of a crazy race up there in Alaska where some bored crazy locals participated in and made a big deal out of it. But then Susan Butcher changed my views and she taught me one valuable lesson, that risk taking is an asset for success. During a race, she not only fought alone with the Alaskan wilderness, enduring 100 m.p.h. winds, artic blizzards, snow blindness, wild animals, thin ice, sleep deprivation, and avalanches, but also she responsibly kept up with her dogs' needs along the way. Susan Butcher was born in Cambridge, Massachusetts in 1957. After graduating from high school in 1972, she went to live to Boulder, Colorado where she became a veterinary technician, and then, she moved to Alaska in 1975 to take up residence in a small cabin in the Wrangell Mountains, where she stayed in isolation while training a dog team. Although Susan Butcher was dyslexic, she didn't dwell on her disability and she created a very special life for herself. A few quotes from Susan Butcher: "I think we all experience self-doubt. I am not going to tell you that I don't have insecurities or low self-esteem sometimes. But "self-doubt" -- what that word means to me -- I really don't remember experiencing." "I lived alone for nine years following my dream. There were some very lonely times; there were some very difficult times. I was often living alone, with my closest neighbor forty miles away. It was tough times for me. But I was never discontented." "Perhaps we don't have all the right answers because this takes a lot of study, but we can see that a balance (in nature) is necessary. This is what mother nature put on earth, an incredibly beautiful balance. We have im-balanced it. We have to re-balance it." "Your sense that you have to rely completely on yourself, that there are no people to turn to, is an incredibly satisfying feeling. And once you become content with it, I think that people would find that they have a whole lot more self-esteem and self-confidence that is built by knowing that you can depend on yourself and not on somebody else." " It never did occur to me that this was something a woman shouldn't do. There were no competitive women racing at that time in long distance racing. We have sixty to seventy mushers every year, and more than half of them go on a camping trip to complete the course. There were three women who had completed it by the time I started, but I had a very different idea, and wanted to go in there competitively because I had a very strong competitive nature. I was astounded and very unhappy my first year, when I found that there was some resistance from my fellow mushers because I was a woman." "My relationship (to dogs) is extremely close. They are my friends, my family, and my workmates. They get my attention around the clock. They are of total importance to me because--certainly during those years that I lived alone--they were often my only friends." "I do not know the word "quit." Either I never did, or I have somehow abolished it from my language." ""A less common danger, but nonetheless very serious, is the moose. The wolves are simply curious. They never cause us any problems. The bears, except for the polar bears, are in hibernation, and most of the polar bears are much further north than where we race. So the only danger for us really is the moose and the buffalo. But we only run through one herd of buffalo on the way to Nome. The moose generally run away from a dog team but occasionally they will somehow feel entrapped, and they feel they have to run toward you, and in essence, through the dog team. That has probably happened to me three or four times. No serious injuries to the dogs, none to me. Only minor injuries. In 1985, I was traveling alone at night in the lead of the race and ran into an obviously crazed moose. She was starving to death. There was something wrong with her. She was just skin and bones. And rather than run away, she turned to charge the team. I thought she would just run through me. I stopped the team, threw the sled over. She had plenty of room to pass us along the trail. She came into the team and stopped. She just started stomping and kicking the dogs. She charged at me. for twenty minutes, I held her off with my ax and with my parka, waving it in her face. And finally, another musher came along and we shot her, but not before she had killed two of my dogs, and she injured thirteen others, leaving me to scratch from the race. She bruised my shoulder. We spent the next two weeks at a veterinary hospital, saving the lives of the injured dogs." Susan Butcher earned her many awards, including the "National Women's Sports Foundation Amateur Athlete of The Year Award" and the "Tanquerey Athlete of the Year." She also won the "U.S. Victor Award" for Female Athlete of the Year two years in a row. In 2005, she was diagnosed with acute myelogenous leukemia and died yesterday (August 5, 2006) from complications following a bone marrow transplant. She is survived by her two daughters, Tekla and Chisana, and her husband, David Monson. I am sad because I feel she was still young at 51 and she could have given us so much more, had she lived. Susan Butcher, may she rest in peace, was truly a role model. |
| While I was away on my trip, the bottom fell from the earth with all the missiles, bombing etc. in the Middle East. Wherever we went everyone was talking or rather arguing about the new trouble. Talking about the world's problems or watching the media is certainly the right way to approach any bad news. Wars bother me greatly, as I am sure they do many people, but I wonder why there is such fascination with violence and wars. Does the news titillate us or is it something else we haven't discovered inside ourselves yet? I think all wars should be banned and our only fight should be against the violence inside ourselves. Maybe someday, we'll acknowledge that violence comes from inside these malfunctioning brains of ours, leading us to misconceptions, wild assumptions, and eventually to wars. Maybe brain research should be our priority before manufacturing fancy weapons or anything else. There is nothing fair or just about a war. A war always hurts both sides, and at the end, it provides unjust opportunities for some while lessening or eradicating the rights of others. At this stage though, it is too early to change the war habit of mankind's existence. Maybe we can approach it in small steps, before our bad habits do away with all of us. |
| This morning, I defrosted our smaller fridge. Yup, you heard me right. In this day and age, defrosting a fridge...now, who'd do that? Well, I do. We've had this half-size fridge since 20 some years and we use it to store drinks, fruits, deserts, and such. The thing works like a dream, but it needs defrosting every few months. Well, supposedly once a month, but with a sloth like me, this stretches to three to four months. During that time, its small freezer slot freezes solid with an iceberg that would make the North Pole jealous. So when I defrost it, I empty the insides from the night before and pad around it with towels and sponges. Luckily, we have tile on the floor and I don't run the risk of ruining any carpet. The exciting part with the defrosting comes during the night when we periodically wake up to the sound of ghosts falling over each other and cracking on the shelves. In the morning, I empty what has turned into water and what still swims in big ice floes. This morning while I was wiping the shelves, I thought, 'It would be nice to just freeze away everybody's troubles and then dump them away,' but then troubles are not as easy to get rid of as ice. Yeah, I am a little weird and old-fashioned. I get attached to things and people and talk to myself like that. Also, I still keep a fridge that needs defrosting even after my husband gave me a gift of a third fridge that doesn't need defrosting. Yet, I can't possibly get rid of this one. This fridge and I have accumulated a lot of emotion between us, even if I now have one big fridge and two small ones. Then, my husband tells me, in the middle of my defrosting, "Don't kill yourself, before we get on the plane." He always says that before each trip. So funny! Someone who's afraid of flying should hear him. Although I smile and nod, I know I'll take out the vacuum cleaner as soon as he exits to run his errands. How is he to understand that, while I don't usually do much housework, I like to leave a halfway decent house for nobody while we are away! |
| So many things one on top of another in the same weekend. World Cup at its exciting end with the French star Zidane kicked out of the game and Wimbledon finals yesterday and today. I really shouldn't watch, since I have some serious packing to do since we are flying out Wednesday, and tomorrow and Tuesday are busy days. Our big TV's circuit board went kaput during the last week. My husband went crazy saying, "Not this weekend!" Luckily, we sweet-talked the repairman into coming Thursday. Finally, Italians won and I'm off the hook. Not that I was taking sides, but I feel as drained as the players. I don't know why we get so excited over sports events. At my age, I don't need this excitement, especially other people's excitement. Lol! Now, I have to pack. Any other game I can watch?  |
| The shuttle is in orbit and even did a backflip to have its wounded side examined. At this stage, I am sending good vibes the astronauts' way. May their re-entry go smooth! And to the south of us, Obrador is asking for a recount of the Mexican votes, objecting to Calderon's win and trying to confirm (or rather change) the votes. His exact words: ""We are going to the Federal Electoral Tribunal with the same demand that the votes be counted, because we cannot accept these results." Caray! There goes those hanging pregnant chads again. We must really be influencing our neighbors. Maybe nobody should be president. Anywhere! |
| Well, the Florida skies look clear so far and they are getting the shuttle ready to lift off. Each time they get it ready and the takeoff is canceled, it costs a million dollars. Still, they keep getting it ready and canceling it the last minute. Why do they do it if they goof with the basics? They now say the crack isn't important enough. Not important enough? Shouldn't human life be held above everything? I think this is where we all go wrong. What we deem important, usually, has nothing to do with human life. Well, I'm not going to watch the shuttle take off. My nerves couldn't take another shock of a shuttle blowing off in the sky. For the same reason, I do not watch the early part of news where they show us how many people we have killed or how many of us are killed by other homo sapiens. Accidents I take better. Accidents happen and we have practically no control over them. For sure, we should try and think how to avoid them beforehand. If we can't, however, there is little to be done but chalk them off to nature or to God's will. What bothers me is the intentional hurting and killing and being negligent especially when some material gain is the aim. If the shuttle takes off today, I am sure, my husband will start telling me excitedly what's happening. "It took off now. They went! Look who's there watching on the stands. It is in the sky, now." etc. etc. He always fills me in. He thinks by not watching television, I am missing sooo much. Am I? |
| "LOS ANGELES (AP) — A large asteroid hurtled harmlessly past the Earth early Monday at a distance of about 269,000 miles — slightly farther away than the moon... Scientists believe an asteroid or comet impact probably wiped out the dinosaurs 65 million years ago and gave rise to the age of mammals. But the probability of an asteroid hitting the Earth and causing a global disaster in the near future is extremely low, they say. Asteroids the size of 2004 XP14 collide with Earth about every 84,000 years." What makes them so sure that an asteroid hitting the earth is far out? Our scientists can't even handle stuff in a smaller scale and they know how the cosmos works? They didn't even find the crack in the shuttle, which was planned to take off yesterday. It didn't because of the bad weather. Then, they found the crack this morning and they are now thinking (!) not to send it at all. As to the asteroid, I think our stupidity scared it away. |
| Last night the tail end of the storm Alberto dislocated me, carrying me away from my computer into the living room. Thus, a sheet of paper and a pencil produced the following piece: Playing the Screen Your bare legs on the ottoman, you sit, aiming at the TV with your right hand which holds your gift from God, the remote. As soon as you sit in that chair, your special relationship with that clicking marvel comes alive. You pick it up gently, with sensitive caressing motions as if it were a virgin. I always expect you to kiss it next, once you embrace the remote with your fingers. After you capture it, the remote shape-shifts into a wild vixen, grudging any sort of a pause while it charms you from channel to channel, not lingering in any one stop for more than half a second. As the channels flip away, I blink to make sure my eyes are left behind…with me, and I gawk at your captivated face that now sails in dreamland far from planet earth, exploring space travel at the highest light speeds. At that moment, you abruptly turn to me, trapping my gaze. Then, leaning back in your chair, you launch your sweetest smile, dimples and all. So, I smile back, still hesitating to tell you--for fear of your belly laugh--that the next movie I really want to watch at the Regency is Disney's new hotshot kiddie flick, "Cars." |
| It seems as if winds of courtesy and kindness are all over south Florida. It makes me question, "what happened?" Is there a council of churches or religious groups being held in the area or are the ufos are sending down celestial signals? A while ago, when my husband and I were at the mall, a four-year old little boy handed me a small package that I had dropped while walking. Obviously, he ran after us to do that, for his mother was running after him. While we were at the stores, the salespeople were unusually polite and nice. If anything, one of them offered a cheaper version of the same kind of a product. Usually, it is the other way around. As we were exiting the mall, an old lady held the door open for us. Did I look older than her? Then, on the road, several cars stopped so we could pass by. What did we do to deserve all this? I'm so delighted. I wouldn't feel as uplifted if I had won a million dollars from somewhere. If only I could preserve all this, bottle it up, and send it everywhere on earth! |
| "Let's get Physical!" That's an old song and oldies like me remember it. Well, I had a physical this morning. I was poked, fingered (if you know what I mean), drilled, grilled, and my blood sucked out of me. ----------- My doctor is nice; he shakes my hand and makes eye-contact as soon as he enters the room. This makes the blue, open-in-the-back paper gown I'm wearing a little less disrespectful. He asks relevant questions, listens carefully to my answers, and smiles politely to show his sense of humor. His bedside, or rather examination-table-side manners have been practiced to perfection, as are my instincts that sense the tonal inconsistencies in his voice when he feels a red-flag is up. We approach each other as if on a rink, as two seasoned pros: the professional taught by US medical schools and trained in the hospitals and examination rooms; the other, moi who, after so many years of being around medicine one way or another, has gotten to know these professionals to correctly guess their ways, likes, and dislikes. I know that he knows; he knows that I know. He knows I'm avoiding telling him something. He doesn't insist. On his way out of the room, he abruptly turns back: "Anything else? You better tell me now, before the nurse comes in with the cardio machine." Touché! He's won. I know, when I am caught with my back to the ropes. Falteringly, I tell him about the numbness and tingling at one specific point on my left thigh. "I am managing it, not important!" I add. "Let's find out, whether it's important or not," he says. This is what I have been afraid of. I know I am going to get a nerve conduction test, but I don't tell him that. "It is probably a pinched nerve," I say. He looks at me without answering, his stare throwing a thousand questions. The ball is still in my court. He's waiting for me to say something. "It might be Meralgia Paresthetica," I say. Then, I clear my throat. "Or an emboli." His left hook floors me. I send a how-could-you stare at his direction. "It deserves to be investigated. We'll send you to a neurologist," he says. He always does this. When he's throwing something tedious at my way, he doesn't own it. It is "we" who does the sending, not the doctor. I nod, admitting defeat. After all, he does deserve his heavy weight belt. |
| Something very local made me happy, today. St. Lucie County Artificial Reef Program is now collecting oyster, clam, and mussel shells from restaurants and raw bars in large bags to provide a fish habitat inside the Indian River Lagoon. The empty shells could also be used for the oyster larvae to settle in until adulthood. The shells will be part of the modules to be lowered into the water in spawning areas. With the hurricanes and the Okechobee River's dirty waters being emptied into the lagoon, the fish and shellfish were getting poisoned and dying. Finally, a positive step is taken by our county. Several fishermen of the area took to deep sea fishing and recreational fishing had diminished because of all the problems inside the lagoon. This move at least shows some recognition of the problem. Now, if only we could find a solution to the dirty Okeechobee waters! |
| This is the travel brochure I received in the mail, yesterday: "Horseback safaris for an adventurer like YOU! Malavi is an African destination. A Heart of Africa Safari can be arranged for you and your companion by your Tour Guide at..." Hahahahaha! If there is one place I am afraid to go, it is Africa. I already met elephants and other animal life at petting zoos, observed the wildest creatures in their cages, and have commiserated with their misfortune. In theory, I get along well with wildlife; however, no one will put me on horseback, have the horse canter into the middle of a far-off place where elephants, wild felines, and hippos commune, and make me rub noses with that wildlife. I love to travel, but give me a comfy hotel room or at least a safe enough place. If I were to push myself, I might even succeed to face heat and cold, but I would never volunteer to put myself on remote hills, secluded concaves, slushy jungles (which I have been to one, already. Thank you!) to approach the abode of wildlife and mingle with them up close and personal. I don't need to get that personal with anybody, as much as I love to read Thoreau. After all, a wild black or white rhino is no bluebird, and it would not be very pleased to see me either, even if it didn't know the feeling was mutual. I'll leave such expeditions to Hemingway wannabes. I can neither write like Hemingway, nor like Thoreau, anyhow. Then, maybe others can, if they are able to stand up to the height of a giraffe and look him in the eye. |
| "When did you turn into the Dear Abby of your social set?" That cracked me up. I have been a Dear Abby ever since I was born, except today. And today, the one day I haven't been a Dear Abby, my horoscope finds out about it. Well, we still have five hours till midnight. Actually, I acted Emeril today. Shopped and cooked like crazy and it all turned out acceptable. Whoever came up with the horoscope idea must have nails in his head. My daily horoscope comes with the new cable connection's homepage. I guess I could delete it, but I won't. Some days it startles me or makes me grin, especially when it tells me I'll meet the love of my life. I met my love of life forty years ago and I keep meeting him again and again every day. I guess, when you think about it, you could say, the horoscope's right. But then when you think about it, maybe the earth didn't prove to be flat; on the contrary the universe is flat. It must be, since there are days that I think everything falls flat on its face...like the poor Avon lady in Connecticut, who got scratched by a six-toed criminal cat. That too was on my home page. |
| I just ate four Lindor truffles to Galway's flute. And just a week before my six-month check-up. One should never binge before a doctor's appointment. Or else, one gets extra medication that makes one sicker than the sickness itself. Why did I do it? Because I don't have the self-control of an amoeba. Because truffles tasted good. Because flute music goes well with truffles. Because it makes me feel I live in the lap of luxury, with sweetness and creamy taste, smoothing and caressing my soul as does Galway's music. Does that mean Galway's flute sounds taste like Lindor truffles? Yessss! Exactly that. I just granted the taste of chocolate to music. Pachabel's Canon on Galway's flute with truffles and a chocoholic woman who has just lost it.I must not mention any of this to the doctor. |
| At bedtime, I am reading Natalie Goldberg's book, "Writing Down the Bones." The writer herself or her smart publisher must have thought to put her book in the smallest form possible (as to size). I call this a palm book, since I don't know what the tiny sized books are called in the industry. I had seen the original book, which was a regular (6" by 9"?) book size; however, this tiny size makes the book easy to hold when in bed and easy to carry in my purse. They should make all books that small. The miracle is, compared to its small size, the print is easy on the eyes. This book's smallness is only in size; there's nothing small or miniscule about it where the contents are concerned. Any writer who truly wants to write and needs an encouragement to get started or to continue when he feels alone should read this book. This should be a book in a high-school curriculum, no kidding. Now that I have voiced my admiration, I'll write what I did last night while I was looking through the chapter called, "A Sensation of Space." At the beginning of this chapter, Natalie Goldberg gives a few words and asks the reader to write three-line poems, using those words as titles. The rules are: the titles will be part of the poem (I guessed as the fourth line) and any one poem won't take more than three minutes. This is what I did: Glass: Wipe off, look from both sides, see through; clearer than the soul you hide from me. Salt tastes like sea foam, adding flavor to air then melting down in poignancy. Water: wet as tears, embracing the planet evaporates like years. Light Reflecting off the ocean, frisking away fears, blinds the eyes. The Window is a bag lady, dressed in drapery with her frame unflattering. I had fun! |
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