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 A new blog to contain answers to prompts |
Since my old blog "Everyday Canvas "  became overfilled, here's a new one. This new blog item will continue answering prompts, the same as the old one. Cool water cascading to low ground
To spread good will and hope all around.  |
| Prompt: "Her own thoughts and reflections were habitually her best companions. " Jane Austen Write about this quote in your Blog entry today. -- When I first looked at this quote, I said to myself, "This must be Fanny Price, talking." From where I stand or rather have read, Fanny was the only real character in the book Mansfield Park, except for a preacher who loved food too much. Although written about the well-to-do class in society of her time, there are quite a bit of controversial topics such as the slave trade and unusual family relationships in this novel, somewhat different from Jane Austen's most other work. Fanny Price was made to change her environment and didn't quite fit in with her richer relatives' ways and lifestyles, possibly more at first than later. So, it is understandable for her to turn inward. And not that she felt lonely but she didn't like the superficial interactions of the other characters in her new environment. I am guessing that due to her dislike, her inner solitude and self-reflection became quite comforting to her. As to the meaning in the quote, at least most of the time, groups, people, and societies usually praise the extroverts who surround themselves with people as charismatic leaders, life of the parties, and are the ones who get things done. They are deemed to be the successes. Come to think of it, this is so true, even in our day. Yet, for someone with deeper inner qualities, this type of a boisterous success means noise, false and ear-scratching. And at best, people like Fanny, can only just-tolerate it. This is not being aloof but investing in real, meaningful connections. For that purpose, most introverted people are the real observers and listeners who are after a true sense of belonging and emotional security. What they value, superficial interactions can only mimic. In our time, in our world that is changing so much so fast, (ask me about ai and the inability of companies and society and yours truly to adapt), maybe it would be better for us to pause, take in and process what is happening and what lies beneath the surface. This wouldn't be running away from responsibility but taking time for ourselves, for moments of solitude and peace. It is possible, then, we may find renewed energy and can face the changes in our ways of living. By taking the time to reflect, I am referring to introverted qualities and focus. Sometimes, a single task can be done much better and more thoroughly than if we scatter ourselves in all directions. Then, celebrating introverted feelings, attention, and actions is not about putting down extroversion, either. It means our human experience is multi-faceted, and it has richness and satisfaction in the personal and unique way we deal with ourselves and the outer world. So, if we pay more attention to our inner worlds, just maybe, we can find a quiet discovery of beauty in the hidden corners of our psyches. |
| Prompt: "I do not understand how anyone can live without one small place of enchantment to turn to." Write about this in your Blog entry today. -------- Enchantment can be fairy tales, photos of my beloved, the image of my last cat, a memory, a couplet from a poem, the sound of the last notes of a favorite music piece, or anything that means something to me. Once, when I was a child, I picked a small pebble worn smooth from the top of my great-grandfather's grave and kept it as my good-luck charm, and then, in times of trouble, I held it in my hand, feeling its surface, imagining that my great grandfather was comforting me. To this time in my old age, my enchantments are subtle; yet, they are like spools of shimmering thread that weave magic through my days. I suspect, therefore, most of us, deep down inside, need a refuge where our souls can breathe after the monotony of the errands, obligations, and the machinery of our everyday lives. This may be because the human spirit can wither if it can find no water to keep it alive, the water from its secret well of comfort and wonder. Most of the time, those wells of enchantment need not be lavish or luxurious. Simple places--such as a quiet chair inside the back porch to watch the setting sun when it drapes itself in golds and reds, a walk through the woods where the air smells of pine and silence, or the hush of a library aisle scented with old paper--may become doorways into realms where my mind changes what's ordinary into extraordinary. I know this when it happens because, in such places, time slows, the world shows its deeper, gentler mysteries, and I feel loosened with my perspective restored. In other words, my weary heart finds renewal. Then, inside this feeling of renewal, birdcalls become prayers, raindrops turn leaves into chalices, the setting sun and the shifting shadows become a secret language meant only for me. These enchantments are openings into a world that listens, hears, breathes, and shows what's hidden inside the noise of my days. This is when my heart loosens its grip of its burdens and weariness, and time bends into something timeless and tender. |
| Prompt: Heart and the Ocean “Your heart is like the ocean, mysterious and dark.” Bob Dylan In what ways is your heart like the ocean? Are you aware of every single thing that your heart holds inside it? -------- Ocean...calm on the surface, at least sometimes, but it is layered. Underneath it, is hidden life, trenches, currents, and our thrash and waste. Just like we are...just like I am. So much of the heart remains hidden because it must. Why, I don't know, but I understand that I am not meant to peer into its every shadowed trench and dark depths; otherwise, I'd lose my wits, what little of them has been left after my long life. Just like the ocean, my heart also has its tides. And tides--mine or the ocean's-- shift in silence, some due to the currents tugging at me. Those currents carry memories, hurts, and longings from way back when, and those, I find out to be strange at first, since I never realize I still own them. My old griefs are the shipwrecks resting far beneath the surface, and the newer ones, I feel only if I look below very carefully. Then, there is a fun surprise, too. My forgotten joys drift like schools of bright fish, darting to the view when an unexpected light (a sudden recall) touches them. Desires, fears, pride as the result of old achievements, my beloved family and friends' attentions, all live underneath, unseen, only to rise when stirred by a scent, a word, a poem, or the recall of a loved one's memory. The heart, mine or yours or anyone's, is too large, too vast, too deep, and also, too layered for understanding it in its totality. So we only sail upon it, listening to its hush and warnings, and hearing the roar of its tides. Its darkness is not empty but possibly beautiful in a mysterious sort of way. Its unknown depths are in abundance, to remind us that we are so much more than we realize. We are not aware of everything our hearts hold because so much of what shapes us hides beneath the conscious thought. Our hearts, within us, therefore, are the oceans of mystery, alive, deep, and infinite. |
| Prompt: "Long live the rose that grew from concrete when no one else even cared." Tupac Shakur What does this quote mean to you and what kinds of images does it bring to your mind? ---------- The first words that popped up in my mind when I read this quote were resilience, underdog, strength plus beauty. Isn't it true that, sometimes, success in its true meaning shows up, springing from a grim and tough background? To prove its point somewhat poetically to us, this quote uses two very effective metaphors. So let's look at those metaphors one by one. Concrete: Harsh, strict, and sterile conditions that permit little or no growth. It means an absence of nurturing soil, sunlight, and steady water. Applied to us humans, poverty, discrimination, lack of opportunity, and physical and emotional neglect come to mind. Such an environment crushes anything delicate and prevents it from growing into a beautiful form. Rose: Beauty, fragrance, and delicate petals. A symbol of life, hope, art, talent, success, a daring, strong individual spirit. How improbable it is for a rose to grow from concrete? This idea gives the image its power. This rose doesn't just survive but thrives and blooms in a place so against its own nature. This rose shows a strong innate drive and will to live and show its beauty by pulling up what it needs from some unseen sources and finds light where there is none. Then, this addition, "when no one else even cared," is not only an observation of resilience, but also, it is a celebration of self-made victory. It makes me imagine this rose's initial isolation and its struggle. While other roses had a gardener, a protective fence, good soil, and plenty of water plus fertilizers, this rose had to find what it needed on its own in the worst place ever. Moreover, the lack of adoration and validation from any other source didn't discourage it, either. It excelled without any help from the outside, through its own strong will. In this rose's case, I can see and hear a hint of accusation at an environment, or the society, which overlooks and dismisses some people while it elevates those who are born into good families and luckier circumstances. The entire quote also means that true beauty and inner strength often provide the power to rise from misery and hardships. At the end, "Long live the rose" is a powerful statement as it is a celebration, a blessing and a wish for us to appreciate the dignity and power of people who overcome everything difficult and impossible. Especially, if and when, they bloom where no one thought they ever could. |
| Prompt: Salt "There must be something strangely sacred in salt. It is in our tears and in the sea." Khalil Gibran Why, do you think salt is so important and necessary, and in what ways? And why do even so many desserts, such as cookies and cakes, call for salt? ------------- Salt is such an ordinary product. The sacred in it, however, gives it a dual personality. We sprinkle salt on our food without a second thought. We even add salt to so many desserts because it stabilizes their taste, and in bread-making, it doesn't let the yeast get out of hand and rise to high heaven. Then, in addition to its practical uses, it finds its way into rituals, sacred rites, and superstitions. In my case, it also finds its way into house-cleaning and opening clogged drains when paired with vinegar. After all, there is this fact: salt dwells in just about everywhere, outside of us or inside us. The sea mirrors our inner waters, since with salt, we are now honoring the memory of our beginnings. I say our beginnings because life itself rose from the depths of the ocean, the ocean being an endless well of salt; therefore, every living thing carries within it a trace of the sea’s ancient chemistry. No wonder that we call old sailors, "old salt!" Similar to this, our sorrows become salted when we shed tears and probably this makes our skin salty, as well. Not just sorrows but also joys, too, are often salty with tears of laughter, reunions, and sudden realizations of beauty or truth. Just maybe salt is the language of our bodies when words fail us. This may mean that salt is survival, and so, it is sacred. It is sacred also because it is a symbol of endurance and preservation. Now that I've thought about salt, I'm now wondering how salt itself would feel about being so sacred and strange with staying power...if it could have feelings, at all. What really puzzles me is how anything, dead or living, can be so resilient and two-faced with both ruin and renewal. Perhaps, all this may be because salt still remains after water dries out, same as the memory that lingers in traces after our tears dry. |
| Prompt: "There is no surer foundation for a beautiful friendship than a mutual taste in literature.” P.G. Wodehouse Think about your friends for a minute, do you share the same taste in literature? Maybe movies? Maybe food? What makes your friends special to you? -------- I believe everyone is unique. So, how can any two people have the same exact taste in anything? But this is my thinking. I'm sure many others assess this differently. One thing in common between me and my good friends is that we all love literature, maybe different faces of it, but still, literature is also a friend and a healer who throws us a lifeline. In fact, I can't think of any person among my close friends who might dislike literature, and neither do I know of anyone I ever met who put down literature or cursed at it. What makes literature so loved to the point that it eclipses almost all else, then? I think there is no single answer to this question, but it must be the written word or words put together lyrically and meaningfully in some way, so they can meet and address our deep-seated human needs. Maybe it is just an escape, but also, it is a love affair rooted in understanding, self-discovery, and language. Yes, the language, too, the sheer, intoxicating beauty of it. Then, for those of us who are into books like me, a book isn't just paper and ink, but a doorway to countless other lives, ideas, worlds, and consciousnesses. Within the pages of a book, I can feel like a Roman Emperor, a Cinderella, a star-crossed lover, a detective cracking an impossible case, or part of the crew of a spaceship in outer space. The feelings I get from what I read take an intimate and active form, and my imagination fills in the gaps, making the experience uniquely mine. Yet, literature is much more than escapism. It forces me to step outside of myself and inhabit other minds and forms with understanding and (I hope) empathy, too, so I can feel their dilemmas, cheer their wins, and mourn their losses. It teaches me what I call the "other" is often another version of myself. In this way literature mirrors my soul, while I search for myself in its themes and characters and hope that I meet my own unspoken and so-far-unrecognized joys, thoughts, and fears. In addition, I also love words, their rhythm, sounds, and power over me. Plus, any elegant prose is a powerful art form. That perfect metaphor, a well-structured narrative, the poetic lilt of an observation are sometimes such profound joys in themselves, as well as becoming proofs to the creativity of the human mind. Finally, literature offers connection and legacy. It links me to the thinkers and writers of the past and the present, allowing me to get a glimpse of their ideas and thoughts about what it means to be human. So I hope, through literature, I can live more fully, feel more deeply, and understand more profoundly. And whether my friends have caught on to how literature affects us or not, they also contribute their own interpretations and reflections to it. In short, I believe literature connects us together as if a dream-weaver, a therapist, and an adventurer. And for my friends and me, this is truly everything. |
| Prompt: “To announce that there must be no criticism of the President, or that we are to stand by the President, right or wrong, is not only unpatriotic and servile, but is morally treasonable to the American public." ― Theodore Roosevelt Your thoughts on freedom of speech with all that has happened recently with Jimmy Kimmel. ------------- Let me start by saying that I rarely watch TV. I don't think I have watched any talk shows possibly in three decades. The only time I have the TV on, to the local news channels, is when I'm eating supper alone. Also, the only time I probably liked watching TV--just a tiny bit-- was probably during the 60s and the 70s, and even then, I wasn't much into it. Remember we used to call it the "idiot box"? My late husband, btw, loved TV, not that he was an idiot, quite the contrary, but he usually watched business channels, arts and sciences programs, movies, and maybe Johnny Carson every once in a while. To be with him in those times, I'd either take a book or take my knitting or crocheting and stay in the room, glancing at the TV once in a while. The reason I'm yakking so much about me and TV is to say that I'm not qualified to have a decent opinion on the subject, especially with the present goings on. As to Jimmy Kimmel, I have never ever watched him. I don't know how he talks, walks, or thinks, and I don't care. Where the recent hullabaloo is concerned, I do think everyone has a right to their opinions; however, those opinions should not be aired at the expense of innocent people. Since part of the question of the prompt was about him, I tried to find out what he said. On the media, they wrote, what Kimmel exactly said is iffy. The only reason I found out why his show was taken off the air was that he said, the killer was from a MAGA family, which was later established that the killer was quite the opposite for he sided with the left. So, I gathered Jimmy Kimmel was taken off the air for giving false information. So what! Everyone, these days, is full of it with false info on the air and on the internet. Since now I'm done with the Jimmy Kimmel story, let me write about what I think of freedom of speech, regardless of what Theodore Roosevelt said. Freedom of speech is our right in this country. Period. If I were to define it, I would say it is the right of a person to express their opinions, ideas, and beliefs without censorship or restraint by the government or any other faction. The value of the freedom of speech lies in the fact that it protects diversity or thinking. This means self-expression with accountability, progress and open dialogue. The reason I underlined accountability is because freedom of speech sometimes becomes dangerous when it steps into the areas where words directly incite harm or cause the demise and hatred of groups and individuals. What I mean by that is this; incitement to violence, such as riots and terrorism, and direct, targeted threats or defamation to groups and persons that put at risk their safety and good names. Then I must also include hate speech, the spreading of dangerous falsehoods, and lies that target elections and cause unrest. Therefore, freedom of speech is wonderful when it opens paths for civilized dialogue, critique, and ideas. Otherwise, it turns dangerous like any other thing in the wrong hands. |
| Prompt: "Go, sit upon the hill and turn your eyes around, where waving woods and waters wild do hymn an autumn sound." Elizabeth Barrett Browning Write about this quote in your Blog entry today. ------------ When I was very young, one of the adults took me and my cousins, to have a picnic on a hill, overlooking the train tracks. The view all around was beautiful but all we cared about was hearing the train's whistle and jumping up and down and waving at the passengers as the train passed by us. This quote reminded me of those very early days, decades ago. So unlike the clowning and rowdiness of me and my cousins, Elizabeth Barrett Browning's words are steeped in the quiet wonder of nature. To sit on a hill is to rise above the noise of the ordinary and experience nature and its wonders. Trees stirred by the wind are musical, with each leaf like a small instrument in the orchestra of branches. The waters, I imagine, glitter and join in the music with their own fluent songs. Such harmony can only belong to autumn and the impressive words of this poet. Yes, the season may be turning, but there is nothing to feel sad about it, if I can listen with my whole heart...and ears. Every sound--breeze, ripple, and birdcalls--praise softly the change in season and I for one can feel myself as being part of the rhythm, and not outside of it. I am not a Victorian poet like Elizabeth Barrett Browning, but over the years, I have really enjoyed her work and I'm grateful to her for the impressions I still gather from her poetry. Therefore, maybe I should tell her, in her own words, "How do I love thee? Let me count the ways..." As such, her hill has become my easy chair, woods a choir, waters a poem. They point to nature's passing through time and they tell me to celebrate it. Just maybe, autumn does not sing of endings, but of ripening in beauty before the winter's rest. |
Prompt: What does it mean to have it all? Write about this in your Blog entry today. ===== Frankly, I think only God has it all. We all have a bit, or more, or in abundance. Then, even when we have something more or in abundance, something else either goes haywire or breaks or falls away. So, we cannot have it all. It would be fantastic if some of us, while trying to have a lot of that "having it all," thought of things more like: being a less self-centered person who is of service to others, performing random acts of kindness, and comforting people in pain like my wonderful nurse-friends do. Then, some people are quite happy with their lot in life. If so, why reach for something more? Then, "more" wouldn't be enough over time, either, because we people get tired of what we already own, anyway. Not everyone and not really astute people, though. When Alexander the Great visited Diogenes of Sinope, and offered to fulfill any one wish Diogenes desired, Diogenes replied, "Stand out of my light." It is tough to be a Diogenes, however, isn't it! As to the phrase itself, I think someone sang a song or made up one. Nice, upbeat lyrics, too! But I thought, when this songwriter wants someone else to have it all, there's some element of selfishness or serving his own needs lurking in his words. Worse yet, Heaven forbid, what if he meant, "I want you to dethrone God and sit in His place?" Wouldn't that make God real angry? I wonder. Here is the song, copied from the internet: Have It All Jason Mraz Have It All (Lyrics) [Verse 1] May you have auspiciousness and causes of success May you have the confidence to always do your best May you take no effort in your being generous Sharing what you can, nothing more nothing less May you know the meaning of the word happiness May you always lead from the beating in your chest May you be treated like an esteemed guest May you get to rest, may you catch your breath [Pre-Chorus] And may the best of your todays be the worst of your tomorrows And may the road less paved be the road that you follow [Chorus] Well here's to the hearts that you're gonna break Here's to the lives that you're gonna change Here's to the infinite possible ways to love you I want you to have it Here's to the good times we're gonna have You don’t need money, you got a free pass Here's to the fact that I'll be sad without you I want you to have it all [Post-Chorus] Oh! I want you to have it all I want you to have it I want you to have it all This internet is the hub of all comedy. Don't you think! |
| Prompt: Role Models "I'm not a role model... Just because I dunk a basketball doesn't mean I should raise your kids." Charles Barkley Which kinds of people, do you think, deserve to be role models, and who is your personal role model and why, if you have any? ------ Charles Barkley was a fantastic basketball player and, at times, with his antics, he made us crack up with laughter. In his personal life, I'm sure he could be a good role model to a young person, although he probably didn't think so himself. As for me, I don't know who could be my role model while I grew up because I liked several different qualities in each person. I also tried to emulate some fine virtues of my family members. One of them was my uncle who treated me as an adult and encouraged my meager writing efforts. Another was a high-school lit teacher who valued my work. Coming to role models in general, we are as humans, from birth on, imitating creatures. First, we imitate our parents' and other people's speech patterns through our babbling. Then, we make their wishes, needs, likes, dislikes, and dreams our own as if they are blueprints for life. Later on, during our growing-up years and even beyond, we are drawn to those who are put on a pedestal by society and fame. We may, for example, admire celebrities, athletes, titans of industry, or charismatic political leaders. We admire them for their talent, their wealth, their power, or their public persona. Yet, although these people may have undeniable gifts, their successes might be narrow and unethical and sometimes without integrity. They might often fall short of deeper moral, interpersonal, or even intellectual virtues. I think, therefore, the kinds of people who deserve to be role models should be those who have inner, deep-seated qualities, rather than flashy, outward achievements. These individuals can teach us that true strength lies in character, not just in brute force or cunning. In fact, true role models should be the people who are resilient with a growth mindset. They are the ones who choose the hard right over the easier wrong, even at a personal cost to them. They might be the whistleblowers, the quiet activists, and everyday citizens who speak the truth and stand up for those who are unfortunate and vulnerable. They might be the kind caregivers, dedicated teachers, community organizers, and innovators who genuinely try to improve the lives of others. This is because they understand that true leadership is only about lifting others up, and not about self-promotion and ego trips. So, Charles Barkley may be a role model in his personal life or not, but if he is, it isn't because, as a NY Knicks player, he could dunk a silly ball into a silly hoop better than anybody. It is because in his private life, he may be the better version of himself with a genuine, inspirational character. I certainly hope and expect this to be the real truth about him. |
| Prompt: Change of Seasons "To be interested in the changing seasons is a happier state of mind than to be hopelessly in love with spring." George Santayana When seasons change, say from summer to fall or fall to winter, what becomes challenging for you during these changes? And how do you think you react when life changes its seasons for you? -------------- Seasons are like chapters in a book, and in a good book, as brilliant and interesting a chapter may be, if there would not be a next chapter, I would not like it. So, from that point of view, I agree with Santayana's quote. Also, I don't think the change of seasons are challenging for me, since any change means moving on, letting go, reflecting on what has been gained and lost. Don't we all do this in life, anyway! It is just that where I live. summers--especially this summer--was so sizzling hot that I welcomed the autumn. Normally, here, autumn's arrival means only a slight drop in heat; however that iffy ease also comes with the warning of the hurricane season. Still, since I've lived all over the place in my much younger days, I look at autumn as my semi-sweet treat. This is because autumn glows and aches all at once. The air sharpens, and leaves burn bright before surrendering to the ground. Change is visible, beautiful, and bittersweet. Next, winter settles in, and depending on the climate of the place, snow can be beautiful but far too cold. So maybe, some of us are forced to turn inward and deal with ourselves using the strange peace in winter's stillness. Luckily, for me, nothing ever has remained frozen, and I found that beneath the ice and frost, something new, something like hope, always gathered strength. That hope is the spring arriving with a breath of renewal, with green insisting on being seen and the world awakening to moments and thoughts of love, recovery, and ambition. When this happens, our fragility gives way to exhilaration, and I--together with the rest of us--dare to bloom, like the flower buds. Then, summer peeks in or arrives fast, glowing with light, bold and unashamed. For most of us, life in summer is full of friendships, fun spilling over, and endless energy. Yet, hidden inside this energy is restlessness as if we know this fun time cannot last forever. And for me, right now, I am glad summer is over, since extreme heat is not much fun in old age. So I try to move with the rhythm of the year as if dancing through joy and loss, energy and rest, and beginnings and endings becoming one and the same. As if reading a book, as if to live means just to keep turning the page. Autumn comes as a blaze of farewell as leaves flare into fire, then fall into this season of memory, with a quiet ache of letting go. Under winter's cloak of silence, bare trees like truth revealed, and in the sharpness of air, a mercy or a chance to hear the heartbeat of life beneath the frost. Then, tiptoeing in, comes spring, its arms full with blossoms, and petals opening like hope, over rain-washed ground, and once more, the heart dares to believe in renewal. Next, is summer, bursting in a relentless laughter and fun, and long endless days in the sun, until shadows grow their own radiance with wave of farewell, for nothing can hold the sun forever. |
| Prompt: Favorite Animals "Some people talk to animals. Not many listen though. That’s the problem." A.A. Milne Which animals are your favorites? Write about your relationship to all animals and if there is or was a special animal in your life. ------------ All animals are my favorites. This includes wild anything, fish, sea animals, spiders, snakes or bugs; although I am also somewhat cautious with wildlife. After all, I raised and tamed two wild boys. As to talking to the animals, my older son and I do talk to them. We may sometimes shock the other people in the area, but it is what it is. Do we get a reply in return? Not always, not with the animals that are not pets. Once, my son and I were taking a walk. He waved at a wild bird, a white egret, and said, "Hey, how are you doing?" Just then, a couple, my neighbors, were coming from the opposite direction and they thought he addressed them. And they stopped to talk to us. Luckily, the bird flew away without giving us in. Also, inside our enclosed porch, live salamanders and frogs, and with them, I get along just fine. Even when we leave the porch doors open, they don't go out, because outside is dangerous for them with the local and migrating birds who use the golf course at the back of the house as their wayside motel. After all, there were many special animals in my life, one or two dogs and several cats. My uncle and aunt had a dog, and Irish Setter, named Rocky, when I was in my teens. His dog and I made best friends. When my uncle was transferred to another city, they called us often. And when I took the receiver, my aunt would tell Rocky that I was on the phone and Rocky would come and bark into the receiver. They said he got very excited afterwards and ran around in circles in their apartment. Then, when our sons were little, we adopted a Newfoundland puppy, Joe. So I became Joe's shelter from anything negative. If there was thunder outside he would stick his body in between my legs and whimper. This was when he had grown into the size of a small pony. Imagine me walking around the house, trying to do housework with Joe around when he was troubled! Joe also became best friends with our two sons, but it was the older son--who, like me, talked to the animals--that he followed around more. My favorite animals, though, if I have to choose, are cats. For one thing, each cat has a different personality, and even when a cat acts aloof, he or she isn't. In fact, cats are very sensitive to human emotions. A tabby we had while I was in my late teens, jumped on a table, which he wasn't supposed to jump on, and started to lick my tears away when my mother got sick and was having difficulty breathing. Then, my last black cat, Noche, although she was not wanted by anyone for being so quirky, was probably the most sensitive one to my feelings. She used to talk in her sleep and she always replied to me when I talked to her, and sometimes, she even started a meowing conversation, herself. Unfortunately, she passed away at 16 last year. She was my last pet-friend, and there won't be any, after this, due to my age. So, I have to count my blessings for the salamanders and frogs and an occasional spider in the porch area of the house. |
| Prompt: "On September 13, 1990, the drama series "Law & Order" premieres on NBC; it will go on to become one of the longest-running primetime dramas in TV history .According to the now-famous "Law & Order" formula, the first half of the hour-long program, which is set in New York City, focuses on the police as they investigate a crime—often inspired by real-life news stories—while the second part of the show centers on the prosecution of those accused of that crime." Have you seen Law & Order? Is this show part of your weekly viewing? How do you feel about the format always being the same? Do you find it tedious or satisfying that you know what's coming next? If you're not a fan what prime-time dramas do you enjoy if any? -------- To tell the truth, I'm not a huge fan of the TV, in general. I liked it more, once, but mostly and especially right now, I'm much more interested in reading or rather listening to books. Part of it may have been the commercials. Unfortunately, during the earlier days, there was no escape from the commercials that cut into the excitement of the episode. Today, however, we can watch a whole show on YouTube or wherever else, if we pay for watching anything without a commercial. As to Law and Order, I did like the earlier shows and watched several of them. I think those were during the 1990s. My husband, however, didn't take to them much as he fell asleep even during the exciting reveals that came up during the second half or sometime toward the end. It might just be because, for a few years then, he was referred to by the court as an expert witness and had seen probably just about everything. Another reason I stopped watching the show is because the main key characters of the original series, especially the earlier detectives, changed a lot. That meant the show just lost my loyalty. The show in the beginning was an hour long and it was set in NYC, where it was also shot in an original way with original stories. During the first half police officers investigated the crime and arrested the suspect. In the second half, Manhattan district attorney's office and its prosecutors prepared the cases, and only then, went to trial. I've heard that most of the stories were based on real NY crimes, but I am not sure if this was the truth. I'm not sure because the events seemed to be purely fictional. Anyway, looking back, if I remember correctly, I only watched Law and Order during the early 1990's. It is quite possible the later shows might have shown much more improvement or not. |
| Prompt: "After nearly 40 years of riding across millions of American TV and movie screens, the cowboy actor William Boyd, best known for his role as Hopalong Cassidy, dies on September 12, 1972 at the age of 77. By 1959, seven of the top-10 shows on national television were westerns like The Rifleman, Rawhide, and Maverick. The golden era of the TV western would finally come to an end in 1975 when the long-running Gunsmoke left the air, three years after Boyd rode off into his last sunset." https://www.history.com/this-day-in-history/september-12/hopalong-cassidy-rides-... Prompt: Are your familiar with Hopalong Cassidy? If not, what westerns have you seen or read? Have you tried your hand at writing westerns? -------- How could I have tried my hand at writing westerns when I did not like westerns in the first place! Having said that, however, not all westerns are full of big talk, thrashy plots, and womanizing self-important men. There were a few I ended up watching because I am old and there was no escape from them in my earlier years, and also, my mother was a fan of the westerns. My mother loved Clark Gable. Well, who didn't! She loved especially the movie Boom Town (1940). I still remember her talking about Spencer Tracy, Claudette Colbert, and Hedy Lamarr. Of those three artists, I can only remember and admire Spencer Tracy's work, but not necessarily in westerns. Then, Clark Gable also was in Lone Star with Ava Gardner, and I did like Ava Gardner, too. I can't remember Clark's third one, The Tall Men, although I can almost swear I must have seen it, maybe even several times. For, in those days, it was the movie theaters only, which showed these things and my mother did go to the matinees with her friends or my aunt when I was in school, but she also took me to several of those during the weekends. To this day, I can't believe she could watch the same thing over and over and over. But then, she was a romantic with her head in the clouds. And for her, there was Humphrey Bogart, too, with the Treasure of the Sierra Madre. I liked Bogart in other movies but I can't remember if I watched the Sierra Madre movie, though I must have. As to Hopalong Cassidy, I can only recall a tiny bit of those shows. I am not too sure if they were on the radio or movie theaters. I know he wore black and had a horse, Topper, and his image was on the lunchbox of a schoolfriend or two. Maybe I even saw him on a few cartoons, much later, but I am not so sure. He was supposed to be a clean-living cowboy who fought for justice. Oh, I almost forgot. I liked Clint Eastwood in Once Upon a Time in the West. At the time, I was pregnant with our older son. Then, in those days, was the series on TV “Lonesome Dove,” which neither my husband nor I watched but we heard friends talk about it to no end. As to, Once Upon a Time in the West I found this note on the internet: "This isn’t your classic Leone-Eastwood Spaghetti Western. A quirky, fast-paced style is swapped for something slower and more somber. The results are spectacular. When other filmmakers try to parody Western films, they often mimic this film. Turns out mimicry is a form of flattery. Watch “Once Upon a Time in The West” if you’re looking for tension, action, and some grade-A cowboy bad boys." For this movie, the year was 1978 and I had two small rambunctious boys, then, and I could pay no attention to cowboys and the movies about them. I had my own two wild ones to run after. |
| Prompt: Adventure vs. Routine "If you think adventure is dangerous, try routine; it is lethal." Paulo Coelho What do you think adventure is? And is routine all that bad? Alternate Prompt: The 9/11 terrorist attacks killed 2977 people and changed the world as we knew it. Write about your feelings and the consequences of this historic day. ------------- i love Paulo Coelho's work, but this quote sounds like adventure and routine are enemies or it is either one or the other. I rather think their beauty lies in their balance. Simply put, adventure without routine would burn me out. I really don't need any burn-outs in my life. Not now! Not at my age! Routine settles me in, is predictable and it grounds me. It lets me conserve my energy and focus on known projects, so I can build better habits for doing things. It leads to faster practice of the things I do daily and it makes repetition a comfort, like a short nap. It makes my life feel manageable. On the other hand, routines without any adventure would make me idle, my days blurry and dull, and make my brain weaker almost in all areas. Routine, however, when I wake up every morning, grounds me, as I do the morning chores and whatnot. It makes me feel stable...  well, somewhat, so I can be ready or face the adventure that will surely pop up with one thing or another. As an aside, the worst kind of adventure is the adventure I hate to face with companies who haven't mastered the new technologies and they keep changing things at the drop of a hat. They certainly are keeping me on my toes enough and they don't let me enjoy the kinds of adventures I really like. The kinds of adventures I like or real adventure, by the way, means stepping into the unknown. It means enjoying uncertainty while doing something new that I enjoy. This may take the form of travel, new experiences, or bold decisions that disrupt the predictable flow of daily life. Their defining quality is novelty. They add perspective. They sharpen my senses. For example, I can notice the colors of a new place more vividly and listen to the unfamiliar tunes or voices more closely because every moment demands my attention. Furthermore, adventures push me beyond my comfort zone, teach me resilience, flexibility, and the ability to embrace change with a smile on my face. Then, for us writers, adventures give us stories to tell, while, their helpmate routine gives us the strength and knowledge, so we can live with them and write about them. ==== Alternate prompt: 9/11 I so remember that day, although I really, truly don't want to. At the time, it felt as if it were the worst day of my life, and maybe it was, too. As the result, like the most of us, I was depressed, had difficulty concentrating, and trouble sleeping. The general focus everywhere became the fear, anger, and worry for our national security. Looking back, it might have brought us together strongly then, but only for the moment or for a short time, but when the initial feelings and precautions became more lax, it also divided us a lot more than earlier, leading to today's right-left abyss, where the right-left stance, earlier, was only a small gap. I don't want to tell again and again, what I and my family and my nation went together that very day. It is too disconcerting for me. But surely, even with the distant recall of those fateful times, I still feel the echoes of that huge thunder and explosion, and even today, I feel like my insides will ignite and explode, as well. |
| Prompt: “Earth and sky, woods and fields, lakes and rivers, the mountain and the sea, are excellent schoolmasters, and teach some of us more that what we could learn from books.” John Lubbock Of the natural features, what is your favorite type? Oceans, mountains, etc. ------------ It is difficult to choose, really. I like all nature even the wildest of its animals. They, as everything else in nature, are all my favorites, in essence. Maybe, this is why I never liked to swim in a manmade pool, but in the ocean. As the quote says, earth and sky, woods and fields, lakes and rivers, the mountains, and the sea are all very beautiful and with their own personalities. Maybe this is because they are teachers older than ink and paper, older than my voice or anyone else's that ever set words to a page. So, I've come to the conclusion that knowledge is not just a matter of words, but of watching, waiting, feeling, of letting the world write itself upon my senses. Thus, patience, I've learned from the earth, as roots burrow into it and blossoms and flowers wait their turn. Hopefully I've also learned humility from both the earth and the sky. They both remind me how small I am. Earth to embrace me after my body ceases to breathe and the sky to show me I am less than a dot beneath it. Those mountains and their shadows remind me of strength and their silence is louder than any sermon. Woods and forests whisper of mystery and stillness while the rivers teach motion, the art of moving forward and learning to change course when conditions change. They also do not ever forget any stone they once touched. I should be that lucky with this not-forgetting thing! My lessons of vastness, wonder, and how beauty and terror can dwell together come from the oceans and the sea. In these lessons, I am not just a student but I am kin of the entire living world. For knowledge is not just words, but it is also watching, waiting, feeling, of letting the world write itself into my senses. |
| Prompt: Autumn Impressions "Autumn is the hardest season. The leaves are all falling, and they’re falling like they’re falling in love with the ground." Andrea Gibson Write about what this quote brings to your mind? ------------- This quote brought to my mind nothing about autumn, but the dual love and curiosity I feel for life and death. To love life is an instinct hardwired into the very core of my existence, such as the sun's kiss on my skin, the laughter bubbling up from a baby, the warmth of my sons' hands in mine. It is the taste of my favorite foods, the thrill of discovering new things, the quiet comfort of my family even those who are far away, and the fierceness and determination of purpose I feel when I start a new task. Life, then, is a kaleidoscope of sensations, emotions, and connections as they paint my days with meaning. I can't say I love death, since I haven't experienced it yet; however, I have a fascination, morbid though it may be, with its timing, and a deep, quiet acceptance of it, some feeling almost tender, since I imagine it to be an achievement of a different kind of freedom and (I hope) possibly a more complete way of being. I suspect or can imagine death to be not as an end but as a transformation, something important to life, as if its life's partner in a lively dance. It is the turning of a leaf from green to gold, its eventual return to the earth to nourish new growth. Death gives life its poignant urgency and its preciousness. My dual respect and love is not a contradiction, nor is it pessimism. It is something that offers wisdom and harmony as if a light shining brightly against a backdrop of shadows. Then, doesn't music need its silences? Doesn't the brightness of the sunlight give its place to the calming of the moonlight? I think, therefore, to love life as well as death is to love existence wholly, beautifully, and without reservation. It is to be truly, utterly alive, until the very last breath, and beyond. |
| Prompt: “Bring down the curtain—the farce is over.” The last words of French philosopher and comic, Francois Rabelais What do you think of life? Is it really a farce? -------- Who knows! Life may well be a farce. Yet, I'd hate to think this farce to be meaningless. After all, we all are players in life. Also, which one of us ever stops the search for meaning while we are alive? No, we don't stop, and I won't stop. This is because life itself is fragile, and much of it can feel ridiculous, contradictory, and hollow. Yet, within the “farce” lies that search for meaning. And even foolish plays can carry a strange beauty. The awkward entrances, the ill-timed gestures, the hollow laughter...all of this is part of the spectacle. Yes, after when the curtain finally lowers, footlights fade, and the painted backdrop collapses into shadow, the actors dissolve into silence. Moreover, so far that I know, there is no encore. Maybe, no applause either. This could be because, in the first place, the set might have been borrowed, the lines half-learned, and the performance only temporary. So, this whole thing turns into a declaration that the roles we’ve been playing, the pretenses we’ve been maintaining, and the illusions we’ve been trapped in can no longer hold. And that silence after the last curtain is the most honest thing. It asks for no more laughter, no more applause, no more frantic improvisation. It is just a release. Maybe the deepest grace lies in bowing honestly at the end, knowing the farce was absurd, but that we gave it our brilliance, breath, and presence for as long as the curtain was lifted. |
| Prompt: Cousins “A cousin is a little bit of childhood that can never be lost.” Marion C. Garretty Do you have cousins and how much do you like them? ----------- I love my cousins. All of them. Granted, I am closer to a handful few, but having been raised without siblings, my cousins became my siblings without the trouble that sometimes arises among the flesh-and-blood siblings. In my somewhat suppressed and thus chaotic childhood, my cousins became the golden threads that tied me to life's joys. They were always the unseen anchors. Those of them closer to my age became my gang and co-conspirators. Unlike with interactions with the adults, my interactions with my cousins were much freer. This is because we had a shared understanding born from navigating the same family dynamics, even if blood-linkage-wise, the family bond between us were second or third and thrice removed. Plus, I always thought my mother acted more nicely toward me when my cousins were around. When I was the only kid in the house, I guess she felt, it was the time to really bend and educate me to her ways. This made my cousins a safe harbor when my mother's upbringing storms felt too overwhelming. That must have been one of the reasons why I cried and begged an uncle and all the other elders to let a certain cousin who was only a year younger than me and with whom I got along with very well, to stay overnight or a few days in our house. Usually if that cousin's school schedule didn't interfere, the adults gave in. In adulthood, too, my cousins' importance deepened further even though life scattered us all over the world. Still, they are for me the keepers of our shared childhood, our family history. Moreover, most of them became the shelters I still take refuge in over the phone, even if I don't talk about my troubles or life at length. Just hearing their voices or getting a text message from them is a great comfort and it adds richness to my life. My cousins are the laughter echoing across generations with their quiet nods of understanding, with their hands reaching out across distances and decades. I am very grateful to God for putting my cousins in my life, as an extended network of love, understanding, and shared experience woven into the very fabric of my being. |
| Prompt: Have fun with these random words-- switch, x-ray, install, series, reconcile, dead, maze, cupboard and bother. ----------- My Inner Cupboard I open the *cupboard, dust falls slow in it, *nostalgia sleeps, from long ago I flick the *switch, light spills wide, an *x-ray glow on what I hide keepsakes *installed are in place as *series of ghosts I cannot face my silence is heavy, my heart feels *dead though I've *reconciled with what was said but my thoughts fly as medley and *maze darker in corners, in a hollow haze for memories bind me, I cannot sever some things I've kept, *bother me forever. |
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A simple moment of quiet reflection where you can take a deep breath and appreciate the silence. Not much of an enchantment but it works for me.
