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 |   Reflections and ruminations from a modern day Alice - Life is Wonderland |
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Reflections and ruminations from a modern day Alice - Life is Wonderland  Welcome to the place were I chronicle my own falls down dark holes and adventures chasing white rabbits! Come on In, Take a Bite, You Never Know What You May Find... "Curiouser and curiouser." Alice in Wonderland    |
| 30-Day Blogging Challenge PROMPT January 15th Where in the world would you like to visit the most? Assume you are not worried about money in any way. While you're traveling, give me a status update on January so far. Smooth sailing, or turbulence? is prepped to reward another contestant with a MB today! Traveling on an endless, imaginary budget is the best way to travel! This would be a toss-up to me because I would love to travel to my husband's birth country of Turkey. I am entranced by the old world mystery of Istanbul with its impressive mosques and parks, ferry boats and the great expanse of the Bosphorus bridge.Turkey is a country with amazing biodiversity from the lush, Mediterranean fueled coast to the rugged, mountainous out lands that border Syria. The cuisine is simply wonderful from adana kabobs to dolmas and crisp baklava dripping with honey and nuts. I would love to explore, and eat my way, criss-crossing this country. I'd visit the tea houses and the baths. I'd take in the fairy houses in Goreme and the enjoy the spas of Pamukkale. Coming in at a very, very close second would be to take one of those outrageously expensive European Viking River Cruises. I would love visiting the old world cities of Budapest or Nuremberg along the Danube or exploring the castles from the Rhine, Prague, Paris or Zurich. Cruises like this start at over two thousand dollars and that doesn't include the international airfare to get there from the US. It is a bucket-list item, an "if I ever win the lottery" caliper dream. I can't imagine the adventure it would be to cruise along these ancient rivers and get to explore these old world destinations from luxurious staterooms while enjoying 5-star service. Who knows...maybe one day I will come into a surprise windfall of money and then I will have to choice between my two travel dreams.  https://www.vikingrivercruises.com As far as how this year is going...I'm staying on top of my blogging challenge which is a goal I set for myself and I'm feeling good about getting it done. We've got a jump on some repairs with the new house and I'm feeling almost completely settled which feels pretty great. Overall I'm cautiously optimistic about the year ahead. |
| This month my daughter turns nine. In keeping with tradition, and in my ongoing effort to temper the bittersweet forward march of time, I like to author at least one blog wholly devoted to marking the milestone of her birthday. If I am to leave her anything of real value when I am gone, it will be this ongoing testimony of an immensely proud mamma who was fully invested in her journey and loved her in every second and with every fiber of my being. This past year has been filled with trials..from the sheer physicality of moving twice this summer, to our ever increasing battles over her hair and clothes, to combating her near obsession with online games and YouTube. We have started most of the mornings in this fresh New Year with an argument about one thing or another. I have lost my mind over her stomping feet, exaggerated eye rolls and disgruntled faces. It seems we endlessly debate why leggings are not appropriate winter attire. We battle. Sometimes it gets loud and the dogs, sensing an epic throw down is looming, take off to hide upstairs until the storm passes. Still, before our turns comes up in the drop-off line, we manage to sort it out. Regardless of how angry she may be, she still shoulders her backpack and leans in for a kiss before throwing open the door. These days I find it is more about finding victories in the delightful surprises then consistently winning arguments with her. Eventually she listens to me…and besides, there are so many delightful surprises… Jaden is becoming her own person and that person is most definitely not a mini version of me. She is entirely something new and improved, a hybrid of both her parents with a balance of our features and various traits blending together in this beautiful new way – along with things that seem unique to her. She is athletic and competitive in a way neither one of us ever were. She is drawn to things that challenge both her body and her mind at once, like obstacle courses and horse-back riding. I can see her mind working as she puts her body through the physical paces, concentration is as evident on her face as enjoyment is. She has become more fearless in this environment, trepidation giving way to a growing confidence. I can see pride blooming there as well, in that telling Mona Lisa smile when her instructor cries out, “Yes, Jaden!”, the moment she achieves the perfect posture or executes the perfect transition or canter. Music continues to be something she is drawn too. She pushes back on practicing piano but once she sits down and begins to coach the notes from her instrument, I can see her lose herself. She started ukulele lessons in school recently, and she has really taken to it. She talks a blue streak about chords and likes to play me the YouTube tutorials they use in class. She has asked for her own ukulele for her birthday this year and I look forward to hearing her strumming away on those chords. Like mine, her taste in music is highly varied. She has a wide scope of what she likes. For now, she gets by on my playlist but makes the occasional request for me supplement it with a new song she has discovered. For the most part, I enjoy her selections. They reflect someone who listens with a critical ear and harbors a true appreciation for musical composition, regardless of the genre. The other day on one of our drives, “Under Pressure” came on the radio. I immediately turned it up and began singing along, as one simply has to do in appreciation for genius collaboration of David Bowie and Freddy Mercury. I glanced at my daughter in the rear view and was simultaneously shocked and elated to find she was also singing along in the back of the car. She caught my eyes, and smiled back at me. It was a moment of kindred connection, one of those delightful surprises. At her core, she is still that child that loves to snuggle. She still prefers to fall asleep between us. Even when she goes to bed in her own room, we find her wrapped about us come morning, one leg or arm draped over us and her hair falling in sheets across our faces. The “I love you’s” still come unsolicited, though not as frequently as they once did. She will still take my hand in a parking lot or store. Randomly, during a movie or in the throngs of deep sleep, I will sometimes suddenly feel the slip of her hand – her long fingers lacing up with mine. These are the moments I treasure most. She is magical in so many ways these days. Even in her stubborn fury, her green eyes flash and pierce with a mysterious loveliness. Her heart-shaped face has changed so much, it is hard to find a trace of my own features there anymore. I see a version of her teenage father in her lanky silhouette but she has a grace to her movements and a flavor to her beauty that must hail from more distant ancestors. As she turns nine, Jaden is still more reserved and quiet than most girls her age. She still holds herself back, but less so. Her confidence is growing and she engages more freely with those people she feels most comfortable with. She readily chimes in on phone calls with my sister or responds with unchecked giggles at her new uncle’s antics and teasing. She tells stories and jokes. She asks for things she wants and responds to questions from adults without my prompting her to answer. She will occasionally surprise me by breaking into nutty dancing in the aisle of home depot or quoting “Napoleon Dynamite” with a deadpan accuracy. She still likes slime, unfortunately, but has showed a renewed interest in things like painting and her pottery wheel. She is creative but draws more pleasure from exploring the mediums than by finishing the final pieces. Jaden has an explorer’s heart. At nine, Jaden is our whirling dervish, our musical student, our budding equestrian. She is warm and loving. She is intelligent and she is kind. She will not back down from an argument but she won’t hold a grudge. You may wait half a lifetime for an apology but when one finally comes it will arrive accompanied by a fierce hug and kiss and a throaty, heart-melting, “I’m sorry Mamma.” And it is absolutely no surprise that life with her is simply delightful. |
| 30 Day Blogging Challenge PROMPT January 14th “We are all apprentices in a craft where no one ever becomes a master.” -Ernest Hemingway What are your thoughts on this quote by a writer many consider a master? Who are some other writers you admire or consider masters? I love prompts like this because I get to talk about those authors I consider masters of their crafts and it feels a lot like paying them homage in exchange for having given me such inspiration. So the opinions expressed here are solely mine... I love the classical writers first and foremost. They crafted stories that lived beyond their time and place. C.S. Lewis is unmatched in his imaginative storytelling. Anis Nin and DH Lawrence are the keystones of their genres, both of them are pioneers for all those romance and erotica writers who have found success since their works were published, banned and republished. My favorite among these classical master is Gabriel Garcia Marquez. His words are beautiful and full of such color and life. The first time I read his "Love in a Time of Cholera", I was completely awed at his amazing prose: “To him she seemed so beautiful, so seductive, so different from ordinary people, that he could not understand why no one was as disturbed as he by the clicking of her heels on the paving stones, why no one else's heart was wild with the breeze stirred by the sighs of her veils, why everyone did not go mad with the movements of her braid, the flight of her hands, the gold of her laughter. He had not missed a single one of her gestures, not one of the indications of her character, but he did not dare approach her for fear of destroying the spell.” ― Gabriel García Márquez, Love in the Time of Cholera Aside from those classical writers, I have long list of active and prolific writers I consider to be masters at their crafts. For the sake of not writing a novel here, I'll just gush about a few.... James Lee Burke had the ability to transport his readers to locations and places where your senses seem to delight with the sounds and smells all around you. His characters are quirky and memorable, easy to invest in and care about from the very beginning. They are compelling enough to keep you coming back, novel after novel. This is a writer at the very top of his game. The very first line of the very first novel I read, Tin Roof Blowdown, took my breath away with the visceral melody of his prose: "My worst dreams have always contained images of brown water and fields of elephant grass and the downdraft of helicopter blades. The dreams are in color but they contain no sound, not of drowned voices in the river or the explosions under the hooches in the village we burned or the thropping of the Jolly Green and the gunships coming low and flat across the canopy, like insects pasted against a molten sun." Tin Roof Blow Down Mo Hader is another of my favorites. She has a very sharp and unforgiving style. Her stories stay with you, beyond the last strains of the final chapter. She has a great hook...and then delivers a full fleshed out, uniquely original story. "The Devil of Nanking" was one of the first novels I've read from this British crime author and it has never left me completely. It is not for the faint of heart but there is simply amazing writing throughout, stunning in all its horror and its grief. Lastly, I love Gillian Flynn's twisted talent. She is a master of creating those characters we hate to love. Her beautiful prose always belays the darkness of our natures. She lurks you in and keeps you hooked until that final gut punch at the end. She's just amazing and dark and gorgeously demented. I love all her books but Dark Places and Sharp Objects are my favorites. |
| 30 Day Blogging Challenge PROMPT January 13th Open your local paper or browse online for a news story headline that grabs your attention and share it with us. Try to venture outside your comfort zone and read a story you wouldn’t normally read or even one from another country! I'm playing catch up from the weekend here, it is hard for me to blog on the weekends so I try to catch up on Monday morning on the two prompts I miss. I don't typically get the newspaper but I do read the news online. I actually get the bulk of my new from listening to NPR. I listen to it a little obsessively at times. I love NPR because they cover the world, not just the same stories as the other national news channels. They have journalists going all over the globe to pursue stories I really don't hear covered anywhere else. This past weekend I hear stories from the front lines of the immigration debate...a family of immigrants waiting on asylum on the other side of the wall. It is these kind of stories that catch my attention, the personal stories behind the political grandstanding. It is particularly moving to hear the interviews, to know that there is a journalist standing with them in the shadow of the border, capturing their story first hand. I'm always impressed by the compassion and honestly the NPR journalists convey during their story making. There are many times I'm listening in my car and even if I've reached my ultimate destination, I sit there and continue to listen. It is news but it is also compelling story telling at the same time. |
| 30-Day Blogging Challenge PROMPT January 12th Besides the craft of writing, are you an artist in any other medium? Sculptor, singer, dancer, painter? Share a story about your talent! Aaaannnnd... I’ll be awarding another MB this Creation Saturday! When I was in college, I used to spend some time drawing. I like pen and ink and using colored pencils. My subjects were usually fish and mermaids...highly fanciful depictions of sea life. My grandmother and mother were artists, they both worked with acrylic and oil paints. I found it relaxing but it didn't fulfill me in the same way writing did. These days I am lucky to find the time to express myself in one craft so I stick to writing. It is the best medium to express my creativity. |
| "Blog City ~ Every Blogger's Paradise" DAY 1852 January 11, 2019 John Gardner's The Art of Fiction has an interesting third person limited POV exercise. Let's give it a try- "Try describing a barn from the point of view of a man who just learned that his son has died. Don't tell us anything about the son or even that his son has dies...just describe the barn as he sees it." Walt dragged the camera from his bag, shifting his feet to compensate for the sudden weight of it in his hands. The wide lens was heavier than he would have expected but then, he was operating on a reserve of strength that was already running low. He lowered his center of gravity a bit more and focused the lens on the barn. It had been newly painted, a bright brick red that looks still wet in places where the rising sun ray's bounced of its surface. The white trim around the windows also looked new. It made the panes look like dark, open wounds. The barn stood firmly, the only structure in the middle of a field that swam with too tall grass and pockets of wildflowers. There was a old tractor parked beside it, given half way to rust and rot. Outside the wide doors someone had left a wood wagon, slowly being reclaimed by creeping overgrowth. The barn looked like it was a new construction, youthful somehow in a sea of old. The barn looked strong, like it could withstand the unforgiving winter storms and the blazing summer heat. It looked like it could withstand even the advancing rot and decay. The red began to swim before his eyes, the colors running away with his sudden tears. Walt lowered the camera, sank to his knees in the dirt. He knew no matter how strong and bright and untouchable that barn looked...it would take one perfect, impossible storm to level it to dust. He knew this and it left him feeling empty and dark, like those dark windows. "Blogging Circle of Friends " DAY 2245 January 11, 2019 “Language allows us to reach out to people, to touch them with our innermost fears, hopes, disappointments, victories. To reach out to people we'll never meet.It's the greatest legacy we could ever leave our loved ones: The history of how we felt.” Simon Van Booy Do you agree with Simon? Is this why you write? I definitely agree with Van Booy on this. I believe it is a great part of why I love to write. I think I am building a legacy for my daughter, for her family one day. I think of all the diaries, journals and letters left behind by those who have passed. They are a record, a testimony for those still here. I also think I write for myself. I write for the insight it gives me to go back and read over something I've written. It tells me about where I was at a particular time in my life. It lets me relive the joys, or the pain that is captured in a piece or a blog. Reflection is an important part of growing and moving forward in life. Writing always allows me to look back on important, defining moments. |
| 30-Day Blogging Challenge PROMPT January 11th Tell us the story of your name. How and why was it chosen? You can choose to talk about your real name, your WDC username, or even your handle if you like! Since I already covered why my "handle" became my handle in a recent prompt, I won't bore everyone with repeating the reasoning again. As far as my real name, I have no idea why my parents picked Melissa. I was supposed to be Jennifer, but they decided against that at the last minute because there was already a Jennifer in the family, a daughter of one of my mother's cousins. It was most likely as last minute decision as my parents were in their early twenties, young and newly married. I'm sure they were shell-shocked and it must have seemed like a good, solid second choice. It certainly wasn't because they googled it...my birth predated anything like that...because had they, they would have found it was Greek in origin and neither one of their families hailed from Greece. Apparently, my name means "honey bee". I've seen it loosely translated to mean, "honey sweet one", which is prob not very fitting for me.  |
| 30 Day Blogging Challenge PROMPT January 10th If you were a fighter pilot in the Navy or Air Force, what would be your Call Sign? Why? Example: Ice Man from Top Gun. And, surprise, surprise! It’s another MB challenge day! I've been staring at the prompt for fifteen minutes now debating if I should even attempt it. My mind feels burdened with heavy thoughts this morning and as such, it seems too hard to free enough space for such a whimsical assignment. I'd love to come up with something witty and entertaining but it feels beyond me today. This challenge is about pushing myself though so I am struggling but determined not to cop out completely. If I were to imagine myself as a fighter pilot, which would take a lot of imagination, I think I'd like a call sign that speaks to the amazing nose art that used to grace the fuselages of fighter aircraft from the 40's. I love that lush, pinup art style. While it might no longer be considered appropriate, I've always seen it as a celebration of what makes women sexy, powerful and vibrant. I've been a avid pinup art collector and this variety number among my favorite examples of the art form so, I'd choose a handle that reminded me of those women, like maybe..Racy Lacy or Fancy Frannie?  |
| "Blogging Circle of Friends " DAY 2243 January 9, 2019 “Everyone must leave something behind when he dies, my grandfather said. A child or a book or a painting or a house or a wall built or a pair of shoes made. Or a garden planted. Something your hand touched some way so your soul has somewhere to go when you die, and when people look at that tree or that flower you planted, you're there. Hopefully we've a long time ahead of us but it is nice to think ahead. Contemplation is good for soul, don't you agree? What will you leave behind, what difference do you hope to make? Maybe it is the same with everyone who is a parent, but I feel like my legacy will live on in my daughter and in my daughter's children. The lessons I teach her, the passions I encourage to her pursue, the feeling that she has been loved unconditionally...those are all parts of me I leave with her when I go. I like to think they are like building blocks in her soul and though she will build her own life and future, those blocks remain like keystones or cornerstones - a permanent like to me. I also leave her my words...all the things I wrote about her, about raising her and loving her. My writing is the truest reflection of who I am as a person, so once I am gone, she has this forever representation of who I was and how I felt about my world and her place in it. I dream about writing a book for her, a collection of these pieces, that she can keep forever as a testimony. I have been diligent about keeping a blog, writing through her milestones and hope to continue to do that as long as I am able to. It is nice to think about leaving some more physical behind...a building or a park...a tree? I'm obsessed with this idea about natural burial alternatives. I think it would be absolutely lovely to have my body fertilize a tree. I think about how much nicer for my loved ones to visit with my memory by sitting under the branches of a broad, lush tree than with a cold gravestone in a cemetery somewhere. I hope I live the kind of life that my loved ones still feel my presence even after I am gone..and are grateful for it. "Blog City ~ Every Blogger's Paradise" Day 1850 January 9, 2019 Prompt: In the winter, she curls up with a good book and dreams away the cold. What is your take on this? My take on this prompt is that this is exactly what I would like to be doing right now. It might be odd but I actually enjoy the cold. I am a child of Fall and Winter. I enjoy snow and a fire in the fireplace. It is calming when I don't have to navigate snowy New England roads to get to work at least. I love the idea of a mid-week snow storm that means there is no school, and by default for me, no work. The idea of having free time to curl up and read is like balm on my soul. I'm imagining it right now....  |
| 30 Day Blogging Challenge PROMPT January 9th Tell us about the pet you had for the longest amount of time or the one that made the most significant impact on you. If you have never had a pet (I’m sorry), what pet would you want? The pet I have had for the longest time is still with me. Turk, though he goes by many names, is our miniature Doberman of the red or copper variety. At nearly twenty pounds and almost 18 inches tall, he is a fairly large specimen of his breed. His tail is docked but his ears are natural. They fold over at the tips and are easily the softest part of his rougher, short-haired coat. He has dark, soulful little eyes marred now by a creeping white film, the beginning of cataracts. As he rounds on the age of thirteen, Turk is not aging very well. He suffers from some arthritis in his back legs and a very testy gut. He has one inner eyelid that lags a bit giving him the illusion of always winking at me. His recent dental appointment resulted in his losing 17 teeth, including of his two canines and most of the tiny teeth in the front of his mouth. These ailments coupled with the shadow of grey around his snout, shelter him from a fair amount of our rage and Turk gives us plenty of reasons to rage. We love him but he is evil, even in his frailty. His presence in our lives has provided us with as many memories, not all of them good. Turk has committed a host of crimes for which another dog might easily have been cast out. These crimes are not merely misguided “doggie” things but highly coordinated attacks on our sanity and the sanctity of our home. He has committed crimes against bathroom rugs, space heaters and treasured toys. He has disrespected boundaries and made unforgivable overtures with our food, our garbage can and once upon a time,our cat. He may have even tried to kill me on at least one occasion. The fact that he is still alive and in residence in our home is a miracle in itself. Turk has always been a swarthy opportunist. He discovered how easily he could invade the garbage, standing on his hind legs to tug wrappers, yogurt containers and dirty diapers, anything he could reach. One day he managed to get a pound of ham out of the garbage and devoured it all of sixty seconds. He swelled up like a fat tick, unable to walk or move. I was convinced his stomach would kill him. Two hours later, I caught him back at the garbage can again, his determination and resilience are astounding! After my daughter was born, a whole new world of “grab and dash” opened for Turk. He would follow her around as a toddler, waiting for the inevitable crumbs to fall. Turk would circle her like a shark, waiting for just the right moment to swoop in and snatch the cracker or cookie from her fist. She is eight now and though she has grown a lot wiser, he has also grown much more patient and less picky. One time my daughter came home proudly brandishing some magic pink dough she had made in school. A hour later my rare post-dinner solace was interrupted by aggravated screaming. Turk had gotten a hold of her treasure and he had eaten. He sat under the table, just out of arm's reach, smugly licking his sugared lips. If stolen food were Turk’s only offense our frequent threats to disown him would be unjustified. As it turns out though, our Turk has many other malicious talents. For example, he can partially poop outside while retaining just enough inside his bowels to deface our newly washed bathroom rugs the very minute he is allowed back inside. You could leave him outside in the yard for an hour and he can still make this happen. Turk can also pee with remarkable aim. He can pee directly into the face of a space heater so that the accident goes unnoticed, until we turn it on. The smell of burning dog urine is surprising difficult to rid oneself of. We have lost multiple heaters, humidifiers and various other appliances in this way. The amount of underwear we have all lost to Turk is mind boggling. He has chewed through the crotches of countless intimates, tights and pajama bottoms. In perhaps the biggest insult to injury, after having his fill he has often returned them to the laundry basket to be washed, folded and put away. The discovery of his crimes go undetected until we put them on, dismayed to learn that he had perversely modified them. I have reluctantly owned more crotch less panties than most exotic dancers. Turk has been responsible for threats on my personal well-being. One evening when my husband was working the night shift, I took advantage of a quiet house and sleeping child to take a rare, long and extravagant shower. I left my daughter and Turk, soundly sleeping in our big bed. When I was well into my shower and I had managed to dose my head in shampoo, Turk began a rapid, frenzied barking downstairs. This was not the typical “a car went by blaring a radio” or “I heard the dog four houses over barking". No, this was the “there is a serial killer in the living room”, full-on, aggressive barking that set off every alarm in my body. I burst from the shower, eyes burning from the soap, struggling to take in the dark landing and navigate the stairs to the lower level. On my frantic dash downstairs the sleeve of my bathrobe hooked on the banister yanking me off my feet and sending me, rump first down the stairs. Frightened and straining to see through the film of shampoo, my ass hit the hardwood just as Turk rounded the corner. He looked at me, tail wagging, and then leaped casually past me and up the stairs. After completing my full and thorough inspection of the house, I returned upstairs. Nursing a much bruised tailbone, I found Turk conspicuously curled on the bed again, comfortably. He looked at me and yawned. I felt the adrenaline leaching from my bloodstream as I stood there, contemplating tossing him downstairs on his ass. For all his naughty habits, Turk has managed to be ultimately forgivable through one redeeming trait. Turk is a class A cuddle bug. He knows how to crawl into your lap and your heart with those weeping eyes and small, sweet face. He knows how to bury his face in the crook of your neck, or cover your arms with tiny, fleabites of affection. Turk evokes our compassion by having the patience of saint as our daughter drags him around by the leash, dresses him in hats and scarfs or attaches toys to his collar so he can give them “rides”. We are overcome with gratitude to see the way our daughter glows when he plops down beside her, choosing her company over ours. Sunday mornings would not be the same without him creeping up the bed to insert himself into our family snuggle time. No matter how annoyed he can make us, we can't help but welcome him into our laps to stroke his velvety ears. He loves to simply be with us, as close to us as possible. Make no mistake, Turk is an evil genius but he is, wholly and completely, our evil genius and we love him.  |
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