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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 OCT 1 Prompt: What are your goals for October? Personal or professional, big or small...doesn't matter! We want to encourage you! This time of year tends to always be height of my busy season at work. The early autumn weather tends to be mild here in Southern New England and the blue skies make for good flying weather. That translates into very busy work weeks for me. This is also an October that happens to host our biggest corporate event of the year and my little sister's wedding...on the same weekend. I feel stressed to say the least. This is my favorite month despite the crush and I'm looking forward to a Fall season ripe with festivals, hayrides, orchard visits and of course, Halloween. Typically this is a month when my muse is easily inspired by indigo autumn skies and swollen harvest moons but I anticipate having little chance to write, let alone submit anything to the various publication deadlines I optimistically marked for tracking. All the same, I'm making it one of my goals to try to blog at least every day, at least every week day. I would very much like to bring back our annual Halloween party this month. We recently moved into a new home and I would like to bring back one of my favorite traditions now that we have ample space. First I have to get through my event and the wedding, then I hope to find the energy to pull something together in time to celebrate my favorite holiday with friends and family. Lastly, all my other goals for the month of October center squarely around my sister's nuptials. I have to keep her calm and get her down with aisle with minimal drama and then I have to nail my Maid of Honor speech! |
| Both of my blog assignments today deal with overcoming adversity, which is a little ironic because I'm thinking of two people lately who are dealing with a great deal of adversity lately. Often times I feel at a loss to know how to help, cautious that any advice might touch off even more drama or trouble. I feel I can't do much more than listen and hope that all their stress will lead them to a better place where they are stronger together. "Blogging Circle of Friends " DAY 2129: September 17, 2018 Prompt: Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars. Khalil Gibran What do you think? Gibran's quote rings very true to me. It seems like nothing else produces a better human being than the struggles they are forced to bear. History is filled with examples of men and women who overcame obstacles, from oppression and poverty to loss of sight or limbs, to rise up and become masters in their crafts, leaders among people and inspirations to millions. If a person is strong and self-possessed, it is as if adversity forces the very best characteristics to the surface. "Blog City ~ Every Blogger's Paradise" DAY 1735-- September 17, 2018 Prompt: Jonathan Heimberg says, “Difficulty is the price we pay for everything worth having.” Do you agree that every dream, goal, or thing worth having is designed to be difficult? If so, why? I think by design, things that mean the most to us usually come with a price. Dreams require sacrifice in most instances and goals require a lot of work. It what we desired and dreamed of came to us easily, we would not understand how to appreciate it. I am hoping that my sister's upcoming wedding is everything she dreams of and her special day is well worth all the drama and strife her and her fiance are dealing with now. I hope their struggle just makes them appreciate their relationship more and that it strengthens their bond together. I feel for them both so much right now. |
| The morning was filled with mixed emotions watching my daughter start the first day of 3rd grade. It seem surreal that we could both be at this place so quickly but there it is...life continues marching at its frenzied pace. Now that summer is behind us and life has returned to a far more regimented schedule, here's to hoping I can squeeze my daily blogging back in and here's to hoping that leads to new deadlines and submissions. I miss writing in the way in a way one would miss the natural light after living without sunlight for weeks on end. "Blogging Circle of Friends " DAY 2116: September 4, 2018 Prompt: “The most beautiful experience we can have is the mysterious. It is the fundamental emotion that stands at the cradle of true art and true science.” ― Albert Einstein, The World as I See It What do you say? The more quotes I read from Einstein, the more I realize that he was a genius in more ways than just academically. The thing that sets humans apart from other life might be our ability to wonder and to ponder the mysteries of life. If facts of life are the roadblocks that we build our path with, mysteries are what make give the journey the spark. With the tremendous advances in technology, there isn't much we can't discover or explain but its our quest to explore the mysterious that drives that constant tide of advancement. Yet, there is a simply beauty is finding something that can't be explained away in rational, known terms. I believe people who are spiritually inclined, those who dedicate themselves to the mysteries of their faiths, are at an advantage here in that they are released from the burden of proof. They can simply enjoy the mysterious power of collective belief. My grandmother believes in the power of prayer, she believes in a God who has revealed himself to her in wonderful, mysterious ways. She told me once about a rose suddenly appearing on a bare plaster wall as she knelt in a hospital chapel and prayed for the child she carried to be born a girl. She believes this was a sign from God that her prayers were heard. She believes this without question, dismissing all manner of explanation that does not hinge on the divine. Artistic people also know to look beyond the physical merits of something, they interpret life in color, lines and textures. I've stood before massive paintings and wondered what the artist was seeing when they created it, what hidden mystery they uncovered with paint and brush strokes that I can not see? Artists routinely defy nature and boundaries placed on space. Dali painted melting clocks and landscapes that migrated through reality, revealing the mysteries at work in his mental machinery. I have been a child of science, it is harder for me to place such faith in what I can not rationalize but that's doesn't mean I am not fascinated by things I can't explain. I can still appreciate the magic of the mysterious of life. I can still hope some souls find a way back through the veil after death and that some large prehistoric beast roams the depths of that particular loch in Scotland. "Blog City ~ Every Blogger's Paradise" DAY 1722- September 4, 2018 Prompt: Talking about word plays, Albert Einstein said, “Not everything that can be counted counts, and not everything that counts can be counted.” In how many ways can you decipher this quote? Any additional ideas to it? Oddly enough this quote makes me think if social media. You see users who have a friend counts numbering in the hundreds and you think, only in this world would those virtual strangers be counted as actual friends. The average person doesn't life long enough to force that many relationships with people in real life. I can count on one hand the actual bonified friends I have in my life. It is quality, not quantity that matters most to me. |
| "Blogging Circle of Friends " DAY 2097 August 16, 2018 size:5}" “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." ~ Ray Bradbury Do you agree or disagree? If so what will you leave behind? Without question, I will leave my daughter my words. I have, it seems, always been writing in my life but the moment my daughter became the seed in my soul, she also became my muse. I have written about the joy of expecting her delivery, the trials of being a new mother and struggling to find balance as a working mom. I have written about the incredibly vulnerability you feel bringing a life into the world and of the fierce and all-consuming love that makes you both terribly afraid and immeasurably happy all at once. I have written about my daughter's growth, about her amazing milestones, our battles and all those sweet moments that made my heart melt. I continue to write about her, marking her years with all the insights I can about who she is and what she is like at her various stages and ages. Her aggravating love of slime is forever immortalized in my my blogs, as is the lovely character of her laughter and the summer she fell in love with horses. I try to capture all her burgeoning beauty, grace and personality that seems to come at a rapid fire pacing I feel I can barely keep up with. My hope is that one day she can read through all my entries, all my stories and blogs and see how I saw her at age 3, age 7, age 18...and that this might tell her something about herself, about the woman she has become and most importantly, about how she was the absolute world to the woman who raised her. "Blog City ~ Every Blogger's Paradise" Day 1703 August 16, 2018 Prompt: Hope. I had hope. It wasn't much hope but it was a little. Then it turned out to have a thousand pieces, Scattering it in all directions. Hope for the best, expect the worst. When is the last time you felt all hope was lost but things got better? There have been many moments when I have felt hope scattered around me like so much broken glass. There were times when the darkness was so close to pulling me down that it seemed I could not draw enough breathe into my lungs to live another second for myself. Even in those moments, I must still have held onto hope because I did breathe. I did find a way to get back on my feet. I think I wanted so badly to know a different life, I wanted to be a different woman. I did not want to cower forever or live a life when I could not tell the difference between passion and violence. I wanted to love in another color besides red. I think I had hope even then, when a weak man's rage had me curled into a frightened ball at the base of my stairs, that this would not be my life and that it would get better...that I would love better and find someone in turn who did the same. I remember staring at my bloody fingertips and thinking, "someday it will be me or him, and I will have to chose me". Those words seemed so impossibly loud in my head and thinking them gave me hope, and that hope eventually gave me the strength to do exactly that. Hope is this amazing thing that resides in our souls...quietly waiting until it is needed the most. In those dark times, it can be the light by which we find our way out. "Hope is a thing with feathers that perches in the soul and sings the tune without words and never stops at all" Emily Dickinson |
| There has likely never been a summer when I have needed to write more and a twist of cruel irony, have never had less time to do so. We moved this summer. It has been a challenge in several, largely unanticipated ways. The unforgiving summer humidity coupled with adapting to a new home with a host of issues, has strained every relationship I have at some point. I'd like to say that with each room I "finish", we are settling in and feeling more at home but some days, that seems to be merely sugar-coating it. I know that we will reach a point when we no longer feel overwhelmed and things will become easier, more natural. I look forward to those days with the kind of hope reserved for much larger things in life. For now, I try to go day by day. I try to see the positive, I try to appreciate the progress we are making. I look for the things about this summer that are undeniably joyful. Jaden is having a remarkable summer. She has grown into a leggy, outspoken girl who has discovered a myriad of new loves and abilities. Like a greenhouse flower, she has blossomed amid the heat and humidity, seemingly unperturbed by the dog days of a summer running a bit too long in the tooth. A surprise week at horse camp has radically transformed a unsettled summer into an adventure. She has fallen in love with horses and with trailing her Aunt Becky through her world of ponies and puppies. Jaden has become the child my sister always dreamed she'd convert from Barbies to show horses and trail rides. The first day of pickup at horse camp, I discovered my fastidious daughter covered from her head to her toes in grime and horsehair, smiling a 100 watt smile and looking as happy as I have ever seen her. So, a week in horse camp as turned into three thanks to the generosity and stubborn persistence of a favorite Aunt on a mission. Each morning she pulls on her riding tights and laces up her paddock boots. She grabs her helmet bag, a present from her Aunt, which houses the pretty pink riding helmet and riding gloves, and heads into the barn. It has to be unbearable hot most days and the smell is...well, let's just say that it is not my cup of tea, and still she pops out of bed like a daisy, eager to get the to barn and get her pony tacked up. I get videos of her lessons sometimes and I can hardly believe its the same shy girl, posting proudly in her saddle and urging her mount into the rolling canter she loves. |
| "Blog City ~ Every Blogger's Paradise" Day 1695 August 8, 2018 Prompt: "Just when the caterpillar thought the world was over, it turned into a butterfly." What are your views on this? Write anything you want about this. These days I feel far more like a terrestrial garden slug than a caterpillar, nevermind a butterfly. Moving twice in as many months has left me drained. It has been an incredibly humid summer and the unforgiving weather has felt like a plague. Settling into our new home has been rough going. At times it has felt like a depressing treasure hunt where you find delightful little problems like shoddy plumbing and carpentry work around every corner. Some days it has been a challenge to find the beauty in the home we had so readily fallen in love with. We have made progress on fixing the showers, waged war on the ants, even made a kind of peace with the resident bat who comes and goes from one of the outside window eaves. I tell myself it a few short weeks that bat will move on to warmer climates and when and if he returns, we will have installed a far more suitable bat house for him as an alternative. We are making progress. We are adapting to our new life, our new home but it has been surprisingly difficult some days. I don't feel like a butterfly although the transformation sounds like just the sort of miracle I could use. I've struggled to find time for myself, for those improvements I desperately need to make. I need to build back in an exercise routine, meal prep and self-care regime. I need to fix my hair, attempt to grown my nails again...and at least start shaving my legs with some regularity again. Moving has been all-consuming. I hardly feel like myself in a house where everything feels strange and new. I try to be grateful for the potentially wonderful home we are making, remember how blessed we are...I try to find the positive. I try not to get overwhelmed. I try to remember to be patient and know that things take time. I try to be the caterpillar looking for that perfect limb on which begin my new life with wings. "Blogging Circle of Friends " DAY 2089 August 8th, 2018 Monday for wealth, Tuesday for health, Wednesday the best day of all: Thursday for crosses, Friday for losses, Saturday no luck at all. Old English Rhyme Your thoughts on the Old English Rhyme, or try writing your own rhyme for the days of the week. Rhyming is not my strong suit...and I know very little about Old English Rhyme. Sadly this challenge is a bit far out of my comfort zone on a day when comfort seems to be all I am seeking. Let me see... Monday for spraying the mold in the garage, Tuesday for picking up fresh mulch and sod for the yard, Wednesday might be the best day of all to go out to dinner or hang out at the mall, Thursday we are back at fixing the plumbing and Friday looks like the water has stopped coming. Saturday brings curtains and dressings and Sunday we take a break to remember our blessings. That's all I got... |
| "Blog City ~ Every Blogger's Paradise" DAY 1665 July 9, 2018 Prompt: “Examine your words well, and you will find that even when you have no motive to be false, it is a very hard thing to say the exact truth, even about your own immediate feelings.” George Eliot Why is telling the exact truth so difficult? Your thoughts…{/i} Telling the exact truth takes a lot of courage, because truth can be painfully hard to hear for some. I have learned valuable lessons about family and loyalty through some of my own truth-telling, lessons that still leave marks...like wounds you thought healed that suddenly flare up and fester. I have always written without self-censorship and while the old adage may say, "the truth will set you free", it will also often isolate you and leave you exposed. That is the risk and one I have come to understand too well. These days however, if I feel pressed to blog or write about something to process it or just to better understand my own perceptions, I find myself taking a pause. I don't want to write purely from a place of anger anymore. I give myself a few days then I try to articulate my feelings, try to express myself as candidly as possible. In the past I have gone back and re-read a piece and thought that it sounded more angry than I might have intended it to. I don't ever want to totally white-wash the anger out, or censor the truth but I also don't want to lose myself completely in it either. I run the risk of being angry a lot, of turning my writing into a tool to lash out rather than what it should be, a tool to process my emotions and feelings. So...I take a step back, I take a breath...I "examine my words well" and make sure that what I am committing to electronic ink is the most honest version of myself that I can, the person who doesn't give in solely to the hurt and the anger, a person who reflects rather than simply reacts. One last word about truth...it is always 100% perspective - what you believe is your truth is personal and you should never have to apologize for how you feel or how you perceive someone or something. "Blogging Circle of Friends " DAY 2058: July 9, 2018 Prompt: Work Ethic. Write whatever you want about this subject. If you have a favorite quote share it. I have been working for most of my adult life, starting pretty early on in my father's business. I was the kid that always wanted to go to work with him, taking on menial tasks...more of a mascot than any real help around the office. Over time though, that interest developed into a career which as times, can be more consuming than might be advisable. It is what I grew up around though, my father was never really not working... There wasn't a family vacation where we didn't spend some time standing outside a phone booth in the blazing hot Florida sun, or after the invention of cell phones, following my Dad around like little ducks as he talked with the office with one of those big, white, early Motorolla's pressed to his ear. As a business owner, my father was always working, rarely inaccessible in those early years. It is only now, after decades of near constant work, he is taking more true breaks, he actually feels like he can step back and let others step in and handle things more. Still, the moment something heats up, or goes wrong...he's right back. He is hands-on, even at the age and level of success where he could be retiring, he rarely shows signs of slowing down. I'm not sure my father is the retiring type...he's worked his whole life, how does one turn that off? To me that is work ethic...to give what's needed and more to the job and when it is your own business, to be there for it when it needs you most. I'd like to think the man raised me the same way, to understand that kind of dedication to the work. |
| Forty-four emails in my inbox, prompts for blog entries I have missed...forty-two missed opportunities to ignite the muse and be able to legitimately refer to myself as a writer again...it is hard not to lament how much I miss sometimes when life gets in the way. With the closing on the new house now, (hopefully) imminent, I feel like I have a brief reprieve before the controlled chaos that is moving and nesting begins. I will at least try to write something, in the very least it may give me an outlet for the stress. "Blogging Circle of Friends " DAY 2056 July 6, 2018 Use these words somehow in your writing- enchanted, twilight, fireflies, rose, carousel, lion, and tinman. The old porch fan rattled and buzzed each time it completed it's wide arch rotation, an offending interruption to the otherwise soft summer evening soundtrack. Ella quickly padded across the porch in her bare feet and switched it off. She returned to her swing and curled her long fingers around her still steaming mug of rose tea. She watched the fireflies painting brief and brilliant patterns of light all across the wide open field. The haystacks stood like silent sentinels against the darkening twilight. Ella sat back, feeling for just a moment, a bite of pain in her stomach that took her breathe away. It was fleeting spark but she knew it would be back. Soon Ella knew she would need to swallow more of the little white pills to keep the pain from radiating through her guts, stretching its cruel fingers through her joints and delicate organs. The pain was getting harder and harder to contain, certainly an unwelcome but not wholly unexpected side effect of the cancer. Ella tried not to think about the pain now. She focused on the sweet chirping of the peep frogs and the gentle rustle of the tall grasses as the night breeze picked up and raced across the fields. Ella leaned her head back and closed her eyes. She soon slipped into her memories... A much younger Ella raced through the gates of the tri-county agriculture fair. As she ran, her long dark tresses flowed out behind her, the only feminine thing about the rail-thin girl in the dirty overalls and duck boots. She was immediately assaulted by the smell of cinnamon sweet fried dough and fresh spun cotton candy, her favorite treats. She barreled past the tempting vendors all the same, heading to the carousel. They always set it up dead center of the fair and there was always a line. She heard the carousel's rousing tune before she saw it, rising up like an mirage from the dust and grime of the fairgrounds. Ella was enchanted by the carousel. It was an antique marvel of engineering and art. Instead of horses, the carousel was made up of wild animals imported directly from the plains of Africa. The animals were beautifully crafted, the mahogany creatures painted and polished to a high glossy sheen. The elephants had tusks that looked like real ivory and the giraffes gazed at you with deeply soulful eyes. The hippos were comically wide, their wide mouths open revealing fat pink tongues. Nothing could have been more exotic to a farm girl from the Midwest and she would ride it several times, every day the fair was running. Ella's favorite though was the African lion. There was only one of those, a big male with a russet colored mane and broad back and massive paws. He looked so alive, the incarnation of all the power and might one would expect from a king. She loved the lion and there was little that came close to the joy she felt slipping onto his smooth back and wrapping her fingers around the leather halter looped at the beast's neck. Ella reached the spindly gate of the carousel, alarmed to see she was pretty far back from the front of the line. She watched the other children their tickets to the attendant and gleefully charge up over the sides and clamoring for their animal of choice. Several children began to bicker over the camel and Ella saw one little girl struggling to climb the lion's flank. Disappointed, she stepped aside when she reached the front of the line, explaining to the stoic attendant, that she would wait for the next ride. He looked down at her, shrugging with a tin man's indifference, and left to check that the riders were all properly seated before putting the carousel into motion with a palm punch to a large red button. Ella rode the carousel that day a record six times before her parents made her go home. It would be the last year the carousel came to the fair, having been replaced the very next fair by a shoddy operation with dully painted horses sporting wide eyes and gaping mouths that Ella thought looked macabre. These new horses bounced under the riders who reached for tiny gold rings and they swirled past. She never rode that carousel. It held no magic for her. The rising pain brought Ella to the the surface, trailing her fading memories like a gossamer wake. She opened her eyes and found her tea was cold and the night had fallen like and inky curtain. She slowly sat up, the pain now a hot cinder in her side. Ella pulled herself to her feet, gritting her teeth against the agony. It made her light-headed and her vision blurred. She rubbed at her eyes and her knuckles came away with a coating of hot tears. Then, off in the distance, she caught of glimpse of something through the veil of water in her eyes. She limped down off the porch and into the yard, straining to get a better look at the thing that was impossibly perched on the edge of the farthest field. Ella's heart rallied even as her brain told her in no uncertain terms, that the thing was absolutely not that magnificent carousel from her youth. But, as Ella drew closer, she saw that somehow, indeed it was the very same. Her ears began to hear that familiar lilting tune and there, yes, right there as he'd always been, was the lion. Her lion. Ella barely registered the pain now, it was as if it was fading, giving her space to breath again. With an energy that surprised her, Ella rushed the last few yards to the gate. She swung it open and stood, looking at the beautiful beast with his flaming mane and soft eyes. Without a moment's hesitation, Ella swung herself up, onto his broad back. She pressed her cheek against his cool smoothness, closed her eyes and felt the carousel begin to slowly move. "Blog City ~ Every Blogger's Paradise" Day 1662 July 6, 2018 You've met three people on your way to do an errand. They're all talking about something they overheard but are positive you're the reason it's happening. Are they right or wrong? Weave us a tale about the three people and yourself and whatever is happen Christina felt the frown forming despite her best efforts to keep it at bay. She knew the three women were talking about her. Not for the first time that day, Christina cursed the small town with its limited resources and its one and only, tiny pharmacy. It was hard to avoid people in a town this size, the very reason she had left for the big city with its legions of bustling strangers. There had been an absolute certainty she was going to run into someone she knew on the brief dash into town but here she was, annoyed to find it had happened after all. Despite her mother being a bit of a recluse, she had been well-known in town and the rumor mill was incredibly small but efficient here. One of the women had clearly been appointed as emissary. She made her way toward Christina, rearranging her features into a mask of sympathy. "We were all so sorry to hear about your Mother. She was such a nice lady. You look just like her!" Christina bit back an acidic response and only nodded, allowing the woman to rub her bicep awkwardly for a few moments before she spun back to her troops. The pharmacist called her name and Christina rushed up and snatched the bag and dashed out of the store. What could she have expected? Of course her mother's death would be fodder for the people she lived, or mostly, lived among. Though Ella has been private, most people had known about the cancer diagnosis and of her stubborn refusal of treatment. They had all known she preferred to live out her days in the farmhouse among the fallow fields her family once tended, despite the doctor's advice and Christina's agonized pleading. Two nights ago, Christina had gotten the call she had long dreaded. Her mother had been found, inexplicably at the far edges of the family property, just lying in the field. She had passed away sometime in the night and by all accounts it had been a peaceful passing, even though given the late stage of her disease, she must have been suffering in considerable pain. The man who found her told Christina she had looked like she was sleeping, dreaming the most wonderful of dreams. Her plain face rendered beautiful in death by an oddly childish smile. |
| We have been trying to sell our house and find our new home. It is an exhausted process that has consumed my mental energy as my brain seems to continually reset and recalculate based on the potential homes we have seen. I find it emotionally draining as well as I am tore between loving the home we have made with our desire to provide more for our daughter; more space to grow, more yard to explore and more neighborhood children to befriend. At the same time I excited by the prospect of moving into a new town, closer to family, I am loathing the thought of moving and leaving the familiar spaces behind that I have always loved. In the midst of all this emotional and financial processing, I have done very little writing. I have watch deadlines slip past and made myself promises that I would get back to the grind as soon as things were more settled. As a result, my creativity feels bottled. My muse sits in the corner pouting and that neglect wakes me at odd hours and leaves me feeling restless. In an effort to fan the flames and distract myself from a multitude of other things, I'm going to take up today's blog challenges and see if it helps shake anything loose. "Blogging Circle of Friends " DAY 2017 May 25, 2018 Write about the life of a box of Jello. Caroline dragged herself up the walkway, dragging her nine-year old feet and her backpack along the ground as she came. Her face was a hot mess of spent tears and painfully familiar frustration. Seeing her face I thought, not for the first time, how damn difficult it was to be a young girl at this age. I wish I could spare her from the push and pull of those fickle young friendships, the drama of preteen woes and wishes. "Tough day Abbie?", I asked her and I opened the screen door and ushered her inside. She suddenly hurled her backpack into the corner of kitchen and burst into tears. For the next twenty-two minutes I listened to how "her best friend Lizzie had decided she liked Samantha better and, did I know the two of them had a sleepover together last weekend and didn't invite her? Also, Lizzie had called her "immature" when Abbie got upset about that. She got mad and had to sit alone at lunch and oh yeah, lunch had been cheese ravioli's and she hated cheese ravioli's because they tasted like rubber. Then on the bus Tyler Marshall told her she had a bee in her hair just to be funny and also she sat on someone's old peanut butter sandwich!" At this point, my daughter wheeled around and pointed to a wide stain on the seat of her pants with exaggerated annoyance. I held out my arms and she ran into them, burying her face in my chest and giving into fresh, hot little tears. "Okay, okay" I soothed her, rubbing her back and thinking how to best subvert my daughter's rotten day. Then I remembered a box of jello I'd tossed into my shopping cart last week, blue raspberry, Abbie's favorite flavor. "I know how we can turn your day around Abs, let's make a special treat." I fetched the box of jello and jiggled it in front of her pretty nose. "Blue raspberry, your favorite..." I coaxed. Abbie wiped at her tears with the back of her hand. "Do you have any cool whip?" She asked hopefully. I threw open the fridge and gleefully pointed to the new can of whipped cream. Two hours later we sat side by side on the porch swing, slurping cubes of unnaturally blue globs and took turns spraying dollops of whipped cream onto our tongues and laughing. I told her not to worry about Lizzie and Samantha, friendship can be complicated but eventually you find the right ones and it makes up for all the drama. Eventually her world seemed to right itself again, and all it took was a little love and a box of blue raspberry jello. I knew that one day her sorrows might not be absolved so easily but for now, as the lightning bugs ushered in a mild evening and I could feel the summer waiting in the wings, I was grateful my little girl would go to sleep with a smile in her soul tonight. "Blog City ~ Every Blogger's Paradise" DAY 1620 May 25, 2018 Write a story or poem about a broken promise. Jacob opened his eyes and took a few more minutes to realize the pounding in his head was an actual, physical reality. He tried to sit up, moved to quickly and closed his eyes, moaning, as the nausea threatened to overtake him in white, hot rush. The pounded continued, relentless, accompanied now by someone calling his name. Jacob looked at this watch. The illuminated dial told him it was 10pm and he was exactly two hours late for his shift. His brain made the frantic connection, driving him up to his feet with the painful realization that he was in no shape to report for duty. Jacob sank back to the floor. His eyes fell on the empty whiskey bottles that littered the floor. Four months of sobriety, flushed out by the amber-colored elixir, the taste of which still clung to the roof of his mouth, the bitter aftertaste of a broken promise. |
| Blog Harbor Challenge" Books Day 27 Prompt: Books are the sweet escape from reality and one of the cheapest ways to travel. If you could take the train to your favorite fictional world, what would it be? What would you do once you get there? This is a difficult prompt given the sheer number of possibilities! There is something completely appealing about walking through a wardrobe into Narnia. When not under tyrannical and icy rule, it is a land with an impressive landscape the features mountains and rivers, lush valleys and rolling hills. It seems to be perpetually Spring. It is a magical place with talking animals and fantastical beings. Great, right? Then, you consider Hogwarts with its floating candles and resident ghosts. What could be more of an escape then a magical school for aspiring wizards? Or Oz, with its blazing emerald-colored buildings, yellow brick roads and fields of poppy? Even with the occasional horde of flying monkeys, who would turn up the chance to visit such a place? For me though, the land that most captured my fantasy as a child would still draw the adult me there in a heartbeat. It is a place of secret hideouts, mountains dotted with teepees, and mermaid-filled lagoons. The night sky is always filled with the stars and the shadow of a flying pirate ship creeps across the lovely scenery below. You get there by dousing yourself in fairy dust and thinking happy thoughts. Had I the chance, it would be a ticket to Neverland I would book over them all. |
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