Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/profile/reviews/ainsleyjo/sort_by/r.review_creation_time DESC/sort_by_last/r.review_creation_time DESC/page/7
There are some people who come into you life for a little bit like this.
In my own life, there was one named Walter L. English.
We met at a motel in 1997.
Unlike Real, though, he was very open and bubbly, and he was dressed like the executive that he was.
We actually only saw each other for about ten minutes at the most when we met as I was on my way down to breakfast, and he was on his way to work.
After that, we stayed in touch by a limited amount of snail-mail and a few phone conversations--but our most frequent way of communicating was by FAX machine.
He had one at his workplace, and I had one in my home at the time.
We were like a couple of middle-aged kids playing with a new toy when it came to that FAX machine--and were also acting like a couple of adolescents with definite symptoms of puppy love.
I'll never forget that summer for as long as I live for a lot of reasons, and I've written a story about it--to which I'm sharing a link.
To those reading this public review, I would request that they read your story before they read what I wrote about Walter and the year of 1997 because reading what I wrote would be a spoiler to your story.
I'm now sitting here thinking about 1997 with tears running down my face. I have so many sweet memories from that year, and not all of them about Walter, either.
My folks went on a road-trip through the South for their Golden Anniversary, as this had been their honeymoon back in 1947. Then, my dad had almost passed away that spring from a viral infection, but he had sprung back. That year, he was in and out of the hospital but kept coming out, and his neurologist called him his miracle man.
When I think about it, I had my dad with me for almost seven more years than it looked as if I would in the spring of that year.
I remember that he had to go to two nursing homes. In the first one--where he, unfortunately, only had insurance to cover two weeks--he was really worked with and was getting better. In the next one, he was just left to lie around.
We got him out of there and took him on a trip to Chicago we'd already planned to have him analyzed in a medical center up there we'd heard about.
I remember that trip. I think he was wondering if he would ever see the outside of a nursing home again and be on a family vacation.
We stayed at The Hampton Inn in Joliet going and coming, and at this hotel in Chicago for the night before he was to go to the clinic, and I'll never forget my folks looking so sweet sharing the same bed and all snuggled up to each other. I took a picture of them like that.
Those were sweet and special moments, and 1997 was a sweet and special year.
Walter kinda drifted out of my life as the year went on until we were no longer in touch at all. I would find out the rest of the story near the end of 2000 when talking to his business partner.
It was a lot like it was with Real and Joe.
Thanks for taking me back to 1997 with your story. I'm going now to re-read what I wrote about it and to re-live it again...
I'm giving you a public review of this heartopening story, but I'm not going into any details about it except to say that it was excellent and I want lots and lots of people to read it--and to experience it just the way that I did with all of its twists and turns.
It should be required reading for every child age 12 and older.
I would also like to thank Joshiahis for bringing this story to my attention!
Everybody! Please read this story! It will wrap itself around each of your hearts and take root there!
And the fact that it's totally-crazy/totally-insane is what makes it so good!
Is insanity good? If it is, why don't most of us admit that we suffer from it?
But how can we suffer from it if it's a good thing?
Perhaps, that's what is meant by the good suffering.
Is there such a thing as good suffering?
What's the difference between good suffering and bad suffering?
Speaking of which, why is a slim chance and a fat chance the same thing when slim is supposed to be opposite of fat.
If slim is fat and/or fat is slim, then, why are there so many clothing sizes in my closet telling of my size history?
Since I'm supersize, why is it that I'm not a big container of McDonald's French fries?
Did French fries really come from France.
If you've seen London and France, does that mean that it's inevitable that you're going to end up seeing my underpants?
If so, I'm going to have to slap you if I find out that you're on your way to see London and France.
And, if anybody reading this review likes it, that means that you're going to like the item I'm reviewing--and, likely, you will, even if you don't like this review, so go check it out!
When you put the bItem into your contribution to "Invalid Item" (where the ML doesn't work), I was curious enough to take your bItem info and mail it to myself here to make the details pop out.
This is very clever--a group for fans of In & Outs!
Anyway, I'm definitely wanting to join this one--if only for the purpose of annoying Steev the Friction Wizurd by gagging him with a steady diet of how adorable I think that "Invalid Item" is! LOL
Seriously, this is a neat idea for a group, so, if you dare, please include me!
Looks as if it's time for you to get the dark glasses, the cane, and the little, tin cup. Perhaps, you could go to Disneyland and pick up some Mickey Mouse ears, too. Add a tail to that, and you could be a nursery rhyme character!
Very amusing anecdote!
I went and Googled Jason, and I was finally able to find him. You need to go back into your story about him and change his name to read:
What a beautiful tribute to a young man and his dog who leave so many behind to miss them.
Reading this makes me want to Google the name of this perfect stranger and find out more about him.
This is just another example of how people meet online--even if some of the people (and pets) have already passed on and another is left behind to tell their story--which you did in a way that will stick with me...
Needs some work on technical stuff, so I've copied and pasted your original poem here twice. The first copy shows how you've written it, and the second copy shows how I would edit it.
See what you think of the changes. If you're satisfied with them, let me know when you've reposted the poem.
Okay, here's the before and after version. Hope it's helpful!
I power up the engines,
And the sheilds and weapons too.
We begin to fly of the ground,
I hope that it's safe or i'll sue!
Flying past a comet,
Whizzing round a star.
Outside of the window,
I see a space Jaguar!
We're nearly at the end,
And we're number three.
Only 1 obstacle left now,
And that's too find a key.
The ship to find it,
Wins the race.
All we have to do,
Is pick up the pace.
A ship suddenly bursts,
And an other falls below.
We're in the lead now,
I wonder where to go?
1 guess could get us killed,
The other victory.
I look on the scanners,
And guess what I see?
I find what we're looking for,
The great key.
It unlocks the finish line,
I can't believe we won!
Now we have arrived,
At Andronema sun!
I power up the engines
And the shields and weapons, too.
We begin to fly off the ground--
I hope that it's safe or I'll sue!
Flying past a comet.
Whizzing round a star.
Outside of the window,
I see a space Jaguar!
We're nearly at the end,
And we're number three.
Only one obstacle left now,
And that's to find a key.
The ship to find it
Wins the race.
All we have to do
Is pick up the pace.
A ship suddenly bursts,
And another falls below.
We're in the lead now--
I wonder where to go?
One guess could get us killed,
The other victory.
I look on the scanners,
And guess what I see.
I find what we're looking for:
The great key.
It unlocks the finish line--
I can't believe we won!
Now we have arrived
At Andronema sun!
I've known the story of Miss Havisham for years but this is the first time that I was taken into what her life was like in the last hours before she would learn that she had been jilted--even giving some explanation as to why this jilting might have taken place.
You wonder why the groom couldn't have told her sooner than their wedding day--but better, I guess, than going ahead and marrying her when he had doubts.
Doing it by messenger seemed rather cowardly.
I would be the last person to tell somebody to get married when his/her heart wasn't in it.
Other than their having their two wonderful sons and how she was able--in her princess role--to make a lot of positive differences, it would have been better had Diana and Charles not gotten married.
I hope that the heir and the spare will be encouraged to look for true love, even if true love meant not ending up with a thoroughbred.
What a beautiful tribute to your grandpa! It makes me want to know more about him! I hope that writing these words down about him has provided at least some healing.
My maternal grandma passed away in 1943--almost ten years before I was born.
My maternal grandpa in 1959 on my first day of first grade. When I heard of children coming home from school on September 11, 2001 and finding parents and other loved ones missing from their lives, I not only had sympathy but, also, empathy.
My paternal grandma passed away in 1973 after a courageous fight with cancer. I became very depressed that year. Other factors figured into that, but having my grandma to pass on at that particular time certainly didn't help.
My paternal grandpa passed away in 1982 about 3 1/4 months after his 90th birthday due to a quick attack of pancreatic cancer. I remember one of the last things I did before they closed the casket after the funeral was to plant one more kiss on the wen on his forehead. When Mawsie was still here, I used to tease Pawsie about that wen and ask him if Mawsie had hit him with a rolling pin.
It's been many years, but I still miss them (even my maternal grandma, because I feel as if I know her).
Sometimes, I have dreams of Heaven, and they're there.
I had a dream about Heaven just last night. I can't remember too much about it except that it just felt good being there.
But it also felt good to wake up today to all of the exciting things awaiting me.
Be sure to include something about Medusa and her sisters. I always felt sorry for them because they had their heads cut off because they were ugly.
That's even worse than the bullying and taunting that kids face today if they're "different" in some way.
I remember that I asked my mom one time why my aunt was blind, and she told me that it was because she was born that way.
When I read the story of Medusa who had her head cut off because she had snakes in place of hair, I asked why she had her head cut off for that when she was probably born that way.
Spooky story of people with their own personal struggles who had no idea that those struggles would be coming to an eerie end before the morning of August 7 was over.
Gave me goosebumps on my goosebumps.
There might be places where you might want to tighten up this story some, but it's, overall, sound--and certainly effective!
This is beautifully-written and gives me a much better understanding of what you believe.
Of course, I already knew that the Europeans didn't have the corner on the market when it came to Jesus--and neither did The Holy Land nor The Roman Empire.
When Native Americans refer to the Great White Spirit, they aren't referring to some God figure with a paleface complexion--at least, I don't believe so.
Instead, they were blessed--perhaps, during the three days that the earthly remains of Jesus rested in the tomb--to view Jesus as He had become on the mountaintop during the transformation and as people see Him during near-death experiences.
Keep on talking to Jesus! You'll never regret continuing this fellowship that has been stripped of the manmade mysteries under which you first got a glimpse of Him through dark glass in your younger days!
Interesting picture painted by a late, great lady--the line about the bread untouched by someone thin spoke volumes.
The homeless man is thin, too--but being thin, obviously, means something different to this man than it did to the person leaving this partially-eaten dinner in the trash can.
This man--thin from malnourishment--survives on what the body-conscious thin-by-choice person has discarded for fear that it might cause a weight-gain.
Why was the trash container acting as the middleman? Why didn't the privileged person realize that a portion of lunch unwanted was made for sharing with another person while it was still warm and tasting its best?
This poor, old soul must have been around 60 years old.
As I followed his story to the end, I kept hoping to find some twist or turn that would make his life better, but it never seemed to come.
Perhaps, the next chapter lies beyond the last work on this page, and each reader still has the opportunity to wonder--and draw his/her own conclusions re: what happened next and what the old man in the robe had to do with it all.
Mostly, we are left to grieve with this poor, old soul over what could have been.
He saw the wife and kids he'd never get to have, and, in the townspeople, he saw their lives going on--lives with futures.
It was never even mentioned what he did to get to where he now is--it's just that, somehow, he got there.
This is a haunting story that will stay with me for ages.
This story took place in a time when the execution of a common man was just like a routine of the garbage being taken out.
There were no news stories telling about his family or giving accounts--complete with even baby pictures--of what his life was once like.
He didn't even have his own grave--more like being tossed into a trash container.
A very interesting story! You certainly seem to be very perceptive about your life. Just keep on being yourself and finding out just who you are, what you need, etc.
Then, you'll truly be ready for a real relationship.
There's no "magic" age to find that person and settle down. There isn't even a requirement that you even find that person and settle down.
Tell yourself, "I am Melissa! I am complete and don't need another person to complete me! I'm determinded to have the goal of being the best Melissa I can be!"
You might like to consider taking a test where you answer questions and, using the information you give, the results of this test will give you several suggestions for jobs/careers.
Try on a job for size. If it fits, keep "wearing" it. If you find that it doesn't fit, then, make preparations to "try on" a new one.
I wish you the best and look forward to reading more of your writings!
First off, welcome to WDC! I hope you'll find lots to inspire you here--not to mention hoping that you also will feel free to share here what has inspired you from elsewhere.
After and during reading this, I feel this kind of chilling draft--which might be because the wind is whipping around the house and a draft might be somewhere, but I don't think so. Instead, I think that the chilled feeling comes from what I'm reading and all it represents.
Having never been there, I can only imagine within limits what all was going on with the main character--yet, your telling of the story made me understand enough to feel chilled.
You don't speak of superficial cuts but, instead, cuts penetrating enough to sever bone and expose the marrow.
There is a sense of going through a neverending cycle of fog and twilight while drowning in blood--a sense of the heroine's live spiraling more and more out-of-control when an act (cutting/self-mutilation) she once had control over has now taken on a life of its own.
This one aspect of her life is also taking over her entire life as well.
When I began reading this story, I was going to advise you to divide it up into paragraphs to make it easy to read--but that would make it too choppy.
This way, it kinda hangs together and plods along into its uncertain future.
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