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 |   Theses are my thoughts and ramblings as I forge my way through this thing they call life. |
| Today's blogs... 30 Day Blogging Challenge I feel pretty strongly we've all heard a train whistle whoo-hoo wailing in the distance. Maybe a baby cooing in their crib or somewhere. What about the high pitch screech of a fire-truck? Sound fills a void in our writing, don't you agree. They invite the reader in to share the experience. 1.What in your opinion is the best sound of all? 2. What is the worst sound of all. 3. Finally, Share an experience about a sound that truly moved you. Sounds I love – the wood stove coming to life. The metal disks moved about, the crackling of the flames, the hissing of water heating on the pans on the surface. The clang of a metal lid being put back on the chamber pot – that may sound a bit odd, but my mother and I will clang pot lids listening for the same tone then laugh when we find it. People may think us crazy, but we love it. The clank and whoosh of the water pump The happy ‘pert’ of my cat when I touched her unexpectedly. The ‘operatic’ vocalizations of another cat when she thought she was alone or singing herself to sleep. Sounds I hate – buzzing bees too close to my face. Buzzing, incessant flies. The sound of a fly caught in a fly sticker. Nails on a chalkboard... need I say more... #3 The sweetest sound for me rises out of my memory and tickles my senses like it was just happening. Picture lying in bed, a chill hangs in the morning air. A breeze flits with the curtains across the open window. Birdsong drifts in cheery and bright. Even the buzz of insects beyond the window can be heard because town is too far away to pollute the air with noise. Lying there curled in my blankets drawn up to my nose, I begin to hear the rumbling of voices. Muted conversation wafts up the stairwell. I listen and hear the bump and clunk of my Grandmother shifting the wood stove’s heavy metal discs as she shoves in the wood and lights the flame. I hear the slide of metal across metal and the satisfied clunk as it settles back into place. Then the conversation mumbles on. My grandmother and my grandfather are awake... the stove is lit and soon the chill will be sent off for another day. I wait a bit savouring the muffled talk, then when I think it may be warm enough, I throw off the sheets and make a dash to pull on my chilled clothes that hang on the edge of my bed or have fallen off onto the floor. I scamper down the stairs following their voices and smile a greeting as I am engulfed with the stove’s warmth and my grandparent’s smiles. “She’s up. Did you sleep well?” Too early to talk, I simply nod and accept the cuddling hug my grandmother gives me. I cuddle back before slipping into my spot at the table. Toast made flat on the wood stove appears, as do boiled eggs and bacon. Oh how I loved those mornings when I stayed at my grandparent's farm. They lived off the grid – no phone, no hydro, no indoor plumbing. All the usual sounds of a home were absent – only the purity of life could be heard.  Blog City – Day 206 Prompt: You are a pumpkin sitting on a porch. What sights do you see? What are your thoughts? Better make this a Jack-O-Lantern or I can’t see nothin’. Thoughts.... my brains have just been pulled out... I ain’t got no thoughts. I should just leave the entry like that but the writer behind the screen is laughing at me and thinking a bit more 'thoughts' are necessary. She's also more awake than she was when she scribbled those first two lines last night before she went off to bed. I expect I will wind up on the step just before the day begins to shed its light coat and shrug into a heavier, dark one to seal out the night's chill. Before I can even see anything, sounds of laughter and squeaks of delight float across the air making a usual mundane evening ramp up in energy as the ghosties begin to fly. With the younger crowd, parents sprinkle the sidewalks and pull wagons that hold their ill gotten gains... ahem... or should I say, ahem... candy. Tiny feet prattle along the driveway and climb steps - some with adult help, some independently, but all eager to greet and ring a cheery "Trick or treat" into the swirl of air they bring with them. "Thank yous" follow them off the steps and are swallowed into the night as they scurry along, their parents trailing in their wake. As the night slips along, the costumes shift from tiny pink princesses and weak little spidermen to darker specimens and plastic masks. Voices deepen and muffle out behind the masks, yet the "Trick or treat"s and "Thankyous" play on. The parents have also slipped away, less of them venture out now having swept their young creatures off to homes to watch as older children show them how it's done. It is not long before I am left in the dark. The candy gone, but out on the street, dark in the pale moon light, I can make out shadows of taller ghosts and gristly beasts. Their laughter rings out, in deeper tones. Sacks as big as pillow cases are thrown over there shoulders as they zig zag from one lighted abode to another. Their costumes, from what little I can make out, are barely there.. now they are only hunting, seeking houses with loot to share. I shudder and hope I do not become a target for their revenge. Seeveral of my buddies roll down the street or are thrown with such force they shatter never to smile or sneer their faces again. Soon I am rescued, pulled inside my candle set the room aglow as my crafter munches left over treats of her own and lounges back on the couch to watch something fun, but not to scarey... It's The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown. Welcome To My Reality – Week Forty 3. Dreams and Nightmares: Do you remember your dreams, share a favourite with us? Do you have reoccurring dreams, if so what is it about? What about nightmares or night terrors do you have many of these? Are you a day dreamer? You can answer one or all of these questions, talk about the impact that they have had on your life. I was a daydreamer as a child. Lost in a crowd, playing within my mind without the pettiness of my age mates. My imagination was my greatest friend. I was seen as an odd bird, teased about it. Left on the outside. I even daydreamed in class, what played in my the furrows of my mind, I have no idea, but it was more interesting than the class lesson. I did fine in school, so I can only think, I daydreamed out of boredom. Social interactions were not my forte. As I got older and school got more interesting, around grade 2 or 3, I stepped away from those daydreams and into the work that was school. I was still deemed as socially odd, but I don't think I let it hurt me... other family situations were rising. I think those things, my parent's separation for one, kept many of those children away. Being an only child from a broken home was not the norm in small town early 1970's life. They tended to ignore me. Leaving me alone to my own thoughts and interests... writing started to surface and has been with me ever sense. |
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