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 |   The simplicity of my day to day. |
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This is where I write my thoughts, feelings and my daily trials, tribulations and happy things
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Prompt: Trust What kinds of actions or signs make you believe someone is trustworthy? And if trust is broken, how can it be rebuilt? Oh, my goodness, we live in a time in history when trust has been dealt a death sentence. The internet is to blame. We can no longer believe what we see and what we hear. We need to be constantly on guard from those who are out to trick, scam and steal from us. We no longer answer phone calls from numbers we don’t recognise, and even if we see a message or email from what appears to be a trusted source, such as the bank, we need to verify its validity. So how can we trust? Who can we trust? Only those close to us. I have just a couple of good friends who I trust. If they ever betrayed that trust I would be devastated. My children and my husband of course are the only other ones. I can’t see society ever returning to that time when a handshake meant something, when you could believe the news on the television, radio and newspapers. It’s all fake news as one Mr Trump often spouts. Photographs are photoshopped, Artificial Intelligence can now make it appear as if people are saying and doing things they never did. So when you can’t trust your eyes and ears what can you trust? Even our children are being lured on line by people who strike up conversations, pretending to be a child of the same age. They gain their trust and then abuse it. How sickening is it to have to sit your child down to explain they need to be on guard from predators, that they can only trust their families? Politicians are certainly not trustworthy, they’ll say anything to get votes and then disregard all their election promises. We are being forced to be a world of cynics. It’s a world I’m beginning to dislike. |
| Gratitude Is gratitude is important for our well-being and do you think gratitude could relate to love? If so, in what ways? I think gratitude could easily be mistaken for love. There are so many different kinds of love aren’t there? Romantic love, a parental love and friendship love. If the case arose when someone was dependent on a career for their everyday personal care, It wouldn’t be hard to imagine that carer would become important. Then it wouldn’t be hard to imagine a gratitude which could be viewed as love. There have been many cases when a client has been taken advantage of because they’re under the misapprehension their gratitude is love. It’s common for patients to become so attached to their doctors and nurses, they truly believe they love them and would do anything for them, yet it is gratitude which is the overwhelming emotion not love. Gratitude is an important emotion to experience and to express. It is a kind of love as it generates the same feel-good hormones and yet it’s different and it’s good to know the difference. |
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How beautifully leaves grow old. How full of light and color are their last days.” -John Burroughs Let this quote about aging inspire your entry today. I’ve found myself commenting on the ravages of old age lately. I suppose that’s only natural as one sees those same aging affects each day in the bathroom mirror. It saddens me though to see the movie and music idols of my youth, those stunning women and strong handsome men, now just fragile, unrecognisable images of their former selves. With age comes wisdom, though in the imparting of that wisdom those younger ones in our lives take it with a pinch of salt. They’re probably too kind to say what they’re actually thinking, wondering how we could possibly know what they’re going through. So what, if anything, can be good about aging? Yes, leaves grow old beautifully as the quote suggests, but can it be said of humans? The cosmetic and beauty industries make millions out of our insecurities selling the idea that age can be beaten or delayed. I admire people who are so comfortable in their skin as to not give a hoot about how they look, although many, men in particular, take that to the extreme. I often sit having a coffee at a cafe and people watch. The thought that mostly passes through my mind as I watch the vast variety of people, is that we all started life with the perfect body, a flawless canvas with which to do with as we choose. Yet many of us abuse it throughout our lives. So if there is beauty to be found in the aging leaf, where can it be found in human beings? Maybe it’s the beauty of spirit many older people develop in later years. Lines, wrinkles and sagging flesh have been portrayed by artists throughout history as having a kind of beauty. Life drawing classes prefer the fuller figure, giving the artist more interesting contours to draw than the flat stomached counterparts. Although having said that a flat stomach is one I’d willingly swap my roundness for. I personally wouldn’t mind all the outward crumbling of my body if I could retain the energy and suppleness of youth, with no pain. With age comes pain and that’s what I find the worst part. Up to being aged 75 I thought I’d cracked this growing old stuff. I could walk, climb hills, hop from rock to rock over streams without even thinking I might slip and fall. In five years I’ve lost so much mobility I see myself as a different person altogether. So I’m finding it difficult to see the beauty in old age although when I began to write this blog I thought I would discover something positive I could say. Having said that I really ought to end on a positive note and to find some light in the darkness. 🤔 Okay! I’ve developed an even sharper sense of humour than I already possessed all my life. I’ve come to the realisation that life is a joke. I’ve worried and had sleepless nights over all the sad and difficult times throughout my life and things either got better or worse but it had nothing to do with my worrying. Things happen, nothing stays the same and problems get resolved one way or another. And at the end of the day, life is short, and after I’m gone it will carry on without me. I’ve learned to accept and there has to be a sort of beauty in that. |
Prompt: Taking risks What is better, staying safe or taking a risk? Did you ever have to make such a choice and would you do it again? Life is all about risk. I was very risk averse until I was in my mid twenties. It was about that time we took the biggest risk in my life by taking our three years old daughter and leaving everything behind. We came to Australia, a place where we knew no one or even anything about the place. We risked everything to find a better life. On a much smaller scale, I’ve risked abseiling when everything in my body was screaming at me not to walk backwards off that cliff! I’ve scuba dived in shark infested waters, been less than a few feet from a jumping crocodile and probably the most scary thing of all was to join a writers group at aged 75 and read out loud something I’d written. |
Day 3656 November 7, 2024 We're all going to pass at some point in time, which piece of your own writing would you like to be remembered by/with. If not a piece of writing what other remembrance would you choose? Ha, great prompt, to which I have no answers. My Portfolio currently stands at 541 items. Each entry is one I must have thought was worthy at the time of entering, but selecting one particular piece would be too big an ask. As a whole, I may be convinced to believe, the portfolio itself is proof of what I’ve been doing for all these years, and wouldn’t mind being remembered for. Each time I receive a review for a story I might have written some years before, I cringe when I spot glaring errors or in spelling or grammar. So as I would no longer be here when my portfolio is being read I’m not about to spend weeks going through each item and editing to spare my embarrassment.😩 |
Prompt: Precious and few. Write about these words in your Blog entry today.
Precious, it’s a word I connect with my childhood. My mum used to tell me I was precious. I think all babies are precious, they are a miracle. Each time we have a new baby in the family my emotions run haywire and I can hardly believe they’re here and are absolutely perfect. How can nature produce anything so exquisite? There are few things I count as precious, I’m not interested in jewellery or in what is called a precious metal, gold. I have a few people whom I class as friends. I think if anyone has those few core people who are there for them in good times and bad that’s all you need. The ‘friends’ on Facebook aren’t real and the platform has diminished the word friends. So I’m happy with my precious family and my few real friends. |
| How about having some more fun with word couplets: black stallion, sugar cookies, whipped cream. farm hand, peanut butter and grape jam. Jack, the farm hand, put down his stable rake and without washing his hands unwrapped his peanut butter and grape jam sandwiches. His favourite horse, a black stallion called Midnight, shook his head. “What are you looking at, Midnight? You wouldn’t enjoy peanut butter. It’s not for horses.” Jack sat in the straw and ate. To him, horse manure smelled fine, it certainly didn’t put him off his food. The horse watched every bite. “You’re making me feel sorry for you, aren’t you?” “The horse’s lips trembled. “Okay you’ve won.” Jack opened his lunch box and found his wife’s sugar cookies and a container of whipped cream. “Look what Jenny made, just for us.” Midnight opened his mouth and ground his large teeth. Jack dipped a sugar cookie into the cream and offered it to the magnificent beast on an outstretched, flat hand. The owner of the horse, famous horse breeder entered the stable and laughed seeing Midnight and Jack standing side by side, unaware they both had sugary cream all over their mouths. |
| Have fun with these word couplets: black silk, blue dress, bow tie, corner booth, police sirens and the coroner. “The Coroner gave the verdict of accidental death!” Sonia was incredulous when she spoke the words. “It wasn’t accidental, my daughter was poisoned, I’m sure of it.” “Your son-in-law stated that he thought he was using peppermint leaves to make her cup of tea.” “He knew only too well it was Oleander, but how to prove it, Mary?” “You can’t do anything about it now but accept it.” “I’ll never do that!” Sonia’s eyes flared with anger. The funeral was a subdued affair. The body of Louise was dressed in her favourite blue dress and black silk stockings. She appeared to be sleeping peacefully. “She can’t be dead!” Her mother sobbed , turning her gaze onto her daughter’s husband, hatred in her eyes. It was a few weeks after the funeral when Sonia sat in a corner booth in her favourite café sipping a latte when she saw, through the window, ‘the bastard,’ as she’d begun to think of her former son-in-law. Dressed in an evening suit and sporting a flashy red bow tie, he was holding the arm of a gorgeous young woman, escorting her to his car. Sonia’s blood boiled, a red mist of anger filled her mind and without thinking she left the café. She followed his car back to his house and as he stepped out and was walking around to open his passenger’s car door, Sonia planted her foot down hard on the accelerator and ran him down. Police sirens filled the still night air. Neighbours left their homes to see what the commotion could be in their normally peaceful street. They would have seen a young man, blood pouring from a massive head wound, lying dead on the road and a middle aged woman handcuffed and escorted away from the scene. |
| Prompt: Take any cliche and subvert it to bring it alive again in a poem or a blog entry. ONLY TIME WILL TELL That clock that hangs upon the wall Ticks away those hours and days Its face is blank yet observes it all And sooner or later it betrays |
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