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 A new blog to contain answers to prompts |
Since my old blog "Everyday Canvas "  became overfilled, here's a new one. This new blog item will continue answering prompts, the same as the old one. Cool water cascading to low ground
To spread good will and hope all around.  |
| Prompt: What makes me powerful? Write about this in your Blog entry today. ---------- I don't know what makes you powerful,  Megan  . You're the better judge of that. If you are asking the question about me, I don't know what makes me powerful either. If anything, it might be that I, just about always, get up from a fall or a nasty turn of events, brush off the mess, and go on. Even so, I'm not very sure if I feel powerful or not. "Annoyed" would be a better word for it. Talking about power, what often comes to my mind are images of authority, control, or perhaps even dominance. So to be fair, I'll stick with the authority idea. This feeling of authority or being in control is something nuanced and deeply personal. It might have something to do with inner strength. Inner strength, then, comes from competence and knowing what to do. In other words, people must know the purpose of their actions and be responsible for their meanings and influence. Mostly however, no one is 100% sure of what that right thing to do is, especially in sticky situations. In which case, making choices and not wavering has to be in the picture, also. Then, all of the above have something to do with resilience and emotional stability. If there is such thing as feeling powerful, it isn't the same as having power over others. It is something that arises from within a person, a person loaded with self-belief. Do I have that self-belief? I'm not too sure about that.  |
| Prompt: Worms “A man may fish with the worm that hath eat of a king, and eat of the fish that hath fed of that worm.” William Shakespeare What do you think Shakespeare means here, and what do you think worms are for, especially the earthworms? ----- I always liked earthworms as a child. They were ugly but so useful. I used to kneel down and watch them drag themselves on the ground. Well, I'm no Shakespeare and that was the best I could do at my young age, then, where worms were concerned. Thinking about this quote, however, I now think that this image is grotesque. Maybe because death and decay are grotesque, also. From this angle, I guess it is fitting as an image. The image refers to: a king’s body, buried in the earth, is consumed by worms. Those worms become bait for fishing. A fish eats the worm, and then a man eats the fish. In this circle, the remains of a mighty king pass through the humblest forms of life and back into the common food chain. Well, I may never eat again! Yet, this image points to the fact that death levels everyone to the same nothingness. No matter how powerful or royal someone is in life, their body ultimately feeds the same worms as any common person. Hamlet was the one uttering these words, and his obsession with the corruption of the body and power plays are hinted at through his mention of the worms. Well, tell me about it, I mean the power plays without giving any thought to our basic elements! This is so existential and darkly funny! I am now, in old age, in the process of finding out that we have little control over what happens to our bodies. And also, that life is connected in weird and icky ways. On the other hand, gruesome though things may be, the grim and sardonic edge in the quote is ever so fascinating. But then, isn't Shakespeare ever so fascinating within all his works! |
| Prompt: Library "A library is thought in cold storage." Herbert Samuel Do you go to a public library? Are libraries still important in our lives? ------------- In my view, our local library used to be more than just a place with books. It used to be a container of human thought, ideas, knowledge, friendship, etc. There is a long walkway from the parking lot to our local library's door. I used to feel like a happy bride, each time I walked on that long stretch of cement, carrying books instead of a bouquet. Yes, it used to be like that...then! But it's just that...used to be...then! And I used to go to our local library at least three times a week. Yes, mostly for the books, but also I was a member of a reading group, which dissolved when Covid struck. Another group was formed sometime last year but the people were different. The old friends and friendships were gone with some of the members moving to other states, others passing away, several from Covid. I'm not sure the second group survived since I didn't join that group for it felt totally useless like an afterthought. So, the last time I went to our local library was a bit more than a year ago, to renew my library card, which was another totally useless effort, wishful thinking at its best, and I didn't go there after that. Maybe because I felt so sad when I was there. Even the drive back was sad that day, since I had borrowed only one book, whereas during the earlier years, I used to have a library bag and it would become filled with borrowed books. That one book, btw, I didn't return it myself. My son dropped it off for me, sparing me more sad feelings, which was for the better, when I think about it. So the phrase, "cold storage" fits, and in a sorry fashion, as if someone turned a lively kitchen or a busy restaurant into cold storage. Anyhow, with the advent of AI, it may only be a matter of time before all human thought and creativity becomes totally frozen, also. I so hope for time to prove me wrong, but will it? Now, because I have an ongoing love for books and the written word, I still read on my Kindle pads and the computer, but I also love to hold a book in my hands and turn its pages while becoming totally immersed in what it delivers to me. Then, I own a lot of books, too, a few of which are still unread, only because my eyes aren't what they used to be, and one can't do much with the printed page except for using a magnifier. On the other hand, with the electronic media, I have control over the fonts and their sizes, and also, when I hold a Kindle in my hands, the device feels weightless. On the other hand, nowadays, most libraries also lend digital books, and we don't have to drive to the library to get them. So, this means, libraries are still breathing some life, although that life seems to be iffy at its best. Maybe, just maybe, through some unexpected turn of events, someone will unlock the doors to the libraires and that cold storage will warm us and the books back to life, again. |
| Prompt: Road Trips “As we crossed the Colorado-Utah border I saw God in the sky in the form of huge gold sunburning clouds above the desert that seemed to point a finger at me and say, "Pass here and go on, you're on the road to heaven.” Jack Kerouac, On the Road What do you think of road trips? Do you have any memories you'd like to share with us? ---------- I've been on so many road trips that I have even forgotten or mixed up the destinations, but I do remember the road trips fondly, perhaps not in their entirety but through their incidents. This is because each road trip was an adventure in itself with two young rambunctious boys in the back seat while my husband and I sat in the front, with one of us driving and the other minding the map, just because in those days, there was no GPS. Unlike Jack Kerouac, instead of noticing God in the sky, we were keen on keeping our boys in good humor, well-fed, entertained, and their bathroom needs taken care of. Also, we liked the open road and the discoveries it presented at each stretch. There was always something new and something to aah and ooh about. Many times we pulled over to see a roadside oddity, stopped at a roadside diner, or changed our route if it fit our needs at that time. Maybe, this was because we humans have an inborn craving for exploration. I know I got a huge satisfaction when the world rolled by like a living slideshow. In that slideshow, we went through forests, deserts, mountains, small towns, and big cities. For me, those big cities vs the small towns lost the game for I always saw something of myself in a small town. It may be because I may be a hopeless romantic or maybe I like discovering hidden places and making unexpected memories. Also, of course, there was the connection and coming together as a family in a confined place. Usually it went very well...until...the last time. The last time we took the boys with us on a road trip was the drive from San Diego to San Francisco. Since we had flown from NY to California, we ended up in a rental car, which neither of us was comfortable driving. So my husband volunteered, possibly to spare me. Then, halfway through the trip, our two sons started arguing, which led to some physical exchanges between them in the back seat. Now, we were driving on the side of a cliff, where the side of the road dipped into a precipice which, to me, looked like an abyss. My husband couldn't take the boys fighting anymore and with his right arm he reached to them to hit or stop them. I became so scared, but held myself from screaming. I said, "You just drive. I'll take care of them." Then, I told the boys right out, "If you don't stop right now, we'll all die because we're on a dangerous road." It must have been something in my voice or the way I said it, which possibly scared them and they stopped. This was why it was the last time we took the boys with us on a road trip. We still went to places as a family, but in planes and trains and taxis. The road trips, however, continued for the two of us if or when we could find overnight babysitters, until after they grew up and flew the coup. Then, our adventures, however small, began again offering us their simple pleasures: gas stations coffees, old motels by the side of the roads, hearing personal stories of the motel employees and guests, sunsets over highways where we'd never driven before, the view of the ocean from a high cliff... Now that I'm alone, just thinking about those road trips makes me smile in contentment. This is because my best moments came from being willing to go and to keep going. |
| Prompt: “it is the end of July and the idle breeze of gentle childhood befogs my mind once more".... Let the beginning of this poem inspire your entry today. ------------- July July is here again, stirring ancient echoes warm on this old wrinkled skin and my smile spills and memory hums of sunburned hands sticky with melting treats when sprinklers hissed and butterflies danced as if a fleeting dream brought them near in summer's glow but such flashbacks I hide with tears I never show. |
| Prompt: Think about the last time you cried. If those tears could talk, what would they have said? --------- It was years ago, while visiting a graveyard that I cried, and a lot. I guess I felt I could let go, there and then. Fact is, I can't cry; maybe my eyes water a bit, but that's the extent of it. Usually, eyedrops make tears come out more than my eyes watering due to some emotion. My disability with crying has gotten me into hot water with some very good people. My aunts were mad at me when, during my early teens, my grandfather passed away. I was very close to him and I didn't shed a tear. I couldn't. Not that I wasn't grieving, either. My inability not to cry has its roots in my early childhood. My mother forbade my crying, telling me really bad things would happen to me if I shed a tear and those bad things would come through her very own hands. So, I learned not to cry. Truth is, her obedience training of me, good or bad, may have two faces. One face made me braver than most kids and I never complained or cried to anyone when she punished or spanked me. I also was very compliant with the doctors when I had to have shots and inoculations. The other face made me seem cold and unfeeling to the rest of the world. This inability has a name, I learned later. It is called, alexithymia. Then, there's another word, anhedonia, which means this inability, this not crying, has to do with depression, but I'm not depressed at all. There were times in my life when I was deliriously happy and even then, I couldn't cry. It isn't that I don't like crying. Sometimes, I feel like crying but something inside holds me back. I am guessing it had to do with my mother's training. On the positive side, I don't like when people, especially women, use their tears to get their way or to evoke pity in others. So, that's the good part, but the negative side shows up when I feel like crying and I can't. I found this note on Healthline: "Repressed emotions: Some people have a hard time managing emotions, so they push them aside or bury them in order to cope. This suppression might happen intentionally at first, but over time it becomes more automatic. Eventually, you might experience most of your emotions mildly, if at all. Even if something deeply upsetting happens, you might not display much of a reaction." I guess Healthline knew a bit better. |
| Prompt: "It's not what the world holds for you. It's what you bring to it. "Write about this in your Blog entry today. ------ I can't help but laugh! If the world is still waiting for me to bring anything to it, well, okay; it can wait all it wants, since I am probably inside the last decade of my life. So...Sorry, world! No dice here! After all, you do not appreciate the real gifts given to you by many nameless scientists, artists, authors, and other do-gooders. Instead, you raise to high heaven, sports players and show people. Now, stink in your own choices! Yet, joking aside, this quote is for real because it is about responsibility and empowerment. I think it is saying that we the people have more power than we think. This power has nothing to with the push to control the world, like some politicians , but with the ways we can change how we live in it for the better. In other words, we have to work with our one and only precious life, on our own! This may be because the world, really, is indifferent and unpredictable, and it doesn't always deliver the best for most anyone. The only way to change and tame this unreasonable and capricious world is to offer our best self, our efforts, and our vision to it. On the other hand, waiting or working only for the goods --such as happiness, success and recognition--to come to us with little or no effort can make us disappointed and frustrated if and when life doesn't deliver those goodies soon enough. So, wake up and smell the coffee, friends. This world is indifferent! With that indifference in mind, what we bring to it really matters, such as our unique perspective, courage, kindness, ideas, and efforts. Our attributes, actions, and contributions shape not only our own experience here on this planet, but also they can shape the lives of others. This might have to do with bringing empathy and compassion to conflict, hope to despair, and creativity to a boring routine. In short, it means we have more potential and creativity than we think, and the world has nothing to do with our discovery of our own purpose and fulfillment. Our own satisfaction or success is up to us alone, whether the world recognizes it or not. |
| Prompt: Write something about birds for your Blog entry today. ----------- I didn't know much about big birds, until we moved to Florida, until I met Sandhill Cranes. Although I had seen them from afar before, I hadn't made their acquaintance until three of them, a couple, later with their child, at the door of my porch. Our first meeting happened when I was eating a sandwich on the porch. A couple of Sandhill Cranes came to the porch door and kept staring at me. I think I said something like, "How are you guys, today?" They both answered me, to my surprise, with their birdcalls sounding as if they were croaking. I was flabbergasted to say the least. I rose slowly and opened the screen-door. They didn't run away but took a step back. They didn't need to. Their height was close to mine, just slightly shorter than me. I'm guessing they were 4 to 4.5 ft. or so. I broke two pieces from the bread on my sandwich and threw the bread at their feet. They took it and ate it. I went in and got a couple more bread slices. They devoured those, too. Thus, our friendship was formed. After that day, they kept coming to the porch door and croaking. So I started buying more bread and the better kind of it, since I'd heard one shouldn't feed the birds white bread. These birds, however, were different for they didn't take to much else. They wanted bread. And it was so funny because I began not to stay on the porch but got out to the yard, and stood close to them. At times, the birds and I were within one another's proximity of a foot or less. Once, I was inside the house and didn't see them come. My husband called me with, "Your friends are here!" He was so surprised because the birds had knocked on the porch-door with their beaks. Then, some time later, they showed up with their offspring, maybe to introduce it? After a few years, that couple ceased to come. But others came on the golf course behind the house and they didn't come too close to our house. Maybe because their vacation house was the swamp close to our neighborhood and it was taken over by a housing development. Or maybe, an alligator or an eagle got them. I never learned what happened to the couple who became my friends. Maybe it is better not to know. I learned that, over the years, Sandhill Cranes mate for life, until one of them dies. Only then, the surviving crane will find a new mate. Nowadays, I see other Sandhill Cranes here and there, but rarely one or two come down on the golf course. Unfortunately, those are strangers to me. I think, possibly, these big birds have had it with the humankind. Who can blame them! ----------- I'm going to try to put up a photo that is probably more than 20 years old. It is the young crane at our porch door, which I took from the far end of the porch. The parents were probably at the side of the house, at that moment. They never liked the flash or the camera in my hand. Just the Bread!  |
| Prompt: “Anything with the power to make you laugh over thirty years later isn’t a waste of time. I think something like that is very close to immortality.” Stephen King Do you laugh at anything that happened in the past? In what ways does laughter help us? --------------- Just a while ago, I looked in the mirror and laughed at myself. I seem to be doing this quite a lot nowadays, in old age. If,--according to the quote-- "Anything with the power to make you laugh over thirty years later isn’t a waste of time...,"my face may still have some value, after all; hilarious though it may be. I can't say much about immortality and laughter, but I have noticed that laughter lightens what has changed for the worse and other heavy moments. For sure, a spontaneous giggle or a shared joke can offer a tiny rebellion to life's downs or fear or sadness. Something like a pressure valve...which reminds me of my grandmother's pressure cooker. When that thing screamed, it screamed, although the word for it at the time was "whistled." What whistle! Its sound shook the house. Not that my laughter shakes my house, but it lets me take an easy breath when life becomes a bit hard to handle. And yes, I do laugh at a lot of things that happened in the past. Sometimes, at all of them. It is said that laughter encourages a body's stress hormones and feel-good chemicals. Who knew that feeling good had anything to do with anything chemical! But then, it is the big Pharma's vocabulary and influence, which might have seeped into every one of us. In my opinion, though, the best work of laughter has something to do with connecting people who might otherwise have stayed strangers. Jokes, funny stories, and humorous situations create moments of warmth that can be so humanly. This is because they break down the walls we build to keep ourselves safe; however, instead, they often keep us lonely. Then, even when we are alone, a funny show or person on TV or the internet or a silly memory can lift a person's mood, like me looking into the mirror, as I mentioned above. This is because joy (and Joy) don't always need a solid reason. It's enough to just let go and laugh at myself or at something absurd. It is actually exhilarating to laugh at things beyond my control and my own self, and the idea of how in the world I ever thought I could control the whole shebang, lock stock and barrel! Ultimately, when all is said and done, being me and being alive in itself can be very, very funny. |
| Prompt: “True friendship resists time, distance, and silence.” Isabel Allende In your opinion, what is true friendship? --------- I really cannot tell how a true friendship starts. In relation to my true friendship, especially the one I have with my cousin, which is still going on while we are both in our eighties, plus those good friendships I've noticed among other people, I came to understand that a personal pick on values and likes and dislikes has nothing to do with it. Possibly because two people are thrown together by fate and they ended up liking each other and kept up their communication throughout a lifetime. That true friend for life need not be a family member, however. My younger son's truest friend was our neighbor's son across the street. Both kids were in diapers when they first began to like each other. Over the years, their lives took different turns and they live in two different states, now. To this day, fifty years later, they are best friends. So, I'm guessing that the foundation of a strong friendship has to be based upon respect and appreciation that go both ways. This means accepting the other person for who they are, flaws and all, and valuing them. When such an acceptance happens, trust steps in as the backbone of the relationship, carrying with it honesty and unconditional support. For example, my cousin won't blink an eye before telling me where I've gone wrong, but she'll also support me in my decisions and will help me when I need help. We both cheer each other on with whatever we each do, celebrating our triumphs, and offering a good ear and heartfelt advice during setbacks. In any case, a true friendship that lasts a lifetime values the quality of a good connection over the numerous quantities of other flimsy connections. Then, also, there may be something else that our eyes and minds miss. I call it fate. Others may call it something else, maybe a quantum something. I sometimes wonder if that extra stuff has anything to do with a yet-unknown micro-emotional-wave or something similar. I don't exactly know. Whatever it is, it is complex, but it is there, because I can sense it is there. And I for one, am very grateful for its existence. |
| Prompt: "We all have our time machines. Some take us back, they're called memories. Some take us forward, they're called dreams." Jeremy Irons In what ways and how do you think memories and dreams are related? ------------- I'm not so sure about dreams taking us forward, unless one substitutes the word "dreams" for wishes. From where I stand, dreams are what our minds conjure up as we sleep. In fact, memories and dreams are intimately tied together. They are tied with the same threads spun by our minds, although they serve different purposes and have different rules. I can't talk for everyone's mind, but from where I stand, I think, my mind constantly gathers experiences. Some of those experiences I may not consciously notice, but some feelings stick to me and sometimes drift to the edges of my mind. Those are the ones I minimize or don't face too sincerely. Then, in my sleep they pop up in some weird form, attaching fragments of this and that in strange yet vivid ways, and they combine and mix memories to make a new, fleeting experience. Also, I wonder if dreams can shape memories. Only because some of my dreams are so real! So real that they feel as if they are truer than what happens in my waking hours. How does something imagined plus something lived add up and come out with such clarity, and sometimes weirdness too, is beyond me. Just maybe, such a dream has tapped into something deeply emotional. So, I ask myself, "Is my mind always searching for a story, so it makes up all this?" Yet, it isn't the story itself, is it! There has to be a deeper link. That link has to be something that makes me process myself. Memory is identity building the self. Yet, dreams can be an exploration; an exploration of what I haven't said out loud or haven't faced squarely on my own. Either way, they are both imperfect and shapeshifting. Still, the enigma isn't solved for me. This is because when I take another look at my dreams, I wonder how my mind knew my young, healthy cousin was suddenly dying at the other end of the world, at the same exact time that she died. At that exact time, she came to me in a dream and said goodbye and said that she had to go away. This wasn't the only occasion. There were other similar dreams, too, that shook me to the core, and I have no explanation for any one of them. The only thing I can assume is that we are bound to one another with more ties than we know about. Those ties can be physical, emotional, or in some kind of a wave form, which some spiritual paths insist on their existence. Or maybe something even more complex. Who knows? Certainly not my limited brain and mind. |
| Prompt: "We can just let July be July, let the sun hang in the sky, clear your mind of all the things you're waiting on." — Lily Williams Let this quote inspire your entry today. ------------ When I first saw this quote, I thought to myself, "Why July?" Obviously, Lily Williams isn't really talking about July but something much more than the meaning of a month. When I lived in more temperate climates, July was a month to look forward to. The weather would be quite nice, and also, I could swim in July without the need of a heated pool. Yes, there were some hot days, but we also had the seaside. However now, in where I live, July means the beginning of the hurricane season and I watch it arrive with trepidation because I can't clear my mind of what I should do to prepare and take precautions for what's next. So, regardless of my mind's wanderings, I'm taking Williams's words as an invitation to pause and breathe and not to chase, fix, or hurry. Obviously, she has taken July as a symbol for surrender. Since this world--with ourselves included--measures us by our productivity and our plans, her message here can be: Stop counting and stop waiting. There will always be things unfinished such as the unanswered email, the unreturned call, the plans for tomorrow. In other words, we don't have to shape every moment, every second into something useful. This is because when we clear our minds of what's next we may just discover what's now, what's here at the present time. Still, in July until the end of November, my "presence" in the "now" is a shaky one, and I can easily blame it on the hurricanes. |
| Prompt: Let these quotes from 3 very different men inspire your entry today- “Words are where most change begins.” ―Brandon Sanderson “Education is the most powerful weapon which you can use to change the world.” ―Nelson Mandela “If you want to change the world, pick up your pen and write.” ―Martin Luther -------- I don't think I can change the world, at all, but I'll try to write something that may unite these three quotes. Just maybe, I might be able to pull it. Since I like to begin at the beginning of everything, here it goes. Way back when, long before we knew about computer screens or books and such, human beings painted and carved on cave walls and stone tablets. This was their form of writing. They did this to preserve what they saw, understood, and felt as meaning, throughout their lifetimes. The same is true of writing. It is more than ink on page or blocks of sentences on the computer screen. It is our means through which we express truth as we see it while we use our memory, imagination, and education. Then, education itself offers structure to that writing and sharing. It does this by teaching us to arrange our thoughts, to read symbols, to read carefully others' works, and the most important of all, to question what we are being told. This means for us to learn how to think, wonder, and communicate precisely and deeply with one another. In other words, education turns the words we use into tools for thinking and understanding. This is because words are power. They stand at the heart of everything. They make the invisible, visible. They can unite people in love or they can turn conflicts and misunderstandings into wars. They can inspire. They can destroy. They can oppress. They can liberate. The wrong word can echo forever while the right word at the right time can change a life for the better. Words are the core of laws, prayers, promises, and stories. They shape the way we see ourselves and how we see the world. Words let us talk with meaning and understand what we read. When we read, we take a look at another's soul. When we write, we give shape to our own thoughts. We must, therefore, use words well, but at the same time, protect them, too. We must not use them haphazardly or just to vent off anger. This is because they are more than tools. This is because they can heal or destroy, or they can make or break. This is because they are our very own breath of civilization. |
| Prompt: "Life itself is the most wonderful fairy tale." Hans Christian Anderson Use this Prompt in your Blog entry today. ----------- Princess Megan Rose  , you just gave us a quote from the hero of my childhood. Still, I have to ask myself, "Is life really a fairy tale?"Answering this question, "Just maybe," I have to say... unless one becomes hopelessly stuck on the "happily ever after" part. Other than that, life really is a story with potential dragons, magic, adventure, and also hopefully, some imagination thrown into the mix as well. Yet, most importantly, life means transformation. If you take any fairy tale, it has the lesson of transformation in it. And so is life. In it, we are constantly evolving, learning, accepting, feeling, and growing. No wonder some spiritual people look at life as the "big schoolhouse!" This is probably why, as tests and exams, demons and dragons are everywhere, external or internal, such as self-doubt, fear of failure, a negative self-image or maybe even a too-positive one. The possibilities are endless. But then, there is also a sweet side to this fairy tale, such as its magic in the form of the kindness of strangers, the power of love, and our belief in something much bigger than our puny selves. This magic, we sometimes don't notice while we hustle through our hours and days, but it is there, always. All we need to do to see and feel that magic when we accept any imperfections and our own strength. This is because no fairy tale is perfect. And it is the same with our lives. |
| Prompt: "Isn't it good just to be alive on a day like this?" Describe a perfect day. ----------- I don't know what a perfect day would be like. Then, maybe if one accepts all the ups and downs, any day could be deemed perfect. I think, therefore, whether a day is perfect or not depends on our assessment of it. Then sometimes, a simple, almost eventless day could seem perfect to some; however, if we had such days one after the other, we would be bored stiff, wouldn't we? This means a perfect day is a subjective experience because what one person considers a perfect day might differ from another's ideal day. As to the quote in the prompt, I think it is good to be alive on any day. We are alive, according to my thinking, because it is the only thing we know and just maybe, there are a few good reasons in being alive for us to find out. Some of those good reasons could be: we get to experience the beauty of the natural world; all the people we love who love us in return; we grow and change every day, sometimes in slow increments, other times suddenly and in a huge way; we get to help others as helping others has a built-in satisfaction in itself; then, we may experience the joy of discovery of ideas, people, and best yet, ourselves. May all our days be perfectly satisfactory! |
| Prompt: Strange Phenomenon What is a strange phenomenon to you? Is it strange because we humans still don't understand it or do you believe there is something mystical or magical behind it? ---------- A strange phenomenon, for me, would be if we could never ever explain it. This is because what seems to be a mystical and magical myth can turn out to be some misunderstood truth. A case in point: The Northern Lights, once believed to be spirits dancing in the sky, are now understood as solar particles interacting with Earth’s atmosphere. That false understanding, however, didn’t make them any less beautiful or mysterious, but it only deepened our awe of them. Then, I wouldn't really call something supernatural if I don't have all the facts about it. That thing could be just an unnoticed fact, such as radio waves floating through our air, as possibly are other such unknown waves. So are strange phenomena mystical or real? Who knows! "Even those that are truly beyond our natural laws?" one might ask. I would reply, do we really understand or know all the natural laws? Then, what is natural to us earthlings may not be so natural to those who might be living at the outer edges of the universe and even those in other parallel universes, if there are such things. Still, myth and magic are fun. So just maybe, the real magic lies in our willingness to wonder and imagine. |
| Prompt: Maps With all the latest technological advances, maps are becoming something of the past, since we have other types of navigational tools in our cars. With that in mind, do you still use a map, and do you think maps can still be of use to us? ------------ I don't think maps are totally disappearing. Just maybe, they are evolving like everything else. As to being navigational tools, they don't offer us just directions but a way of seeing the world in relation to where we are. Then, there are such things as navigational and interactive maps that are designed for hiking trails, for directions to landmarks, for the possible use of food trucks, and for the use of other vehicles that may be used to move people with the contents of their homes from one city to another. These save time and adjust to detours or traffic in real time. This is important because the old kinds of folded paper maps couldn't tell us anything about real time, could they! Plus, GPS has narrowed my vision to my immediate route, also. On the other hand, lost to me are the romance of the road-trip maps and atlases, the instant locating of a broader area, how cities connect or rivers bend, and how elevation changes. I recall, way back when, how important that road-trip map was before my husband and I set upon a driving trip. So now, in hindsight, just maybe, the maps are still there, but in the background. This is because maps are hidden inside the apps, websites, and services we so depend on. I think. now, they are also in the mind of the GPS in my car, not that I have used the GPS in years. Yet, I still look at some real maps to see Europe, South America, and the rest of the world at one glance, just to remember, maybe, once upon a time, that traveling bug which had gotten under my skin. While writing this entry, I also recalled those large three-dimensional globes that most of us had inside our homes as if they were a part of us. My sons, when they were little, loved to make ours turn fast and make the whole globe seem to flow into a single blur...as if the entire earth became fluid and we all belonged to the same world. |
| Prompt: Monsters What comes to your mind when someone mentions monsters? In other words, what is a monster to you? ---------- From where I stand, a monster is someone or something that acts against the accepted laws of people, groups, or countries. Monsters can take mythical, physical, or psychological forms. In fiction, they can be vampires, werewolves, demons, etc., and in fairy tales they shape-shift to lure the innocent with charm before revealing their true nature. Although, some stories flip the idea and make the monster a misunderstood hero. Remember The Beauty and the Beast? In this tale, the Beast is written to remind us not to judge by appearances or by sweet or sour talk. Fact is, on the surface, a monster is something that stands outside of the boundaries of what we know or accept as being decent. So, we describe some people as monsters due to what they do, not what they look like. A smiling face might mask cruelty. A charming leader who insists he or she loves peace and prosperity, might rule with manipulation and harm, disregarding all the rules of their country and international laws, plus any understanding of what humanity is. So, the monster becomes a concept or rather a label for behavior that terrifies, corrupts, or destroys. In real life, therefore, I believe, they are not really human, but only in human form to fool and hoodwink their stupid followers. They do this by playing or reflecting on our fears and flaws, such as: the fear of the unknown or little known, the fear of losing control, the fear of being hunted and eaten, and the worst, the fear of ourselves, when jealousy, rage, greed, or love of fame and fortune win us over. Then...monsters teach lessons, warn us about the danger of themselves, and what they can really be capable of doing, and if not always but sometimes...they mirror us. |
| Prompt: What comes to mind when you hear "Waiting for Godot"? ------ Hahaha! I remember my uncle making fun of this play. Is Godot coming or not? When will he come? Gosh, he ain't coming! What'll we do, now? Oh, wait some more. He is coming! He has to be coming! At the time, some said Godot was the synonym for 'God' however, I tend to differ. God isn't that wishy washy with His decisions...unlike a certain politician we all know. Now, back to Godot! In this play by Beckett, two guys--named Estragon and Vladimir--meet by a tree at dusk. And here starts the weirdness. Why would these two men meet by a tree at dusk? Btw, being in my teens, I had, at the time, thought Estragon was another word for estrogen, but I was wrong. If I weren't, the play would be more fun, come to think of it. But I digress. Again! Coming back to that Godot character, his second name is probably "Absurd" since the whole play seemed to be. But this was okay, then, for during the late 1950s,anything absurd was hailed as the smartest thing ever created. In the same vein, the idea of the absurd seems to rule the entire play. And it pained me to see online that Broadway would be showing it again this fall in 2025, if World War III doesn't get us all, by then. "Waiting for Godot will begin previews at Broadway's Hudson Theatre on September 13, 2025." No wonder there's that number 13 in there, somewhere. Maybe, with all the waiting and absurdity surrounding our world, we are all trying to give meaning to the meaningless itself. |
| Prompt: By Lyn I'm setting the scene, and giving you the opening line and you're writing what happens next: It's evening and there's a mist rolling in this small town. Begin your entry with-- I've never felt so alone. --------- Still Searching... (a story) I've never felt so alone, until then, while the mist crept in like a secret, winding its way through the narrow streets of Glen Hollow. Glen Hollow is a sleepy little town with one blinking stoplight and a diner that still served its apple pie like it was 1951. And there I was, again, in Glen Hollow, I walked at the edge of the old bridge...the one the kids said was haunted but adults just called unlucky, while I watched the world fade into grays and shadows. My boots made no sound on the damp wood of the bridge. The river below gurgled softly, its voice muffled by the thickening air. The wind carried a strange stillness, as if the town was holding its breath. I pulled my jacket tight and looked back at the trail of warm light behind me: porch lamps, the neon hum of Barrow’s gas station, a few Christmas lights still clinging to the Callahan's Inn. Then I looked ahead, into the fog swallowing the rest of the bridge. That’s where he’d disappeared. Ned. Ned, the only one who ever understood me. The one who knew what it would be like for me...to feel...after him. And this town, now, had pressed its thumb on my chest, just hard enough to keep me coming here, again and again. Ned, the only one who could make me laugh when all I wanted was to cry and scream. Until five years ago, when he’d walked out into this mist, just like I was doing now, but Ned never came back. “Don’t go lookin’,” the sheriff had said, avoiding my eyes. “Sometimes folks don’t want to be found.” But Ned did. I knew it in my bones. I took a step forward. The air thickened. It smelled of river moss and something older, stranger—like pages of forgotten books or memories buried too deep. I heard a creak ahead of me... and footsteps. “Ned?” I called. Silence. Then, the mist shifted. Not parted, but shifted. Like something large had moved just ahead of me. I should’ve turned around, should’ve gone home to Florida, and should’ve told myself it was nothing. But I was here and I kept walking. Halfway across the bridge, I saw something. A shape. Tall, not quite human. Cloaked in mist. And beside it—NED. Or the shadow of him. Pale, eyes wide, hand stretched toward me but unmoving. “Ned!” I shouted, breaking into a run. But the closer I got, the farther away he seemed, as if the bridge was stretching with my every step. The figure near Ned turned to look at me. No face. Just a sense of looking. Then, everything dropped silent. Ned was gone. I stood still. And the mist swallowed everything. The next thing I knew, I was on my knees at the edge of the bridge, gasping for air. The mist was thinner now. Lights from town flickered weakly in the distance. No one else was there. Except for something in my hand. A key. Rusted. Cold. Tied to it with a bit of string was a note in Ned’s handwriting. "Don’t trust the fog. But don’t stop looking." I'd never felt so alone...but now, I knew. Somehow, I wasn’t the only one searching. |
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