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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: "Truth is beautiful, without doubt; but so are lies." Ralph Waldo Emerson What does Emerson mean in this quote and in what ways, do you think, any lie can be beautiful? ------------ Anytime, I tackle Emerson, I end up confusing myself.  And this quote is no exception. Just maybe, my poetic thinking cap has many holes in it, and I am now sitting at the computer with an uncomfortable tension.So now, it comes to me that Emerson is challenging his readers to think about why people are drawn to lies. Not because lies are stronger than truth, but because they are easier. Truth asks us to change. Lies ask only what we believe on the surface. I can understand more easily why truth is beautiful. It is because truth is real. Talking for myself, it grounds me, gives shape to my life and lets me trust others. In fact, two days ago, my son told me I was too trusting, involving the matter that a worker for the outside of the house wasn't showing up but charging us just the same. But I digress. Coming back to truth, it doesn't need any decoration. Truth has the weight of integrity and consequences, and it endures. What is true remains standing even when things are or become painful. As to lies being beautiful, they are like a woman who looks good only when she wears an intense make-up. This makes her appealing, only because she wears beauty like a costume. Yet, temporarily, lies offer escape, hope, and comfort. Are they ever useful? I tend to believe not, but I can understand that, in extreme circumstances, they may soften grief, protect innocence, or preserve peace. In fact, fiction, story-telling, and even art are built on lies that reveal truths. Those invented stories help us relate to and understand other worlds and ours much better, as we all know here in WdC. On the other hand, a lie's beauty is weak and fragile. It depends on illusions that easily evaporate. What begins as comfort or entertainment can become harmful if it replaces the truth, and worse yet, it distracts us from our real lives. By this, I don't mean to downplay the writing arts and our imaginations, but after we put down our pens and leave the keyboards alone, shouldn't we engage in our real lives, fully? Ultimately, even in writing, especially in good writing, deep down inside, that stronger truth is always there. |
Prompt: Food "Food is memories." José Andrés Do you have happy or not so happy memories attached to food? ----------------- This question makes me grin. I don't have any unhappy or not-so-happy memories attached to food. Does that make me a gourmand? I don't know, and I fear to think about that possibility too much. What I don't fear, though, is food itself. Food isn't just fuel for our bodies. We are, especially I am, very picky about it. So much so that, it bypasses logic. This may be because the brain processes taste and smell together with emotion and memory. I say memory because a flavor can make me feel as if I've traveled back in time. When I saw the ad for cured black olives in Amazon, for example, inside my mind, I went to my childhood when my grandmother would never set a breakfast table without cured black olives. After I saw that add, now I have those olives at breakfast again. Am I regressing to my childhood? Nope, I'm capturing the happy feeling of being cared for again, together with the renewed taste of something. Something that has to do with the warmth of family. Come to think of it, food keeps many of the earliest memories and language of care. Long before we start understanding words, we understand being hungry and being fed. Food, then, is the elimination of hunger in addition to warmth, attention, and safety. As such, in adulthood also, to share a meal is to lower our defenses and to agree, be it briefly, in most things because food and us are present together. On top of it all, food was very important in the family I grew up in. Both my mother and my grandmother would feel sad if we didn't have a guest at the dinner table. And no wonder, they had a lot of friends. Countless, it seemed to me. As a small child, I used to believe my family knew everyone on the face of the earth. Of course, internet wasn't invented yet and phones were usually on the walls attached to long cords. And if someone called someone else during dinner time, the call would begin with an apology. Those were the days meals were markers, such as the taste of Sundays, or celebrations, or even grief. Because meals have been markers in my family, food has carried stories across generations. Recipes preserved geography, culture, struggles, survival, and they have outlived people. A dish my grandmother used to make can hold the memory of scarcity or abundance, of adaptation, or of home recreated in a new place. When I go back in my mind and try to cook the same recipe, I reenact old memories with my hands and my kitchen utensils. If I didn't, that memory might disappear. Food, therefore, sits in the center of meaning and feeding my body. In a world that moves quickly, eating slows me down just enough to feel. Food keeps me alive, yes, but it also reminds me who I am, where I've been, and who I've loved. . |
| Prompt: "Courage is being scared to death, but saddling up anyway." John Wayne What do you think this quote means and have you every taken on something that you were scared to do? ---------- At twelve years of age, I had an experience that would fit this quote well and its "saddling up," literally. At the time, I was being raised by an over-protective mother and, worse yet, I was her only child. On an occasion, my cousins, all seven of them, came to visit and wanted me to go with them to a local fair. Surprisingly, my mother who would never let me out alone without an adult chaperon, agreed, since one of my cousins was 19 at the time, and he promised he'd keep an eye on all of us. Yet, when we got there, he saw a few friends of his and wanted to hang out with them and told us to go have fun by ourselves. At the side of the fair, adjacent to it, but not inside it, there were horse rides on a vast open field. Watching people on those horses was exciting. So we neared that place where two men, ride-handlers I suppose, put the would-be riders on the horses for a small fee. Up to that time, I had never been near a horse, let alone ride it. So I stood back, but my cousins egged me on, and I didn't want the word chicken attached to me for as long as we all lived. Next, I found myself sitting on a big horse, holding on to its rein. One of the handlers led us out of the starting point into the open field. But, as soon as he left me and the poor horse alone, I must have felt a terror in my every bone. So in fright, I must have begun pulling the reins and squeezing my legs against the belly of the horse. Later, I learned this is what you do if you want the horse to run. So from its gentle trot, the horse took to running, and through fear or maybe sixth sense, I leaned toward its neck clinging to it, and almost laid flat on the horse. I heard someone say, "Look at this kid. She knows how!" Also, I heard another person yell, "Relax your legs!". I don't know who said that but I'm forever grateful for that tip and that wise person who must have seen my fear. By the time, we returned to the starting point, the horse had calmed down to an easy trot, and nobody, starting with my cousins, ever believed I hadn't taken any lessons or wasn't on a horse before. It is a miracle I didn't fall off that horse! I still wonder about that. Although, that horse and I didn't jump fences or anything, given my ineptitude, my daring must have become my teacher, in some way. Furthermore. the real miracle was that I rode anyway, despite the terror in me. So I feel I have to honor that terror and that rough ride and that big horse which wasn't ferocious at all like I had feared at first. Better yet, that experience taught me that motion is the antidote to fear and paralysis. Accordingly, through my long life, after that scary ride, I made a conscious choice to face fear, to give it its due, but then, to harness it, or else life and circumstances can trample me. What I mean is, fear is not a villain, and the rider who refuses the saddle is the loser who cannot experience anything beyond that of ease and comfort. |
| Prompt: "Courage is being scared to death, but saddling up anyway." John Wayne What do you think this quote means and have you every taken on something that you were scared to do? ---------- At twelve years of age, I had an experience that would fit this quote well and its "saddling up," literally. At the time, I was being raised by an over-protective mother and, worse yet, I was her only child. On an occasion, my cousins, all seven of them, came to visit and wanted me to go with them to a local fair. Surprisingly, my mother who would never let me out alone without an adult chaperon, agreed, since one of my cousins was 19 at the time, and he promised he'd keep an eye on all of us. Yet, when we got there, he saw a few friends of his and wanted to hang out with them and told us to go have fun by ourselves. At the side of the fair, adjacent to it, but not inside it, there were horse rides on a vast open field. Watching people on those horses was exciting. So we neared that place where two men, ride-handlers I suppose, put the would-be riders on the horses for a small fee. Up to that time, I had never been near a horse, let alone ride it. So I stood back, but my cousins egged me on, and I didn't want the word chicken attached to me for as long as we all lived. Next, I found myself sitting on a big horse, holding on to its rein. One of the handlers led us out of the starting point into the open field. But, as soon as he left me and the poor horse alone, I must have felt a terror in my every bone. So in fright, I must have begun pulling the reins and squeezing my legs against the belly of the horse. Later, I learned this is what you do if you want the horse to run. So from its gentle trot, the horse took to running, and through fear or maybe sixth sense, I leaned toward its neck clinging to it, and almost laid flat on the horse. I heard someone say, "Look at this kid. She knows how!" Also, I heard another person yell, "Relax your legs!". I don't know who said that but I'm forever grateful for that tip and that wise person who must have seen my fear. By the time, we returned to the starting point, the horse had calmed down to an easy trot, and nobody, starting with my cousins, ever believed I hadn't taken any lessons or wasn't on a horse before. It is a miracle I didn't fall off that horse! I still wonder about that. Although, that horse and I didn't jump fences or anything, given my ineptitude, my daring must have become my teacher, in some way. Furthermore, the real miracle was, despite the terror I felt, I rode anyway. So I feel I have to honor that terror and that rough ride and that big horse which wasn't ferocious at all like I had feared at first. Better yet, that experience taught me that motion is the antidote to fear and paralysis. Accordingly, through my long life, after that scary ride, I made a conscious choice to face fear, to give it its due, but then, to harness it, or else life and circumstances can trample me. What I mean is, fear is not a villain, and the rider who refuses the saddle is the loser who cannot experience anything beyond that of ease and comfort. |
| Prompt: “Luck is not as random as you think. Before that lottery ticket won the jackpot, someone had to buy it.” Vera Nazarian Do you buy lottery tickets or the scratch off cards? Do you wait for the large pot or do you buy them weekly like clock work? Would you consider lottery tickets as gambling? ------------ I don't buy lottery tickets or scratch off any cards, although I have nothing against all that. I think of such stuff as not necessarily gambling, but maybe, banking on false hopes, and thus, a waste of time. Then, suppose I did win a few million that way. I can't even begin to imagine its negative results. With the taxes, false friends, scammers--as if not enough of them call me nowadays--and the amount of work and worry about how to spend or invest that lot. I'm just too old for all that. On the other hand, I congratulate those who have won and who will win and hope everyone is happy with their choices. I am not discouraging anyone, but saying that this is not for me. Come to think of it, this craze for lottery tickets and such isn't only about money. It may have something to do with the wish to imagine some control in our uncontrollable world. A lottery ticket or any other such game offers a strange comfort, a fleeting control of a comfort, that everyone else is equally powerless before the last draw. Also, since chance games offer uncertainty in a safe, contained way, some brains like the anticipation and the suspense more than the reward at the end. Possibly, such emotional experiences are good for some people, I suppose. Just maybe, the fantasy itself may be worth more than the actual win. After all, a lottery ticket may mean hope, imagination, rebellion against routine, and that wish or sense that life can change in a single moment. When all is said and done, the idea is, the future isn't fully written yet. All this brings to my mind an old song, the one Frank Sinatra crooned in Luck Be a Lady, "They call you Lady Luck // But there is room for doubt..." . |
Prompt: Let this quote inspire your entry today. “January is the worst month. I am fat and broke from the holidays, paler than ever, and I can’t feel my own face when I walk outside.” Anonymous ------------- I don't know about this Anonymous, but I am glad to be in January after all the rush and brush of December. Granted, where I live doesn't have me experience any excess cold to not be able to feel my own face. And so, at times and on occasions like this, I am happy for the negatives. Weird me! And poor Anonymous! Yet, his pain wasn't for nothing because it led me to write some broken verse to show I could commiserate with him. To Anonymous in January You stand in January like the receipt crumpled in your pocket, that you didn't throw away and your credit cards still ache as they tell your truth too loudly. I see your skin faded like the color of winter milk, in holiday softness lingering, your breath fogging up plans you swore were serious. Outside, the cold steals the joy as your cheeks go numb, but you can always fake optimism, for this is what I do all the time whether I am okay or not. So I really hope inside you some humor is surviving anyway, and although I may sound awful, here, my noticing you, sharing your pain, must count for something. . |
| Prompt: 2025 Was it a good year or a bad year? Write about this in your Blog entry today. -------------- I guess in some ways, 2025 could have been a good year, especially because we didn't have the terrible stuff and all the negatives of the Covid years, and especially 2020. But I don't want to go there, to possibly the worst year of my life. Then, I don't also want to call any year good just because it lacked a certain negative or two...especially with all the world problems still going on, now. To be fair, though, let me talk about the positives of 2025, first. Judging from the social media, I think people across the world began talking about everything. Naming problems may not seem as if things will get any better, but at least, we the people are doing that. It could as well be the first step toward fixing things. I guess, I have to add the advances in technology, in ai, to the mix, although I am truly suspicious of where we are going with that, but the cat is out of the bag and we'll see how it all washes out. Also, there were conscious changes starting with the consuming public, us individuals, in how we live, how we eat, and how we can help life on this planet. The best yet, IMHO, I saw a higher resilience in humans. We adapted to uncertainties and changes quite well. On the down side, social and political divisions and divisiveness increased, As their result, we had global instability with all the wars, both economically and between countries. Most economies suffered and already high prices went up even higher. Then, came the impacts of the climate with all the floods and other natural disasters. There is a big gap in between what needs to be done and what is being done in almost all areas. While my thinking may not be totally right, because I don't know all the facts, I still think, as people of the world, we are still growing and are having growing pains. The good news is, to me, we humans are capable of much better growth and adjustment. I so hope we can, someday in the future, look at 2025 fairly and see that it mirrored us by reflecting our wrongs and by showing that we can learn, however slowly, to do much better. I may not be around to see it, but I'm crossing my fingers that we'll all do much better, somehow. |
| Prompt: "If writing is about sharing the stories that matter then designing a home is about shaping where those stories unfold." Write about this quote in your Blog entry today. ---------- This quote made me think for a while, if only because I've never really designed a home. When we moved to any new home, we just put our already owned things in it and added whatever else was needed afterwards. Our homes were never for show, but for convenience. So, combining this home design thing with writing is new to me, but I'll try to find the similarities between the two. Let's take writing first. A writer listens closely and tries to notice moments and ideas that may slip by others more easily. Then, writers choose which stories to tell and which ideas they can explore more deeply. For example, those things may be something like a glance held too long, a goodbye said too quickly, a truth discovered late, etc. Still, what I write usually matters to me, although I do believe that a good-enough writer should be able to write something, good or bad, on any subject. In other words, to me, to write is to preserve experiences and to say this event or thing matters enough to be remembered and to be written about. Alternately, as clueless as I am on the subject, designing a home may also need intention. Only, its language in physical. Home is where I want ease, relaxation, happier feelings, and laughter to be. For that reason, home is more than a shelter or a container for my things. It is a setting for my most ordinary or extraordinary moments. It's where happiness can suddenly arrive when I carry a certain grief or problem from room to room. My kitchen counters become my mixing food stuffs as if I am loading them with confessions and thoughts, the same as I do while writing into a notebook. After all, both home design and writing can ask the same questions: What matters here? What is it that I want to linger or to stay? Who or what is this setting or seating for? In the same vein, a story offers a sense of belonging, just like a home does with its space. Both hold me, reflect me, and quietly support the life I'm living. One gives voice to meaning. The other gives it a place to sit, to rest, and to grow and learn. |
| "Cheers to a new year and another chance for us to get it right." Oprah Winfrey In what ways can we get it right in 2026, personally and as a nation? What about the world? ----------------------- To begin with, in my humble and jumbled opinion, getting things right in 2026 needs intention, follow-through, and humility, in general. This is because I still believe in the legend of "One Earth, One Future." In the personal area, I can think of: *exchanges of ideas but not as competitions and without put-downs *small consistent kindnesses like keeping promises *checking on one another, *allowing growth and encouraging learning as one can never learn enough, *and maybe resting a bit more, especially in my case. As a nation and this goes for any nation, not just the USA, let's agree to: *survive and let others survive *not use contempt or dehumanizing of other nations *invest in healthcare, education, infrastructure, mental health *appreciate honesty over anger and outrage, especially with leaders of nations, and also, let's trust more those leaders who are not afraid of saying they are uncertain about any issue *protect the nations with the least power and with people who are vulnerable, and not only the loud ones *give space for shared stories between nations, to show co-existence is possible with or without our differences As the world, we need to: *share responsibility. No country can live alone, even the strongest ones. *do not treat the human stories as statistics. What happens to the people of one nation can easily happen to others, given time. *cooperate on what threatens others, be it the climate, public health, food, and water as these needs cross all borders. *choose diplomacy over dominance. Intimidation harms the intimidator the most. Just remember Hitler. When power is used to collaborate and get along with others, it works for the best for every nation. Come to think of it, as I wrote about these three areas separately, I came to the conclusion that the way forward had to be similar at all three levels. That is: *pay attention, *use patience over panic and *keep up the hope but back it by action, and not just words. 2026 is just about to arrive. The ink is fresh. Let's make it count, this coming year. Happy 2026, TO Everyone on Earth! |
| “Instructions for living a life. Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it.” Mary Oliver What do you think about this quote and would Mary Oliver's advice work for you? ******************** I don't know if Mary Oliver's advice would work for me, but, in a nutshell, it seems to be good advice for living a meaningful life. A meaningful life could be found in the way we look at things. For example, some glitches have been showing up in my life and in the way things are done. Instead of blaming ai or someone else or my own ineptitude, I'm trying to sail with the tide, and it seems to be working for me. It isn't always easy, but I try to pay attention. Paying attention is to be present, to notice the texture of ordinary moments, the tone beneath someone’s words, the way light moves across a room. It asks me to resist or stop living on autopilot. Attention is an act of respect toward the world, toward others, and toward my own inner life. Furthermore, attention leads to wonder, which is a natural thing. When I truly notice, the world reveals itself and its miracles to me. "Becoming astonished" can rise from a bird’s call, a child’s question, a sudden kindness...etc. In other words, with astonishment, I let awe overcome any dulled-out certainty. As to "telling about it," this is what I am doing right this minute. When I tell about what astonishes me I am translating my experiences into writing, storytelling, art, or memory. This connects me to others and preserves something important or touching that might otherwise may vanish. This is because most anything gains importance when given voice, as we writers know so well. Although this, Mary Oliver's advice, works as if it is a pocket-sized philosophy, it has used a simple direct language and it works. Especially because it is vast in its use and implication. |
Prompt: “I love writing. I love the swirl and swing of words as they tangle with human emotions,” says James Michener. What is it that excites you and/or fulfills you about writing? ---------- I don't know why I am so into writing. It might have something to do with my mother's stories. My mother had a column for herself in a small publication for a few years, and she always had this wild imagination. If she told me a story and then when she told me the same story again, this second time, the story would end up being quite different. Ultimately, my mother's imagination I don't possess, but I was very much impressed with her storytelling. Also, I'm guessing, because I wanted to read the stories for myself--to see if they really changed-- I learned to read well at age four, and right after my reading came the writing. I really don't recall any time when I never wrote anything. I don't know why. But I love writing. Even when I'm reading or learning something or other, I still take notes. I guess I am addicted to notebooks and pens. A few days ago, I mentioned to a friend that I preferred writing mostly longhand into notebooks with pens. She told a few other friends that, and they all gave me pens and fancy notebooks for this Christmas. Now, I have enough paper in the house to last me until the year 3000. As much as I love writing, I'm not possessive of it. By this I mean, when someone reviews something I wrote here in WdC, say in 2002, I have to go back and read it. Sometimes, what I wrote way back when feels like someone else wrote it. Go figure! So, here's my answer to the quote and the question, "What is it that excites you and/or fulfills you about writing?": I don't really know. It might not have been my choice. I am guessing, however, that words, pens, pencils, keyboards and such must have been stuck into my DNA at one time or another. |
| Prompt: "Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance, you must keep moving." -- Albert Einstein. Let this quote inspire your entry today! -------- This made me grin, since in my case my bicycle can end up in a whirlwind. But, yes, I have to keep on moving, and that's exactly what I am doing now, while staying in one place at the same time. I guess I can say I am moving in place. This is because, sometimes, there's stability in motion. Imagine a child riding a bicycle. The first time she is on a bike, the world feels unsteady. Her legs pump furiously, wheels screech, and everything around her wobbles as she fights the gravity. But once she finds that rhythm, when the pedals sync with her heartbeat, she realizes that stillness can mean a bad fall. Not that I've fallen from a bike, at all. I couldn't have because I only knew how to ride a trike. Only because my mother forbid it, saying where we lived there was no place to ride a bike safely, despite the pleas of my uncle who wanted to show me how. Maybe she was afraid I'd take off on a bike and ride to the moon where she wouldn't be able to reach me. Riding back to the quote, Einstein's words are not about overprotective mothers and bikes, but it is probably his manifesto for living, for adapting one's motions between the steep hills and smooth roads. In other words, life demands careful navigation whether one owns a compass or not. I can't ride a bike, but I learned, like a cyclist would, to lower my head, bend, and keep on pedaling. The balance isn’t about rigid control but resilience. Motion means hope, and stillness isn't always still if it has something to do with reflection, such as a writer stopping to think how to put together her story elements. Nothing really needs over-acceleration, especially if the ground is rocky. But we have to keep on moving no matter what. I know I have to. After all, it is okay to fall, from time to time. This is because falling is not failing but feedback.
 
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| Prompt: A new year is approaching, have you considered what contests or other writing goals you want to accomplish in 2026? Are you a person who creates a monthly calendar with reminders for each goal? ----------- Nope, I'm not that person with calendars and reminders, but I make simple to-do lists before any venture, even If I have to re-adjust it along the way. Plus, at my age, I've learned to live from day to day, so to speak. Several months ago, I promised myself to write in- my blog everyday. So far so good. As to other kinds of writing, I usually write when I feel like it, which is mostly, always. But I also like to write longhand, which means notebooks and pen, and therefore, what I mostly write is in note-books. With my writing, in essence, I don't set many goals. I'm not a goal-setter because life gets in the way and if I don't do what I have set my mind to do, I get extremely frustrated. Yes, weird me! On the other hand, if I'm not goal setting, I have routines I stick to throughout the day, which organize my life. I taught myself not to get upset if I can't stick to the routine in any one day. After all, it is okay not to do things in the same order. Having said that, I understand the value of goal setting for people who are not too critical of their own selves. This is because goal setting gets the things done and it is applied almost everywhere human beings are and especially in all work situations. It has to do with the worldly achievements and material gains, with powerfully driven behavior. This boosts performance quite a bit. From that point of view, it has to do with the work ethic of the elite section of any society. As for me, a pain in my backside with goal-setting, in addition to the frustration when I didn't meet that goal, would be having too many goals, or having a narrow time-frame, or increased risk-taking for trying to meet a difficult and complicated goal. Still, goal-setting is not really shallow, materialistic, or unsubstantial. In fact it may help many people achieve what they set out to achieve. But considering my own internal workings and psyche, I use it very sparingly. |
| Prompt: What did you do Christmas Eve? Write about this in your Blog entry today. -------- Not much to write about. My Christmas Eve had nothing to do with Tennyson's calling for renewal in his Christmas Eve poem, "Ring out, wild bells." At my age, I'd be worried about any renewals or bells ringing. On the plus side, since my family is scattered all over the world, we had a nice group chat on Messenger. My younger son came and went and checked on my new home security system, his gift. Not that I need one, but my sons wanted me to have it. Maybe I can put up signs on the doors, saying, "Smile, you're on candid camera!" Then, I went to bed as usual right after supper, which me going to bed means reading and doing puzzles until midnight or later. This is my down time and I appreciate it. Btw, someone said, "Time doesn't exist when you're reading in bed. It's just a pleasant void of endless chapters." Pleasant void it is, and as to time, I have no sense of it. But that is a good thing. It makes me to forget all the years I lived up to now. I wonder if this is what happens when us, the oldest chunk of society, starts losing "it." So, I hope everyone had a great Xmas Eve and may we all keep on reading and writing in the new year; that is, after we've mastered the new ways of WdC.   |
| Prompt: Christmas. Write about Christmas for your Blog entry today. ---------- Wrapped in Tinsel without Naming "IT" It’s that time again, calendar insists half joyful in tone, half as threat, the lights blink wildly, placing a bet and the tree's dragged in, crowned like king dropping its needles on everything this tree leans to left, what message it sends? I dare think, to give my patience a try still, my smile's wide, I don't know why when old songs repeat till my sanity bends about bells, and joy, and close friends and cookies vanish with suspicious intent while I fill socks as if it's a priceless art for my scented candle's shaped like a heart. If stressed I may be, until Santa will appear I smile real wide, perform laughter and cheer. |
| Prompt: The Christmas Tree Lessons from a Christmas Tree: Be a light in the darkness. We all fall over sometimes. You can never wear too much glitter. Bring joy to others. Sparkle and twinkle as often as possible. It's okay to be a little tilted. Jane Lee Logan What do you think this poem-quote means? And/or, what does being a little tilted mean to you? ------------------- Such pine-scented wisdom, don't you think? It seems to me the "Live, Laugh, Love" plaque in a gift shop is wearing a tinsel scarf, here. Yet, that scarf is being picked up by a rebellious elf. On top of it all, all that wise advice is being offered by a chopped-down speaker-tree who is decorated possibly against its will and expected to perform cheerfully for a few days, only. As if a last will and testament. But afterwards??? Oh, that poor Christmas tree! Still, despite its approaching end, the tree might be saying, "Look here, if I can glow while drying and dying out, so can you. That is, after I shed my dignity onto your rug." With this, it exemplifies the advice, "Be a light in the darkness.” What is not metaphorical here is that trees fall, lean, get pushed over by cats, toddlers, and maybe a drunk relative who gestures wildly while telling a story. So, the tree says, “We all fall over sometimes,” which is only physics and not the tree's failure. Then, I have to give it to the tree's good nature when it says, “You can never wear too much glitter.” “Sparkle and twinkle as often as possible” reinforces this idea of the tree showing off. Well, it may be wonderful for a tree, but too much glitter is too much for me. And although the tree may scoff at my restraint, at my minimalism, does the tree know that glitter is its armor and my armor is evading attraction? After I have pointed that out, I can balance it with this line from the tree: “Bring joy to others.” This is good advice even when I may feel lopsided. It may even mean to me something like, don't do anything but be there, be present. At times, just showing up over or under-dressed and leaning to one's side can show resilience, good humor, and willingness to be in the presence of others. Then, my favorite advice shines better than any glitter on any tree: “It’s okay to be a little tilted.” The word "tilted" shows wisdom and it doesn't mean being broken. It means 'lived-in.' It means being bumped by reality. It means I don't choose to straighten myself to please others. Plus, a tilted tree still lights the place more memorably, at times, than a perfectly upright one. I certainly hope, people will remember that tilted tree, together with me, as the ones that almost fell over and were leaning toward chaos, but still kept shining, anyway. |
| Prompt: Spreading Light "There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it." Edith Wharton Write about this quote's meaning. Can you think of other ways of reflecting or spreading light besides being the candle or the mirror? ----------- I don't want to burn up as a candle and neither do I like reflecting others' views all that much. Does my stance leave me any other choice? We'll see. First, let's look at the candle and the mirror, two humble objects for how light moves through our world. A candle burns itself out, so that the darkness can loosen its grip. Yet, while burning off, the candle's light warms faces, invites closeness, and softens hard edges. A mirror doesn't sacrifice itself. It catches light and images and reflects them as they are, without altering anything about them. To be a mirror means having clarity to reflect something precious to those who have forgotten they are already carrying that precious something. In addition, there may be other ways to spread light, too. How about by asking questions? Questions that make people think and give space to different perspectives. Then, there are those who spread light like a lighthouse, steadily, firmly, and without chasing anyone. Their personal existence is what makes everything so clear and believable. Also, light can be spread by listening to others well and thoroughly. If for nothing but when a person is heard, really heard, something inside them may brighten and may come alive. Hearing and understanding others may have to do with kindness, too, for kindness itself is a light. It is unforgettable, even when it is sudden and brief. There is also the light of truth, maybe harsh at first, but necessary for growth. It is like the early morning sun shining into the eyes of people, trying to wake them up. Sometimes, where light is concerned, burning can come up in the works. Other times, it may be reflecting, but mostly, the way I look at it it, it means stepping aside to give room to others and to refuse to block their light. So, just maybe, the idea of light is not to be whether the candle or the mirror. The idea may have to do with our own stance and feelings of respect for all people and the truth. Plus, I believe the search for light involves the hard questions we need to ask ourselves, such as: "What kind of darkness am I standing in right now?" This way, being truthful to oneself may mean turning on a light. After all, light is generous. It will use any excuse to travel and illuminate. |
| Prompt: Imagination “The color of springtime is in the flowers; the color of winter is in the imagination.” Terri Guillemets Which kinds of stories, poems, or writing can you imagine in relation to the color of winter? And what inspires you the most during the winter months? ----------- To me, winter has a quieter palette, but with strong hues, possibly with the absence of some colors. They may still inspire emotionally strong pieces to a thoughtful writer. When I say a "thoughtful writer," I am certainly not referring to yours truly. Maybe I might look inward from time to time, but I am of the kind who just sits down and writes, and then worries about the offside ideas with paragraphs whose repeated words are usually too close together. So, let's say, just any writer. Just any writer would sit down and think and explore winter's hues, first. So, let's follow that writer's steps. That writer would say, white is the most dominant voice in winter. Like a blank page, snow, frost, and pale skies create a sense of an untouched impression, as an untouched thing of an impression can often inspire reflection and introspection. A memoir comes to mind, as well as personal essays, and spare poetry, and I mean nothing too wordy or fancy. Furthermore, the snow's whiteness changes over time. Sometimes, it turns to slush under the gray skies and dusk. So the next color has to be gray. Gray may inspire essays about uncertainty, stories that live between right and wrong, poems that explore grief, waiting, or emotional fatigue. It is probably subtle and thoughtful, more interested in questions than answers. It may use internal monologue a lot in a character-driven fiction, in which case, deliberate silences can speak loudly. Just for the fun of it and since sometimes a winter sky brings up its blues, I'll have to add blue next. Blue means prose and poetry that meditate, perhaps about loss, distance, melancholy, longing, and hopefully some depth. Something like the letters never sent, but written anyway. Then, there's that black, which sets in with the earlier nights, stretching over bare trees, inviting the darkest themes. I'd guess those themes would be gothic fiction, mystery, and dark philosophical reflections. It pushes writers to be drawn to the noir as if to confront fears, endings, and the unknown. Yet, winter still can offer touches of what is warm. The glow from the fireplace and lamplights, red berries, and colors of citrus in the setting sun with golds and oranges come to mind. They might show up in shades but may inspire hope-filled writing, anyway, such as short stories about human connections, poems about resilience, and essays about finding light in confinement. This contrast of the warmer tones against the white, black, and gray can remind a writer that winter has some uplifting meaning after all. Come to think of it, winter writing is often quieter, but it is rarely shallow. In those wintry hues, a writer may find clarity, depth, and the courage to tell the truest of stories. Coming back to me, again, this doesn't involve me at all. For the last three and a half decades, I have been living in a part of the country when seasons are in a jumble and everything gets mixed up with everything else. Still, not bad. Possibly that's why I ended up writing the drama NL and my silly thoughts in my blogs. |
| Prompt: Have fun with these words: Elves, cloaks, spaghetti, mouse, lift. advertise, betray, tent, and attraction. ---------- This Circus! When I was little, I thought, life would be acrobats, clowns, and stunts, silly me! Under a striped *tent, I thought life's circus would hum at dusk, with *elves in velvet *cloaks juggling stars, and *spaghetti (and I so loved spaghetti), such fun! And a painted *mouse would ride to a drumroll’s pulse, to the *lift of gasps and claps from the crowd. When I was little, I thought, life would be acrobats, clowns, and stunts, silly me! In my mind's eye, I saw the stars and posters *advertise the wonder in curling ink, but I didn't know that some cute tricks could *betray the hands that made them, and that laughter never lasted long, yet now, I hope for a brief and bright final *attraction. For now I'm old, and life still is just the same, I see, with acrobats, clowns, stunts, plus tears, silly me! |
| Prompt: Begin your entry with---The girl can't help herself. It's your blog, have fun writing a short story or a poem or just a rant. ----------- The Girl Can’t Help Herself The girl can’t help herself, although she knows nostalgia lies she hoards old summers like contraband and ticket stubs, cassettes, letters of his the smell of rain on her borrowed jacket and then, she rants at time for moving on without her, for sanding down the edges of faces she loved, and especially one, and for turning payphones into fossils and promises into museum glass since her every memory argues back, loud, unfinished, aching to be right here, and still, she shouts his name like truth, her truth no artificial intelligence can understand because the girl can't help herself. |
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