Tag Archives: postaday

My Inner Emily

Emily dickinson
Emily dickinson (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The Daily Prompt:  Unleash Your Inner Dickinson.  National Poetry Writing Month is nearly at an end. To celebrate it, try your hand at some verse.

Huh.  I thought I just did that.  And how come I didn’t know it was national poetry writing month?  Do you suppose I wasn’t informed on purpose?

No matter, another poem probably won’t kill us.  Well, me, anyway.  I don’t know about you.  I just hope poor Emily doesn’t roll over in her grave.  Or come back to haunt me.  Because I am about to update one of her poems.

A Day! Help! Help! Another Day!

Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

by Emily Dickinson

A Day! Help! Help! Another Day!

Your prayers, oh Passer by!

From such a common ball as this

Might date a Victory!

From marshallings as simple

The flags of nations swang.

Steady—my soul: What issues

Upon thine arrow hang!

A Prompt!  Help! Help! Another Prompt!

by grandmalin

A prompt! OMG, another prompt!

Give me a break you guys.

Such a seemingly simple request

Might cause INSANITY!

You prompt and prompt and never stop

The stress is making me mad.

Hold on, my soul:  No worries

Just write something really bad.

The only thing I like better about Emily’s poem compared to mine is the use of the word “swang”.  That is a truly awesome word.

And this post, my friends, should prove once and for all that poetry writing and appreciation is really not my strong point.

elders
elders (Photo credit: sbpoet)
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So Where Are We Headed From Here?

Winter snow
Winter snow (Photo credit: blmiers2)

Imagine my December Book of Days tossed carelessly on the snow, the wind whipping the pages and ripping some of the blank ones from their bindings to fly helter skelter into oblivion.

Now imagine me sitting here with weepy eyes and an elephant on my chest, groggy from having slept the afternoon away, a little sad about the missing pages, but without the energy to do anything about replacing them. They’re just gone.

Maybe this post-a-day thing has finally beaten me down, although I think I made an awesome stab at it.  There were some sad days in October where words seemed useless and empty or there was simply nothing left to say.  And these few days in December when falling asleep won hands down over staying conscious for even one more minute.

And now I’ve caught this stupid bug and my head is full of sludge.

But today I will not be thwarted by sludge head!  I’m here to explain that delightful button to your right which proclaims me to be one of many  Bloggers for Peace.  Please click on it and see where it takes you.  I am committing to doing a blog for peace every month in 2013.  I fell about a hundred blogs short on my Project 365, but that’s because I kept forgetting to put everything into that category.  So I’ll just slog on with that until I reach the magic number.  Because magic numbers are magical and we could all do with a little more magic in our lives.

I am going to try harder to accept the many Word Press Challenges.  Even when I think they’re stupid.  God knows I rarely come up with anything better on my own.  I will finally finish Alphabet Soup.  I will get Jazzy all the way to one hundred schmaltzy bits of advice with a wine glass that’s never empty.  I will write more poetry.  Before you run away screaming, come on, some of it might even be good.  There’s always that chance.

There will also be more tales for my poor neglected “Before The Lights Go Out”.  Because one of these days the lights will go out for real and there will still be so many stories left to tell.

So I guess that’s my vague master plan for the moment.  Now I’m going to drink a gallon of orange juice, take some decongestants and imagine myself being all bright and perky at work tomorrow.  And the next day, and the next, all the way to 2013.

Merry Christmas
Merry Christmas
May your every New Year dream come true

Sweet December song
The melody that saved me
On those less than silent nights
When snow would fall upon my bed
White sugar from Jesus
And take me to the day
She could always smile
The Virgin Child would always show, you see
Just to save me
(Just to save me)

There was always Christmas time
To wipe the year away
I guess that morning they’d decided
That the war would have to wait

There was always Christmas time
Jesus came to stay
I could believe in peace on Earth
And I could watch TV all day
So I dreamed of Christmas

Maybe since you’ve gone
I went a little crazy
God knows they can see (the child)
But the snow that falls upon my bed
That loving I needed
Falls every single day
For each and every child
The Virgin smiles for all to see
But you kept her from me

There was always Christmas time
To wipe the year away
I guess that morning they’d decided
That the war would have to wait

There was always Christmas time
Jesus came to stay
I could believe in peace on Earth
And I could watch TV all day
And so I dreamed of Christmas
Yes, I dreamed like you

Merry Christmas
Merry Christmas
May your every New Year dream come true

Ready, Set, Go December!

A Christmas minstrel playing pipe and tabor.
A Christmas minstrel playing pipe and tabor. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

This is a pretty important December being that it’s the end of the world as we know it in 21 days.  So in honor of that I’ve created a brand new category called December 2012 Book of Days.  I will write a post a day describing how I prepared for whatever is going to happen, accompanied by some obscure Christmas music to make it all slightly less boring.

Because today my life was not brimming with excitement.  All I did was go to work, sell seven pairs of glasses and see a couple of contact lens patients.  Everybody is busy preparing for Christmas as if the end of the world is never going to happen.  And maybe it won’t.  But it never hurts to brace yourself for it, right?

Here’s how people complained about the cold weather in the 1940’s. They just don’t make Christmas videos like this anymore.

A Meaningful Possession

I did not inherit much of my mothers animated busy-ness.  She was always on the go, heading somewhere, doing something, making or repairing or cleaning things, sorting stuff out, thinking, reading, talking, falling into bed exhausted and then getting up bright and early in the morning to start all over again.

She wore me out.  She was one of those people who found it hard to sit still.  So I sat still in sufficient quantities for both of us.  I seem to still be doing that, come to think of it.  Relaxed, motionless, barely breathing.  Mind blank.  Accomplishing nothing.  (You might be surprised at what can pop into an empty head. And pop right out again with equal ease.)

Over the years my mother gave me a lot of things I cherish and I’m grateful for every one of them.  A person cannot spend an entire lifetime being that industrious without leaving a lot of interesting stuff behind.  When she did decide to sit down for five minutes she’d pick up her knitting and keep right on talking, no matter how complicated the pattern.  Sometimes I swear she didn’t even look directly at whatever she was making, and still things generally turned out the way they were supposed to.

She and my dad spent their last years together in a care centre.  He was in a wheelchair following a stroke.  She had heart and respiratory problems and macular degeneration.  They both needed care, and yet they never stopped caring for each other.

Normally you’d think a person in her late eighties who can’t see would give up things like knitting.  But dad needed a throw to put over his legs because they were always cold, and mom decided to make him one. Her peripheral vision was all she needed to sort out the blues.  I don’t know if this throw started out wide and ended up narrow, or the other way around.  It might have been some miscalculation on her part, or perhaps she did it on purpose so one end was wider for an easier wrap-around on the legs.  It’s all done in a basket weave stitch and she probably didn’t consciously count any of it.  Straight garter stitch would have bored her to tears.  There’s a few bumps and lumps and a couple of holes and the odd increase or decrease in random places, but over all, with its crocheted edge, I think it’s damned near perfect.

It might not be the most gorgeous piece of work she ever turned out, but dad loved it.  I’m a little ashamed of my initial reaction on seeing it for the first time – (Oh my gawd – what in the world is this?) – but when it was up for grabs in the grand sort-out of what was left when she was gone, I didn’t hesitate to save it.  It’s just so MOM.  You never know what strange and wonderful thing will end up meaning the world to you. This little blue kniited throw is my priceless treasure.

Free Spirit

Free Spirit is the Weekly Photo Challenge, so when I started flipping through some old albums I was looking for a picture of myself.  Because I would like to believe that’s what I once was.  Aside from a black and white shot of a laughing windblown toddler in a droopy diaper I wasn’t finding much to prove my point.

And then this fell out from between the pages onto the floor.

 It’s my sister, circa 1970.   The girl who wrote the book on free spirits and how to be one.