Word Prompts

In writing group, the leader gave us a new word every minute. The assignment was to immediately switch to the new word and write, then switch to the next, etc. Some of the participants were able to bring continuity to their new words. I was not, but just changed directions with each.


Bread is the staff of life. Homemade bread is really the staff of life. Anyone who ever lived the hippy lifestyle made their own bread. It was a necessity. Hallie used to call store-bought bread, "muff-muff bread." I loved that term. I thought it said it all in just one term. She had an old woodstove that she used, and her food on that stove was fabulous. We were in our 20's living on Vashon Island.

Bumblebees used to scare me to death. All bees did--especially yellow jackets, wasps, and hornets. We have them around the apartment now, and I'm still afraid of them. What's the difference between all those critters? I used to get Nick to kill them for me, but now I have to do it myself. Gives me the willies to hear them buzz around the window, and the lightbulbs.

Nourish is a word that has a nice connotation. Isn't there a song that starts with "nourish"? Maybe I'm not remembering correctly. Which is the story of my life right now. Word retrieval has gotten worse and worse lately. And the worse it gets, the more upsetting for me. Getting old isn't fun, let me tell you. Back to nourish--food, happiness, love, and health.

Earth Day is on my birthday--April 22. They started it back in the hippy years. I don't know why I keep turning back to that time period. It was a happy time in some ways--very unhappy in others. It was one of the times of political upheaval--generations at odds with each other. Somewhat like now, I guess. I used to think of myself as "earth mother."

Cut is what I used to do with patterns and sewing. I sewed for myself, and for my daughter when she was little. I even made her a Holly Hobby doll and matching pinafores for her and the doll. Later, as I quit sewing so much, I would cut out the patterns, but never get them finished. That was after she grew up though. When we lived in Idaho, I made mother-daughter dresses for us both.

Give is a word I'm running out of ideas for. Give me a break. Give me some hints. Give me liberty, or give me death, said Patrick Henry. Give me some ideas. I'll give you one, if you'll give me one. Nope, I really don't give a rip this time around.
Sorry--no giving today.
Give money
Give love
Give food
Give care
Give a thought.

Memories from Idaho - Written 5/18/10

In writer's group, we worked from paintings. This one the painting of a woman and child, walking together. So it's part truth/part fiction.


As my daughter and I walked down the sidewalk away from the house, I wished again that my husband hadn't taken our only vehicle for his trip out of town. It snowed last night, and the temperature was now dropping quickly. We were barely within walking distance to the school, where she was in kindergarten and I worked in the office. But the colder it got, the harder it would be for us to make it the whole distance. I'd wrapped her up all nice and warm, and bundled myself up as well. But the 1-1/2 miles to the school would be a difficult walk for us both.

By the time we reached the school, we were both just about frozen. I took her to her class, and her teacher helped her out of her coat, scarf, and mittens. She took her in and sat her by the warm stove to thaw.

I went on to my office and unbundled myself, while at the same time turning on the small radio on the shelf next to my desk. The announcer's voice came through: "The time is now 8:05, and the temperature has already dropped to 10 degrees. There is a winter storm warning for today and tomorrow."

"Nuts!" I fretted. "He always picks the worst times to go out of town! He's notorious for leaving us in the worst possible weather. Now, we'll have to get a ride home this afternoon. And maybe I can get some help to keep the pipes from freezing. This always happens when he's gone. How frustrating!"

Bipolar Nonsense--6/1/10

Words I drew, and tried to use them all: dainty, weather, springs of grass
So just went off on a tangent of nonsense.


What is dainty weather anyway?
Is it light and fluffy, like snowflakes?
Or raindrops sprinkling on the pond?
Interesting concept.

What would be the opposite--heavy, menacing weather?
("Menace" is the word I put back last time. Then I drew it
again today.)
Oh no, that takes us back to the flood weekend.
Let's change the subject.

Sprigs of grass--reminds me of Walt Whitman's
"Leaves of Grass."
Which reminds me of the book I just finished,
"Eden's Outcasts."
About Alcott and Alcott--Louisa May and her father Bronson,
who were contemporaries of Whitman--but poles apart.

I'm skipping from thought to thought today--
So much heaviness has necessitated light, frothy,
inconsequential ponderings.
I'm through.

Pantoum

From writing group, the assignment was to write a "pantoum." It's a poetic form from long ago, in which you repeat specific lines in a specific order. So here's my first attempt. (Turned out to be fun.)

1. I'll be right here,
2. Waiting for you.
3. Don't forget to call,
4. So I won't worry.

5. Waiting for you,
6. Thinking about you,
7. So I won't worry,
8. I'll know you're OK.

9. Thinking about you,
10. Wishing you were here,
11. I'll know you're OK,
12. When I get your call.

13. Wishing you were here,
14. Don't forget to call,
15. When I get your call,
16. I'll be right here.

A Sheep Named Goddess

The prompts--A picture of an English sheep with long curly fleece, covering her eyes, and the word I drew was "goddess." A fun fantasy.


Just call me "Goddess." In the photo, they named me "sheep," but that just doesn't come close to doing me justice. What a mundane boring label; please, surely you can do better than that!

Notice the curly locks? Have you ever seen anything so beautiful? And the little white ears, sticking out, ever so pertly, from the long, flowing fleece. And the stately white muzzle--amazing! I must say, in all modesty, I'm the picture of statuesque beauty.

My mistress has quite a time when fair time comes. She spends hours grooming me, making me ready for the show. I've won lots of ribbons, of course. See all the blues on the wall over there? And some "Best in Show" trophies as well. I'm her top prize winner. No surprise there!

I've presented some children to her line of champions, but none yet that has surpassed my record.

My mistress absolutely adores me, of course. It's good to receive such well deserved appreciation. Even if she does decide to retire me next year, she says I'll have proven myself the best of my breed--champion forever!

My name is "Goddess." Appropriate, don't you agree?

Invisible Work

. . . thought of the invisible work that stitches up the world day and night,
the slow, unglamorous work of healing, . . .

"Invisible Work," by Alison Luterman
from The Largest Possible Life (2001)


Sitting on the sofa, deep in conversation,
and stroking the sleeping dog lying alongside.

Listening to Loreena's voice soaring
as I sink deeper and deeper into sleep.

Watching Ken Burns tell his mammoth stories,
as I work geometric shapes with the needle on the canvas.

Hugs from my grandchildren,
delicious buffet laid out by my son-in-law.

The love of family,
connection with friends.

So many quiet joys
that I too often neglect.

How can I forget the good stuff
that fills my life?

Those small flashes of happiness,
too often ignored,
too many complaints,
not enough thanksgivings.

Life is good.
Remember that.

Waiting for Better Thoughts

As many of my friends know, this has been a difficult spring for me. In writing group, I've tried to deal with some of the emotional stuff. This entry reflects it.


From
"You Reading This, Be Ready,"
by William Stafford

"Starting here, what do you want to remember?"
. . . . .
"Are you waiting for time to show you some better thoughts?"


Yes, I'm waiting for better thoughts.
I'm waiting for a better place to be.

What do I want to remember?
Not this--not where I am right now!

It seems that every day is dark now.
And I try to dig out of the darkness.

I open the door, and Toby and I go out.
But before we make the circle, the tears come.

And so we come back home.
Come in and close the door.

I know it will get better--it always has.
It's spring, not winter, and the sun shines.

It's not dark and gloomy outside--
Just inside.

The effect of the flood was devastating.
But it didn't impact me or mine.

Waiting for the "new glimpse" the poet mentions.
But I can't find it.

I withdraw into my cave.
Because I can't stand to impact others right now.

Every Monday, I think, "Maybe today.
Maybe this week will be better."

And as I go through the week, I still carry the hope,
"Maybe next week."

The waves come

Writing from "On the Oregon Coast," by Robert Bly



"The waves come . . .
all this fury . . .
and the ducks don't help.
Settling down in furry water, shaking
Themselves, and then forgetting it within a minute."


How do they do that?
The ducks shake themselves and then forget it.
How do they do that?
The dog shakes himself and then moves on.
When I am swamped by a looming wave,
I also try to become small, in order to withstand it.
But rather, I am flattened, and lie, gasping for breath.

I roll away, and then try to get to my feet,
But I don't shake myself and forget it.
Instead, I hang onto it,
and revisit it again and again,
relive it, and re-experience the hurt, and the pain,
over and over and over.

Maybe I think that by doing that,
I can change the outcome.
Maybe if I remember and relive,
it will end differently.
If it matters to me, how can I shake it off and walk away?
I want a different ending.
I want a more satisfactory ending.

On the other hand . . .

The emotional fury, finally faced and acknowledged.
No longer stuffed down and denied.
Maybe not healthier,
but definitely more honest.

"It is what it is."
I feel what I feel.
I am who I am.
So be it.

Diving Around

Writing group worked with "Diving into the Wreck," by Adrienne Rich (from Diving into the Wreck: Poems 1971-1972)


"I came to explore the wreck.
The words are purposes.
The words are maps.
I came to see the damage that was done
and the treasures that prevail."
(From Adrienne Rich's "Diving into the Wreck")


I need to write, what I have discovered. words as purposes, words as maps. I need to re-examine the wreck; I need to re-examine the damaged structure. And glean, one by one, the treasures that have survived. And there are treasures that have survived.

Rereading the journals from all those years ago. Hearing again my words, my mantra, going again and again through the same experience. I ask myself, "Didn't I learn anything? How could I keep going around and around in circles?" It was like a deadly whirlpool--I rushed in, then was caught in the dizzy swirling, down to the bottom and back up again. I pulled myself out, crawled up on the beach, coughing and choking. Lay there until I finally got my breath back. Then, instead of walking away from the water, thankful to escape the madness, I turned around and went right back into the water, into yet another whirlpool. And the experience repeated itself. Again and again.

Counselor Mary Elizabeth was the Coast Guard boat, who picked me up and brought me to land. And warned me not to go back into the water. Eventually, reluctantly, I heard her voice and what she had said, over and over again. And eventually, I walked up the beach and away from the water, found a new place to be, totally different and protected from the beach.

Twenty-five years later, I returned to the beach--fortunately very briefly. And then I went home.

The treasures that prevail still need to be identified and claimed.