Saturday Night’s All Right for…

Daily Prompt Saturday Night S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y NIGHT! What’s your favorite way to spend Saturday night?

“I know.”
“I already wrote about the disco ball at the gay bar.”
“I think you did. But did you write about driving drunk and parking your car in the middle of the street?”
“Not sure. Not sure I’d want the world to know about that. Oh my.”
“Just answer the question, I guess, and get on with grading papers. How do you like to spend Saturday night?”
“Sleeping. Monday I have to get up at 5. I teach a 12 hour day. Same thing Wednesday. I try to get a little ahead over the weekend.”
“I think a lot of people do that but they don’t have your guts, your jutzpah, your fegato, your bold, brash and courageous ability to simply admit that. You’ve stunned me again.”


Hey, Baby…

I went along with it and made it easy on her. Twenty minute labor — of course, I only weighed 4 1/2 pounds. Definitely the upside of those days of maternal smoking. I scared her immediately, I guess, because of my littleness, but I was there nonetheless. My feet (I was told) were no longer than the first joint of her thumb. My grandma came. They prepared for my death, but I’m a tenacious creature and I was here to stay.

She was right about my dad. He fell in love with me immediately, but she? I’m afraid she never liked me much. I wasn’t easy to care for and I wasn’t cute. I cried for hours every day (out of boredom? acid reflux? resentment?) and as she was one of those “I’m the center of the universe” people, she took it as a reflection on her; on some level, she believed that I was critical of her mothering style. Well, we just don’t control other people and apparently I HAD to cry and she HAD to take things that way. So…that was the biggest chance I’ve taken in my life; attempting a relationship with my mom. And no, Daily Prompt, it never worked out.



Junk Food Junkie What’s your biggest junk food weakness? Tell us all about it in its sugary, salty, glory.

“Yep. And I had to SEARCH for it!!!”
“Yikes. So what is your biggest junk food weakness? Expiring minds want to know — desperately!”
“I don’t really have one — but for a period of time I think I was essentially living on Almond m&ms and raspberries.”
“That’s a nutritionally sound diet!”
“I know! Protein, anti-oxidants, vitamins, pretty colors and raspberries, too!”
“Raspberries aren’t junk food, sweet cheeks.”
“What does ‘junk food’ mean, anyway? Food that’s bad for people but in which they indulge, even knowing that?”
“I guess that would be junk food.”
“Well, raspberries are very bad for me.”
“Ah, I see what you’re saying here. Allergies?”
“Not exactly, but close enough. Whooo-HOOO! Daily prompt DONE!”
“I hope tomorrow we’ll get to write about our shoe size!”
“Sarcasm doesn’t win friends.”
“I know. I meant to be funny.”
“Let the audience judge, you facetious freak.”

Do you like the look of the new Daily Post?

Martha Kennedy:

Perhaps WP will pay attention to this poll.

Originally posted on Views Splash!:

This is my attempt towards something that stands destroyed because a user like me is unheard!

View original

Crow church

Stuck in the Mud

Only Sixteen: Tell us all about the person you were when you were sixteen. If you haven’t yet hit sixteen, tell us about the person you want to be at sixteen.

“Well, kind of like it, right? You’re little and old and have white hair. You’d ‘pass’ for a gran.”
“Oh brother. What?”
“Who was your first boyfriend?”
“Eddy Bayleaf.”
“Was he cute?”
“Cute enough. You know, at sixteen we’re all kind of idiots and at first I was just happy he was blond and looked kind of like a surfer. It was dumb, but that was then. He was very, very nice. He was one of the best boyfriends — maybe the best boyfriend — I ever had. We got along great and he was fun and he loved me.”
“Did you marry him?”
“No. My mom thought Eddy and I were too serious and she made me break up with him. Mistake, I think. But that’s blood under the bridge as your Great-aunt Martha used to say, well, not her, but her friend Allison.”
“How did you meet him?”
“On a mission trip. We went up to Crow Agency Montana to paint the church. It was kind of weird since that’s where my mom was from and the room we used as a dorm was actually her apartment when she was teaching there.”
“Wow. Time kind of bends, doesn’t it?”
“So they say.”
“What else did you do when you were sixteen?”
“I learned to drive, the usual. It was a very classic sixteen for a girl in Colorado, I think. I remember it, but the number, the age, not particularly meaningful particularly as things intensified in the next year or two. Now I see it. The lull before the storm.”
“What did you and Grandpa Eddy do together?”
“Grandpa Eddy? I don’t even know where he is!”
“Yeah, OK whatever, but what did you guys do for fun?”
“He had a little Suzuki motorcycle we rode around on. Your great-gran Helen was always freaking out about helmets so I wore Eddy’s helmet from his soap-box derby days.”
“Not much protection!”
“No, but the bike only weighed about 7 pounds and Eddy was anything but crazy. We liked riding around downtown Colorado Springs on Sunday evenings when the ‘city’ was empty. We also liked going out east of town — where five-hundred million former Californians now live in file-drawers close to their charismatic Christian churches, and kid’s schools and Costco and Lowes. Colofornia.”
“What were you about to say before you went on that rant? Besides, aren’t you going back?”
“Yes, I am, but I’m a Coloradoan. I’ve been in exile for 30 years, that’s all. So, anyways, we used to shoot cans and bottles out at the dump.”
“Wow. That was a date back then?”
“BACK THEN??? That wasn’t all we did. There’s a stream out there — well now it’s all fancified — but back then it was a seasonal stream. We got his jeep stuck. It wasn’t a Jeep, actually. It was a 1948 Willys. Eddy’s dad owned a service station. He bought the kit from the Army surplus. It was shipped out to them and he and Eddy built that Willys. It was great. it’s what I learned to drive, though the my parents did get me driving lessons. Anyway, we got it stuck in that stream. By then I was 17, so that doesn’t count.”
“You got a four wheel drive car stuck in a stream?”
“Not only. We got it out, too.”
“Didn’t you go to proms and stuff?”
“Yeah, we did that. Eddy was a great boyfriend, as I said. He called every evening at 8. He had a job. He was kind, friendly and easy to get along with. He liked me and we had fun. I’d say Eddy is the best memory I have of being sixteen.”


New Style

OK, there are problems with the new style of the Daily Prompt and it’s NOT appearing in my email, but MORE PEOPLE are seeing my blog than before. Some things are working; some things are not. I had to hunt out the weekly writing challenge (which I always like more than the daily prompts you know, how many times can I write about “What color are your underwear and what do you think that means about you as a person?”) So please get the prompts in my email in the morning and make it easy to link to other blogs and all will be well. I know you’re worried, WP.


I’m Too Sexy for this Blog

You Sexy Thing; Tell us all about your best confidence outfit. Don’t leave out the shoes or the perfect accessories.

“So, Sylvia? What are you wearing?”
“Oh, honey! I got these great fishnet hose at the thrift shop, and you know those boots I got when we were shopping together?”
“HEELS? You’re wearing HEELS?”
“Of course.”
“Jaysus. What else?”
“That little striped two piece, you know the one?”
“That barely covers your ass! It’s effin’ freezing, Sylvia. You’ve lost it. You’ve totally lost it.”
“Whatever. It’s my night out. I’m going to wear that little pink fleece vest, too. You know the one? That’ll keep me warm”
“Sylvia, dude, that has no sleeves. It’s going to BLIZZARD! Are you at least wearing a hat?”
“Yeah, I have that IH hat from, well, I don’t know.”
“You’re wearing a BASEBALL hat? SYLVIA! All right. It’s your life.”
“You know you’re jealous.”
“Jealous? That’s not exactly the word I’d use. I’ll pick you up around 7 unless the roads are too icy to drive, OK?”
“I’ll be ready.”


The Pity of Ages Yet Unborn

Time for Poetry: This week, we invite you to write a post — in verse or in prose — inspired by poetry.

Poetry has always been a huge part of my life. I don’t just love it; I think I need it. Three poems separated by centuries, from different cultures, say the same thing — a message for me as a writer (and teacher) who sometimes wonders, “What’s the point?”

The first, “Visiting Han-Tan; the Dancers at the Southern Pavilion is by Li Bai, poet of Tang Dynasty China. Li Bai’s poetry is well known by Chinese even though Li Bai lived thousands of years ago. There is in Chinese culture a beautiful thing; poetry is a thread linking generation to generation. Whole Chinese holidays are based on old poems and the adventures of ancient poets. Poets in Chinese culture were not dallying dilettantes separate from ordinary life; many were leaders, warriors and heroes, in fact, the ability to write good poetry was considered a necessary attribute of a leader — Chairman Mao was even a decent poet.

“Visiting Han-tan: The Dancers at the Southern Pavilion”

They sang to me and drummed, the boys of Yen and Chao,
Lovely girls plucked the sounding string.
Their painted cheeks shone like dazzling suns;
The dancer’s sleeves shook out like blossoming boughs.
Bringing her wine I approached a handsome girl
And made her sing me songs of Han-tan.
Then lutes were played, and coiling away and away
The tune fell earthward, dropping from the grey clouds.
Where is the Prince of Chao, what has he left
But an old castle-moat where tadpoles breed?
Those thousand knights that sat at his board,
Is there one among them whose name is still known?
Let us make merry, get something in our own day
To set against the pity of ages still unborn.

Thousands of years later, in a world about as far away as anyone could get, William Butler Yeats wrote “The Song of the Happy Shepherd” — in many respects, the same poem as “Visiting Han-Tan.” Here is part of it:

The woods of Arcady are dead,
And over is their antique joy;
Of old the world on dreaming fed;
Grey Truth is now her painted toy;
Yet still she turns her restless head:
But O, sick children of the world,
Of all the many changing things
In dreary dancing past us whirled,
To the cracked tune that Chronos sings,
Words alone are certain good.
Where are now the warring kings,
Word be-mockers? – By the Rood,
Where are now the watring kings?
An idle word is now their glory,
By the stammering schoolboy said,
Reading some entangled story:
The kings of the old time are dead;
The wandering earth herself may be
Only a sudden flaming word,
In clanging space a moment heard,
Troubling the endless reverie….

So there it is — along with Whitman’s “O Me! O Life” — voices through time, all saying nothing matters more than words. That the verses of these men have trickled through time’s filter it into my life, my mind, and now this blog, proves it.

Oh me! Oh life! of the questions of these recurring,
Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill’d with the foolish,
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean, of the struggle ever renew’d,
Of the poor results of all, of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me,
Of the empty and useless years of the rest, with the rest me intertwined,
The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?
That you are here—that life exists and identity,
That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.

The Rhinefalls drawn by Goethe.

The Rhinefalls drawn by Goethe.

I saw the Rhine Falls on my first trip to Zürich but I had no idea what I was looking at; just another waterfall (what?) — but Goethe “met” me in Zürich and led me around for YEARS. I recently happened on a little book of the drawings he did while in Switzerland. This one really touched me!

My Elusive Beloved

Third Rate Romance: Tell us your funniest relationship disaster story.

I liked it at first, though, yeah, I admit, I was a bit tentative. “Why not?” I thought, finally, “why not give it a go?” And so I made the first gestures toward what I hoped would be a lasting and mutually beneficial (mostly beneficial to me, I admit) relationship. We met every morning — sometimes very early — and I did what was asked of me even if the demands seemed capricious, even trivial. I seldom grumbled (though, I admit, I did grumble). Still, in all relationships there needs to be a sense of dependability, consistency, on fundamental levels and suddenly, in mid-relationship, the rules were changed. I’ve definitely taken a step back. Where there was once an email every morning, now, there’s nothing. Where once I was able to hang out with friends, now it’s challenging. I don’t know if it’s going to work out after all. I thought it might turn into something serious, but now I think it’s just another third rate romance.

Please leave links to your posts in the comments!