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About This Author
My name is Joy, and I love to write.
Why poetry, here? Because poetry uplifts its writer, and if she is lucky enough, her readers, too. Around us, so many objects abound to write about. Once a poet starts with a smallest, most trivial object, he shall discover that his pen will spill out what is most delicate or most majestic hidden inside him. Since the classics sometimes dealt with lofty subjects with a lofty language, a person with poetry in his soul may incline to emulate that. That is understandable. Poetry does that to a person: it enlarges the soul and gives it wings. Yet, to really soar, a poet needs to take off from the ground.
 
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Everyday Canvas
"Failure is unimportant. It takes courage to make a fool of yourself."
CHARLIE CHAPLIN
Sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet
confinement of your aloneness
to learn
anything or anyone
that does not bring you alive
is too small for you.
David Whyte
This is my supplementary blog in which I will post entries written for prompts.
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Prompt: What's one of your most favorite Springtime activities, and how did you happen to get into it?
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We don’t have springtime where I live. Instead, we have a jumble of seasons without snow from December to May, then from May to September, very hot summers.
However, when we used to live in Long Island, NY, we had the springtime all right, and my favorite activity was putting in the seeds or saplings for the vegetable garden and feeding or pruning the roses and other plants and trees.
Prompt: The little blue boy and the man on the moon and???
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the man on the moon
has a blank look
carved off the air
but he sends a smile
to the wild dogs howling
and to the little blue boy
holding no illusions
of dancing, inside him
Prompt: “Sometimes love is nothing more than a sticky web; illusions spun from clever minds and bitter hearts.” ― Nicole Lyons
"Good God, no. The lies we tell other people are nothing to the lies we tell ourselves.”
― Derek Landy, Death Bringer
What's worse--- telling someone the truth and hurting their feelings or lying to them to spare their feelings?
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It all depends on the other person. If the truth you’re going to tell the other person will force him or her to go into deep depression or cause them to have a heart attack, you’d better keep that truth to yourself.
On the other hand, if the truth may hurt their feelings at the moment but help them in the long run, it’ll be the most humane thing to stick your neck out.
If the truth would hurt their feelings and not help them, it may be a good idea to take the fifth.
You don’t have to blatantly lie to spare anyone’s feelings. Even if hiding the truth can be considered a form of lying, you can evade the question or saying something by changing the subject.
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Prompt: Have you ever done karaoke? What kind of songs do you like to do? If you haven't... have you thought about it?
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No, I wouldn’t sing in a crowd or for others as my singing would frighten the frogs. On my own, I can’t hold a tune. Funny thing is I know immediately whatever croaking coming out of my mouth is faulty and doesn't fit the music at all, but I have no control over my voice or my breath (due to asthma).
Still, I have tiny music players with earbuds that fit a shirt pocket. Sometimes, while doing housework I sing a song along with them. My husband says I sound good. But he is biased or afraid  to say anything to hurt me.
Prompt: One of our long Blog City members passed away on Monday Cheri Annemos, please take a moment of silence in her memory.
If in the event of your own demise, have you considered what happens to your writing here on WDC? Does your family know how to access it? Or would you rather they not see your writing? I know I keep saying I'll get around to it.
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Cheri  was a kind, generous, and gentle soul. She worked well in a team or alone. And she didn’t like mentioning her disease, that awful cancer. I will always remember her as a fine friend, teammate, and a WdC writer. May she rest in peace and in the light.
“My good, my noble, in their prime,
Who made this world the feast it was,
Who learned with me the lore of time,
Who loved this dwelling-place.”
From Ralph Waldo Emerson’s Dirge
As to my demise, if my offspring are so keen on my writing, they’ll find a way to get it. If they don’t, so be it. Almost all of my writing is on my flash drives, at least in their original forms before edits. Some have the edits. I also have a place from which they can get my passwords and stuff.
I really don’t care about what legacy I’ll leave behind or if anyone sings a song or plants a flower. That I know I didn’t hurt anyone knowingly is enough for me and whatever effects I leave behind are what I leave behind.
This is because when death comes for me, it’ll find me ready and willing. Then, I hope to God, I don’t reincarnate on this earth again, a place created to be beautiful but one that is so full of rage, selfishness, and hate, with some unkind, self-important people in mobs siding with one unimportant and hateful party or another, against their fellow human beings with the excuse of hanging on to the premises of resisting or fixing (in their way) something or other.
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Prompt: What do you think of cardboard boxes, their uses, or abuses? And what memories they may contain, if any?
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I keep potting soil and peat moss in a large cardboard box which is placed on top of another larger box in the garage, so when I repot a plant I don’t have to bend down and the soil mixtures stay drier.
I love cardboard boxes for temporary storage, too. I keep my physical books on the to-read list in another smaller box. When a book is finished, another takes its place and the already read book goes on to a shelf or is given away. I got into this habit, years ago when we were traveling a lot. I used to leave in hotel and motel desks the books I was done with. I was even part of a group who did such stuff, like leaving books in all kinds of public places. I don’t know what became of that group.
After a friend passed away, a long time ago, some things he had willed to me were handed to me in a cardboard box. Inside it, he had one of my books, something I had translated, from long ago. I kept the box and the mementos together. I also keep the photos I didn’t have time to place in albums in a cardboard box placed in a plastic box. I find a plastic box alone does not keep things intact as much as a cardboard box placed inside a plastic box.
Then, let a child play with a big box, that box will turn into a rocket, or a castle, or a playhouse. In fact, most children end up playing with the box more after they open it up than the toy that came in it.
After all, we are like cardboard boxes, packaging things inside, such as beauty, sadness, fun, anger, joy, cleverness, inventiveness, kindness, etc. Once we dare to open up, we can let the sunshine in or sometimes, even a playful cat.
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Prompt: What is the most peculiar sight you have ever seen in your hometown, where you now live, or in a place where you traveled to? Please, describe it in detail.
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In the area where I live, restaurant owners will come up with all sorts of crazy ideas to attract customers. The craziest thing I spotted was on the Stuart Boathouse’s outdoor seating, which was made to reflect a sea pirate’s place, with a half-sunk boat in the sand and the monkey on the trunk of a tree high up. It looked like a real monkey, rather huge in proportion and far up overhead, possibly carved of wood. Now, Florida is not famous with its monkeys, except for those in human form like the cheeky waiter who waited on us and because of whom my hubby refuses to go there again, but I loved the place at the one time when we went there with our children. I especially would love to see that monkey (no, not the waiter), the monkey on the tree again.
Aside from the monkey and that restaurant, a rather peculiar but beautiful place I’ve been to is in Turkey, in an Aegean town called Denizli. It is called Pamukkale, a place in cascading natural forms of snow and waterfalls that are frozen, but the pond-like structures have blue, hot waters that are said to cure diseases and they are open to the public to bathe in. We were told the place was fed by underground springs and the whole thing had resulted from calcium carbonate deposits. This amazing thing is totally nature-made and has a lovely view around it, besides being something of a wonder in itself to watch and enjoy.
Prompt: What do you consider "trouble", and how do you stay out of it?
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Trouble for me is to be put on the spot where I don’t know the answers or the reasons why I am in the spot that I am in. The unknowing is trouble, to me.
If I know the reasons or the answers I can handle the challenges. If I have done something that I am aware of, I am always ready to face the consequences.
How do I stay out of it? I don’t and I can’t. How can one stay away from the unknown? On the other hand, if being put in a certain spot consistently is the doing of a specific person, you can be sure I’ll stay away from that person, although there is no such person in my life at this time.
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Two prompts into one story.
Prompt: A writer finds, in a used-book store, the book she/he autographed as a gift to her/his lover. Have fun.
Prompt: Whenever a certain person comes to visit, your walls turn from their color to black.
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Carol Crespo shouldered her backpack and stepped over the Bookmark Joe’s threshold. Inside, people were scouring the shelves and the tables with hungry eyes. Two people near a back table were arguing fiercely both were holding on to the same book. Near the right wall, a guy slowly raised a book to his nose and sniffed it. Weirdos! As if books were a rare commodity!
At least, Jason wasn’t that odd. In fact, her boyfriend rarely read a book. Still, Carol had gifted him a book, signed with her sincerest love, because it was the book she had written, her first, while Jason had applauded her efforts and supported her through the grueling publication process. This from a guy who sidestepped a library and harrumphed any bookstore. Carol smiled having found in her boyfriend the catch of the year.
She smiled as she ventured deeper into the store. at the sudden sight of a familiar book cover, she halted at a table. Her book! She smiled. Someone had read her book, but why discard it so soon? Only a month had passed since it was off the press.
Cautiously she held the book and lifted it. It was hers and brand new as if never been read. She opened to the beginning. Then, not believing her eyes, she leaned forward into the book.
To Jim, my love,
My thanks for helping me find my two most important loves, you and this book…
Carol
“Miss, are you all right?” Carol looked up at the tall woman with smog-gray hair standing by her. “Do you feel faint? You rocked back and forth. I thought you’d collapse.”
“Thank you, no, but I feel fine,” she said trying to regain her wits and stay in control. Yet, she felt an empty tension as if her insides were sucked out. “But I’d like to buy this book. Do you know who brought it in?” As she talked, she stepped toward the register. The woman followed.
“Yes, I probably…remember. It was only yesterday. It’s in the receipts. I wouldn’t be comfortable giving a name, but it was a young man, blond, handsome I thought. That much I can say. Why? Why did you ask that?”
“It’s brand new. That’s why,”
“Not everyone appreciates a new author, you know. I’m surprised this is sold so quickly. Only 50 cents.”
Carol put two quarters on the register.
“I could wrap it if you wish.”
“No, no, thanks,” Carol said, pulling her backpack to her side. “I’ll just stick it in here.”
Only 50 cents… Not everyone appreciates a new author… The woman’s words sank into her as she walked to her car, her face growing warmer. How embarrassing! And how cruel was Jim!
She had no idea how she could face him again. If only her grandmother was alive. She’d take care of things her way…She'd take care of Jim even though he was the best-looking man Carol had tangled with.
Once in her place, she threw the book on the living room table, disgusted as if Jim and her book had canceled each other out.
Later in the day, when Jim showed up at her door, Carol uttered a plaintive mew at first, putting her hand to her mouth in surprise. Jim didn’t look as handsome anymore, but he leaned and kissed her. She didn’t kiss him back and stuck her foot in between them. Jim leaped over her foot and went inside.
“What is with you, today, Carol? Do you feel okay? Why what did you do with this place? Why the black walls?”
Carol caught sight of her walls, then. They had all turned black. She turned her head around to see if there were signs of any magical person invading her apartment. Maybe someone from her grandmother’s coven?
She glared at Jim. “I don’t want to see you again,” she hissed. “Not after what you did with my book.” She pointed at the top of the living room table.
Jim spotted the book and he blushed, taking it in his hand, seeing the inscription, then realizing that somehow, he was found out. “Okay, Carol,” he said. “It is best we called it quits anyway. I had meant to do it for a while myself.”
As Jim left, Carol clenched her fist and waved it at him, but nothing happened. Maybe she hadn’t come into her abilities yet, the abilities her grandmother had been so sure of.
She closed the door and turned around. Her walls were sparkling white.
At least, from now on, I’ll know who is for real from the color of my walls.
She wiped her hands on her jeans while moving toward an open window to close it, but when she heard a crash, she leaned out the window, she felt her eyes grow big in their sockets. Jim’s car was wrapped around the large oak tree by the sidewalk, its shape similar to a fist.
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Prompt: If you could undo ONE thing you did in the last year, what would it be and why?
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Oh, this is a difficult prompt for me because I don’t normally cry over spilt milk, and I rarely if ever decide on doing things impulsively. If the question would be about something I did over a lifetime, it would be easier since my previous statement doesn’t apply to my much earlier life.
I guess I can think of two insignificant things. One, if I knew the whole world of charities collecting discarded clothes and household items would be after me every ten to fifteen days or so, I wouldn’t give old but usable clothes and other stuff to one charity about a year ago, which ended up being the worst charity with the bothering factor. It isn’t an everyday event that I buy new clothes or other things, and they want to collect material from me by calling me every few days. After all, who in the world throws away most everything and renews her stuff every couple of weeks to a month or so? Even if I were as rich as King Midas, can you imagine the work involved? Where would I find the time to write, then?
The second thing is, I wouldn’t buy the fancy flipflops that cost a fortune, which I couldn’t wear because they didn’t have good support. I bought them because hubby liked them and I didn’t say no. Well, the flipflops went to the above charity, and I am never shopping with hubby again for myself.
Now, how is this entry for snarkiness?
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Prompt: Oops, your favorite fictional character is sitting next to you in the car and says "Step on the gas!" It's your blog, you tell us.
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This prompt made me grin because this really happened to me, not by a fictional character, but my father-in-law who was sitting next to me while I drove him and my mother-in-law to a few places on Jericho Turnpike, Long Island, about 35 or so years ago. I was already going at speed limit, but the road was empty. The same exact words (like those in the prompt) made my mother-in-law upset and he got a scolding from her. “Are you trying to make her get into an accident?” May they both rest in peace for they were some absolutely wonderful people.
As to a fictional character, I can’t see Prince Mishkin (of The Idiot fame) telling me that, since he was so Jesus-like, but probably another prince, The Little Prince (the Saint Exupery offspring) might. Now, that prince was one who lived on an asteroid in space and he would neither understand nor obey the traffic laws as he liked making laws of his own. He’d probably say, “Tame those traffic lights. They are your traffic lights,” or some such thing, or maybe he’d say, “Never mind watching the road. It is only with the heart that you can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.”
Then, for sure, I’d smash the car into a pole or the side of a building. So, he’d say, “You couldn’t master this seeing with the heart thing, but you’ve tamed me anyway. One runs the risk of crying a bit if one allows oneself to be tamed.”
And he would cry over the broken car, or the pole, or the side of the building.
You see this is what happens when you get hung up on any one prince. You end up with a silly storyline.
Prompt: What makes us emotionally dependent on people or anything else? And do you think you might have emotional dependencies with or without being conscious of them?
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I guess our vulnerability is to blame to make us emotionally dependent on anyone to the degree that we can’t be happy alone.
Yet, no one is really alone in the world. In order to survive, we are always in contact with other people, be it for our physical needs. Then, as children, until we learn the ins and outs of the way of living in this world, we are dependent, emotionally and otherwise, on parents, teachers, and playmates.
A truly grown-up person should be able to handle his or her emotional dependencies and not become a psychological burden on anyone, even if they are life-partners, offspring, family, and friends.
And yes, I think we can become emotionally dependent on someone or something without being conscious of it. For example, I am emotionally dependent on reading and writing and my husband, although I wouldn’t bug him with any of my dependency needs. Some people fall apart when a relationship ends because they’ve become emotionally dependent on the other person and they can’t let go. The same goes for parents and children, in either direction.
In the long run, I believe it is fine to have some emotional dependency on those close to us, but for the same reason, if we are adults psychologically, we should be able to let those dependencies not choke or clobber the people we love.
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April 16, 2018 at 11:15pm April 16, 2018 at 11:15pm
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Prompt: Is opportunity something that happens or comes to you on its own or is it something you can create for yourself? If both, which one applies more to your life?
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Opportunity is something offered or taken to advance a learning, a career, or anything one wishes to engage in. Some people detect the opportunities even if they are hidden. Still others can create opportunities when there are none.
In my case, not being anything even a mile close to a shark like those guys in the TV program Shark Tank, I never created opportunities for myself knowingly. If anything, when something like an opportunity sprouts up, you can be sure I’ll mess up even if I plan to make use of it. But as fate or luck must have smiled at me, when I pursued an interest close to my heart, it ended up throwing opportunities my way. So, I never had to push myself too hard, applying for a job or working too hard to get one. I guess going after my heart's desires helped a lot in my case.
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Prompt: What is your personal definition of progress?
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Progress, to me, is personal growth, and it has nothing to do with success, fame, monetary wealth, or others’ opinions. If we learn or discover something each day, possibly help someone in some way, and anything we put out--be it in words, conversation, music or visual arts, and other actions—springs from the feeling of love and other positive feelings, we grow.
This growth is not fancy. It doesn’t happen in the future. It has to happen immediately, each day, putting us in touch with that warm, hidden place inside ourselves. Then, it adds up over time, becomes progress on a wider scale, and inspires others. If each one of us concentrated on his or her own progress, the entire humankind would show progress, too.
I think, therefore, progress begins in the home, in the home of the body and mind of each person, to spread and become worldwide.
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Prompt: Use these words as inspiration : Two of the words are in German, have fun.
force, rad, guard, trait, dorm, ergebnis
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As a young man, I stayed in a dorm while in Berlin where activists have forced a cycling referendum, putting bikes on the city’s agenda with a bang and guarding their wins with gusto. Since I didn’t have a cheap way to move around easily, I first decided to rent a bike or share one with one of my co-habitants as sharing bikes had become a much-applauded trait within the German psyche.
Despite my positive plans, the bizarre problem was I had never learned to ride a bike. Luckily, my roommate Otto took it upon himself to be my bike-riding teacher, but I was uncoordinated and didn’t get the balance thing quite right. In view of my difficulties, I figured having my own bike would help, so I found a second-hand bike with a good price, but that didn't help all that much.
While Otto was poised for a dramatic change in my attempts and coached me patiently with, “Bitte, langsam, langsam…”, the old man who took care of the grounds wasn’t as hopeful.
On our umpteenth try, he shook his head and muttered with sarcasm: “Ergebnis ist wenn er es nicht schaffe, das Rad zu fahren, werde er es seinen Enkeln schenken.”
(--The result is, if he doesn’t manage to ride the bike, he'll give it to his grandchildren.—)
I guess his remark made something click in my brain, and I was finally able to acquire the skill with enough proficiency. It may just be that the idea of rambunctious grandchildren scared the bejesus out of me.
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Do you write with music playing in the background? If so what kind of music inspires you? Feel free to share a song with us. If you don't why not?
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I love music, especially the classics. If I were to write while music would be playing in the background, that would probably be something from Vivaldi, Beethoven, or Ravel, but I don’t write while listening to music. Usually, I listen first, then write because my words would evaporate since music has a way of taking me away out of this world. I would end up listening to music and wouldn't be able to concentrate on what I am writing.
As to the kinds of music that I like, in addition to the Classics, I'm also partial to some of the pop pieces, folk songs, jazz, Broadway pieces, and easy listening, which my kids call elevator music. Among my favorites are Elvis Presley, Simon and Garfunkel, and some songs of the 1950s and 1960s.
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Prompt: A colorful way of living. Write anything you want about this.
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When I was much younger, I painted the walls in our bedroom, each wall a different color. Then I painted one wall blue in the living room but left the rest of the room stay white. The other rooms had dark panels, so I couldn’t touch them.
Yet, there is no need to come up with any coloring inside the house. I think, now, just being outdoors and watching the colors in nature is enough colorful living. Especially where we live now, we get fantastic sunsets with all the colors, different each time. Granted they don’t last long for being in the subtropics, but the colors are amazing. I also like the greens, all kinds of them, and multicolored tropical plants.
Color is a flexible thing, based on mood and time. Now that we are in April, the poetry month, colors exist in poetry too, and they can change or stay the same as a poet reacts to whatever he or she is writing about. Color in poetry comes about not only with the actual colors on the color wheel but also when the words and their sounds come together with a visible and energetic regularity. Can you see the colors in these lines by Rimbaud?
High glacial spears, white kings,
trembling Queen-Anne’s lace;
I, bloody spittle, laughter dribbling
from a face
In wild denial or in anger, vermilions
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Prompt: Write about an eighth-grade memory.
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Eighth Grade? So distant…I guess it was too dull or something, I have difficulty recalling anything interesting, except for reading, studying and then studying some more as I was attending an accelerated school…against my will. The most exciting thing for that year has to be my hair. I wore a ponytail, then, and had zits enough to frighten Count Dracula away. And I was in the drama club and in the astronomy club, not that they amounted to anything…in the long run.
Oh, I also began reading Dostoyevsky. This may not mean much to most people, but Dostoyevsky was a turning point for me with the way I have perceived literature ever since.
Fast forward half a century to about three hours ago, today, something funny happened…or ridiculous, depending on your judgment.
After a morning’s appointment, Hubby and I were having lunch in a café. Our table was for four people, but the two chairs opposite us were missing, possibly because the servers took them to accommodate a larger group. So, we sat side by side with our backs to the wall. An old man walking by stopped in front of us. He was carrying a take-out in one hand. Suddenly, he started twisting his body and making some kind of dancing movements. Such a WTF moment, right?
I looked around. Nobody minded him but no one was laughing either. The man was staring directly at us as he danced. Then he stopped and said jokingly, “No chairs. Open view! I am providing you live entertainment.”
We thanked him. So considerate! He gave me something to write about, together with the faded-away eighth-grade memories.
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Prompt: What can be the source of relationship adversities and do you believe that relationship adversities (any kind of relationship: parent-child, lovers, husband-wife, teacher-student, etc.) can often spring from other earlier adversities or do they just happen on their own?
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Surely, many traumas and adversities can happen in an adult’s life. Take fighting in a war, for example, or being kidnapped or wrongly accused or seeing others suffer or illnesses of the self or loved ones. Then, there are social microaggressions that wound people deeply like racism, prejudice, poverty, etc.
But basically, most kinds of troubles do spring from childhood hurts and traumas. Then, with the help of the coping mechanisms of our minds, they take different forms and show up in all kinds of relationships.
When something goes wrong or unexpected, even a tiny thing like a smirk on someone’s face or the car not starting, like an underlying disease, the childhood trauma shows up wearing a different mask. The way our brains process, shapeshift and spew out the hurts and traumas is unique, inventive, and creative. To figure what to do and how to deal with what our brains supply us with, we need to be hyper-vigilant and watch our hair-trigger responses so we don’t add on to the negativity of a present situation. The questions “Why did I respond this way” or “Why did this situation or words hurt me this much?” that we need to ask ourselves can be the starting points of such vigilance.
Any adversity can turn to be devastating, to lead to addictions, helplessness, suicide, unnecessary aggression, touchiness, and other misfortunes, and the more the time passes, the more the results of adversities become part of our DNA to show up as reactions.
Yet, adaptive responses and positive reactions do exist, and they can be learned and re-learned, sometimes over and over. Finding out and facing the initial adversity usually eases its later effects. Therapists, once they discover the root cause of an exaggerated reaction, recreate the situation that the initial trauma occurred but under controlled conditions. And those who do overcome an adversity, even if partially, begin to grow from it. As they say, what doesn’t kill us can make us stronger.
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Prompt: Elizabeth Strout says she listens in others’ conversations a lot, and in one of her books, she lets one of her characters say, “People are always telling you who they are” even when they are talking about other things. Do you agree? Do you favor this method of seeing into people, then using it in your writing?
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Yes, I agree. Listening in on conversations and taking an interest in other people creates a habit of observation that will not let a writer down when he needs new ideas.
Even though many of us are chastened from childhood for eavesdropping, listening in on random conversations helps give authenticity to one’s writing and improves the dialogue in the stories because the ways of expression and local vernacular never stays the same.
Some writers carry a laptop to type what they hear, but that can be risky as someone may peek over your shoulder and get mad at you for not minding your own business. I find a small pad or small pieces of paper to jot down the overheard conversations works better, or if you have a good memory, you can listen first and write down later.
I find hair salons, car repair stations, car dealers, airports, restaurants, coffee shops, doctors’ and hospitals’ waiting rooms--where people are more talkative---are good places for listening in on others’ words. It also helps if you can glance about and at people without arousing suspicion, so you can also catch the gestures and nonverbal communications, too. Most of the time, what they say is secondary, but what is implied or hidden can be priceless. What can be difficult is when people speak or complain in a meandering stream of consciousness; then, if you can manage to catch at least a few choice sentence fragments, they could add drama to your writing.
I wrote about something that happened to me more than two decades ago in an earlier journal. For comedy’s sake, I’ll repeat it again. We were in a restaurant and I had a notebook with me that I was writing into. At that time, cell phones and pads were not of the quality of what they are today. The restaurant staff thought I was a food critic writing about their restaurant, as in those days, food critics had something to do with a restaurant’s success, and it was known that they carried notebooks with them. I didn’t accept nor deny the question when they diplomatically asked about it because I didn’t want to show them what I had written. We were very well treated after that.
Then, there was another time when I told a busybody that I was writing a grocery list. Maybe I was too conspicuous, but these things can happen. These days, however, with people constantly talking on their cells through their earpieces and all the weird actions that go on, no one seems to mind an old woman taking notes with pen and paper.
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Prompt: What has Spring sprung into?
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In my neck o’the woods, spring has sprung into yo-yo dancing with cold and hot at unexpected intervals, and today, we have much rain, and much-needed rain it is because of the several brush fires, but the rain is tapering off, and the sun and the rain are waltzing together, outside.
It is a dark trick the spring has sprung on us. Still, I am grateful we don’t have what the poor northeast of the country has been going through. Wasn’t spring meant to be butterflies, flowers, and budding trees alone?
Nope. This year, spring is having mental problems, for sure.
This morning was so warm, I ended up wearing shorts and a sleeveless tee. With the porch door open now, I am feeling the coolness after the weakening rain. I have to get up and change again. This isn't an easy feat. My closet has turned into a jumble of stuff with colder and warmer wear having serious altercations with one another, and I am hesitant to go in there and face their fights.
If I do, I’ll end up straightening up the place for the umpteenth time, as I did during the last couple of months. Today, I want to read and do other things I like. But then, maybe I should wear longer pants, too.
It just shows, this year, spring has sprung only to confuse me.
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Prompt: “When we speak we are afraid our words will not be heard or welcomed. But when we are silent, we are still afraid. So it is better to speak.” - Audre Lorde
Do you agree or disagree? Have you seen situations where women have hesitated speaking about a topic even though they are very knowledgeable but feared their opinion wouldn't be welcome?
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Yes, I certainly agree. This doesn’t mean, however, that women (or men) should butt in and argue about matters that they are not knowledgeable enough and that do not concern them.
This prompt brought to mind the opening page of Jane Eyre when Mrs. Reed in the orphanage--after a complaint from someone named Bessie--decided to exclude Jane “from privileges intended only for contented, happy, little children.
“What does Bessie say I have done?” Jane asks and she is scolded.
I always thought this exchange sowed the seeds for the rest of the novel in which a young woman alone fights her way in the world. That Jane asked that question about her fictitious misdeed is a good beginning. Even though the novel was written during the Victorian times, it opens up the way for women to question situations concerning their selves.
In the same vein, the US law gives us citizens (women or men) the benefit of the freedom of speech. I think it may just be the best law ever invented in human history. I also defend the right to silence, kind of taking the fifth. Because what is the use of speaking and arguing in a situation where speech would hurt rather than help? For example, I would not present my opinion contrary to that of an Alzheimer’s patient, but if I saw someone berating or attacking an innocent person, I would say (or do) something.
Prompt: Write a poem, story or just share something in your blog using these words: April, life, love and law
Waking up alone,
ecstatic, mouth agape,
you begin to invent
a new life on
a buoyant morning
in thoughts cloaking
themselves with love
regardless of the law
of clouds that trick
you, an April’s Fool
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Prompt: What does the idea of global living mean to you, and do you think it is wise and doable?
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Aside from the fact that there is a magazine called Global Living, the idea of global living is usually thought of as being connected to worldwide travel. I, however, have a different take on what global living is.
To me, global living will be the erasure of all visa, passport etc. obligations and people should be able to go anywhere and visit anyone in the world, and in such an ideal time, everyone will have to be accepting of everyone else. No more of us-versus-them feeling or notion. Of course, I am thinking of no wars, no hunger, no major troubles, and in short, world peace.
Global living, on such terms, is not doable at this time in history, but it is a wise thought. For it to succeed, all the nations in the world have to come together, share their cultures and riches, and at least, partially agree to the policing practices, and then, they all should enforce those practices with equal zest. Then, if qualities like compassion, decency, morality, wisdom, etc. can be cultivated and instilled in people through efficient and moral education in favorable environments on a worldwide scale and for the duration of a few centuries, humankind may be able to learn how to live better and globally.
Although all this seems to be impossible at the moment, “hope springs eternal,” and I so hope there will be a way...
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Prompt: What classic book would you love to have reviewed when it was first published? Why?
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Possibly, The Idiot by Dostoyevsky, as it is my favorite book of all time, which would make me a medical miracle for having lived since the mid-nineteenth century, as that book was first published in 1868-1869. According to Wikipedia, its publican began as a serial in a Russian journal, The Russian Messenger.
Why? The Idiot, aka Prince Myshkin is a fool but a perfect person. It is no wonder that some reviewers think of him as the likeness of a Christ figure.
Dostoyevsky’s idea of creating this character, in his own words, was "to depict a completely beautiful human being." The plot is secondary in this book, but the character’s passionate intensity and the idea of his making other characters react in original ways impressed me a lot. In addition, the prince has a serious health problem, epilepsy, just like the author. There are also interesting and varied themes inside the story, like the negative or sometimes positive influences of religion, spiritual thirst, death, love, attachments, etc.
The amazing fact is that the author’s handling such a good character is a feat in itself. Almost all plots depend on conflict due to a character needs, shortcomings, or passions. Such a splendid character as the protagonist has to become a problem. That may be why at the end, Prince Myshkin turns mad, after turning everyone else’s lives upside down and causing havoc with his goodness.
All this makes me wonder. If I were the first to review this book at its first publishing, would I see what I see today or is some of this coming from the views of my lit teachers since my favorite teacher had adored The Idiot?
Prompt: Is April Fools' Day really just for kids? What are some of the best pranks you've played or had played on you?
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I never liked pranks. Harmless joking, yes. Pranks no. Pranks are usually practical jokes taken to extremes. There are no best pranks.
When I was a child, I would hide under tables and behind doors and suddenly come out screaming ‘boo’ and startling people. I am sorry, I did that to my loved ones. Those were terrible actions and could have caused someone to have a heart attack. I am not proud of them.
Prompt: "The Vermont bill raises the age for gun purchases to 21 and expands background checks for private gun sales. It also bans magazines of more than 10 rounds for long guns and 15 rounds for pistols as well as rapid-fire devices known as bump stocks."
https://www.msn.com/en-us/news/us/in-gun-friendly-vermont-lawmakers-pass-firearm...
Do you agree or disagree with the bill? Do you think it will make a difference?
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I certainly do agree. It is a good move and an assault weapons ban has to work, at least partly. Besides, I don’t think the second amendment directly points to today’s weapons. If it did, what would stop every single one of us from getting an atomic bomb?
It is also true that killings can happen without the use of firearms. Just think what boxcutters were able to do on 9/11! We should be vigilant all the time at every place for just about anything that can possibly go wrong. Terrorism, school shootings, and other mass killings are big problems, and we need to address them from every angle.
In addition, all mental health problems can be handled better. I always thought that closing the state mental health facilities during the early 1980s and letting the patients out on the streets showed a lack of judgment. Yes, there was an over-reliance on drug treatments in those hospitals, but that could have been adjusted and handled better. Wouldn’t we be less traumatized if the killer was over-drugged instead of committing the latest school killing that took the lives of 17 kids?
As the last word, if we took our problems as our problems and not as something related to partisan politics, maybe we can prevent at least most of the unnecessary heartaches that affect us all.
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