3. Writing Journal...Notes on the Beach

As inspired by Poemcrazy

Today is a poem
Waiting to be written

Silver glints off
Wind brushed seas
White spray over wet jetty rocks

First sunny September day
First Friday since school began

A tattooed man with cigar in hand stands rubbing his love’s ankle as she sits upon the sea wall looking toward the ocean

A family plays at the water’s edge – little girl squeals, mom holds a plastic yellow shovel. Dad nearby, walks out to the rocks.

The flag gently blows toward the sea, white fluffy clouds paint the sky

Gulls nestled into the ruts of the sand

A coast guard helicopter scans the coast

People come and people go

The outline of my shadow sits on the page

Toes buried beneath the cool sand

Waves crash behind me

A grey and white seagull walks close by – close enough to see the human in his eye

People tucked close to the seawall seeking a barrier from earlier wind

Two ladies stand hands on their hips facing one another feet in the water

A good breeze blows the hot off my back

The reflection of me stares back from the rounded end of the beach chair, tan and blue, peace and tranquil

The urge to sink my head into the blanket – squishing the sand beneath

Red isn’t a summer color

Stolen escape

Two bridesmaids walking down the street purple dresses hiked slightly at the waist

Grasshopper on the beach, so near the crash of waves, seeking solace up my leg clinging to my soft cotton dress, green legs bracing fabric trapped between

The cold water leaves my skin, a memory, a splash

Bus 16 dieseling by, middle school drop offs, elementary next, time at beach drawing near, soon – snack and backpacks and how was your day

Before – the Island Queen passing through the Sound – the only keeper of time

Steam Ship Authority – time once again must be counted.

2. Writing Journal ... A Poem - and Perceive and Create

A poem, a poem
Oh, how I hate to attempt a poem.

I could talk about a fleck of dust
Suspended in a beam of light,
As has been done before.
Oh, the suspension of time.

Or perhaps I will lament the passing day,
Hour upon hour gone by.
Oh, the fleeing of time.

No, I think I’ll ponder the meaning of life,
And determine my place in time.


It’s not enough
To simply observe
One must observe
And then write

Perceive and create
Interpret, formulate
Get it down

A Poem - What I Believe by Michael Blumenthal

I believe that there is no justice,
but that cottongrass and bunchberry
grow on the mountain.

I believe that a scorpion's sting
can kill a man,
but that his wife will remarry.

I believe that, the older we get,
the weaker the body,
but the stronger the soul.

I believe that if you roll over at night
in an empty bed,
the air consoles you.

I believe that no one is spared
the darkness,
and no one gets all of it.

I believe we all drown eventually
in a sea of our own making,
but that the land belongs to someone else.

I believe in destiny.
And I believe in free will.

I believe that, when all
the clocks break,
time goes on without them.

And I believe that whatever
pulls us under,
will do so gently,

so as not to disturb anyone,
so as not to interfere
with what we believe in.

1. Writing Journal

Just started a writing class at CCCC yesterday.  It meets Wednesday nights and I need 50 journal entries by December 14th.  Fortunately journal entries can be in the form of a blog.  Unfortunately I have three blogs, one on which I post nearly everything, one for books I have read, and one for things I have written. 

Our first assignment - write a poem.  Ugh.  Good poems are hard to write.  Bad poems are hard to read.  Many who write bad poems have a difficult time determining this, and they write more and more bad poems.  I dislike bad poems.

Today I went to the library to check out books on poems.  I got a few books on Keats' love letters and a book on poems.  Almost immediately I found a poem I really liked it started...I believe ____ but _____.  The repetition makes it poemy and the words and thought behind it makes it a poem.

Nice.  I will post.  After I get Chaz out of the shower, get him in bed, and read him a book.  In the case that I forget or am drawn in other directions - please forgive me.

Since this is six words short of 200 I will add this sentence – and then get my son out of the shower.

Character Needed

So here is the prompt from a magazine to which I subscribe - Writing prompt No. 9


A weekly writing exercise to get you started
By Heather Wright
Published: August 26, 2011

What is your character’s greatest fear? If your character doesn’t have one, create one and make sure that he has to face that fear at a critical time in your story. Think Indiana Jones and the snakes.

Heather Wright's work has been published in local and national publications and on the Web. Her column “Write Angles,” published in What If? Canada’s Creative Magazine for Teens, became the basis of her book, Writing Fiction: A Hands-On Guide for Teens.

500 words

Guess I have an assignment.

Old Photographs, New Memories

Old photographs of familiar scenes - just the way my son and I are spending the summer...thirty years later - friends on the beach.

   

Celebrate

Turning 70.

Turning 95.

Parties.  People gathered.  Memories shared, gained, and captured.
The lost remembered.  The missing mentioned.
The air filled with flash, chatter, and aromas.

Birthdays saying, 'I am one year wiser.'
And, 'Thanks for noticing.
Now go on with the everyday.'

Living.

Advice

Monday's advice was on a fortune cookie, yesterday's was doled out at Starbucks with an otherwise forgettable Skinny Vanilla Latte.

Monday:

Tuesday:

Plant a garden.

Both unsolicited.  Will there be advice today?

Frigid

Yesterday's soggy surface is today's frozen tundra. 

3-3-11

As you can see my blog-a-day pledge has fallen short.  To say the very least. 

I must say I had the very best intentions, but then I fell short.  I did take this picture with the intention of this blog.  But I also intended for it to be posted on 3-3-11.

That didn't happen.

Well.

Twister?

Feel like a game of Twister?

This has been a weekend of old photographs.  My mom is turning 70 and everyone is reminiscing. 

Who invented this game anyway?

Sorry Kristen!

In a Word: Spring-like

A Bit Like Spring

For the past several years - over a decade - I haven't had to worry about Spring.  It was, or became, a season that simply followed Winter because as everyone knows Winter in Tampa is just another word. 

It doesn't have the same connotation as it does in the northeast.  It isn't the reward - or glimpse of the reward - after months and months of (damp, cold) punishment.  The groundhog's activity in Tampa is inconsequential. 

But not here.  Not here.  Here Spring is like Santa, waiting for Christmas, or a fairy tale. 

From under the heavy white bows of Winter's snow the coming of Spring seems as fanciful as stepping into a wardrobe and coming out in another land. 

That is why soggy, unfrozen ground beneath my boots is a comfort.  For a Spring-like day to don the front steps of March says, "Spring is on its way!"

I welcome my newfound friend.


** A bit of a personal note

This month I decided to participate in NaBloPoMo, which basically means I vow to write a blog a day for the month, adhering to the theme, which I have done, though a bit unconventionally.

If you are a detail person, you will discover that this very first blog was not posted on the very first day of March, but I will have you know that it WAS written on the first of March, in the Starbucks in Mashpee between the hours of 5 and 6 as I waited for my son to be done with kung fu.  (Alibi submitted.)

It was also not a well-planned-out blog as you can tell from the above photograph.  It was written on the only piece of paper in my purse to be deemed writeable.  Sure I could have brought my laptop, but what's the fun in that?  I thought we should start out this little introduction in full on me mode.  (I am a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants type of girl.)

So there you have it, my guilty little disclaimer.

In a Word

Just one word - to sum up your day.  This one word acts as the theme of sorts, a platform from which other words will follow.

It's a part of NaBloPoMo, if you'd like you can visit NaBloPoMo at: http://www.nablopomo.com/?xg_source=msg_mes_network

Feel inspired?  Then get to it and write.

Blog it: Little Princes

Blog it: Little Princes: "Yesterday I finished reading Little Princes, a book I learned about on The Nate Show. Two years ago, Charlie and I were approached by a man..."

Study Abroad, Volunteer, Intern, Teach and Jobs Abroad | GoAbroad.com

Study Abroad, Volunteer, Intern, Teach and Jobs Abroad GoAbroad.com

When Is Enough, Enough?

About three weeks ago, I responsibly decided - after the peer pressure of my family - to snort up a near dead strain of the flu.  Within a few days I full-on had the flu, which lasted for a week and was basically an obnoxious head cold aggravated by the fact that taking cold medicine may bring on a flash migraine, which is a redundant way to describe a migraine seeing as freight train is really their only speed.

Then about a week later - give or take a few days - I came down with another fabulous new form of the flu which incapacitates you so entirely you become a slave to the bathroom - one pot beneath you and one sitting squarely in your lap.  This then lasts for about 12 hours before you entirely lose your appetite for 24 hours, followed by a feverish 48 hours set to about 101 degrees - just a little hatha - esque. 

But then you get to thinking, 'Hey, I must be feeling better.'  And you seem to be on the mend.

Until...

You cough.

Then you cough a bit more.

Then you realize the noise purring you to sleep at night is you.  Your body has become an orchestra of instruments, wind I guess.  In, one noise.  Out, another.   Varying degrees of sounds all depending on the position of your instrument and, of course, if your mouth is open or closed.

Your musical talent is accompanied by another few feverish days where you wait for the doctor's office to confirm that you are in fact - sick.

With what?  Pneumonia, of course.  With this stomach crunching antibiotic threathening to send me back to those bathroom days of yore.

Can you see my little white flag flying?

New Hair

Jeez - sure does seem like I am posting a lot of pictures of myself - and nothing else.

Here's another.

For news - bettter see Charlie Bean's Blog.  :)

Me and the Monk

October 7th and 8th I took pictures of the Shaolin Monk Shi De Cheng for USA Kung Fu Academy.  Here I am...

Waiting for Charlie

Every afternoon Rude and I find ways to entertain ourselves while we wait for Charlie.  We go out at 3:40...he's been getting off the bus at 4:10.  This was one of our pass times.  I also made a video of Rudy singing - though I seem to be doing more of the singing.

Here Comes the Rain Again

Update - more rain...

According to the Weather Channel, the hurricane's center is off the North Carolina coast presently a category 3.  The beater bands are reaching up to the Cape.  What we feel - the rain and the lull.  This morning the ocean was a flat as glass. 

The Rain Started

and stopped.

Hurricane Earl what you gonna do?

When I hear the name Earl - this is what comes to mind:

My Name is Earl

My brain consists pictures nearly exclusively.

Stand Still

Lately I've been in a creative lull - more like stand still.  Not sure what I need to get my motor running but something - for sure.

Maybe I'm headed for a rush of creativity - full tilt.

Though I'd settle for moderation.

Who am I kidding? I have NEVER been that girl. Not even once.

All or nothing - that's how I roll. Get ready for a tidal wave.

Ah the Sounds of Summer

Crisp cool night air in through the screen,
Sounds carry in with fresh wafts of air -

The neighbor's rental's kids swing and cry.
Loud and high.

Now and then a crash! a scream,
Thinking maybe the moms and dads - drunk on the kitchen floor.

Go to sleep.
Go to sleep.

So maybe this - is -
Summer's loud raucous lullaby.

Raw Bar, Boat House - you ain't got squat on this rowdy crew.
The remaining days of summer grow few.

                                               --is that phew?

Mooring 21

Who wouldn't be at peace?

I do kung fu

I know - right!  I can hardly believe it myself.  And like with everything else in my life it was kind of by accident.  I mean it wasn't like I set out to learn a martial art, but here I am blogging in my kung fu uniform sans white sash - which I have not yet earned - my son likes to point out.

But I am having fun.

I have always been fairly athletic starting early with ballet but then switching to horses - after maybe 10 years? - throw in a little swim team, diving team, weight training, which eventually turned into a combination of walking, biking, pilates, yoga - and now kung fu.

I don't run.  Well, I did run once.  See my mom sat on the committee for the Falmouth Road Race, she thought it might be "Fun" for me and a friend to run in it - and we did. 

Not so fun mom, not so fun.

Especially when, red-faced and drenched, I overheard bored onlookers who were packing up their cheering section sorrowfully say, 'Maybe we should stay - these are the people who really need our encouragement.'

Thanks. A lot.

Perhaps training would have been a smart move - but it makes a great story.  Who cares that I didn't quailfy for the Boston Marathon?

So I am thinking Baby Elle isn't going to be starting up in the next few years, but...her big cousin does kung fu too!

Tee pee

From the bike path - heading north from the center of Falmouth - you can see tee pees!  Two are up and one is on its way.  Just bones, no skin.  Though I am SURE this is not proper tee pee terminology, in fact I am sure tee pee is not even the correct spelling.  But cool, right?

On a Walk

Took a walk today...on it we saw:  a rainbow at the end of a flag pole, a shipwreck, some flowers, a crabless crab shell, and a boy riding a fish.  What did you see today? 

Falmouth Garden Tour - May

Bike the Path

My favorite bit of the Shining Sea Bike Path is the part connecting Falmouth to Woods Hole.  Getting to the path is an incredible ride: Falmouth Heights and a crystal clear view of the Vineyard, Falmouth Harbor, Surf Drive and it's signature simple, stilted beach houses.  Overhead hawks scout the shore for something to bring back to the nest.

A water break on one of the path's benches allows time to absorb the surrounding nature: sun baked boulders, rounded pebble beach, black glistening rocks beaten by the crash of the waves, then off in the distance the ferry loaded and headed back from Vineyard Haven.  If you pick your bench right, warm air will either swirl around you, warming chilled bones, or a refreshing breeze will blow the cool of the ocean right past.

Once in Woods Hole, WHOI surrounds.  The Woods Hole Oceanographic Institute for those who aren't as familiar with the area.  This is a place of science and beauty. 

One of my favorite stopping points is through a WHOI parking lot.  It's a patch of grass and picnic tables overlooking Eel Pond. The panaramic view is unbelieveable.  Here, a feeling of calm and peace overwhelms regardless of the time of day. 

By far, this is not all of Woods Hole, but it was enough for me, for one day.

For a more sheltered ride home, the bike path stretches the other direction flanked by ponds, wildlife, and plantlife.  My son will be thrilled to learn that - though still in it's VERY early stages of growth - the honeysuckle has begun to bloom. 

How he loves to carefully snap one off to get a taste of its sweet nectar.  Unfortunately, poison ivy is everywhere and ticks are clinging to everything.  So, enjoy the ride and check yourself for ticks when you arrive home.  Just a quick brush off before you step inside should do.

You Are My Dog!!!

This dog is even better than the singing dog at the zoo who never seems to be singing but rather sleeping.  If you sing to Rudy he sings right back to you.  If you are loud, he is loud, if you sing softly, he does the same.  And my favorite - if I howl, he howls.  What a racket.  Or my mother would say, oh what a hoot.  (Meaning it is a ton of fun.)

I wish this photo was a better shot but I LOVE the light.  Rudy looks like an angel.  My sweet, sweet 70-pound pound puppy.

Phusion Illusion

Here's a sign in Woods Hole.  It stands on the roof of the restaurant - or at least that's what the sign would have you believe.  But is it saying Phusion?  Or is it saying Illusion?  Ah ha.  A Phusion Illusion just like I said.

Script Frenzy

My brain needs something to do. Communication with a five year old (or with 150+ teenagers) just doesn't cut it. So while surfing the internet late one night, I got an email from the folks at NaNoWriMo - National Novel Writing Month - leading me to this decision: I will write a screenplay. About what? No clue. I guess you could say I am in the "organizing my thoughts" stage. I have plotlines, characters, themes all twirling around my head.

gotta go help Chaz clean up his room - if he is ready - I gotta GO!

So Far From Epic

My disappointment in this new trend of describing the great as epic mounts. My fear? That epic will become the new awesome. And how sad is that? The once awe inspired word whittled down to slang. From inspiring awe, to expressing awe, to remarkable; outstanding. Slang - just everyday vernacular.

Awesome.

Dude.

Speaking of awesome - feel like following me and my ADHD down the tangent trail? Really more like, speaking of dude... big Lebowski's picking up the axe and strumming a tune in modern day Hollywood. It seems the song originated from a down and out fellow spending blocks of time just sitting in his ride.

Can't wait to see it; this morning on Sunday Morning Bridges was refreshingly unHollywood, sharing the private moment of meeting his wife, proudly showing her off, then again - up close, obviously still in love after 33 years - there's a man.

He looks at her with love in his eyes not giving a damn if anyone's looking. How lucky is he? To have met his girl, fallen in love, stayed there, and lived to tell. Maybe that could be awesome - that is - awesome before awesome could be interchanged with rad, or stellar, or epic - I really hope not.

Have You Seen Charlie's Blog?

You should! It rocks!! http://ponyboy-charliebean.blogspot.com/

The latest add is a kookie little song he heard on Fineas and Ferb. A love song - Happy Valentines Day!

All Aboard! (uh - so what if I'm mixing up Hollywood - happens all the time - right?) Charlie with his Golden Ticket - Polar Express. (Or Chocolate Factory...whatever.)

Respond to a prompt

When I hear a sad song or learn of a sad movie – something in me shuts off. No longer open to the cadence of the words intended to be read, but dead. Dead to feeling that feeling of loss – the one that inspired the words. I was the girl who held funerals for snakes squshed flat by radial tires wrecklessly steered by unmindful drivers. Words such as malaise nearly pass me by, and would if words did not speak to me so. Picked out of the pile, unearthed from the wreckage, dusted off, shaken out – relieved of their too sad ties to the past. Not wanting to think – what brute would kick a sweet little pup?

The alterative seems far better: amble and chomping. Jade-colored teeth grinding lazily in large bovine heads. Human-like eyes tracking boxcars that pass, ears flick with the sound of 50 Hells Angels.

Where have you been?

"Where have you been?" she demanded. He dropped his eyes and did what he does best - he shut her out, observing everything except the tears brimming in her eyes - ready to spill out and run down her red hot cheeks.

"'Where have you been? Tuh-hA!" he sneered only slightly beneath his breath, not noticing he mockingly was quoting her.

Snapped back from his daze by the first of those tears splatting a line of her list. She was forever making lists - to do, to do now, to do at work, to do at home, for others to do. They infuriated him, infuriated. His resentment toward her had grown enormously over the past few months. Thinly veiled insults nonchalantly disguised behind a joke.

He knew what he said was hurtful - he also knew that he said it with the intention to hurt. But hadn't he just a few months prior revealed to her his heart? He had - and that's why. He came to her - heart in his hand hoping to learn that his heart was exactly what she wanted. But that hadn't happened. It's as if she handed him the yellow rose of friendship.

"Thanks, Sammy. You're so sweet." That was all she said. Thanks! That is not a response to someone - your soulmate - revealing their heart. It's an insult really. So since then she went on pretending what was said, never was - he would continue to toss his jokes her way.

Not that it made him feel better - it didn't - but because it made him think that to Iris it looked like - he too had forgotten all that was revealed. Not a good way to communicate but that's because since the day he attemped to hand her his heart and she shoved it back at him they didn't have a relationship. They simply coexisted. Shared the same space. And felt nothing but apathy - or so he thought as he watched the tear blur the quickly scrawled "vaccum" into a pool of blue.

Still Alice - Author interview on FOX25 in Boston

Link:

Yes, you heard right. I was on FOX25 news earlier this week talking about STILL ALICE and early-onset Alzheimer's Disease. Here's the link if you'd like to see it:

http://www.myfoxboston.com/myfox/pages/ContentDetail?contentId=6007090

Thanks,

Lisa Genova

http://www.StillAlice.com

Russian Christmas Wishes

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I have a friend in Russia - her name is Nina Mikalina. I got this ecard scripted in Russian. But when you click, Toby Keith (oh so country) sings Silver Bells.

Loving the culture clash I just had to print and scan and post!!!


C Hobbim rogom!


(hope that is good)


:)