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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: How should a person or a character in a story approach a difficult conversation, ideally?
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Ideally, the first thing that comes to mind is feedback. Not just any feedback, however. More like positive feedback. In other words, first the good news.
Surely, one doesn’t want to hold back on the negative feedback either, but it is a good idea to deliver more positive feedback than the negative kind. This could be fortified with pointing out to the person’s uniqueness, contributions, and strength, together with giving examples.
Second should be staying objective when making another person face a negative event or action, especially his own. Describing the situation as is, rather than evaluating it through one’s own thoughts and feelings, will work better to get the idea across.
Then one should consider the other person’s immediate experiences. Is that person going through a tough time in his life? Some compassion can be very helpful.
Other small details are important, too, like eye contact, soft but serious voice, good posture, focusing the attention on the subject when one talks can make a difficult conversation flow more easily and produce better results.
Prompt: If you could choose only one condiment to use for the rest of your life, what would it be and why?
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This is a difficult question that made me think a lot. I guess it would have to be the ubiquitous ketchup only because I can make other condiments using it.
Add horse radish to Ketchup and you have a cocktail sauce.
Add syrup to it and you have a glaze for meatloaf and a whole lot of other foods.
Add spices and soy sauce to it you have a barbecue sauce.
You can also cook sloppy joes, meatballs, franks and beans and many other foods in it.
Ketchup is good on its own when I use it on some sandwiches and French fries, and one can always polish silver with it.
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Prompt: Who or what are the most important influences on your writing?
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Shucks! I don’t take my writing that seriously, but as far as people go, it was my uncle, first. Second, during my earlier teens, it was a poet, a friend of the family. Then came the lit teachers in school who really encouraged me without spoiling.
As to what, words always intrigued me. In the beginning, when I was a very small child, letters seemed to be mysterious, wonderful things; puzzles, in fact, waiting to be solved. I learned to read when I was 3.5, my mother used to say. I guess she had a hand in it, too, because she read to me a lot, from all kinds of books and not just stories. But then, everyone in the house was into books. I recall falling in love with The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. I used to wish he were real.
Reading at an early age pushed me into writing, I suspect. Later on, when I turned fourteen or so, through a lit teacher, I discovered Dostoevsky. He’s the first real influence on me, and I began to read world literature like crazy. Around the same time, I read (or thought I read) Faust and I discovered Rumi, and with him, real poetry. Before that, poetry, with end rhymes and all, felt like a jingle. With Rumi, Emerson, Whitman, and others like them, I began appreciating the depth of true poetry. Then, for a short time, I fell under the influence of the French existentialists, too, but I recovered soon enough. Other influences as the result of my admirations followed.
To this day, I read a lot. Much more than I write. Therefore, I have to say reading has been the biggest influence on me, not just with writing but with every area of life.
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Prompt: "I had my recurring dream last night. I guess I should have expected it. It comes to me when I struggle--when I twist on my own personal hook and try to pretend that nothing unusual is happening." Octavia Butler
What's your take on what the author is trying to say? Do you consider this a great opening to a book? Why or why not?
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I think it makes a wonderful opening. First, the author’s words are clear, straight to the point, and they sound sincere. Then, her first two sentences are very short ones that make an impact and grab the readers’ attention. Then the last sentence in the quote adds an effective, mysterious aspect.
Although the writer's name sounds familiar, I don't recall reading her books, and the funny thing is, when I read in the prompt, “when I twist on my own personal hook,” I immediately thought of the literary hook in the opening of a story or the first chapter of a novel. I guess we always connect to what we first think of the most. On second thought, however, I realized she’s talking of a real hook as a metaphor.
I am guessing the speaker here knows she is in an extraordinary situation but refuses to face it, and that is her struggle of twisting on the hook. Again I am guessing that she had a dream that warned her, as some dreams clarify the situations we don’t dare to confront. These are usually recurring dreams. I am also guessing that this writer chose a female as her main character because recurring dreams happen to women about 75% more than to men. I know this statistic because I somehow picked up a thing or two from my tiny bit of training in psychology.
What I can’t guess is the main character’s situation that is troubling her so terribly. Crazy though it is, my imagination shows me a girl at the end of a fish hook twisting on a fishing line, but I don’t know who the fisherman is or what kind of a weather or fishing situation is cast in this story.
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Prompt: What lives have you lived through reading and your own writing?
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Many lives. The funny thing is, the brain believes all the fiction or the reading material and thinks I lived through all those things, and it spews them out at me at night in dreams.
Then, when someone says reading or writing has no purpose and-- believe me, I’ve heard that—I bristle at such a statement. Although the word fiction has the connotation of being untrue, the better stories and novels offer wisdom for our lives we can’t get any other way.
Great books contain the same complexity of human beings. We finish reading them with new understanding and knowledge of the world around us. Even if a novel leaves no lasting effect, it can be entertaining.
Most fiction is based on veiled truths and not only that. Writers of fiction go to great lengths to do research of the facts. Reading those facts also adds to a person’s education and helps her or him grow in many different ways. So does the reading of non-fiction, but fiction is more of my choice because of its intricacies and hidden acuity.
Prompt: "I will be the gladdest thing under the sun! I will touch a hundred flowers and not pick one." Have you ever felt this way about life? Write anything you want about this prompt.
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This is me, perfectly. I love flowers, but in flower beds and flower pots only, and not cut ones. Actually, I feel bad when the cut flowers die so quickly, not to mention the extra disgusting chore of cleaning the vases and having to throw out the poor dead things.
Hummingbirds know the value and can see the beauty of flowers. Otherwise, why would they flutter like that over a flower? The nectar, I think, is only an excuse.
Flowers are like people, in a way. They bloom, and when their time comes, they fall away in silence, hoping something good will come out of the seeds they leave behind.
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Prompt: Who do you imagine could have been the world’s first poet? An alien, a female, a Neanderthal, a ghost? See what you can envision and elaborate on. It can be fiction or any other type of writing.
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It is said whoever wrote Gilgamesh, then Ramayana, Mahabharata, Iliad, and Odyssey, were the first known poets; however, I doubt that. I bet they were preceded by many others.
I have a few assumptions, myself:
1. Based on Worldwide Scriptures:
From Babylonia-- The first poet had to be Lilith. Adam’s first wife. She was a witchy bitchy kind of a wife.
If the woman was created from Adam’s Rib, there had to be two women because Adam, like the rest of us, had ribs on both sides of his body. When the second wife was created, Lilith was jealous and came up with all kinds of spells and incantations. Those might be the first poems.
Then the second poet had to be Adam, who composed heart-rending poetry for being exiled from his childhood home. The third one had to be Eve who ended up composing poetry of guilt and making-the-best-of-it kind of poetry to pacify Adam. Isn't that what most women sometimes do!
2. Based on evolution:
It had to be a person from Africa, about six million years ago, according to The Smithsonian. Then, what does Smithsonian know? They have been around only recently.
3. Based on my very own personal imagination:
The first poet had to be an angel who came down to earth to help the mankind. No, he or she wasn’t a fallen angel. He or she wanted to make the life on earth feel better for the mankind. So he or she brought down poetry from the Angels in Heaven. That is why poetry speaks to us in a profound sort of way. Don't you think?
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PROMPT: Do you believe in reincarnation? If you could come back to Earth after you're done living this current life- but could only come back as an inanimate object- what would you choose, and why?
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I don’t know for certain if reincarnation is possible. It might be if the earth life is some kind of a school or a lab. There is so much to learn, and one lifetime is not enough for it. There isn’t even enough time for me to read all the books I have hoarded thus far. At this going pace, I’ll need more than ten long lifetimes. 
As to the second question, if I can only come back as an inanimate object, I would want to be a writing implement of some sort, like a pen, pencil, tablet, or whatever else that needs to be invented.
As they say, the pen is mightier than a sword. I can bet it is even mightier than the most powerful bomb invented so far. A bomb destroys but its effects are gone in time, maybe a long time, but they are gone eventually. The writing implements’ effects can stay longer. Sophocles’ plays are still being sold. The Vedas of 1700 BC are still on sale in several book forms in Amazon. Even the stone tablets of long-gone eras have managed to survive.
So, can you blame me for wanting to stick around?
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Prompt: Write about whatever's on your mind on creation Saturday as Norb calls it. Have fun!
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Creation Saturday? That means my witching hour. So, here it is!
A configuration in my life,
I can’t ride my broom
for I am timorous to touch it
since it dropped me off
at the lip of a volcano...
Such a pointless act!
So I circle around it
like a flame about a fire
shimmering, twisting
as the heat soars,
scraping my skin.
Yet, from the cradle
raised in the magic
of my witchery,
I still rise on my own
like hot air.
Prompt: Your temp agency sends you to the White House as a cook, not realizing you checked the wrong box and do not know how to cook.
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Huh?To the White House, what? Me, as a cook! Are you sure it is not a kook?
Where are the alien UFOs? Take me away to your galaxy, please!
Okay, now that I’ve screamed and ranted, back to reality. Heck, what do I know about how to cook? I’ll ask for the first lady’s help. Wait! She wouldn’t know it either. She’s so good looking and studied design so hard that I bet she never stepped into any kitchen.
Well, back to the meat and potatoes of it. I gotta get to work. What do I do? What do I do?
I know! I’m going to put in an order for two truckloads of Lay’s Potato chips. If I can serve them with every meal the Pres. will be happy and won’t utter his famous logo: You’re Fired!
Then, I think I’ll make an excursion to the nearest posh Italian Restaurant. See if they can deliver everything and anything. Who’d know! The kitchen hands will be happy, too. They’ll keep quiet for having an easy day in the kitchen, and I’ll make sure most of the adulation goes to them.
Okay, now that my grocery list is done, I am still keeping watch for that UFO that might want to rescue me.
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Prompt: What have you done this summer and what do you plan to do before summer ends?
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I live in Florida where it is summer and spring all year long. At this time, it is too hot out, the high nineties to low hundreds and not dry heat, either. Moreover, we have one-or-two-hour storms galore in between the sun’s heat attacks. In fact, we had thunderstorms every day during this last month. Worst time of the year, in fact, where the weather goes.
This last week, I spent most of my time in getting the people to come and fix the stuff from last Wednesday’s storm, technicians from Comcast, AT&T, and the electricians because our house was hit by lightning. The worst part of it all was trying to bypass the companies’ computers to get through to their agents so I could get someone to come to the house. And the hurricane season isn’t in full swing, yet. Go figure!
Most of the time when we have the summer’s heat, no storms, and we avoid going out, I am quite happy. We stay at home and I do my things, basically, read or write and the other stuff as parts of my life. Our house is comfy enough with AC and our things in it, so we are okay. And before the summer ends, I plan to write, read, and stay safe, so I can enjoy the good weather that comes after October or so.
Prompt: Do you have loud noises by your house or are things quiet where you live? Write about this for your Blog entry.
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Where I live is a very quiet neighborhood. My neighbors aren’t noisy. The only noises I hear from the outside are the thunder, maybe an occasional passing car, or the lawn mowers’ and garden tools’ rumbles.
Most of the noises are inside of my house first from the TV that my husband is addicted to. Then it is the house itself that makes all kinds of noises. My house was built during the late 1970s. Then a few years ago, we stayed at a haunted B&B that was built 200 years ago. I swear my house is noisier, and to my knowledge, no one has died in it.
Right now, as I write this, it is thundering again. I unplugged the main outlet that the computers and the internet router are attached to because I am not taking any chances for I don’t want to go through a replica of last week’s frustrations. God knows when I can post it on my blog, today.
This is our street in the photo 
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Prompt: Do you think being oneself can be a brave act? Under what kinds of circumstances would we be afraid to be ourselves?
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Being oneself and acting accordingly depends on the situation. When people are supported by others and feel themselves to be worthy of love and belonging, they are being themselves easily, but this is no special feat because their upbringing, background, and social situation are in play. I wouldn’t call this type of a being and acting as oneself, bravery.
Yet, if someone is in difficult surroundings that make him afraid to be himself and he still is himself and acts as such, that would be bravery.
The kinds of circumstances that make us afraid to be ourselves could be those of danger. As a woman, if I were put in a situation, say where Taliban or Isis ruled, you can be sure I’d wear the Burka. I’d rather live, thank you! But a brave woman would not, even if she would be in danger of death or great harm.
Then another situation could be one of shame. We might be kicked out of a group, and to get back in, we might act as if we are a different person. What would be bravery in such circumstances would be trying to find a group we can fit in and join just the way we are.
Shame distorts things easily. When we want to fit in and can’t or match the needs of someone we love and they are disappointed in us, we feel shame. We feel unlovable and not worthy of attention. This feeling can lead to disaster in one’s life. When we overcome this shame and live a full, rich life being ourselves, that certainly shows courage.
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Prompt: If you were to create a truly evil character, what would his or her evil attributes be? On the other hand, what could his winning or better sides be? Answer this prompt with only one character in mind, please, and if you wish, name him or her.
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Garrett Helmouse has an ego as large as a galaxy and he’s full of it. He thinks the laws of anything do not apply to him. I wonder if this thinking is the reason that enables him to stay away from the reach of the long hand of the law.
He’s extremely clever and resourceful, too, but he uses his special talents in criminal deeds and to cause disorder.
Then he is knockout handsome and a pleasant enough conversationalist, but he is also a self-indulgent narcissist. He doesn’t look like he is physically superior to other men, but he can be because he has his own way of fighting. Although he might show machoism when it fits his causes, he can also grovel very easily.
He is cruel and never forgives anyone or anything. What motivates him the most is greed and lust for power.
All these negative things about him probably happened because of his earlier life with a cruel father who shot his mother to death in front of his eyes when he was nine.
On the positive side, he loves animals. He has dogs and cats and a farm with many kinds of animals. He sees to it that his animals are well taken care of.
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PROMPT: Is it fair to generalize, stereotype, or even label all members of a specific generation with a particular nickname (for example, "baby boomers" or "millennials")? Why do you think we still do this?
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Good question and prompt! I think putting human beings into groups is a bad idea, on top of being unfair. Any type of labeling or stereotyping people is rotten, let alone a whole generation of people.
In a nutshell, this is prejudice with lingering effects, which might be adverse. Yuppies, generation X, generation Y…people of all these generations could have been my kids. I know some of them try to fight their ways out of such generalizations instead of focusing on themselves as specific people.
But then, it may be inside the human mind to classify people into separate sections, possibly because it simplifies the social world for human understanding. People presume a range of traits, abilities, and disabilities by using such classifications when they meet a new person. (Fat people are jolly; yuppies are selfish and fortune-seeking, etc.)
This type of a practice I also noticed within the several psychology courses I took. For some reason, even while in my young adult years, I thought the discipline of psychology labeled people and put them in separate boxes, and surprisingly, with very good intentions for the most part.
This type of grouping may make life a bit easier by reducing the amount of our thinking and discovery processes on the surface, but deep down, it harms both the people who generalize and the people who are stereotyped. Even if some generalizations may be on the positive side, most stereotypes are far more common and negative. Then, even if the labeled persons do not believe in such stereotypes, they may experience negative input by the society, say in job searches.
In short, even if such practices can enable us to agree with and respond quickly to situations involving such groups, they also make us ignore the specific qualities in and differences between individuals, and this doesn’t help our lives within the human community at all.
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Prompt: Do you think there will come a time when gasoline or petrol will be banned for ordinary individuals and everyone will have to use public transit, bicycle or walk to reach their destination? Do you think we've done too much damage to our atmosphere already?
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If the use of gasoline would be no more, I would be deliriously happy.
I grew up in the city and didn’t learn how to drive until I was 23 and hubby and I moved to suburbia. While in high school or later, I didn’t sign up for Driver’s Ed when I could. I missed nothing. Actually, everything was within easy reach with public transportation.
The fact is, I don’t mind driving at all. I even like it, but I am nervous to drive with other people in the car. Should an accident happen, I’d feel guilty the rest of my life. Therefore, having public transportation again would please me to no end.
For years, now, we have been pushing our state’s legislators to put in a train service from Miami to the North. Finally, they approved something that’s of no use to the general population. We originally wanted a train that would stop at every town along the way, but no, they are putting up a fast train that won’t stop at all. It will go directly from Miami to Orlando. Well, thanks for nothing!
I don’t know if public transportation will cure the ills of our planet, maybe not anymore. It may be too late, but if there is a modicum of a chance that we could prolong the arrival of a disaster, it will be worth it.
Prompt: Let's have some fun take each letter in your first name and choose a word with the same letter. Like for instance mine is Lyn.
lovely young naive... now once you have the letters create a poem, story or just discuss something in your blog for fun using those words like this (ex: There was a lovely, young naive woman who loved to chase the boys around town.)
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Derived from Oxford’s Rare 50 cent Words
J: Jaculiferous = having prickles
O: Ombrifuge = rain shelter
Y: Yatter= to talk foolishly about foolish things
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From my book of relics
among the thorns of dried-out pens
a jaculiferous subject
compact, sufferable
I absentmindedly picked:
my defiance of gravity
when I leaned into a kiss.
These lines
a small offering
an ombrifuge from drops
of crimped memories
stitched together
to billow in the wind
while I yatter,
each word an aching wish.
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Prompt: A story is easier to understand when the ending happens. This is true in books, movies, and TV. Do you agree?
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Sometimes, this may be true. Most of the time, I figure out the ending at midway, which shocks my husband, and “How did you know?” he asks.
It is only difficult to figure out an ending when or if an extraordinary twist happens at the climax or at the last scene. Planet of the Apes comes to mind with that. All through the movie, I had assumed the astronauts landed at some far-off place in the universe. I was shocked to find out that the planet ended up being earth itself.
Then, in Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier and also in Jane Eyre, the endings made the plots clearer, so I could figure out why the male leads acted the way they acted.
Another one I didn’t see coming was Chinatown. “She's my sister and my daughter!...My father and I - understand? Or is it too tough for you?” Well, it was too tough for me, and not because I am gullible, which I may be in real life anyway, but at the time, people didn’t mention or hint at such things in movies. Later on, The Empire Strikes Back was another surprise. Now, who’d think Luke Skywalker’s archenemy would end up being his father? I guess Hollywood loves sickly twisted families.
When I was much younger, I couldn’t put up with the suspense in some books. I usually skimmed through the last pages after reading a few pages in the beginning. Then the reading became a much more pleasurable experience for me. I don’t do that anymore. Nowadays, I like rolling with the author’s punches, and if the pace and the excitement level increases after the midway point, I slow down my reading. This way, while everyone reads suspense stories in one sitting, I read them in ten days. And why not? No need to give my poor ticker an unnecessary jolt. At this time, therefore, I am reading five books concurrently.
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Prompt: Among the three things of something to love, something to do, or something to hope for, which one can bring the most happiness to you, and in what ways are the three related?
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Those three things--something to do, something to love, and something to hope for—all make me happy, especially when they work in tandem. For example: I work with or do something I love, and I hope it turns out well, like writing, even if not my every hope turns out as expected.
Of the three options, if I have to choose my favorite, I would have to go with something to love, first. The way I look at it, something to love also means someone to love, which includes the intangible concepts and higher beings. For me, love is the starter of everything. Even the entire creation. 
Next, I pick something to do. Being busy with something or other always makes a person feel needed and content for doing stuff that occupies the mind as well as the hands or body. The reason I put this option second is because doing something I don’t really love bothers me. I need to love what I do.
Something to hope for is the last because it has to do with the future. It is good to have hope, but I wouldn’t want to live on hope alone.
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Prompt: “Any writing that’s meant to be seen by a Reader must serve the Reader.” June Casogrande.
Do you agree? In what ways can a writing serve its readers?
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This idea of writer serving the reader is true, although most of us do not even admit its truth to ourselves, yours truly included. If it weren’t so, if we weren’t writing for the readers but for ourselves only, wouldn’t we write our stuff in a notebook with a lock on top of it? I remember owning such a diary type of notebook in my teenage years, in dinosaur time, and I used it, too. I even made up my own coded alphabet for writing into that poor diary, which must have ended in the trash eventually.
Diary and memoir type of writing aside—okay, a little aside since most people do publish their memoirs--, we need, we want, others to see what we write, and we offer our work to the public or, at least, to some section of the public. Then, if one offers something to someone else, it should have some use to the one offered and indirectly to the one who offers it, shouldn’t it?
Readers read our work sometimes for entertainment, but mostly for finding something special-- some experience, learning, circumstance, or theme--that touches their lives. This could be a theme of hope, perseverance, suffering, something to overcome, or something that reflects their own understanding or experiences. This service of the writer to the readers exists at every level of expertise. This service is so human-centered that even the writing that fails as craft or art can become popular if it says something to its readers.
Why do you think people read even the diary-type of writing like some blogs that are open to the public on the net? Are those readers voyeurs? Maybe voyeurism has something to do with it, but readers still are searching for experiences or feelings they can identify with in a positive or negative way.
As to our craft to serve the reader well, understanding writing and why and the way we write is important, but the most important part is learning our craft as much as we can, which is how to structure ideas, emphasize what’s important, how to cut excess wordiness, how to use the grammar in a practical way to help our work, and how to make our writing the most readable possible.
The fact is, we writers cannot make every single reader content in the world or make everyone appreciate our work all time. And neither should we try, but we can be faithful to and truthful with our craft and do the best we can do with it.
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Prompt: "To see the summer sky is poetry, though never in a book it lie-true poems flee." Write your thoughts about this.
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I think these lines point to the importance of perspective, how we look at things. Sometimes the poetic beauty of a summer sky is impossible to reflect in its total meaning into any writing or a visual art piece. Thus, even in the best of poetry books or any other writing, the real poetry escapes for its truth lies in the first glimpse or vision of nature that we experience.
This, in fact, is a sliver of a riddle by Emily Dickinson possibly embedded in a letter to Thomas Wentworth Higginson, who was a correspondent, advisor, and editor to Emily Dickinson. Higginson and Dickinson had shared interests in language and nature, and Dickinson read everything Higginson wrote and admired him. Theirs was a friendship through letters only. It is believed that Dickinson took Higginson’s metaphors and restyled and condensed them and, then, sent them back to him as subtle flattery. These lines, therefore, are abstract, elusive in meaning, and conceivably pointing to the repercussion of Dickinson's reading something by Higginson.
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Prompt: If you were to create your very own holiday or celebration, what would it be and how would you celebrate it?
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This might be a far-fetched entry, but I can’t help myself; I always dream big.
If I could have a special celebration for anything, I would have a birthday-day, but not on my birthday, on any one specified day of the year. This day would celebrate the birth of all human beings whether they evolved and mutated from Homo Sapiens, Neanderthals, or any other early Homo Erectus types that the scientists keep finding out about. After all, I feel attached and somewhat indebted to my species. Then I would celebrate that day by declaring world peace and asking people to stop all wars anywhere on that day. I know they wouldn’t stop them year-long, being who humans are, but maybe just for one day, I might be able to persuade them. After all, it is a celebration, right?
But that wouldn’t be all. I would also have a celebratory day for the invention of writing implements. On that day, every single person on earth would get a pen, pencil, type-pad, or something similar. And for celebration, everyone would write a sentence or a paragraph or as much as they want on any subject they wish.
One more thing! No cakes for my celebrations. We’re fat or unhealthy as it is. Everyone will get an apple or a carrot or any other fruit.
Can I get people to celebrate with me? I really don’t think so, but it is delightful to dream, sometimes.
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Prompt: “If you focus on the hurt, you will continue to suffer. If you focus on the lesson, you will continue to grow.” From Buddhist Vision’s video
What are your thoughts on this and do you think every hurt can be a lesson?
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Every hurt might be a lesson, just maybe, but if the hurt is too great, it is usually very difficult to see or search for the lesson in it, but it is always a good idea to try to spot the strength one has gained from a negative event.
Years ago, in a Long Island bowling league, I met an old man who had been a POW in a Japanese camp during World War II. The atrocities of the Japanese toward the Americans, although they had agreed to the Geneva accords and then disregarded their promise, were so terrible that this veteran could never forgive them, and I heard quite a few choice words out of his mouth toward his captors, and rightfully so. Still, he found one lesson in all that horrific experience. He said since he survived through that, compared to it, everything else--no matter how hurtful--had become a piece of cake. I think this brave man’s problem was a giant one that overwhelmed him. Yet, even if the memory of that giant hung over him like a shadow, he could go on with his life and enjoy his everyday living to some degree since he could find some solace in the relative ease of the rest of his life.
Other people who are hurt by one thing or another can find strength by ignoring the hurt or forgiving the persons or the circumstances that inflicted the hurt. Forgiving can be the best answer as it sets the person free from the chains of bitterness.
Then, if forgiving is not emotionally possible, looking for the lesson in the unfortunate event and concentrating on the lesson can propel the person to move forward with his life.
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PROMPT: Tell us about one of your fondest childhood memories from a summer vacation.
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One day, when I was three, as my mother claimed my age was at that time but I might be a bit older, our whole family was going to a seaside restaurant with a long stretch of sandy beach in front of it. That place, a favorite spot, was within walking distance, and we went there twice a week on average. There would be music and shows that night and my aunt and uncles would join us. It was a place where the adults did their thing while the kids played in the sand.
I remember this much. They dressed me up and told me to wait in the hallway downstairs where the front door was. I would be waiting for three other women and two men who were supposed to get ready. I guess they took their time dressing up, putting on make-up, whatever…
Well, I waited for a while, but then I got restless and possibly thought that their absence was taking away from my playtime on the sand. The latch and lock of the door were high up. I picked a chair, climbed up, and undid both. Then I put the chair back in its place, picked up my little pail and shovel and walked to that seaside place. I remember someone stopping and asking me where my parents were and me telling them, “They are coming behind me.”
I somehow made it to the restaurant, and since there was a large family going in with their several kids, I went in with them not attracting attention. I don’t think I was trying to hide or fool anybody. It was just that I had ended up talking to one of their children, which I thought was perfectly normal, as did everyone who saw me with them.
Meantime, back at the ranch…lol! In our house, they looked everywhere for me. There was a well in the backyard, and my mother fainted, thinking I fell in it. A neighbor went down the well but couldn’t find me. In a short while, the whole neighborhood and the police were looking for me.
Then, my grandmother thought just maybe I got bored and went to the restaurant because I was so eager to get there. Nobody believed her, but my mother and aunt wanted to give it a shot and, accompanied by a policeman, they went to the restaurant. Now, the stretch of the sand in front of the restaurant could be seen from the street. Even before they could go in, they spotted me.
My mother was furious, but my aunt begged her not to spank, scold, or punish me. She always insisted that I looked so innocent sitting on the sand and playing with my pail and shovel, with the sand sticking to my underpants since I had peed because there was no one there to take me to the bathroom. My aunt always stood up for me throughout my life, btw, whether I peed or not.
That day, unbeknownst to the family, I had a ball because, for the first time, I had tasted independence. That taste of freedom stayed with me lifelong. After all, I had walked to the restaurant all on my own.
Prompt: Everybody has a home remedy for one thing or another. Let's discuss some of your favorites. Like for instance, I swear by gargling daily with warm salt water keeps you from catching colds.
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I can swear by a homemade something that might kill some germs or stuff, antibiotic-like. It is made with three jalapeno peppers, one white onion, one head of garlic, (all of these should be chopped-- for the peppers, by wearing disposable gloves) and a few sprigs of herbs although this isn’t a must as I sometimes just add some dried herbs like oregano.
Then I place everything in a large jar and fill the jar with apple-cider vinegar. No refrigeration is necessary. This jar can stay on the kitchen counter forever and ever. The trick is to make it wait for a month or two, then take out the liquid part in another jar. I can also refill the original jar with apple-cider vinegar again. This second batch will not be as strong but it will still work.
Then, whenever I suspect some kind of a cold or flu or even some other inflammation is about to surface, I take a gulp or two from the liquid. This works very well for me, but it burns. I like hot stuff, so it doesn’t bother me too much, but drinking some juice before and after is a good idea.
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