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.
Daily Cascade
Since my old blog "Everyday Canvas " became overfilled, here's a new one. This new blog item will continue answering prompts, the same as the old one.
Cool water cascading to low ground
To spread good will and hope all around.
I refuse to answer calls that I do not recognize (trying to convince my husband of the same). I just immediately hit the silence button, and let it ring away. if they leave a voicemail, I simply delete it.
They still call on Sunday but not as much as they do the other six days. I get bombarded with emails telling me the item I ordered just needs my address confirmed or a contact number, nope not happening.
My ex boss used to say when I came back after a sick day, did you enjoy your play day? I would respond, let me check the school field trip calendar so I can see when you're the busiest and I'll schedule my next play day. He would glare at me but soon learned I wasn't intimidated by him in the least.
Scammers are scum, plain and simple. I wonder who they think they will con. Why do they do it? Imagine what they could accomplish. Divert that effort into something legitimate.
I agree that there are times to let go of some old dreams. It may not be healthy to hold onto them, for many reasons. I also agree that our dreams or aspirations often change as we grow.
I agree that seeking new aspirations are essential to our growth, because stewing over and over on our older aspirations or failed goals makes us stagnant.
I know from my own life circumstances forced change, some were for the better and others not so much but during those times I learned skills I never imagined learning and those skills have opened unexpected doors and opportunities for me.
Ha that is a good answer - sometimes I say "Would you like the real answer or the fake answer" and then they stare at me aghast, look awkwardly, and do not know what to say. Sigh. Sometimes it's just easier to say "fine thanks how are you". I try to use a fake tone....
Jellyfish~Happy New Year 2026 Unfortunately, not only the society you are in but possibly all societies here on earth expect and accept such tiny white lies. There is no escape from that. For such expectations, I try to sidestep them, by saying something like, "Oh, ya?" Then I add something totally unrelated. It feels so weird to ask a person, "How are you?" and then expect them to say, "Fine, thanks." Sometimes I reply to "how are you", with "As you see me," And possibly, they see me the weirdo that I am.
Prompt:
"If writing is about sharing the stories that matter then designing a home is about shaping where those stories unfold."
Write about this quote in your Blog entry today.
---------- This quote made me think for a while, if only because I've never really designed a home. When we moved to any new home, we just put our already owned things in it and added whatever else was needed afterwards. Our homes were never for show, but for convenience. So, combining this home design thing with writing is new to me, but I'll try to find the similarities between the two.
Let's take writing first. A writer listens closely and tries to notice moments and ideas that may slip by others more easily. Then, writers choose which stories to tell and which ideas they can explore more deeply. For example, those things may be something like a glance held too long, a goodbye said too quickly, a truth discovered late, etc. Still, what I write usually matters to me, although I do believe that a good-enough writer should be able to write something, good or bad, on any subject. In other words, to me, to write is to preserve experiences and to say this event or thing matters enough to be remembered and to be written about.
Alternately, as clueless as I am on the subject, designing a home may also need intention. Only, its language in physical. Home is where I want ease, relaxation, happier feelings, and laughter to be. For that reason, home is more than a shelter or a container for my things. It is a setting for my most ordinary or extraordinary moments. It's where happiness can suddenly arrive when I carry a certain grief or problem from room to room. My kitchen counters become my mixing food stuffs as if I am loading them with confessions and thoughts, the same as I do while writing into a notebook.
After all, both home design and writing can ask the same questions: What matters here? What is it that I want to linger or to stay? Who or what is this setting or seating for? In the same vein, a story offers a sense of belonging, just like a home does with its space. Both hold me, reflect me, and quietly support the life I'm living. One gives voice to meaning. The other gives it a place to sit, to rest, and to grow and learn.
"Cheers to a new year and another chance for us to get it right."
Oprah Winfrey
In what ways can we get it right in 2026, personally and as a nation? What about the world?
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To begin with, in my humble and jumbled opinion, getting things right in 2026 needs intention, follow-through, and humility, in general. This is because I still believe in the legend of "One Earth, One Future."
In the personal area, I can think of: *exchanges of ideas but not as competitions and without put-downs
*small consistent kindnesses like keeping promises
*checking on one another,
*allowing growth and encouraging learning as one can never learn enough,
*and maybe resting a bit more, especially in my case.
As a nation and this goes for any nation, not just the USA, let's agree to:
*survive and let others survive
*not use contempt or dehumanizing of other nations
*invest in healthcare, education, infrastructure, mental health
*appreciate honesty over anger and outrage, especially with leaders of nations, and also, let's trust more those leaders who are not afraid of saying they are uncertain about any issue
*protect the nations with the least power and with people who are vulnerable, and not only the loud ones
*give space for shared stories between nations, to show co-existence is possible with or without our differences
As the world,we need to:
*share responsibility. No country can live alone, even the strongest ones.
*do not treat the human stories as statistics. What happens to the people of one nation can easily happen to others, given time.
*cooperate on what threatens others, be it the climate, public health, food, and water as these needs cross all borders.
*choose diplomacy over dominance. Intimidation harms the intimidator the most. Just remember Hitler. When power is used to collaborate and get along with others, it works for the best for every nation.
Come to think of it, as I wrote about these three areas separately, I came to the conclusion that the way forward had to be similar at all three levels. That is: *pay attention, *use patience over panic and *keep up the hope but back it by action, and not just words.
2026 is just about to arrive. The ink is fresh. Let's make it count, this coming year.
“Instructions for living a life.
Pay attention.
Be astonished.
Tell about it.”
Mary Oliver
What do you think about this quote and would Mary Oliver's advice work for you?
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I don't know if Mary Oliver's advice would work for me, but, in a nutshell, it seems to be good advice for living a meaningful life.
A meaningful life could be found in the way we look at things. For example, some glitches have been showing up in my life and in the way things are done. Instead of blaming ai or someone else or my own ineptitude, I'm trying to sail with the tide, and it seems to be working for me.
It isn't always easy, but I try to pay attention. Paying attention is to be present, to notice the texture of ordinary moments, the tone beneath someone’s words, the way light moves across a room. It asks me to resist or stop living on autopilot. Attention is an act of respect toward the world, toward others, and toward my own inner life.
Furthermore, attention leads to wonder, which is a natural thing. When I truly notice, the world reveals itself and its miracles to me. "Becoming astonished" can rise from a bird’s call, a child’s question, a sudden kindness...etc. In other words, with astonishment, I let awe overcome any dulled-out certainty.
As to "telling about it," this is what I am doing right this minute. When I tell about what astonishes me I am translating my experiences into writing, storytelling, art, or memory. This connects me to others and preserves something important or touching that might otherwise may vanish. This is because most anything gains importance when given voice, as we writers know so well.
Although this, Mary Oliver's advice, works as if it is a pocket-sized philosophy, it has used a simple direct language and it works. Especially because it is vast in its use and implication.
Prompt:
“I love writing. I love the swirl and swing of words as they tangle with human emotions,” says James Michener.
What is it that excites you and/or fulfills you about writing?
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I don't know why I am so into writing. It might have something to do with my mother's stories. My mother had a column for herself in a small publication for a few years, and she always had this wild imagination. If she told me a story and then when she told me the same story again, this second time, the story would end up being quite different.
Ultimately, my mother's imagination I don't possess, but I was very much impressed with her storytelling. Also, I'm guessing, because I wanted to read the stories for myself--to see if they really changed-- I learned to read well at age four, and right after my reading came the writing. I really don't recall any time when I never wrote anything. I don't know why.
But I love writing. Even when I'm reading or learning something or other, I still take notes. I guess I am addicted to notebooks and pens. A few days ago, I mentioned to a friend that I preferred writing mostly longhand into notebooks with pens. She told a few other friends that, and they all gave me pens and fancy notebooks for this Christmas. Now, I have enough paper in the house to last me until the year 3000.
As much as I love writing, I'm not possessive of it. By this I mean, when someone reviews something I wrote here in WdC, say in 2002, I have to go back and read it. Sometimes, what I wrote way back when feels like someone else wrote it. Go figure!
So, here's my answer to the quote and the question, "What is it that excites you and/or fulfills you about writing?": I don't really know. It might not have been my choice. I am guessing, however, that words, pens, pencils, keyboards and such must have been stuck into my DNA at one time or another.
Prompt:
"Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance, you must keep moving." -- Albert Einstein.
Let this quote inspire your entry today!
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This made me grin, since in my case my bicycle can end up in a whirlwind. But, yes, I have to keep on moving, and that's exactly what I am doing now, while staying in one place at the same time. I guess I can say I am moving in place. This is because, sometimes, there's stability in motion.
Imagine a child riding a bicycle. The first time she is on a bike, the world feels unsteady. Her legs pump furiously, wheels screech, and everything around her wobbles as she fights the gravity. But once she finds that rhythm, when the pedals sync with her heartbeat, she realizes that stillness can mean a bad fall.
Not that I've fallen from a bike, at all. I couldn't have because I only knew how to ride a trike. Only because my mother forbid it, saying where we lived there was no place to ride a bike safely, despite the pleas of my uncle who wanted to show me how. Maybe she was afraid I'd take off on a bike and ride to the moon where she wouldn't be able to reach me.
Riding back to the quote, Einstein's words are not about overprotective mothers and bikes, but it is probably his manifesto for living, for adapting one's motions between the steep hills and smooth roads. In other words, life demands careful navigation whether one owns a compass or not.
I can't ride a bike, but I learned, like a cyclist would, to lower my head, bend, and keep on pedaling. The balance isn’t about rigid control but resilience. Motion means hope, and stillness isn't always still if it has something to do with reflection, such as a writer stopping to think how to put together her story elements.
Nothing really needs over-acceleration, especially if the ground is rocky. But we have to keep on moving no matter what. I know I have to. After all, it is okay to fall, from time to time. This is because falling is not failing but feedback.
Prompt:
A new year is approaching, have you considered what contests or other writing goals you want to accomplish in 2026? Are you a person who creates a monthly calendar with reminders for each goal?
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Nope, I'm not that person with calendars and reminders, but I make simple to-do lists before any venture, even If I have to re-adjust it along the way. Plus, at my age, I've learned to live from day to day, so to speak.
Several months ago, I promised myself to write in- my blog everyday. So far so good. As to other kinds of writing, I usually write when I feel like it, which is mostly, always. But I also like to write longhand, which means notebooks and pen, and therefore, what I mostly write is in note-books.
With my writing, in essence, I don't set many goals. I'm not a goal-setter because life gets in the way and if I don't do what I have set my mind to do, I get extremely frustrated. Yes, weird me!
On the other hand, if I'm not goal setting, I have routines I stick to throughout the day, which organize my life. I taught myself not to get upset if I can't stick to the routine in any one day. After all, it is okay not to do things in the same order.
Having said that, I understand the value of goal setting for people who are not too critical of their own selves. This is because goal setting gets the things done and it is applied almost everywhere human beings are and especially in all work situations. It has to do with the worldly achievements and material gains, with powerfully driven behavior. This boosts performance quite a bit. From that point of view, it has to do with the work ethic of the elite section of any society.
As for me, a pain in my backside with goal-setting, in addition to the frustration when I didn't meet that goal, would be having too many goals, or having a narrow time-frame, or increased risk-taking for trying to meet a difficult and complicated goal.
Still, goal-setting is not really shallow, materialistic, or unsubstantial. In fact it may help many people achieve what they set out to achieve. But considering my own internal workings and psyche, I use it very sparingly.
Prompt:
What did you do Christmas Eve? Write about this in your Blog entry today.
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Not much to write about. My Christmas Eve had nothing to do with Tennyson's calling for renewal in his Christmas Eve poem, "Ring out, wild bells." At my age, I'd be worried about any renewals or bells ringing.
On the plus side, since my family is scattered all over the world, we had a nice group chat on Messenger. My younger son came and went and checked on my new home security system, his gift. Not that I need one, but my sons wanted me to have it. Maybe I can put up signs on the doors, saying, "Smile, you're on candid camera!"
Then, I went to bed as usual right after supper, which me going to bed means reading and doing puzzles until midnight or later. This is my down time and I appreciate it. Btw, someone said, "Time doesn't exist when you're reading in bed. It's just a pleasant void of endless chapters."
Pleasant void it is, and as to time, I have no sense of it. But that is a good thing. It makes me to forget all the years I lived up to now. I wonder if this is what happens when us, the oldest chunk of society, starts losing "it."
So, I hope everyone had a great Xmas Eve and may we all keep on reading and writing in the new year; that is, after we've mastered the new ways of WdC.
Prompt: Christmas.
Write about Christmas for your Blog entry today.
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Wrapped in Tinsel without Naming "IT"
It’s that time again, calendar insists
half joyful in tone, half as threat,
the lights blink wildly, placing a bet
and the tree's dragged in, crowned like king
dropping its needles on everything
this tree leans to left, what message it sends?
I dare think, to give my patience a try
still, my smile's wide, I don't know why
when old songs repeat till my sanity bends
about bells, and joy, and close friends
and cookies vanish with suspicious intent
while I fill socks as if it's a priceless art
for my scented candle's shaped like a heart.
If stressed I may be, until Santa will appear
I smile real wide, perform laughter and cheer.
Lessons from a Christmas Tree:
Be a light in the darkness.
We all fall over sometimes.
You can never wear too much glitter.
Bring joy to others.
Sparkle and twinkle as often as possible.
It's okay to be a little tilted.
Jane Lee Logan
What do you think this poem-quote means? And/or, what does being a little tilted mean to you?
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Such pine-scented wisdom, don't you think? It seems to me the "Live, Laugh, Love" plaque in a gift shop is wearing a tinsel scarf, here. Yet, that scarf is being picked up by a rebellious elf. On top of it all, all that wise advice is being offered by a chopped-down speaker-tree who is decorated possibly against its will and expected to perform cheerfully for a few days, only. As if a last will and testament. But afterwards??? Oh, that poor Christmas tree!
Still, despite its approaching end, the tree might be saying, "Look here, if I can glow while drying and dying out, so can you. That is, after I shed my dignity onto your rug." With this, it exemplifies the advice, "Be a light in the darkness.”
What is not metaphorical here is that trees fall, lean, get pushed over by cats, toddlers, and maybe a drunk relative who gestures wildly while telling a story. So, the tree says, “We all fall over sometimes,” which is only physics and not the tree's failure.
Then, I have to give it to the tree's good nature when it says, “You can never wear too much glitter.” “Sparkle and twinkle as often as possible” reinforces this idea of the tree showing off. Well, it may be wonderful for a tree, but too much glitter is too much for me. And although the tree may scoff at my restraint, at my minimalism, does the tree know that glitter is its armor and my armor is evading attraction?
After I have pointed that out, I can balance it with this line from the tree: “Bring joy to others.” This is good advice even when I may feel lopsided. It may even mean to me something like, don't do anything but be there, be present. At times, just showing up over or under-dressed and leaning to one's side can show resilience, good humor, and willingness to be in the presence of others.
Then, my favorite advice shines better than any glitter on any tree: “It’s okay to be a little tilted.” The word "tilted" shows wisdom and it doesn't mean being broken. It means 'lived-in.' It means being bumped by reality. It means I don't choose to straighten myself to please others. Plus, a tilted tree still lights the place more memorably, at times, than a perfectly upright one.
I certainly hope, people will remember that tilted tree, together with me, as the ones that almost fell over and were leaning toward chaos, but still kept shining, anyway.
Prompt: Spreading Light
"There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it."
Edith Wharton
Write about this quote's meaning. Can you think of other ways of reflecting or spreading light besides being the candle or the mirror?
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I don't want to burn up as a candle and neither do I like reflecting others' views all that much. Does my stance leave me any other choice? We'll see. First, let's look at the candle and the mirror, two humble objects for how light moves through our world.
A candle burns itself out, so that the darkness can loosen its grip. Yet, while burning off, the candle's light warms faces, invites closeness, and softens hard edges.
A mirror doesn't sacrifice itself. It catches light and images and reflects them as they are, without altering anything about them. To be a mirror means having clarity to reflect something precious to those who have forgotten they are already carrying that precious something.
In addition, there may be other ways to spread light, too. How about by asking questions? Questions that make people think and give space to different perspectives.
Then, there are those who spread light like a lighthouse, steadily, firmly, and without chasing anyone. Their personal existence is what makes everything so clear and believable.
Also, light can be spread by listening to others well and thoroughly. If for nothing but when a person is heard, really heard, something inside them may brighten and may come alive.
Hearing and understanding others may have to do with kindness, too, for kindness itself is a light. It is unforgettable, even when it is sudden and brief.
There is also the light of truth, maybe harsh at first, but necessary for growth. It is like the early morning sun shining into the eyes of people, trying to wake them up.
Sometimes, where light is concerned, burning can come up in the works. Other times, it may be reflecting, but mostly, the way I look at it it, it means stepping aside to give room to others and to refuse to block their light.
So, just maybe, the idea of light is not to be whether the candle or the mirror. The idea may have to do with our own stance and feelings of respect for all people and the truth. Plus, I believe the search for light involves the hard questions we need to ask ourselves, such as: "What kind of darkness am I standing in right now?" This way, being truthful to oneself may mean turning on a light.
After all, light is generous. It will use any excuse to travel and illuminate.
Prompt: Imagination
“The color of springtime is in the flowers; the color of winter is in the imagination.”
Terri Guillemets
Which kinds of stories, poems, or writing can you imagine in relation to the color of winter? And what inspires you the most during the winter months?
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To me, winter has a quieter palette, but with strong hues, possibly with the absence of some colors. They may still inspire emotionally strong pieces to a thoughtful writer.
When I say a "thoughtful writer," I am certainly not referring to yours truly. Maybe I might look inward from time to time, but I am of the kind who just sits down and writes, and then worries about the offside ideas with paragraphs whose repeated words are usually too close together. So, let's say, just any writer.
Just any writer would sit down and think and explore winter's hues, first. So, let's follow that writer's steps.
That writer would say, white is the most dominant voice in winter. Like a blank page, snow, frost, and pale skies create a sense of an untouched impression, as an untouched thing of an impression can often inspire reflection and introspection. A memoir comes to mind, as well as personal essays, and spare poetry, and I mean nothing too wordy or fancy.
Furthermore, the snow's whiteness changes over time. Sometimes, it turns to slush under the gray skies and dusk. So the next color has to be gray. Gray may inspire essays about uncertainty, stories that live between right and wrong, poems that explore grief, waiting, or emotional fatigue. It is probably subtle and thoughtful, more interested in questions than answers. It may use internal monologue a lot in a character-driven fiction, in which case, deliberate silences can speak loudly.
Just for the fun of it and since sometimes a winter sky brings up its blues, I'll have to add blue next. Blue means prose and poetry that meditate, perhaps about loss, distance, melancholy, longing, and hopefully some depth. Something like the letters never sent, but written anyway.
Then, there's that black, which sets in with the earlier nights, stretching over bare trees, inviting the darkest themes. I'd guess those themes would be gothic fiction, mystery, and dark philosophical reflections. It pushes writers to be drawn to the noir as if to confront fears, endings, and the unknown.
Yet, winter still can offer touches of what is warm. The glow from the fireplace and lamplights, red berries, and colors of citrus in the setting sun with golds and oranges come to mind. They might show up in shades but may inspire hope-filled writing, anyway, such as short stories about human connections, poems about resilience, and essays about finding light in confinement. This contrast of the warmer tones against the white, black, and gray can remind a writer that winter has some uplifting meaning after all.
Come to think of it, winter writing is often quieter, but it is rarely shallow. In those wintry hues, a writer may find clarity, depth, and the courage to tell the truest of stories.
Coming back to me, again, this doesn't involve me at all. For the last three and a half decades, I have been living in a part of the country when seasons are in a jumble and everything gets mixed up with everything else. Still, not bad. Possibly that's why I ended up writing the drama NL and my silly thoughts in my blogs.
Prompt:
Have fun with these words:
Elves, cloaks, spaghetti, mouse, lift. advertise, betray, tent, and attraction.
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This Circus!
When I was little, I thought, life would be
acrobats, clowns, and stunts, silly me!
Under a striped *tent, I thought life's circus would hum
at dusk, with *elves in velvet *cloaks juggling stars, and
*spaghetti (and I so loved spaghetti), such fun! And
a painted *mouse would ride to a drumroll’s pulse,
to the *lift of gasps and claps from the crowd.
When I was little, I thought, life would be
acrobats, clowns, and stunts, silly me!
In my mind's eye, I saw the stars and posters
*advertise the wonder in curling ink, but I didn't
know that some cute tricks could *betray the hands
that made them, and that laughter never lasted long, yet
now, I hope for a brief and bright final *attraction.
For now I'm old, and life still is just the same, I see,
with acrobats, clowns, stunts, plus tears, silly me!
Prompt:
Begin your entry with---The girl can't help herself.
It's your blog, have fun writing a short story or a poem or just a rant.
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The Girl Can’t Help Herself
The girl can’t help herself,
although she knows nostalgia lies
she hoards old summers like contraband
and ticket stubs, cassettes, letters of his
the smell of rain on her borrowed jacket
and then, she rants at time for moving on
without her, for sanding down the edges
of faces she loved, and especially one,
and for turning payphones into fossils
and promises into museum glass
since her every memory argues back, loud,
unfinished, aching to be right here, and still,
she shouts his name like truth, her truth
no artificial intelligence can understand
because the girl can't help herself.
Prompt:
Knights In White Satin By The Moody Blues.
Write about this song in your Blog entry today.
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Such mystery! I can't even imagine a knight in white satin. If I saw one, I'd probably run away from him immediately.
So, since I very much like its drooling music but can't force my imagination on it, I think there must be something autobiographical about this song, with deeply personal experiences or emotions tied to it. Off the top of my head, I'm guessing the themes of the song could be longing, love, or loss. (As usual?) The knight might be the songwriter's inner world, or psyche, maybe.
I can also sense a feeling of nostalgia for a mythical past that could only exist in the songwriter's mind, referring to an ideal lost world or age where heroes roamed and love was the strongest force in life.
Yet, after viewing the lyrics of the song, the reference to Galileo and the stars made me feel confused. Then, I thought, possibly, the referral was to the Renaissance and its humanistic ideals. Such ideals might refer to what is scientific as well as what is mystical. I don't know how this has anything to do with the songwriter's psyche, but each to his own, in this matter.
I, therefore, am daring to say that this songwriter had difficult relationship struggles, and he wrote this song as if a confessional.
And confessional though it might be, the song's melody soars splendidly and through it, the songwriter's vulnerability and inner world is implied beautifully and suggestively.
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Edited to Add: Now this song is playing inside my head and I can't get rid of it!
Prompt:
What are some of your favorite Christmas gifts from years best?
Write about this in your Blog entry today.
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Gift wrap, lists, and consumer culture... Yet, aren't we forgetting what Christmas is all about? For me, therefore, from years past, the most meaningful presents did not occupy space in a gift box. It was when people gave me of themselves, things that were (and still are) intangibles such as fun and happy moments, emotions, and gestures that lingered in my heart and memory long after the tree was taken down.
Some of those memories have to do with the presence of loved ones over the perfection of anything I can hold in my hands. Those moments are like the heirlooms that stay in memory longer. They mostly have to do with a shared time with a loved one; for example, one of my uncles talking to me at length about poetry on a Christmas Eve, or my grandmother's hug when a spoiled daughter of a neighbor made fun of my outfit, or the person cooking some dish in the kitchen and giving me the first taste of it and asking me if that dish would do for the evening meal before Santa comes. Such gifts still whisper to me that I've mattered.
This is because material gifts are static, while experiences are dynamic and are rarely forgotten. They are not broken and discarded or being re-gifted to some unsuspecting soul. On the other hand, non-physical gifts and the smallest thoughtful actions carry the most weight for they have the magic of being memorable and touching.
As such, thoughtful gestures such as a handwritten letter, acts of service, maybe an offer to help another person in need, to volunteer together for a shared cause, or starting someone in an art that person might be interested in always offer the gift of growth. They are investments in a person's happiness and future.
Better yet, non-physical gifts require no tags, no wrapping, no retail therapy. Plus, they help both the giver and the receiver for they are the most personal and the most likely to be appreciated. After all, the best gifts leave their echoes for a long time after the holidays. Maybe because they don't fill a space. They fill a person's heart.
Prompt:
“And (I) wondered how anyone could ever imagine unquiet slumbers, for the sleepers in that quiet earth,” says Emily Brontë in Wuthering Heights,
What do you think Bronte meant? Does the quote imply something different to you than its obvious meaning?
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I have to mull over the meaning of the quote, but I recall it was uttered by the narrator of the novel, after many years since the story took place. Maybe the narrator was really talking about his own sense of final peace after the stormy lives of Catherine, Heathcliff, and others, whose names now escape me. When I first read this novel in my teens, for some weird psychological reason, I fell for Heathcliff. Luckily for me, years later, when I married, my husband was as easy-going and well-adjusted as he could be.
As to the meaning of the quote, at first glance, it may refer to the peace in death, after the novel's wild emotional drama. I wonder if there was really peace in there, under the soil, since the villagers saw the ghosts of the story's characters. Yet, Heathcliff and Catherine were buried next to each other, and they are finally united after all that drama. So what about their ghosts? Were they imaginary? Were they restless?
All the same, Catherine and Heathcliff's bond was always unbroken since their childhood. It is tempting for me to think that, in this state, they might finally experience the peace and happiness that they missed in life. This could be because, in their new realm, they don't have to deal with family obligations and society's expectations. So they might roam the moors in spirit, discovering the happiness and freedom that was the real basis for their relationship.
Then, what about the question of whether peace awaits us all, after death? Can peace and love, in all their forms, transcend even the boundaries of mortality? I certainly hope so.
For that reason, I ask, why should peace and love belong to the afterlife only? After all, we can find it in the present, right here on earth, in the beauty and simplicity of our human connections.
Prompt:
“A bare tree stands with roots on both ends in December days.”
Kiran Bantawa
What does it mean to have "roots at both ends" to you?
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Weird quote, but that is why I chose it. It is because what I don't understand fully, sometimes, opens up to me while I am writing about it.
Now, what about the quote?
Literally, roots anchor trees to the ground, and also feed them. So the quote may mean that the tree is grounded not only in the soil but also in the air, in other words the earth and the atmosphere.
Yet, there may exist a metaphor, in there somewhere. Could it be our dual nature? Maybe it is our past and heritage against the experience of the present time. It may also mean that our roots reach toward the future, the sky. As they say, "The sky's the limit," meaning dreaming for growth, change, and exploring.
Then, roots at both ends may mean our lives are not linear. Although here on earth, we see time as being linear, there are some serious scientific and spiritual findings that time is not the way we understand it, and it is not linear.
At the same time, the fact that the tree is bare in December adds to the quote's meaning. December is the last month of the year; therefore, it represents an ending, and possibly our vulnerability and exposure to sadness, however with the hope of renewal.
After all, our lives are full of paradoxes and complexities, and we stand at the intersection of multiple meanings and dualities. Just like a bare tree stands tall with roots at both ends.
This is all I can think of, at the moment about this quote.
Prompt: Rest
“It is December, and nobody asked if I was ready.”
Sarah Kay
What are your favorite ways to recharge and rest during the winter or this holiday season?
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I think, here in Florida, winter or the holidays are much different than in most other parts of the country. Still, I can recall what it was like in the Northeast, from way back when.
It used to be a whirlwind of sorts with parties, gatherings, gift shopping, despite the cold weather and sometimes, snow and ice. At the same time, this had made trying to live my regular everyday life almost impossible, even though I enjoyed the season very much.
On the other hand, as far as the frayed nerves go, it isn't much different, here, in the south. The only addition is that we have the lovely half-year residents and visitors escaping from the cold and the ice. This is wonderful in most senses, except the roads become so crowded and the driving so difficult, but it also makes us, the driving elderly group, very careful.
On the plus side, since the scorching hot summer sun has mellowed, we have regained our outdoor fun. For example, I can go and relax outside the house, mostly on a comfy outdoor armchair inside the porch, and read, write, tend my plants, or do whatever I wish to do. Since I've grown old, I've set boundaries to my most "should"s, which helps me greatly. No more attending anything if I'm not in the mood or trying to overachieve anything, including housekeeping. Well, maybe just a tad, but that's it.
I guess most of what is winter or the holiday season has become not a hustle but an easy time of slowing down for me. After all, there is joy in resting, too, no matter how many bells are jingling.
Prompt:
Do you make cookies, candy, breads for family and friends during the holidays?
If so, what's your favorite to make?
If you don't make treats, what's your favorite to receive?
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I do make treats for the holidays but not to give them as gifts. I offer them to those who come to visit and if they comment or like the treat, they get some of that treat to take home with them.
As to the second question, my favorite treats depend on my time and what I have purchased. A few of them are pumpkin-based and others are old-world treats.
Then, when it comes to receiving gifts, I don't really have a strict idea, but I appreciate the most something done especially for me, like a poem written for me or a painting or drawing made by the gift-giver. As such, one of the favorite gifts I received was a potholder and a kitchen towel with my name embroidered on them. The beauty of such a gift is in its intimacy and alchemy of surprise. They turn the mundane into the extraordinary, implying that even the smallest details of my life are worth noticing and encouraging.
In today's world driven by haste, a thoughtful gift is an act of rebellion. It refuses to settle for showing off but offers intention. It reminds me that the most precious things are not things at all, but moments of understanding, wrapped in tender hope that it might bring a smile to my face.
Also, as much as I appreciate all gifts, I feel a little sad when a gift-giver with small means has gone out of his or her way to give me something expensive. I think a gift is a mirror of sorts. It reflects who the gift-giver is as well as how the gift-giver sees the me, the receiver. For that reason alone, the most appreciated gifts show thoughtfulness, not grandeur or riches.
And today, just a few minutes ago, a surprise for me! Funny the coincidence, but while writing this entry, I received a lovely package from a friend far away. I stopped writing to unwrap the package. Inside it, is a large pink spiral notebook, a small black spiral notebook, and a set of retractable ball-point pens. This is probably after I told her on the phone I preferred writing long-hand. There is also a note, attached to the notebook with the pink cover that says, "No wonder! Writing long-hand is for the brainy people!" Now, I'm tickled pink all the way to high heaven, in all my idiosyncratic, ordinary complexity!
“Oh look, yet another Christmas TV special! How touching to have the meaning of Christmas brought to us by cola, fast food, and beer.... Who'd have ever guessed that product consumption, popular entertainment, and spirituality would mix so harmoniously? ” ― Bill Watterson,
Let's talk about product consumption. Are you more likely to buy something based on the advertising seen during the holiday season?
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This quote made me laugh. I can't imagine me buying anything after seeing an ad, at any time, let alone during the holiday season. Yet, most people do. For some, this is due to a lack of time and finances, and for others, because, unfortunately they are gullible.
Since this is what sellers and manufacturers do, let's first imagine a perfect holiday image, an image that will encourage sales. Mostly, it is an ideal family gathered around perfect meals or exchanging beautifully wrapped gifts, and this is implied to solve every problem under the sun. Even if not said out loud or written openly, the message is, "This purchase will make you complete." or "You will be so loved after giving this gift."
Well, if it were to be so, why do stores accept that exchange of gifts after the holiday season? If you go to any store after the holidays, the exchange line is immense. Something to think about, isn't it?
Sellers and retailers know the season is emotional and people also get emotional because they are probably being with family members they haven't seen in a year, etc. So they encourage overspending under the guise of saving. Then, afterwards, after the holiday glitter fades, guess who will be sweating over stretched budgets and cluttered homes. Not to mention that something didn't live up to its promise. Yet, most of us still fall for the exaggeration and promised hopes.
I'd think anyone with a good head on their shoulders would choose what is real. After all, those false sparkles shouldn't belong under the Christmas tree. If only because the magic of the holidays has nothing to do with material things and false promises.
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