Archive | May 2012

Story-A-Day Challenge Post 7: The Historian

May30

I’ve recorded a lot of thoughts and opinions over the years. It’s an occupational hazard when you are in my line of work.

The hardest thing I’ve ever done is try to write this letter.

Words have always come easily. Of course, I was busy recording life as it happened. It’s not so hard to write down what you see and hear.  Just the facts. Most of the time anyway. Okay, yes, I did embellish on occasion. Just for fun. Just to make it more interesting for the reader.  I’m sure James Thurber was recording a historical event in “The Night the Bed Fell on Father” and that every word was true in the best sense.  There’s been such a flap lately over storytellers and whether they should be held to the same standards as reporters. Why should they? Storytellers serve a different purpose than reporters.  Historians are more like storytellers than reporters. And as Machiavelli says, “History is written by the victors.” Doesn’t bode well for Truth, does it? I don’t want storytellers to give me the Truth. I want a tale that’s on the edge of belief. I want to be transported. I want my imagination stretched. I want my boundaries tested. I want to see what might be instead of only what is.

This letter has to contain the Truth. It has to convey the information without making it more than it is. If I make too much of it, she’ll panic, and I don’t want that. If I say too little she will also panic. So I’m struggling to find exactly the words that will make it okay for her.  So she won’t be alarmed. She will know it’s all right and that we will go on. She’s busy you know. She has the kids and her husband and her job. For all I know she’s not even home now. Her job requires a lot of travel. She may not even get the mail for a week. And she lives so far away. We’ve kept in touch. She calls. She emails. I write letters. I hope she shares them with her kids. I think it’s a lot easier to hand a piece of paper to someone. Although the newer technology allows sharing with lots of people all at once. It’s not the same. If you hand someone a piece of paper they may feel more obliged to read it. I mean really read it.  Not just skim over it like part of the din of ever-present media. It’s easy to skip over a post – blog, Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest. If someone pauses and presses the “Like” button you’ve made an impact. If they stop and comment you’ve really made a dent. If there is nothing, it’s a whisper drowned in the roar of the ocean.

A letter makes people stop. It holds their attention. It doesn’t have to compete in the same way as other media. That’s why I have to be careful to make sure this letter is just like all the other missives I’ve sent to her. I suppose I could just post it and hope it gets lost in the cacophonous sea of updates, but then one of her friends will be sure to see it. And they’ll tell her. And we’ll be back where we started. No, I have to put it in a letter, in the same manner I usually do. At least this way she’ll have the letter that tells her all about the cancer and the treatment. And even though I’ll be gone, she’ll be okay. And she’ll know I love her.

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With thanks to The Speculative Fiction Muse http://www.katfeete.net/writing/specfic.php

Story-A-Day Challenge is courtesy of Forward Motion for Writers http://www.fmwriters.com/

And to my writing partners, Mary C Sutton and D Anthony Brown danthonybrown.me for the support and the laughs.

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The Golden Bubble

May25

Recently a friend of mine was talking about her six children, all of whom are homeschooled. She worries for them, because they have a more limited exposure to the world, that others may try to take advantage of them. And I was reminded of a tool given to me by one of my teachers, the Golden Bubble. Also called the Golden Egg, this tool is a kind of forcefield that helps to protect the energy of the one enclosed and also helps those around them.

The principle is, by completely surrounding oneself with a golden mesh that allows only love to pass through in either direction, the wearer protects her/his energy from psychic attack. In addition, because the mesh works both ways, the wearer cannot issue an attack on others.

It is important to ensure that the bubble or egg is a complete form with no gaps under the feet and no areas that are scrunched or wrinkled. The sphere or ovoid should be whole and should completely and smoothly enclose the wearer. The form is infinitely flexible and can be visualized in any way that helps to convey the concept. Some children may find the idea of a forcefield to be easier to understand. Others may find a soap bubble like the ones they’ve blown to be a better way to see it. Some may think of it in terms of golden light or an aura. And still others will relate more closely to the eggshell. It doesn’t matter how the concept is taught as long as they get the idea of a golden glow that protects the wearer and spreads light and love.

Mothers, fathers, or other caretakers can create a bubble around the ones they love and wish to protect before sending them out to face the day. And anyone can learn to put one on for themselves. A child who knows how to create the bubble for herself will recover more quickly if she feels the one her mother made has worn off. And anyone who suddenly finds herself or himself in a fearful situation can put on the bubble to gain courage to do what’s right.

Yesterday, my friend reported back to me that she had taught her children to put on the Golden Egg at my suggestion. And one day when they had company, her daughter Annie, who was usually so good, was acting up, so my friend grabbed her daughter and took her upstairs and demanded to know what was going on.  Her daughter blurted out “I’m sorry, Mommy. I forgot to put on my egg.” Relieved, my friend helped Annie put on her golden egg, and they both returned to the family room in a better frame of mind.

So my reminder to myself is to put on the Golden Bubble.  It’s not about me (most of the time) and I can be more helpful to others (and myself) if I am able to Spread the Light. 🙂

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This link from ROFLCat.com may bring a smile:

http://www.roflcat.com/images/cats/I_Has_A_Force_Field.jpg

Story-A-Day Challenge Post 6: Eddie The Prophet

May23

Eddie took another toke and exhaled slowly. The smoke rose and cleared and Eddie put the  roach away. As he lay back into the easy chair, he felt the familiar haze start to swirl and spin as he once again slipped into the space-time continuum. (Or “STC” as he lovingly called it – when you’re as familiar with something as Eddie was with the space-time continuum you often have a shorthand way to reference the familiar.)

As it ebbed and flowed he felt the pulse of the underlying vibration that he usually followed and eased into it. There are lots of vibrations, lots of levels, lots of frequencies, and in his early days, Eddie had experimented with many of them.  The disruption to his corporeal self as a result was hard to endure and gradually he learned which route felt the most comfortable and cause the least after effects.

The sound and color became stronger and then enveloped him and moments later deposited him gently on a staircase.  The stairs were stone and highly polished and led to a landing a short way above him.  Eddie climbed the short distance and found a table laid with an elaborate meal. There was a single chair near the wall facing out.  Eddie looked all around and off the edge of the landing over the railing and saw no one. There was no one in what appeared to be the town square below. No one on the staircase. No one visible in any of the windows or doorways.

The munchies were coming on strong and Eddie’s mouth started watering as he surveyed the table. There were many things he did not recognize, but the fruits and vegetables were similar enough to what he was used to eating that he felt safe in nibbling bites here and there as he circumnavigated the large table.  Finally, he reached the chair with his hunger mostly sated and he felt the fatigue that often beset him after his journeys. He sank into the chair and realized that it was much softer and much more comfortable than anything he’d felt in a long time. As his head nodded he was vaguely aware of another presence watching him.

When Eddie awoke from his nap he was not surprised to find himself surrounded by a coterie of beings.  They were similar to humans from most time periods, except that these people seemed to glow with a soft light that came from inside them.  “Kind of like seeing auras,” he noted they had different colors and intensities. The one nearest him seemed to have a soft purple glow and also seemed to be gazing him expectantly.

“Oh wow! Like nobody was here, man, and I was kinda hungry cause I traveled a long way to get here…” he broke off as he realized that they did not seem to be angered that he had eaten from the table. Their expression seemed welcoming and even joyful. The beings around him seemed to glow more brightly.

So he started again, “Food is like happiness, man. No one can be happy on an empty stomach.”

And the crowd below cheered.

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With thanks to The Speculative Fiction Muse http://www.katfeete.net/writing/specfic.php

Story-A-Day Challenge is courtesy of Forward Motion for Writers http://www.fmwriters.com/

And to my writing partners, Mary C Sutton and D Anthony Brown danthonybrown.me for the support and the laughs.

Story-A-Day Challenge Post 5: The Ring

May16

She killed the engines allowing drift and gravity to pull the ship into the outer ring of the space station. She pulled together her equipment and costuming and entered the air dock.

Looking out the viewer she was struck again by the darkness of space, which is only broken by points of light. The space station was also dark with only enough light to keep visitors and staff from running into walls or each other. She followed the curve of the outer wall around to the main passageway to the inner ring. Entered the main terminal through the bioscanner ring, which validated her identity and her permission to be on the station.

This space station was referred to as Brachynexus Terminus V. Not terribly creative, but functional in that it referred to the station number and gave a rough orientation in the galaxy from Helios 1 and its third planet, ignominiously named “Earth.”

Sometimes she worked with the local replicators and holographic projectors, although in this case she was not familiar with their systems and since they seemed to be conserving power, she felt more secure carrying her gear. At least then she knew what she had to work with and she could generate enough energy from her pocket pack to manage her performances for the evening.

As she reached the hub, she found the requisite directioning personnel to tell her where to go and she proceeded down yet another dark corridor to the distraction center. These centers were designed to provide station personnel with entertainment and other means to distract themselves from being stuck in a space station millions of miles from the nearest inhabited planet. Since there is no such thing as being “off duty” when you are this far from the nearest colony, there were always station staff entering and leaving based on the current need for their services.

The first biped she encountered was female.

“Do you come here often?”

“No, it’s my first time on this station.”

“What would attract you to this bleak outpost?”

“Work.”

“They must pay you well. Do you offer androgenic tension relief?”

“No and no.

“Then what do you do?”

“You’ll see soon enough. Although a quick search of the universal tracker would give you the basics. Now could you please point me to the central emination point.”

“It’s right over there.

“Thanks.”

She set up her equipment and quickly changed her costume. Then she tapped into the ship’s communication center so that everyone would be able to hear her voice and anyone who was near a monitor would be able to see her, too.

“Hello everyone! My name is Desdemona and I will be your storyteller for this period.”

All around her glowed a ring of light that attracted them like moths. They walked, ran, stumbled and fell under her spell. She brought them to a different place and made them forget their dark circles.

Then she got in her ship and went to the next station. Spreading the light…

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With thanks to The Speculative Fiction Muse http://www.katfeete.net/writing/specfic.php

Story-A-Day Challenge is courtesy of Forward Motion for Writers http://www.fmwriters.com/

And to my writing partners, Mary C Sutton and D Anthony Brown danthonybrown.me for the support and the laughs.

Story-a-Day Challenge Post 2: The Rope

May15

He took the rope.

He took the rope she handed him.

He took the rope she handed him and jumped.

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And while this thought strand doesn’t really qualify… Story-A-Day Challenge is courtesy of Forward Motion for Writers http://www.fmwriters.com/

Thanks to D Anthony Brown http://danthonybrown.me/ and Mary C Sutton for the challenge and the company while I wrote.

With gratitude

May15

To everyone who has read a post here or liked a post or commented, my sincere thanks.

This blog is an experiment for me. A way to start having my name out in the world attached to my writing. So anyone who helps me as I grow and change and still manages to follow my meandering posts is my hero, and I am grateful to you.

My parents found me challenging, my siblings probably more so. It’s not that I’m trying to be difficult, it’s just that I see things differently than most people and I will point it out. Probably when you least expect it. And you will think long and hard about whether the things I ask you to consider are worth the difficulty of thinking about them. Some of you will give up and leave. And I am still grateful that you gave me what you could.

Story-A-Day Challenge Post 3: It Hit Me

May15

It went something like this:

“Look out!”

“What?”

“Duck!”

“Huh?”

“Never mind….”

“Splat!”

Because then it hit me. The most disgusting, slimiest, yuckiest spitball ever created. It was the size of a baseball and nearly as hard, except the spit caused it to slide downward quickly… drenching my shirt. I looked at it and then vomited.

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Story-A-Day Challenge is courtesy of Forward Motion for Writers http://www.fmwriters.com/

Thanks to D Anthony Brown http://danthonybrown.me/ and Mary C Sutton for the challenge and the company while I wrote.

Story-A-Day Challenge Post 4: Winning

May11

I was going out to the garden to grill a steak and knocked over my easel.  “Shit!” How am I supposed to deal with that mess?! I’m too hungry, even though the steak is not for me.  It’s for Max.  I know, I know, I spoil him.  It’s easy to do when he looks at me with those soft brown eyes.

I have some veggies I’m going to grill, too. Asparagus, red peppers, onions, mushrooms, corn on the cob and a couple of veggie brats. And I have peaches, pineapple and watermelon to grill for dessert.  I just have to make sure I cook his steak on one side of the grill and the veggies on the other.  I can’t stand the taste of  meat tainting my food.  As I said, Max is special to me. He has me doing things I’d never do for anyone else.  He’s stayed with me through all of it. Every class, every contest, every show, every disappointment. So I owe him a lot.  And steak is his favorite.

We’re grilling because it’s so nice outside and we love to be in the garden. Hence the reason my easel is out here. It’s my latest effort to emulate Monet.  Although my little garden here in the city is pretty small compared to the vast estate Monet had at his doorstep. Still, I’ve planted as many flowers as I can and tried to blend them so they don’t overshadow one another. Although that red rose doesn’t look very happy…. never mind I’ll have to take care of it another day.

Distractions are easy. I have to do one thing at a time. As you can tell I can’t walk and carry a plate of food without knocking something else down. Now where was I?  Oh yes! Grilling.  The charcoal is ready. The grill is clean.  I lay everything out on the grill.  The veggies are mostly on kabob skewers. The asparagus is in a grilling basket. And the steak is small — half  a pound will be two meals for Max. I’m leaving the fruit until after the veggies are done so there’s room on the grill.

OK, now to pick up my easel and all the spilled paint.  Luckily I prefer watercolors so the paint will wash off the flagstones with the rain I feel in the air. As I look at the canvas I realize it’s now textured. It was still wet enough that it picked up small bits of gravel and dirt and a couple feathers. And it looks… good.  It looks just fine.  The bits it picked up have added texture – not the usual for a watercolor and that’s okay. I set everything back up and head back to the grill in time to keep the food from burning.  Max doesn’t really care if I burn his steak, but I try not to add that many carcinogens to his diet.  (Yes, I did marinate the steak to reduce the creation of those compounds.  What kind of person do you think I am?)

As I pull the veggies and the steak off the grill I feel the first drops of rain.  I grab the plate of food and my easel and head inside.  Max grins and wags his tail.

I’ve got a good feeling about this painting.  I’m going to enter it in a contest tomorrow.  I think it’s going to be a winner.

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Story-A-Day Challenge is courtesy of Forward Motion for Writers http://www.fmwriters.com/

Thanks to D Anthony Brown http://danthonybrown.me/ and Mary C Sutton for the challenge and the company while I wrote.

That thought…

May4

I’ve never had that thought before… I’ve always been able to rise above, to consider that “this too shall pass” and, yet,  it came, unbidden, as I was sitting at the dining room table one day not long ago – “I don’t think I can live like this.”

That thought hasn’t appeared again. It never occurred to me before. What has changed? Maybe it’s perimenopause. Maybe it’s something else. Maybe it’s true?  No, I don’t think so… at least not today.

I’ve lived with diagnoses of fibromyalgia and osteoarthritis (and a few other things) for more than 10 years. I’ve worked 40+ hours per week. I haven’t asked for or really considered disability. So why did I have that thought? My marriage is basically happy. My life is pretty good. And yet, on that day, in that moment, I considered another option.

And then I felt guilty. I am not dying of an incurable disease like ALS or cancer. I do not have a progressively worsening diagnosis such as MS. And yet the pain can be so debilitating that in a moment of weakness that thought occurred to me.

The strange weather this season has taken a toll on everyone I know with chronic pain such as  migraines or arthritis or anything else. Here in tropical Minnesota  it was 80 degrees F (or maybe it’s 80 F* degrees?) on March 15th!!  Not normal weather for this part of the country.  Of course, within two weeks there were severe frosts that took out a lot of budding fruit trees.  On April 19, 2011, I documented a snowfall on my digital camera. And the weather has bounced around from Summer to Winter then briefly to Spring. Those kinds of atmospheric changes wreak havoc on anyone with chronic pain.

And the thunderstorms these last few nights kept me awake… which adds to the cycle – lack of sleep, increase in stress, increase in pain.

One of my favorite speakers, Dr Edward Creagan of Mayo Clinic, gave a presentation this week and said the basics to reduce stress  include: walk 30 minutes a day; strength training; restorative sleep (and he added “which most of us never get”); plant-based diet.  When a woman asked him about insomnia, he suggested winding down for 30-45 minutes before bed.  I wanted to ask him “What about when the hot flashes wake me up?”  “What about when the pain wakes me up?” “What about when the I-just-can’t-get-comfortable rotisserizing starts?” And I know the answer is “Go back to the basics.”

It’s that simple — if only it were that easy…

Story-A-Day Challenge Post 1 – An Un-Fairy Tale

May4

What makes a fairytale? And in contrast what makes an “unfairytale”? or is it “unfairy tale”? (is there a difference?) or perhaps “unfair-y tale”?

Never was there a time… A man never lived… or Never lived a man…

There was a fairy who wasn’t fair – not fair of face and not fair in his dealings. He struggled to face himself in the mirror every day because he was homely and because he knew he was not kind to himself or anyone else. He was selfish and it showed in his ugly countenance. Now if this were a true fairytale, he would be redeemed by the end of this story. He would learn his lesson and perhaps with the improvement in his outlook his appearance would change, too. Since this is an unfairytale, we do not find any such redemption.  He continues in his wicked ways unchecked throughout his life and dies miserable and alone. We could go through all the nasty things he does to others, the ways he tries to make them as unhappy as he is, and yet he never succeeds, so why bother describing his actions. The others go on with their lives, slightly disappointed in the moment they encounter him and still manage to maintain their equanimity. He never understands why he is the way he is. He never knows that his treatment of others, although rude and hurtful, is never enough to truly ruin their lives in the way that his is ruined. And he never comprehends that his life could have been different.

He lives a very long time because the powers that created him wanted him to change.  They wanted him to understand that his life could have meant something other than as a trial to those around him.  They wanted him to have redemption. And somehow he stubbornly persists until the very end. Even in death he is not repentant and not worried about where he will go after he dies. Of course, there is no hell, so he passes to the next world. And because that very passage brings with it the awareness of why one has lived and died, he is finally shamed by his behavior. He has no chance to make amends for the wrongs he has caused others. And no opportunity to atone for the sin of selfishness. He realizes he has only harmed himself and his progress. And so he chooses to spend the interval in solitude to contemplate how he could have changed and how he can correct himself and his path so that when he is given the next opportunity he can use it to its fullest. He won’t waste another chance and he will prove to them that he is deserving of that chance. His next life begins in abject poverty in the gutter of a large Asian city. And he is happy to be there.

So perhaps, since he is finally redeemed it has become a true fairytale. Maybe there is no such thing as an unfairytale after all. The End.

With thanks for the inspiration to D Anthony Brown http://danthonybrown.me/

and for the Story-A-Day challenge at Forward Motion for Writers http://www.fmwriters.com/