Stream of Consciousness Sunday: A Simple Blessing

The optional prompt today for Stream of Consciousness Sunday at Jana's Thinking Place is “Blessings”. The “rules” are to write for five minutes, leave it be and hit publish. My five minutes are inspired by the following quotes from an article I read in the paper this morning.

“Have you experienced that post-reading fog, where time has apparently stopped, or not stopped so much as become irrelevant, hours passing like seconds and eons simultaneously? Does television ever cause you to quite literally, take leave of your senses?”

“Television has gotten very skilled at storytelling, and in that sense has largely caught up with prose fiction, but fiction will always have an advantage: The book in your hands is the product of a single human consciousness; in reading it, you and that other consciousness are joined.”

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Of course I know I am very blessed. I’ve received a multitude of blessings in my life.

Love. Family. Friends. Health.

And this year my health was at the forefront of blessings received. Looking back 7.5 months later, I am extremely blessed to be walking, typing, even feeding myself.

But that’s not what I want to write about today.

I have been truly blessed with the love of reading. It is as intrinsic to my daily life almost as much as eating and sleeping. Without it, I don’t know what I would do; what would stimulate my mind and inspire me; what would take me places I may never go.

Of course, you could say that love and family and friends should be my inspirations. They do inspire me but reading is right there too. It’s my thing. It is, and has been from such an early age, a fundamental part of me. It's what I do. It's how people know me. As a lover of books.

I adore a great “post-reading fog”.

I love feeling “where time apparently stopped, or not stopped so much as become irrelevant,”

And I love being connected to another person through writing. So what if they don’t know I exist or who is reading their words. That matters not to me.

I feel blessed every time I open my eyes, see beautiful things and read words on a page.

I love that it takes me away for moments, hours, and years.

I feel blessed every day that the love of reading was gifted to me.

Trifextra: It's Still The Eyes

This weekend’s Trifextra challenge is really different. We aren’t doing the writing because they would like us to scour through our favorite pieces of literature and give us the best 33 words we can find. We may not use one that another Trifectan has already posted.

This was intensely hard for me. First, I narrowed it down to three favorite books (A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Engle, The Secret History by Donna Tartt, and The Sense of an Ending by Julian Barnes). Then to two quotes from each book, then one.

My final choice was the one that touched me, very much, the moment I first read it but again when I deleted all others. It is very simple. And it wasn’t, at all, chosen for its creative wording or sentence structure or literary profoundness. It’s one that means something to me.

And I just read it, actually, one week ago today in The Sense of an Ending by Julian Barnes:

 “…the freckles I once loved are now closer to liver spots. But it’s still the eyes we look at, isn’t it? That’s where we found the other person, and find them still.”

Trifecta: Bobby and Tony

There are moments when a memory is triggered for me (usually by a person) and my heart does this little thing.

Standing in the Immigrations line late last night waiting for that familiar sound to bounce off our passports signaling, “You’re home”, everyone was weary, suntanned or burned and definitely impatient.

“I want my bed.” I said out loud to no one in particular.

“Vacation’s over. Now get me out of here,” said everyone’s face.

And knowing the external temperature and the prospect of shoveling wasn’t helping the mood either.

Snapping out of it, I saw someone from four rows ahead looking at me. Gazing down then back up again, I smiled in recognition and tentatively waved. He gave a small wave back.

And my heart squeezed.

Had he been on my plane? This whole time?

I hadn’t seen him since the summer between my sophomore and junior years in college. I don’t even remember where it was or what was said.

I dated his brother for a while in high school. He was my best “guy friend” at the time. They were identical twins. I could tell them apart. Always.

His brother was sometimes a jerk. He was always sweet.

When his brother was busy, he’d ask me to the beach or the mall or a movie. We would hang out for hours.

We were only friends.

Never getting close enough to speak last night as the Immigration line snaked around, hundreds of people answered questions like, “How many days were you in Mexico? Can I see your customs form? Bring in any plants?”

I don’t even know if I’d introduce him given the opportunity. Or what I’d say. Where I’d begin. If anyone would care but the two of us.

I was simply happy my path crossed with his one last (?) time.

Riding up the escalator, he looked back to customs. Where I was.

I raised my hand a little.

And my heart did its thing.

Again.

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This was written for Trifecta using the third definition of the word:

PATH

1: a trodden way

2: a track specially constructed for a particular use

3a : course, route

  b : a way of life, conduct, or thought

That's Not Why I'm Here: SOCS

So this stream of consciousness is coming from sunny FLA. Five minutes of writing that is not edited. Just written and posted. As always, I gratefully link up at Jana's place where other like-minded writers do too.

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Florida is not one of my favorites places because I don’t have much in common with the people who live in this part…they're old. Now some of you out there may be thinking, well she’s "old" too. And I will say to you, “NO. I’m not. Age is just a number.” I hope if you ever meet me you think, “Hey, she has a young spirit.”

But that’s not what this is about. This is about why I’m vacationing in a place I wouldn't choose myself. And I'm not Veruca Salt either.

I’m here because three other women are and I was graciously invited. I’m here because I’ve known these women as acquaintances for the last 13 years. I’m here because 3 years, 2 months, 13 days ago, we became bonded unexpectedly and forever because of tragedy.

In the face of a devastating event such as the loss of a 19 year old child who was the same age as one of yours, who was away on his own as a freshman in college like yours, who’s bedroom window was 15 feet away from yours, who’s death was so incomprehensible that you will never, ever be able to explain or make sense of it, there has to be people to pick up the pieces of shattered hearts.

And there are certain times of the year that bring out the “bad”. This is one of those times.

And as two of us listened to a sermon today in which she wanted no part, we understood that at times she feels abandoned by her faith.

And it’s not that we don’t speak of him. That the subject is taboo. It is anything but that. This morning, we had a nice long talk. We learned things about him we didn’t know, she’s never shared. We thought we knew just about everything.

My heart broke again. For her.

I cried but I often do.

And she gave me one of her trademark hugs.

I’m lucky.

Trifecta: Black, White, Gray

Trifecta wants us to give them a 33-word example of personification.  Here it is defined in case we've forgotten our English 101, which is entirely possible.  It's the practice of attaching human traits and characteristics with inanimate objects, phenomena and animals (http://literary-devices.com).

Worn like a snug, little, black dress.

Dressed down in

Jeans, white tee, flip-flops.

Their colors...

Black

White

Gray

Stylishly told

Always.

Watching her true-mirrored reflection

Wearing them believably.

Applaud

Veil

Refrain

Choose.

Dear Man of My Dreams

So these are the prompts this week at Mama’s Losing It. The Prompts:

1.) What are you reading?
 The Sense of An Ending by Julian Barnes. It just came in the mail today and it’s like having something shiny and new to play with.

2.) Dear Men, (an open letter…offer a word of advice, an issue you’d like to address, or a solution to a problem for the opposite sex).


3.) Show us your kitchen!
 I love my kitchen but, right now, it is not picture worthy. Too much crap lying around and I don’t feel like cleaning up at the moment.

4.) Tell us about a time you were grounded…what did you do? I got grounded pretty often for a while. And when I got grounded, I used to do things like pierce another ear hole or something similar which became the cause for a subsequent grounding.

5.) What made you laugh this week? I didn’t have a funny week. At. All.

Now come on. With this opportunity, what would you choose? I mean really. It’s like an open invitation to get a little somethin’, somethin’ off our chests.

Well, I’m in. You don’t have to ask twice. It’s a general letter of course and not directly pertaining to anyone I know in my actual and very real life.

Dear Man of My Dreams (hereafter known as MMD),

I’ve been a life partner with a member of the opposite sex for almost half my total years on this planet. That’s a darn long time. And I truly believe we are both highly trained professionals when it comes to this marriage thingy. And we both make mistakes. And both aren’t perfect. And we both try hard to be kind. You’d agree, wouldn’t you? Okay, no need to answer.

 So I’ll say something to you, MMD, like this:

“I need to talk to you about something. It doesn’t have anything to do with you. I just need you to hear me. Understand or at least try to understand. I’m not asking you to agree with me but if you did, that would be awesome. You don’t need to fix this or provide excuses or reasons for the target of my venting.

Can I have a full on rant? I desperately need one to get this completely out of my system so I can move on. Would you be willing to do that?”

And then you, MMD, say something like this:

“Honey, of course. I'm all ears. Rant away.”

I promise it will be short-ish and not directed at you. I’m sure it will include maybe an explicative or five ;-).

And then it would be great if you, MMD, then said,

“Feel better, honey? Here, let me give you a hug.”

And that would be it! Easy schmeasy!!!

That wasn't so bad, was it?

Signed,

Your Ever Loving Wife

Trifecta: The Old Folks Home

Nothing ever changes at Miller’s Merry Manor. Certainly, nothing exciting ever happens.

The folks file in for supper at the same time every evening, 5:00, and sit at the very same table each and every time. Separate tables for guys and girls just like high school.

“He stares at me. At every meal. It’s not right.” Complains Yolanda.

“Maybe he wants your hot body.” Josephine rolls her eyes.

“What’d she say?” Yolanda leans over to Midge.

“She said, ‘He’s liked you ever since sophomore year when you did that musical together. Remember your hearing aids for dinner, dear.”

“Well, it’s rude. Doesn’t he realize I’m still grieving my Henry?”

“Henry died ten years ago. I think he’d approve of you being cordial to Robert. They were friends after all.”

“Robert was sweet on me, wasn’t he, all those years ago? But I had Henry. I don’t think I’ve lost my figure much either, do you?” Yola sighed.

“He’s not bad for 83. I’d entertain him,” Midge giggled.

“Then get busy. Maybe he’ll stop mooning over me. It’s becoming bothersome.”

After dinner, they progress to the television room for Wheel of Fortune, then reruns of The Golden Girls or whatever else plays on Channel Nine. The men follow staking out the card table for a few hands of gin rummy or a ballgame.

At precisely 8:00, they march down the drab gray halls of the town’s only state-run nursing home. Canes and walkers at the ready.

“Why does Robert always run out of here?” Josephine asks.

“He must have one of those enlarged prostates. Pees all the time.”

Yola opens her door.

“Damn woman! I know you can move a lot faster than that!” Robert shouts.

“I’m sorry darling. It’s important to me.”

Frisky, he pulls her onto the bed.

“It’s a bitch keeping up this sham. They gotta know a man wants what a man wants.  But you’re the best actress I know, sweetheart.”

Friday night. Not routine at all…for some seniors.

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33-333 words using the 3rd definition of:

BITCH (noun)

1: the female of the dog or some other carnivorous mammals

2 a : a lewd or immoral woman

   b : a malicious, spiteful, or overbearing woman —sometimes used as a generalized term of abuse

3: something that is extremely difficult, objectionable, or unpleasant