Random Musings on Household Items

Pinking shears: Very strong memories of my mother's round, baby blue wicker sewing basket. It had a flower painted on the thin, wooden lid. I believe this sewing basket harkens back to my great-grandmother when she got married. I am thrilled that it now sits in the cabinet of my nightstand, patiently awaiting a torn hem or a craft idea. Sometimes, I open it up and sort the thread spools by color or size, or I find again some faded, lacy seam binding that has been in there for 50 years, awaiting use. By the way, why are pinking shears so difficult to cut with? The two blades fight against my pressure, as if I were freeing them from a gluey goo. Every pair I've ever had were like this. My hands would ache within 2 minutes of effort. What do pinking shears really do? Prevent thread unravel? I must google.

Sour Cream "juice": From the container lid - "to reduce 'separation', smooth sour cream flat before closing." Who does this?

Mixers - Do kids still hover around the mixer, waiting for blades to lick? Or have raw egg concerns made that joy extinct? I don't recall having one sick day due to blade licking. Are eggs different now? Were we healthier back then, or was I just lucky? I don't remember anyone ever getting sick from eating raw dough.

Quote of the day: The priest was a difficult man to warm up to, ice cold in the center and blizzardly at the edges. Pat Conroy "Beach Music"
Chosen because I love using temperature to evoke a difficult personality

Writing exercise 2-28 - I Remember...

I remember: my father carrying me to the car after I had my tonsils removed and the crunch crunch of his feet on the pea gravel as my head rested on his shoulder.
I don't remember: when I lost my fearlessness
I have always: wanted to be thinner than I am
I see: the goodness in most people and both sides to most issues, which is incredibly annoying sometimes.
I don't see: how criminals sleep at night
I have never: wanted to be a leader, to be a big decision maker
I know I don't know: what lies beyond death, and neither does anyone else, so how can people kill each other over a "what if?"
I want to: complete all the things on my adventure list
I wonder: if I'll ever be loved again
I don't wonder: if I'll ever be happy. I am.
I don't want to: ever let my children down.
I hate: selfish disregard for others
I love: my family and friends
I try to: live the motto "do no harm"
I try not to: waste opportunities, but I know I do continually.

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Quote of the day: A poem isn't about...it somehow...it's an itch first. Really, it's something, an impulse. It doesn't quite have a focus. Something is nagging you and you don't know what it is. Robert Penn Warren (no reference)
Chosen because I know EXACTLY what this feels like and I loved reading it from someone else.

Writing Exercise 2-27 - What is the smell of...

What is the smell of:

~ the moon - cold, damp ashes
~ sadness - shitake mushrooms
~a child's joy in watching a soap bubble - peppermint
~ grief - vomit
~ cowardice - sulfur
~ snow - baby neck
~ velcro - lemon
~ a nasty letter - licorice
~ silver - copper
~ mystery - coffee
~ sand - cinnamon
~ a sidewalk in summer - grilling meat
~ the middle of the earth - wood burning
~ purple - lavender
~ a contented dog napping - chocolate
~ a cloudless spring sky - roses
~ gold - oranges
~ a dollar bill - freshly cut grass

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Quote of the day: Shopping with children is exactly as awful as shopping with parents. Phyllis Theroux (no reference)
Chosen because anyone who's had kids knows precisely how true this is.

Writing Exercise - 2-26 - Poem on current life

Journey

The snap of skin, once taut and quick
Has turned to sludge, all slow and thick.
The mirrored face a stranger now,
With wrinkly eyes and furrowed brow.
A silent map of histories past,
Of lovers gone, of goals surpassed.

How ever did I end up here,
I never thought I’d disappear.
Behind this middle aged facade
The ticking clock, a firing squad,
Shooting minutes, killing time.
Mocking what’s left of my prime.

Suppose, that when you look at me
you see the girl I used to be.
Who still looks out from eager eyes,
In hopes to lure and hypnotize.
Suppose, suppose her blushing cheek
Reveals the words she dare not speak.

But passing years can have their grace
With proof that life's not in the race.
Grandchildren each their own romance
Redemption in a second chance.
Self knowledge, letting go of fear,
Both worth the strain to persevere.

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Quote of the day: The rain fell straight down, pulled to the earth by its own weight. L.R. Wright "Love in the Temperate Zone"
Chosen because it was a unique way to describe rain. I've seen rain like this.

Writing exercise 2-25 Poem on paths to take

The Calling (written 2004)

When an actor plays a factor
In the choices that you make
Best beware, you’ll find him there
In all the chances that you take.

Stuff once hidden flows unbidden.
Come thou passion, sing thou soul.
Unreserved, you’ll find the nerve
To chase the rabbit down the hole.

Push from shore, go through a door,
Be it truth or Siren’s call.
Take the chance, embrace the Dance
‘cause sometimes soaring’s worth the fall.

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Quote of the day: She fitted into my biggest armchair as if it had been built around her by someone who knew they were wearing arm-chairs tight about the hips that season. P.G Wodehouse (lost reference)
Chosen because I adore, adore, adore Wodehouse and he always makes me laugh out loud. No one says things like Wodehouse.

Writing exercise 2-25 - Opening Lines

Hubert shielded his watery eyes from background glare as he peered through the nursery window at the swaddled bundle they said was his son. It didn’t look like him, but then they never did.

Looking up from her crossword, she noticed him enter the first class cabin as if he’d just bought the plane and was intending on flying it himself.

The intensity of his sexual arousal surprised him as he lit the match to the gasoline soaked rag.

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Quote of the day: When Loretta opened the door, a gust of trapped interior air, smelling of onions and spray starch, fastened itself to Beth's face like a wet washcloth. J. Mitchard "Deep End of the Ocean"
Chosen because, can't you just smell and feel that slap of air?

Writing Exercise 2-25 Poem on Favorite Food

Write a poem about eating your favorite food.

What I want to fill my dish
Is piles and piles of fried catfish.
To further do just what I please,
I think I’ll add some mac and cheese.
Hot, gooey fat and crispy crusts,
Are what I think in life are musts.

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Quote of the day: The past, after all, exists only as it is remembered or recorded. George Orwell "Animal Farm"
Chosen because it's such a simple idea that I'd never really stopped and really thought about before. I love it when that happens and it happens a lot when I read, these little mini epiphanies of "oh... yeah...."

Writing Exercise 2-24 - Describe favorite color

Write a paragraph describing your favorite color as if you're seeing it for the first time.

The color shimmers with the promise of new beginnings, of hope, of rebirth. If such a thing were possible, it would smell of a freshly cut lawn, or the sweetly scented air after a hard rain. It makes me want to caress it as I would velvet, rubbing it slowly under my fingers, this way and that way, savoring the sensation of being caressed in return by the soft weave of it.

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Quote of the day: The impression he gave was of a man who had drawn a circle around himself many hundreds of miles from the rest of his life. John McPhee "The Loch Ness Monster"
Chosen because I wonder if I'm not doing this myself.

Miscellaneous Musing

Using the word "pad" as a verb is the literary equivalent of garlic mashed potatoes. One person discovered it and and suddenly, characters are padding everywhere. "He padded into the kitchen..." "She padded softly into the moonlit bedroom..." I'm seriously thinking of keeping a running tally...

I'm sick of padding. Please. Come up with something original.

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Quote of the day: She didn't mind being noticed but resented being studied. Pat Conroy "Beach Music"
Chosen because it's such a global human feeling but said so succinctly. I love such big ideas said with so little fat.

Writing Exercise 2-21 - December Day and World Ending

Describe a December day without using the words "December", "snow", or "holiday

The dark, thin air crackles with the threat of a coming ice storm. Treebranch fingers twist their sharp patterns against the low set of the winter sun, the cold air sharpening the edges of each branch and twig into knifepoints.It is a lonely, gray Christmas morning filled with little promise.

The world is ending in three days. List three things that you would do before you die.

I would make love with a good looking stranger who would be a perfect lover, I'm sure. LOL
I would tell everyone I know I loved them and why.
I would try something I was too afraid to risk; perhaps jump out of an airplane.

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Quote of the day: During my whole life, I had been too quick with my answers. Glibness was simply a method to fend off people when they came too close. Pat Conroy "Beach Music"
Chosen because this could possibly be hitting too close to home for me, and spoke of something I may need to examine about myself.

Writing Exercise 2-20 Emotion descriptions

Write a paragraph describing the following emotions:

Fear

Whump. Kate stirred in the dark, just on the edge of twilight sleep, registering the sound with no real awareness as she pulled the cover closer to her chin. Stillness returned briefly to the darkened bedroom and Kate’s subconscious loosened her into welcome oblivion. Then, louder and closer, whump. The sound of something, soft, like a bag of potting soil was being dropped in the carpeted hallway outside Kate’s bedroom door. Suddenly awake and aware, she sat straight up in bed, unsure of what she heard, unseeing in the midnight black. Why wasn’t Malone barking? Kate’s pulse hammered out a staccato warning as she slipped slowly out of the bed towards the door she always left cracked for the terrier who usually spent part of the night at the foot of her bed. She crept slowly towards the door, her eyes adjusting to the dim moonlit room as she attempted to peer out - her feet seemed poised for flight, her mouth cottony and thick. “Who’s there?” she managed to stammer, surprised at the tremble in her voice as it pierced the curtain of black hallway. There, just for a moment, she thought she heard a slight whimpering, a strangled whine coming from nearby. “Malone?” she whispered to no one, waiting for an answer she now knew would never come.

Anger

It didn’t take but a second for Ned to put his fist through the living room wall. Either that, or it would be her face. He could feel the rage bubbling up from some deep, black place - didn’t she realize by now that he couldn’t control the swirling dark mass, couldn’t withstand the overwhelming hunger it felt to be set free? He grinned as she cowered away from him, her eyes darting with the false hope of escape. He was outside of himself now, voyeur to the almost demonic possession contorting his face into an unrecognizable mask of fury, his body into an oncoming train. She was going to pay and it was going to feel good.

Pleasure

"Chocolate,”, the missionary urged in slow syllables. “Choc - o - late.” “Choklot,” repeated the dark skinned boy, sitting on bare haunches near his family’s hut. The missionary had only been with this particular tribe a few scant weeks, and success at communication and trust were slow in building. Frustrated, he did what he always did when needing a little comfort - he went to his camp for the Godiva stash his congregation had sent along to ease his chocolate addiction. The curious youngster hovered near his own hut, afraid to approach, but dripping with curiosity about this white man and the odd food he held in his hand. Following a grueling thirty minute coax and plead routine, the missionary was able to sit next to the boy and offer him the treat, knowing that this boy had never tasted chocolate, or sugar for that matter, in his young life. The child stared at the strange, brown shape, rolling it over in his hand before bringing it up for a cursory sniff, followed by a quick, tentative lick and then a small bite. The missionary watched as the boy’s eyes closed in happy rapture as the sweetness burst into his mouth delivering exquisite, almost unbearable new sensations to the boy’s young brain. Dreamily, he opened his eyes when the last of the candy was reverently placed on his tongue, and with a brownish, gooey smile, he held out his hand and said one word in his native language, a word that pleading eyes hoped would be understood by the deliverer of such delights. Grinning, the missionary knew he didn’t need a translator for this word. Using the universal translator of body language and facial expression, he knew what the boy had said without question. “More. Oh please, more.”

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Quote of the day: Her mouth is small, precise, virginal, her lips closed against appetite. K. Harrison "The Kiss"
Chosen because it's an exquisite image, rendering perfectly in my mind a mouth dead set against assault.

Writing Exercise 2-19 Smell of Leaves

Write six ways to describe the smell of leaves

1. they smell clean, like sun-dried, wind-blown laundry
2. they smell like the earth, pungent
3. they smell spicy like they’ve been roasted on their spikey stems
4. they smell like my childhood
5. they smell like sweet wood
6. Their smell is male
   

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Quote of the Day: They were Southern boys and they knew how to make a story sizzle when it hit the fat. Pat Conroy "Beach Music"
Chosen for it's descriptive and oh so southern bent. You can feel the twang.

Child Star

Shirley Temple was part of my childhood - her album was played, at least in my memory, constantly. She danced, she sang, she had the attention of handsome men who adored her endlessly, even when she was bad. I thought she was the cats pajamas. Years passed and she fell off my radar, replaced by the 60's, teenhood interests, and then a family of my own. Learning of her autobiography years ago, I decided my 50's was a good time to finally read it. I'm halfway through it and while it's not riveting stuff, she manages a good turn of phrase and it's always fun to read behind the scenes stories of movies I know so well. Who knew she wet her pants while rehearsing a scene with Joel McCrea, that Gary Cooper called her "wiggle-britches", or that she single handedly rescued the movie studio from bankruptcy in the early 1930's?

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Quote of the Day:
For eleven years, I have kept a notebook of passages that have jumped out at me from any book I happen to be reading at the time. It may be something that evoked a strong emotion, or just some normal concept described in a really unique way. If it makes me think, or feel, or go wow in even the slightest way, it goes in the notebook. It's like uncovering little hidden gems when I stumble across one. I always start a book thinking, I wonder if I'll find a "keeper" in this one. I've decided to choose one of these quotes daily for the blog because a) I enjoy revisiting them, and b) for safekeeping. I'll add a comment after each one to describe why I chose it.

Today's quote: Sometimes I can feel my bones straining under all the lives I'm not living. (reference lost) Chosen because I feel like this so, SO often. It really leapt out at me and I couldn't stop reading it over and over.