Found on pinterest
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “The Transporter.”
Tell us about a sensation — a taste, a smell, a piece of music — that transports you back to childhood.
I was shopping the other day and I heard a familiar cadre of notes that sounded similar to something I could play on a toy xylophone. I paused and I remember craning my neck to search outside for the source of my déjà vu. There it was in all its candy colored glory, slowly travelling down the street, biding time until the haunting melodies drew the masses into the streets.
A part of me wanted to run outside and scream, “Ice cream!” but the grown up side stayed put.
In my adolescent years, I lived in a very small town. I am not sure how he broke even with the drive it took to get there, but we did get to experience the ice cream truck, albeit not as often as other larger towns. Maybe that is why it was such a treat; it didn’t become so familiar and expected.
When you are anywhere from about 3 to 13 (well 13 if your friends weren’t around), the minute you heard that tinkling refrain, you yelled, “Moooommmmm! It’s the ice cream man!!” and then it took all of the patience you could muster to wait for her to find her purse and dole out the coins. Yes, I said coins. I’m almost 50.
We always sidled up to the truck together with mom or granny or someone looking on. We come from a family that was VERY thorough regarding stranger danger. Sometimes my imagination took me for a wild ride of possibilities between that creepy music and the grinning cones, and what the ice creams man’s motives might be if he weren’t a nice guy. Yes, parents, this is what we do to our children in the name of safety.
The hardest thing of all was choosing what you wanted. There was strawberry shortcake and chocolate éclairs, bomb pops, drumsticks and fudgsicles and ice cream sandwiches. Inevitably, you were going to wish you had picked what your brother or sister picked but if everyone was getting along, you might just get a taste of theirs anyway.
The excitement was short lived. You finished your cone and it was back to reality; no more tinkling music and choosing of sweet dairy delights. You always knew it would be back another day though and that was enough. That is one of the things I miss about childhood; I was easily excited by the simplest things.
Grinning cones and tinkling music
Daily Prompt: Teacher’s Pet
Old picture of me going to school in my first car; I was not happy about my mom taking the picture.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Teacher’s Pet.”
Tell us about a teacher who had a real impact on your life, either for the better or the worse. How is your life different today because of him or her?’
I was blessed with several great teachers and I am afraid to start naming them because I would hate to leave someone out. What I have come to discover is that the good teachers shared many of the same qualities, as did the not so good.
The teachers who made the biggest impact in my life exhibited a calm strength. They were able to control their classes and discipline students, making for a pleasant atmosphere for a rule follower like myself. Most of the men and women who fall into the “good” category, made learning fun. There were some who lacked the skills or sense of humor for making it fun, but still taught well and exuded a contagious passion about their subject matter.
Most importantly, you knew these teachers cared about you. Yes, they were concerned about your grades, attendance and behavior, but they also cared about their students. I have seen teachers go to great lengths and expend personal dollars to help needy students.
These teachers always went the extra mile. One, who I won’t name, played games with his students during lunch. I wasn’t into that sort of thing, but thought it was over and above the call of duty. I’m sure he enjoyed it as much as they did, but many teachers would have (understandably) found something else to do with their time. These teachers formed life-long relationships with some of their students. They showed up at events and games and activities without being compensated. They cared what happened in the long-term and sincerely wanted to make a difference, so they did! I had a teacher, who my children also had, who prays over photos of his students and always inquires about my girls and their lives and mine as well.
Before I continue, may I say that I have great respect for anyone who teaches; it’s a tough job with less than adequate compensation. In the times we are living in, many children aren’t taught respect and many parents make their jobs more difficult by siding with their children, no matter the situation. I couldn’t do it.
I honestly don’t remember having a “bad” teacher, but I did have some I will call “mediocre”. These teachers made me feel like they hated to arrive, detested the time spent with us and couldn’t wait for the last bell to ring. They often seemed ill-prepared, dis-interested and seemingly oblivious to who we really were, other than a name on a list.
I remember deciding that some people just shouldn’t teach. I’m extremely grateful for the mostly positive experiences I had in school and will always remember many teachers with fondness.
Daily Prompt: Burning down the house
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Burning Down the House.”
The house is burning; all people and animals are safe and you can grab 5 things. What do you grab?
The first thing I would grab is my bible. It’s not that I couldn’t easily purchase another, but I am somewhat attached to the one I use on a daily basis. I am sure it would bring me great comfort.
Photos and my Shutterfly photo books would be important, especially the older ones that haven’t been scanned and stored electronically. When I have spoken with people who lost a home in a fire or natural disaster, one of the things they miss are the the photographs, the snapshots in time of a precious memory.
My journals are irreplaceable and something I have always wanted to leave behind for my girls when I’m gone so they could have an even better understanding of who I am and why I made the choices that I have. They are many and scattered. Hmm, maybe I need to rethink their storage.
My mother’s journal would also have to go with me because it is all I have left of her, as far as material things go, that resonates with her voice and her passion. I love to look at her cursive handwriting and read her deepest thoughts.
I guess lastly and in a more practical sense, my purse. It would contain my wallet and phone which would likely benefit me in the days ahead as I work to get my life back to normal.
I’m not someone who has a great attachment to material things. I throw away more than I keep. My kids will tell you that I kept “samples” of their artwork, but I’m not the mom who has every thing they ever did. I don’t have love notes from high school or pressed flowers or the first tooth I or my girls ever lost. I do have a collection of special items that allow me trips down memory lane, but I probably don’t experience the same cluttered journey of a pack rat. Sometimes I regret this, but not often enough to change my ways.
It’s hard to know what items you would really miss, because it’s all the little things that make the house a home. As long as I had my faith and my husband (and of course my kids although they are grown and gone), we could start over anywhere and with anything and be happy.
Daily Prompt: Pick a pen or a font
Photo from http://glugem.net/
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Pens and Pencils.”
When was the last time you wrote something substantive — a letter, a story, a journal entry, etc. — by hand? Could you ever imagine returning to a pre-keyboard era?
I still write by hand quite often. I honestly believe that the feelings and musings flow from me better when I am writing them as opposed to clicking on a keyboard. I journal in pen and write many of my “first draft” blogs in pen or pencil. I feel very fortunate to have a journal with some of my mother’s poetry and thoughts written in her beautiful hand. It’s like having a piece of who she was and I am certain that it would not have carried the sentiment and meaning if I had been handed to me on a flash drive.
There is also something very special about receiving a hand written letter. The penmanship seems to flow with the writer’s personality and even captures their mood. An email from a loved one is appreciated and can convey love and emotion, but receiving a fat envelope with that familiar scrawl on the outside trumps it every time in my opinion.
During school days, it was nice to see a note written by your teacher telling you what a great job you had done. It showed that they had taken the time to seriously consider your hard work and meant much more than just a mere sticker or gold star. Speaking of school; who still has their high school yearbook and doesn’t enjoy looking back at the silly “signatures” our young and immature, yet loyal friends left us to remember them over the years.
We live in such a hurry up and rush world that things like letters or even handwritten notes are more meaningful than ever. They have the power to cause up to pause for a moment and consider some of our quickly dying past times that perhaps we should rescue before they are forever a memory.
And with that, I think I will go write a card or letter, with a pen!
What a wonderful thing is the mail, capable of conveying across continents a warm human hand-clasp. ~Author Unknown
Not mine to control
Saturday sunset
Admittedly, I like to be in control of things. I am a planner and it’s unnerving to me when I don’t know things. When I ask my husband what he wants for dinner, my motives are bigger than my desires to know his particular cravings on that day. I need to know what time and if there is a possibility that others may be invited. After all, I must plan. To him, the spur of the moment individual that he is, it is annoying that I need to know all of these things before lunch. Learning to “roll with the flow” is a lesson I have not even begun to master yet.
One of the hardest lessons I have had to learn in my Christian walk is that I have to relinquish control; especially when it comes to people and this is often adult kids who won’t just do what mom says is best. I must trust God with them and most of the time, thankfully, I do.
The one that brought the most grief this week though was having someone completely misunderstand my intentions and refuse to give me the opportunity to explain. My motives were harshly and unfairly judged and although I know in my heart of hearts that I didn’t intend any harm, that I harbor no ill feelings and that the person is truly mistaken, I wasn’t given the opportunity to right the perceived wrong.
As I have mentioned before, I loathe dissension. However, in this situation, again, I must trust God to shine the light of truth on the problem, while I patiently wait. It’s easy for people to say, “Don’t worry about it”, or “It’s not your problem”, but since I feel like the right words would be like a healing balm to a troubled soul, the waiting is difficult. But, wait I will, with the calm assurance that God has a plan that is better than mine.
Have a blessed night!
To post today or not to post
Near the first of November, I committed to a post a day challenge for the entire month. At first, it seemed fairly easy to keep up and prompts provided fodder for my imagination and helped keep me motivated.
However, I have learned something about myself and I am sincerely interested in how other bloggers may feel about my thoughts.
When I am in the mood to write, or when a topic is heavy on my heart or a memory so close I can touch it, the words simply flow from my pen. It’s easy, and those are what I consider to be my best posts.
In the times that I am trying to force myself to meet a quota (like every day), I feel like my posts are lacking. Some days, there may be a great prompt that brings back a beautiful memory and I can roll with it. Other days, it seems as if I can’t focus at all and if I force myself to dig in and write anyway, it doesn’t feel right and I am not pleased with the finished product. I call these my “inferior” posts.
I understand that we should all write regularly and be motivated to start something and finish it, but I guess I am just not sure that posts with a “deadline” are my thing. I certainly couldn’t see myself writing for a daily newspaper.
I started to ask, “Is this okay?” but I know it is for me. I don’t plan to give up and will continue to make the time to write more frequently, but if I miss a day or two, I give myself permission not to stress.
I welcome your insight and comments.
Have a great week!
Guilty, But Grateful
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Grateful and Guilty.”
The Prompt: Whether it’s a trashy TV show, extra-pulpy fiction, or nutrient-free candy, write a thank-you note to your guiltiest guilty pleasure
I am writing to thank you for your black and white yumminess, and the way a mere twist of the wrist renders two pieces. I appreciate the fact that the way you are made offers me a variety of options to enjoy you; all at once, one dark side alone, one dark side with a smattering of creamy goodness, or your creamy inside scraped away to enjoy detached from it’s middle position. You know I don’t allow myself this luxury often, but when I do, I savor every delectable bite. The only thing that improves this experience is a lovely glass of milk to dip you in.
Sincerely,
One of your biggest (and I would mean literally if I didn’t exercise self-control) fans
Can you guess my guilty pleasure?
Weekly Writing Challenge: Just call me ears
Weekly Writing Challenge: Eavesdropping
This prompt immediately brought me back to a story from my childhood.
It was the summer before 3rd grade and definitely some of the leaner years for my family, fiscally speaking. My dad had been a fishing guide, a commercial fisherman and a stone crabber and was still doing the latter two. Some of the locals from our Southwest FL community would often go to Louisiana and fish whenever things weren’t going as well here. I’m not sure if it was the lack of product, the prices or just the need for a change that compelled my dad to try his luck in Louisiana, but I wasn’t very happy about it.
News travels fast in a small town and it wasn’t long until people were talking about our impending move and lamenting on what in the world my grandparents would do without those grand babies. I overheard people wondering if my dad was doing the right thing and guessing as to why he might be going. I didn’t repeat any of that, at least that I recall. It is possible that I did though, because if I got in trouble it was usually because I said something I shouldn’t have said or repeated something that was not meant to leave the family dinner table.
My relatives would tell you I was infamous for pretending to read a book and listening to all sorts of juicy tidbits. I remember sometimes one of them would clear their throat and motion my direction and mouth the word “ears”. It really isn’t my fault that they chose to speak in front of me anyway. If the information was classified, they should have known not to say it within earshot of me. I feel like I need to clarify that my family was not the type that sat around gossiping about people, because they were far from it. My dad was very strict about how we treated others and taught us to treat everyone with respect. The things discussed were normally family business that just didn’t need to be shared.
We were sitting in our car, my mom and I and possibly my brother and sister, although it was much more likely that they had jumped out with my dad to check on his boat. One of my great-aunts was walking up to my mom’s window to chat. She had on her polyester pants and sunglasses; she always seemed to sport both. She was smiling and talking to my mother and I and she looked at me and said, “Honey, now why is your daddy going to carry you off to Louisiana?” I replied, “Because he said he is tired of nosy, busy body relatives knowing all of his business”.
The conversation ended shortly thereafter, for reasons I only understood in retrospect. It took the talk and the spanking to drive it home. The talk hurt worse than the spanking because I came to realize that I had hurt someone’s feelings and possibly marred my dad’s reputation as the nice young man that he was, who had great respect for his elders.
I am sure my eavesdropping got me into trouble other times as well, but eventually I learned. I was taught that it was rude and nosy and shouldn’t be done. However, I believe there are times when it is appropriate. For example, as a parent, I did profit a few times by eavesdropping whereby gaining information I would never have been privy to otherwise; information that aided in better parenting. I don’t know any parents who haven’t employed it with teenagers.
In our times of crowded subways, office cubicles and people who seem to want the world to hear their cell phone conversations, it is very difficult not to “listen in ” at times. I think the rules of etiquette have changed on this one , but I still try to show good manners by moving away from something that I overhear, when it’s clear the conversation is private.
Agree to disagree
The Prompt: What is the most controversial thing you’ve ever written on your blog? What compelled you to write it?
One of my posts called Thursday Thoughts was written because I get tired of the double-standard in place in society about offenses, especially due to beliefs. I am not controversial and don’t really even consider this particular post to be, but it’s the closet thing I have.
It only gets better
The Prompt: Present-day you meets 10-years-ago you for coffee. Share with your younger self the most challenging thing, the most rewarding thing, and the most fun thing they have to look forward to.
The din of the coffee shop conveyed the morning rush but the sound of the tables being cleared and the bell on the front door were characteristic of the morning hustle and bustle and more comforting than annoying to a soul who thrived on early mornings, coffee and conversation.
She walked in as I was beginning my second cup, and although our manner of dress was similar, she was a good 10 lbs. lighter than me and her hair seemed fuller and shinier. There weren’t any signs of sun damage or wrinkles and when we shook hands, hers were smoother. She at first appeared a little shy and intimidated, so I set out to make her feel as comfortable as possible, knowing exactly how that feels.
Maybe she was a little shocked at what 10 years can do to a person in the aging department, but she would have never mentioned that. I was a little shocked that she showed up at all, knowing that she hates science fiction and would have had a hard time believing she was going to be meeting her future self. She isn’t very adventurous, so you see this was a huge leap from the norm.
She was anxious to get on with our meeting and probably to get back home and ponder on all this, so she pressed me to get on with what I came to share.
I said, “I don’t understand this any more than you do, but I am here to share with you a few things that will help you”
“In the next 10 years, you will grow spiritually, which will help you in every area of your life. You will learn to let some things go and fully grasp others. You will face the challenge of loss; the loss of people dear to you and the loss of your children leaving the nest. Both of these things will be tough and the pain will linger, but you will get through it.
The most rewarding occurrence will be the birth of your first grandchild. I can’t even begin to prepare you for this. You will be there when she is born and she will immediately steal a huge chunk of your heart. Her smiles and laughter and hugs will have a value that is unexplainable. Some of the most fun things you do will involve her and you will find yourself more adventurous because of her. She will motivate you to stay young at heart.
You will travel a lot and complete your list of visiting all of the U.S. and then some and finally go to Europe. You will have fun with your husband, even more so when the children are gone as you learn to depend upon each other more and realize what you have.
All in all, the next 10 years will test you but you will learn and grow from the experiences. You will learn to be comfortable with who you are and to just let go and live more often. You will lose the concern over what others think and delight instead, in what your Creator thinks. You will become stronger and more courageous. I can honestly tell you that most things only get better from here.”
My message was short and sweet and I told her that this was all I really came to say. She thanked me and we both got up to go. I knew she wouldn’t ask too many questions; it’s not her way.
And after all, the smile on my face, the confidence in my speech and the joy in my heart was telling. She was looking at who she would become and I don’t think it frightened her at all. This warmed my soul.
Long walks and dark chocolate 