Loving One Another

Posts tagged ‘space’

Meaningful Memories


Welcome to Day #13
of my A-Z series,

How to
Add Greater Meaning
and Find More Purpose
in Life

Today’s letter is “M”
The topic: Meaningful Memories


My Memories Haiku

All have memories
Some more vivid than others
We’d like some to fade

person uses pen on book

Photo by rawpixel.com on Pexels.com

But, not really…
Even painful memories serve a purpose.
As we reflect on them years later, we uncover truths –
Truths about ourselves we may not have realized at the time.
That’s what makes them meaningful!

As a writer who loves to write poetry, and someone who is exploring the significance of memories for adding meaning to our lives, I was fascinated by this

Interview with Poet kjmunro

by Frank J. Tassone

Question #3 was, “Is there anything you dislike about being a poet?”

Poet Kjmunro responded, “Sometimes I wish that I could be more comfortable in a crowd – but that may have more to do with being an introvert than being a poet. Writing poetry helps me to make sense of my life & my experiences, & because of it I have pushed my boundaries, accepted challenges, & pursued opportunities that have enriched my life… I can’t imagine my life without it.”

(You can click on the interview title above and see more of this meaningful post.)

woman holding blue shakspere book over face

Photo by JJ Jordan on Pexels.com

 

Likewise, I cannot imagine my life without the gift of writing – both poetry and prose. I enjoy writing poetry. I love reading it. I treasure the opportunity to share it.  Writing is a way to keep memories alive. It is a way to make sense of my life and my experiences. It is a way to express gratitude, to plan ahead, and to reflect. It is a way to push boundaries and accept challenges.

Yesterday in our Writers’ Group, the writing prompt was, “Tell Us About Someone You Used to Love.” The prompt brought to mind some very vivid, meaningful memories. Let me share my story with you:

Someone I Used to Love

I need to get up and face the student body on this October Spring Rally Day. But, I don’t want to.

I have made it as far as the front steps of the historic, brick Turlock Union High School before sitting down and letting the tears fall.

The sun is bright. Because it’s school spirit day, I have on one blue and one gold sock. My black and white saddle shoes are tucked beneath my poodle skirt with layers of crinoline fluffing around me. The blue and gold pom-poms lie motionless beside me. I look for the usual friends. No one approaches. They must all be inside already. Loneliness rings as the bell sounds the warning: first period will begin in ten minutes

What is it that has created such reluctance and dread in my soul?

About a week ago, my tall, athletic ex-boyfriend approached me in the hallway. “You know you don’t have any friends. The only reason people say Hi to you is because you say Hi to them first. If you didn’t, no one would talk to you.”

Oh my! Could it be true? Why was Richard telling me this? I used to love him. We used to have great fun together. Mutt and Jeff, they called us. Just because I broke up with him and am now dating soeone my own size, does that mean this 6’4″ basketball star should suddenly start bullying me?

Back in the 50’s I don’t think I knew the term “bullying.” I didn’t realize that’s what Richard was doing. His words cut deeply.

I decided to test out his hypothesis. I stopped cheerfully greeting everyone I saw with a “Hi!” Instead, I looked at them, waiting to hear their greeting first.

Richard was right! Most kids just looked quizically in my direction and walked past – or worse yet – they didn’t look at me at all. I felt like I must have forgotten my deodorant that day!

Now I’m feeling alone and abandoned on the front steps. I have ten minutes to get to class. With a deep sigh, I get up, take a deep breath, pick up my pom-poms, and head inside. My buddy, Phil, voted “Best Dressed Guy” in the senior class, walked up to me when I entered the building. I glance in his direction.

“What’s wrong with you lately?” he asked. “You’re being so stuck up!”

I told him what Richard had said.

“Oh, for cryin’ out loud,” he reprimanded, taking me by the shoulders.

I looked up into his caring blue eyes with tears in mine. “But Richard…” I sobbed, “he said…” I couldn’t go on.

Phil wrapped me tightly in his arms right there in the middle of Turlock High’s crowded hallway. Backing up a bit, he put his hands on my shoulders again. He leaned down and whispered, “He’s just jealous – and hurt. A big basketball star can’t stand it that his girl left him for a 5’3″ Stumper. He’s just trying to hurt you back. You just be the girl you always were. Don’t let anyone take away your perkiness.”

I used to love Richard. Now I just feel sorry for him. I saw him coming toward me as I headed for class.

“Hi!” I perked in his direction and walked on – shoulders squared – head held high.

***

Reliving these vivid memories more than sixty years later, I realize how impactful Richard’s words and Phil’s encouragement were. It was an important growing up experience. I haven’t let anyone take away my perkiness since then.

Meaningful memories stay with us – and change us – forever.
Thank you, Phil, and Richard!

***

Do you have a meaningful memory?
One that helps you make sense of your life and experiences?

Do You Need Quiet Time?


Quiet Time

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We all need more peace
Quiet time is essential
Go and find your space

 

We all need our own daily Quiet Time!
When and where do you find yours?

The Pleasure of Not Writing


 

Yes, take time to think

Think many positive thoughts

Then make time to write

 

But, write everyday?

Is that really positive?

How about a break?

 

Every other week I meet with a Writers’ Group. Our attendance varies between two and eight. We never know who’ll show up, but even if I am there alone, I enjoy going to that writers’ spot and sharing ideas with fellow writers via my blog.

When others attend (usually two or more join me), we begin with a prompt that we pull out of a hat (actually a little bag), and then we free write for 15 minutes or so. Each of us shares orally with one another what we’ve written during free write – and then we share something we’ve been working on at home, making copies for each other to look on and offer positive criticism.

During the free write, I get a kick out of how many different approaches we take to the same prompt. A few weeks ago the prompt was, “The Pleasure of Not Writing.”

Here is what my fifteen minute rambling produced:

 

Writing is an itch

That needs to be scratched,

But I can turn around

And grieve the time that’s snatched!

 

I can get so wrapped up

In getting words out of my brain

That it can be exhausting

And on life – take quite a drain!

 

I need to take a break

And not write for a day or two;

Do something else creative –

What would that be for you?

 

Would you watch TV and vegetate?

Would you fish or visit friends?

Would you clean, or sort, or gravitate

To some project without ends?

 

I take pleasure in my writing.

I love hearing from bloggers out there,

But I think there’s pleasure in not writing –

I’m just not sure I know where!

 

Oh wait – I know a place I’ll go –

To the kitchen where I’ll cook –

To the Food Bank where I’ll serve –

To Plain Jane’s to have a look.

 

I’ll bide my time at the mall

Or take in a concert or two.

What pleasure will you find NOT writing?

What other activities are happy for you?

 

A pedicure? Ah, it feels so good!

Time at the beach? Ah, so refreshing!

Quiet time with Jesus?

Ah yes, I’m headed to my lovely sanctuary now.

Join me!

Stimulating Touch


I belong to the Madison Valley Writers’ Group. We meet every first and third Friday at our local bank’s “Fireside Room” and share our creative efforts with one another. The hour and a half together begins with a writing prompt. It’s a topic we draw from a hat. Any member can anonymously add topics to the hat anytime. The topics are varied – some serious, some silly. Most lend themselves to whatever genre the writer wishes to engage.

For the first fifteen minutes or so, as members gather, we write using a new prompt each meeting. Then we share with one another what we wrote (with the option to “pass” if we wish). My last post titled, “Touch,” was one of the creations from last week’s prompt, “Things That Stimulate Your Sense of Touch.” Another of our members wrote about the itchy feeling of a wool hat – and how much better it feels if it is fur-lined. One member took the topic a step farther and wrote about the effects of touch – i.e. what happens when you touch someone else’s wallet (a fat lip), or what happens if you touch a rattle snake’s tongue (venom). My first poem was short and quick and left me with time to contemplate another kind of touch – not someone touching my cheek or my lips, my heartstrings or my spirit – but the sensation of the soft skin of a baby touching me. Here’s what I wrote:

A Baby’s Touch

There’s nothing in the world
That compares with a baby’s touch –
The soft and cuddly snuggle
On your shoulder, chin and such –
The little hand in yours
As it plucks your heartstrings firmly –
There’s nothing in the world
Like it, stimulating maternal yearning.

The sense of touch is vital
For a baby to thrive and grow.
Babies soon would wither
If love’s touch they never know.
So, as much as I need them,
I know they need me just as much.
There’s nothing in the world
That compares with a baby’s touch.

Think about the prompt that stimulated that poem. Give thought to what kinds of touch are important or stimulating to you. When is the last time you touched another person tenderly? When is the last time someone tenderly touched you? What touches your heartstrings?

I have a friend who had a stroke a couple of years ago. One of the residual effects of her stroke is an “Invisible bubble” around her that defines her “space.” She doesn’t allow others to invade that territory. She doesn’t shake hands – let alone greet her friends with a warm hug the way she used to. She sends off very clear vibes that say, “Stand clear. Don’t come too near.” Do you have an invisible bubble around your personal space? Know anyone like that? How does it feel? Do you think a baby’s touch could permeate that bubble? There’s something so vulnerable, soft, defenseless, and harmless about an infant’s touch.

If only every human touch could be as soft and harmless! Let’s work on that together. There’s nothing in the world like the touch of someone who genuinely loves and trusts you. Let’s foster that kind of world. Touch my world – and I’ll touch yours…

Love one another!

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