Daily Prompt: Lofty
Know me like a book
Open the paper treasure
Daily Prompt: Lofty
Know me like a book
Open the paper treasure
Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.
“I never write my own papers, I pay someone else to write them,” she said. I heard this as I was scratching out the rough draft of a 15-page essay for a college class. The era was late B.C., just before computers.
In those days I spent many Sundays in a library writing on a yellow legal pad. Only one library near me opened its doors on Sundays. Shortly before those doors opened at 1 p.m., a crowd gathered by the entrance. The place was packed and all tables were shared.
Once such Sunday, I happened to share a table with five high school students. One of the girls in the group began to stare at me. I sensed it before I looked up and caught her in the act.
She was unfazed. That’s when she made her comment about hiring out her writing assignments.
I guess I got slammed. I was expending senseless effort for no good reason. Perhaps she assumed I lacked the funds to hire out a writer. She could not imagine a reason to go through the agony of researching and writing on her own.
But I kept on moving the pen across the yellow sheets. Researching ideas, finding connections between ideas, and interjecting my own ideas into the mix was pleasurable. I love some of the sentences I have written even though no one else cares.
I wonder what happened to the young woman at the library. Did she discover that she couldn’t survive by her mouth alone? Did her job force her to begin communicating with the written word too? Maybe she married and/or divorced well and never needed job-seeking or job-keeping skills.
Or maybe she went on to become a best-selling author and I’m living in the blog dust. That would be something to write about.
Life After Blogs
Your life without a computer: what does it look like?
Forgive me Father for I have sinned, it has been 10 weeks since my last blog post.
I really don’t feel too guilty. My blog is my greatest social media foray; limited and only somewhat consistent, but still a baptism into the computer culture. For awhile I’ve been thinking about keeping my words to myself. If not completely, (hence this post!) at least curtail my public spewing. So life without or a reduced computer usage is already my goal.
If I give in to abstinence, I would miss the machine. I can’t just run to it and ask who is dead or alive. Tell me more about a city or country I’m reading or thinking about. Tell me more about an author. Tell me if the library has a certain book. Just like entering a room to turn on a light switch when the power is out, and encountering darkness, I would feel startled at the deprivation.
My friend, my adversary. I would feel abandoned without his useful and senseless information. Even without an electrical outlet in the house, I guess I can’t keep my secretive and introverted self contained within my small room. There are no secrets and too many bread crumbs. There, you have more of me.
What are the earliest memories of the place you lived in as a child? Describe your house. What did it look like? How did it smell? What did it sound like? Was it quiet like a library, or full of the noise of life? Tell us all about it, in as much detail as you can recall.
An old, two-story, two-family home in the city. The upstairs was an exact footprint of the downstairs: three bedrooms, one bathroom, living room, dining room, and kitchen.
A very small patch of a yard both front and back. No driveway, only an alley to the garage. The pathway between the house and the neighbor’s was so narrow that you could stretch your arms out and touch the sides of each house.
A girl my age lived in that house so close to us. I played with her through the fence. I don’t remember ever playing with her in the yard. I don’t know why.
The neighbor lady on the other side of us kept boarders. I remember watching her iron clothes one night through a bedroom window that looked into her dining room. About six or seven of her boarders sat around and watched her iron clothes that probably belonged to them. Sometime during my peeping experience, one of the boarders spied me spying on them through the window. They laughed and I ran off.
The key to the house was the hollow, barrel type that may have last been popular a hundred years ago. I still have it since it is an interesting looking thing. If I were crafty I would display it in a nice memory box. No such luck, I have no artsy motivation.
Before I was born, coal used to get dumped through a basement window to power the furnace. The company that probably delivered the coal was People’s Ice & Coal Company. I know that because I still have an awl with their company name imprinted on it, possibly a marketing tool (literally) for their customers. The ice they sold for those ice boxes used to keep food fresh before the electric cord took over. Their motto: Save Food, Flavor, Money With Ice.
The kitchen had neither counters nor cabinets. A pantry right off the kitchen made up for the lack of storage space. An old gas stove sat about a foot away from the wall because it was connected to a large pipe that sat between it and the wall. I remember because I used to hide back there sometimes.
The china cabinet in the seldom used dining room had a ring-style door pull that I repeatedly tried to unscrew from the inside of the door. They said I would become an engineer because of this curiosity in how stuff works. They were so wrong.
When we were moving, the attic was empty except for a wind-up Victrola. They let me ride my tricycle in the attic that day they packed up. From the attic level, the stairway had no railings, it was only a rectangle hole in the floor. I rode toward the hole and down the stairs. I survived as you can see. The Victrola did not, it never made it to the new house.
The day we moved, I stayed in the empty house with my grandmother. I had the house key which was attached to a ribbon. I was terrified of the unoccupied upstairs flat and yet I kept running up and down to the second level, throwing the key out the open window. I must have done this dozens of times before my mother came back to bring me to the new house.
Now the bottom floor was deserted too. I don’t think we locked the door. Soon the wreaking ball came and leveled the house.
What commonly accepted truth (or “truth”) do you think is wrong, or at least seriously doubt? Why?
A walk among nature proves the existence of God. How can you look at the beauty of a tree and doubt the existence of God? Believers espouse that the natural world screams out the fact that only a Creator could lay out a plan so perfect and beautiful. Peek out a window to witness the truth.
I’m a city girl that has no great love of untamed nature. But I do love the little bit of nature in my backyard. If anyone reads my blog, they know that I love the birds and cultivate them with birdseed, nectar, and a clean birdbath. I would rather gaze at the few annuals I plant in my yard than get daily deliveries of fresh flowers from a florist. I don’t care for insects in my house, but I do enjoy viewing their buzzy, crawly activities outside.
Nature has beauty. It does not prove the existence of God.
For this lack of belief, I blame modern times. As a medieval human, I’m sure no doubts would exist in my brain. In particular, I blame two modern strains of thought: existentialism and science fiction.
The play by Sartre, No Exit, squelches any ideas of a cut-and-dried heaven and hell. Perception is changeable, not subject to finite rules.
Earth is our sanctuary. In science fiction, one can find vastly different worlds that suit other life forms or machine forms perfectly well, but are a torment to our eyes. Likewise, our earth can be one huge horror movie to some Others in this universe.
Biting into the apple of modern times puts an end to certainty. I can’t un-see or un-think this point of view. What I love, proves nothing. In turn this tinges everything with sadness. I would prefer a kinder point of view.
Nothin’ But A Good Time
Imagine that tomorrow, all of your duties and obligations evaporate for the day. You get the day all to yourself, to do anything you please. What types of fun activities would make your day?
Sweating, exercising, showering.
Book reading, reading, and reading.
Salad, crackers, maybe sandwich, maybe soup.
Bird watching, bird feeding, bird watering.
Bird seed, hummingbird nectar.
By bird bath spying.
Flower and plant eyeballing.
Insects, squirrels acting squirrelly.
Reading, fiction or non.
Writing and inadequacies explore.
Salmon and broccoli.
Clean, wash, some home upkeep.
Resist overdose on Internet.
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