Today, I embark on a 30-day journey to become a better blogger. Today’s assignment: write and publish a “who I am and why I’m here” post.
I began blogging in June 2012, a few months after having retired from the corporate world. Because of my unfamiliarity with (or perhaps fear of) the blogosphere, I submitted posts via email and attempted to build a blog with: Hello, World! I soon realized that I was about to unleash something that would need a rigorous and flexible delivery system. BCIJo was created and launched the blog in earnest with: Let’s Get this Blog Going. Last Fall, I renamed my blog Opal Reflections and designed a logo representative of my vision. This would be the repository of my observations and perspectives on life, expressed through poetry, prose and photography.
I have always enjoyed keeping a journal, particularly during times of stress, but more often than not, would pick up my handwritten journal and note that my earlier entry had been months earlier! Repeatedly, I would seek out a ‘new’ journal, one that I vowed would enable me to offer regular entries and updates; one with quality paper, perfect lines, an exquisite fountain pen, etc. I stare at my bookcase now and see years of those half-filled journals (all of them too beautiful and meaningful to discard). Responsibilities would usually take precedence over what I viewed as ‘spare time’ activity.
Aha – I think I may have hit on something here. Writing was and is as necessary as singing and photography. It is a portal through which I can express who I am, in so doing; provide context and clarity to my experiences and views. And yet, I always viewed it as ‘wasting time’ and needing to steal alone time, to write.
Now that I am retired from the working world and my days are filled with discretionary activities, I see the fallacy of that earlier thinking. The blogosphere provides an available medium for my meanderings, and whether I am entering a writing challenge, responding to photo prompts, or gathering recollections of my experiences, I write nearly every day; taking advantage of easy access to templates that enable even the most inexperience blogger to create a unique space.
I view this 30-day adventure as a way to reexamine and perhaps restructure the world I reluctantly embraced 20 months ago; to take a step back to objectively evaluate Opal Reflections. As I read those early blogs I recall my hesitance and excitement. In the days ahead I would like to reexamine those early goals with an eye towards refining my creative objectives for 2014.
Written in response to Trifecta Challenge: “This week we’re asking for exactly 33 of your own words about love gone wrong. But we’re asking that you not use any of the following words:
She missed the bus. Building up a ‘psychological head-of-steam’, she envisioned her ‘grand entrance’ into Professor C’s Chemistry class. His rants were the stuff of urban legend. To make matters worse, the lecture hall was an intimidating venue, with tiered seating that funneled student attention toward the prof’s desk and blackboard down in the ‘bowl’.
Racing from the bus stop, past blocks of abandoned storefronts, she imagined whispers descending, from the unending row of faded, shredded awnings that hung in tatters above her:
“Troubled waters ahead!”
Her male classmates would enjoy the distraction, but she didn’t relish being their comic relief. Huffing and puffing, she reached the massive, counterweight sliding door of the lecture hall. After pausing to breathe, she pushed the door open. Silence engulfed the lecture hall. All eyes were upon her, as she clattered up the stairs and across the back of the lecture hall, to her centrally located, assigned desk.With the vigor of a ravenous beast, pouncing on pathetic prey, his voice roared across the expanse of classroom that separated them:
“Nice of you to join us!” He pretended to scan the seating chart to find her name and make a notation.
For a moment she thought: “Will this go on my permanent record?” (Twelve years of parochial school education had conditioned her well). She mumbled something about a bus, and opened her notebook, hoping that in so doing, she might disappear.
Of course she didn’t (disappear); but, instead, had a revelation: It wasn’t about her! He could (and did) artfully manipulate her to perpetuate his persona as a ‘hard-ass’. Today, she was merely his weapon of choice. Nothing more; nothing less.
She survived that seemingly endless semester with a firmly established (if insignificant) 2.00. This journey would be life-changing; but if she could tackle each hurdle, one at a time, and seize precious pearls of wisdom along the way, there was hope for this aspiring Chemical Engineer.
Studio 30+ :This week’s prompt: Use the following phrase in your post:
“HUNG IN TATTERS ABOVE HER”
Trifecta Challenge: Write between 33 and 333 words including the third definition:
“There was a time when things were different.” Many things were different, Everything was different. Was it a dream or was it Just yesterday?
Just yesterday,
The weathered, well-pruned arborvitae lay prone
‘neath the blizzardly burden of winter’s shawl,
Only (soon) to spring forth yellow shoots. Today, the shrubs grow wild.
Just yesterday,
Robby climbed high into the flowering plum’s
accessible limbs; tenderfoot-holds
for young-uns’ adventures.
Today, the tree is gone.
Just yesterday,
Aunt Jane returned from tropic isles,
Carry-ons stuffed with trinkets,
Carvings, purple-red parrot-pair.
Today, they perch ‘mid attic dust.
Just yesterday,
He learned to whittle carvings from Dad,
A rustic red-pine rocker for Mom,
Splines stained, and sanded smooth.
Today, remembering, he rocks.
Just yesterday,
Everything was different,
Life’s winding paths unfolded,
But we lived too near the forest.
Today, with hindsight’s clarity, we see.
This was written for Trifextra, and is part of “the Engineer’s Journal”, which is a chronicle of my personal journey to become a Chemical Engineer, one of only two women in my graduating class, as I entered a predominantly male profession, while my friends and peers pursued more traditional life paths.
Each Sunday night our CYA bowling team would compete with other regional CYA teams. My strongest memory is trying to find a table where I could inconspicuously work on my copious assignments, due the next day, while pretending to be interested in the social scene.
Fade to BlackWhile days and nights of eons fade to black,The same, sad swallow-song pervades my soul“I sat there and waited, but he never came back.”
Sitcoms’ sputter; and laugh tracks’ bellow-brash,Can’t smother smooth the sulfur stench of coal,While days and nights of eons fade to black.
My soul’s soliloquy is crassly crashedBy “Contrafibularity”, how droll,“I sat there and waited, but he never came back.”
He vowed someday that he’d return, my heart to clasp,The promised wait, endurable as toll,While days and nights of eons fade to black.
In slate-steel blue, his eyes shone unabashed,Seducing me with guile; his craft ‘control’,“I sat there and waited, but he never came back.”
Mephisto in the flesh, all others could behold,save my deluded soul; I, blinded, held fast,While days and nights of eons fade to black,“I sat there and waited, but he never came back.”
This “Villanelle”* was written for The Speakeasy #146.
The Prompt:
“This week, the video is a scene from the British comedy show, Blackadder the Third. …This clip is called “C is for Contrafibularity.”
“I sat there and waited, but he never came back.”
*”The highly structured villanelle is a nineteen-line poem with two repeating rhymes and two refrains. The form is made up of five tercets followed by a quatrain. The first and third lines of the opening tercet are repeated alternately in the last lines of the succeeding stanzas; then in the final stanza, the refrain serves as the poem’s two concluding lines. Using capitals for the refrains and lowercase letters for the rhymes, the form could be expressed as: A1 b A2 / a b A1 / a b A2 / a b A1 / a b A2 / a b A1 A2.”
I couldn’t help put this photo up, in response to this week’s prompt: Family.
Clearly, several denizens in this shot are of the same breed, some are undoubtedly siblings, and of few are, perhaps, parents of the ‘young ‘uns’. During a recent Fall Festival, these families displayed broad appeal to human family members of all ages, who flocked to the penned-in flocks to pet, feed and otherwise stare in awe; as human and animal siblings competed for the best place from which to hand out or pick up a tasty morsel.
This photo speaks to me of family, all kinds of families. And yes, we all had a great time!
“I have spent years chasing the tail of my darkness.”
I stay to know the man who I may, someday, be,
As if by writing in his book, I pen my destiny.
I have spent years standing by his side (or just behind), But turn my gaze away from fateful cards he plays, As if his foes might read my tearless eyes and raise.
I have spent years pretending to forget the child within, Long-held, hidden, darkly recessed, in my sterile soul, As if I could (his moonlit madness, long ago) control.
I have spent years masking grief with veils of grit and grime, I know my place and dare not raise my head to see, As if by facing him, I’d face my mother’s misery.
I have spent years spinning in the squirrel cage of my mind, Running fast in stagnant place, but never making ground, As if eternity will wait until he’s gone; my chains unbound.
This is my response to the Speakeasy weekly writing prompt, which is to write a piece in 750 words or less, using “I have spent years chasing the tail of my darkness.” as the first sentence, and making reference to the art prompt, “The Card Players”, one of a series of paintings by Paul Cézanne. I chose to write in the first person, as the boy in the background of the painting.
The challenge is open to anyone, so if you’re inspired, click the badge above to check out the challenge details! On Tuesday, the challenge opens up to post links to our stories.
At first viewing, one might assume that the subject of this Photo Friday, “Dramatic”, is best personified by the Downtown Disney Denizen, jutting up in all his LEGO glory from the lagoon, with googly-eyes popping, for the amusement and surprise of kiddies.
In reality, the drama for me is witnessing the demise of “Cap’n Jack’s “, a longtime landmark and favorite stopping-off place, seen in the background of this photograph. In the name of progress and expansion, the doors were closed and locked for the last time in August of 2013. Now, as construction barriers and cranes move in, memories of “Cap’n Jack’s” remain, in my photo albums and in family memories of wonderful times.
I have always enjoyed keeping a journal, particularly during times of stress, but more often than not, would pick up my handwritten journal and note that my earlier entry had been months earlier! Repeatedly, I would seek out a ‘new’ journal, one that I vowed would enable me to offer regular entries and updates; one with quality paper, perfect lines, an exquisite fountain pen, etc. I stare at my bookcase now and see years of those half-filled journals (all of them too beautiful and meaningful to discard). Responsibilities would usually take precedence over what I viewed as ‘spare time’ activity.
Crouching over textbooks at Hayne’s Lanes, ignoring the din.
Opal Reflections 