Prose · Random, Fun & Quirky · Stray Thoughts

Blue Asthma

THIS IS A PIECE I WROTE A FEW YEARS AGO ABOUT AN EXPERIENCE I HAD TAKING SWIMMING LESSONS AS A CHILD 

Blue was all around me I think. I strained to adjust my eyes to what I was seeing. It was coming, but slowly. Things were just a little bit blurry and my eyes stinging. As my surroundings became clearer I became aware of other sensations. But not all at once. The sensations came one by one, each bringing with them another piece of fear. I heard muffled noises that sounded as if they were coming from above. Voices. My eyes bounced frenetically about the blue again. Then again. All I saw was blue. Waves and waves of ever changing blue. I hate this, I thought. I don’t want to be here. When my eyes finally adjusted and I realized that all that was there was the abyss I began to feel the pressure. No, weight. The weight on and inside my chest. Oh, gosh… I felt the pressure of the weight and it hurt so much, and the panic setting in just made it worse. Oh gosh. I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t. I want to go home. I wanna go home. It was just too much. Too scary, too much pain. Oh, gosh, the pain. I have to get out, I thought. So I rose, floated up, breaking the surface and instinctively gasping like a newborn baby desperate for its first gulp of precious air. This felt like the first breath. And another, and another still until I was satisfied. My eyes filled with stinging water I again surveyed the things around me and saw a blurry peach colored figure.

“You only stayed under for, like 10 seconds. You can do better than that!”

Oh, no I can’t, I thought, as the figure cleared up a little. He came near and fear again gripped me causing a familiar pain. Except this time, the pain was in my stomach. He was gonna make me hold my breath underwater again. Oh, gosh not again. Why’d mom have to sign me up for swimming lessons? I hate the pool.

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Photo 1: Pixabay/ollivves

Photo 2: Pixabay/Pexels

Prose · Stray Thoughts

Memory

I think of you sometimes.

Not on a certain day or time, just whenever.

Sometimes for the first time in years,

Other times only a few months after the last time.

You’ll float gently into my mind out of nowhere,

And take me back to that time, just like it was yesterday.

I remember your kindness, your gentleness, your love.

You were like pure sun light, so warm and wonderful.

I don’t remember every one of our conversations, or every joke we shared, but I do remember how you made me feel.

You were such a gift.

Your spirit was like none other,

Sometimes, I find myself missing you.

But you live on in my memory.

It is a wonderful memory…… YOU are a wonderful memory.

All the years that have passed, and your spirit still stays with me;

Your light hasn’t dimmed one bit.

All the love and kindness you gave me will never fade;

It’s kept deep in my heart, in a special place, just for you.

It is a gift I’ll carry with me.

Maybe we’ll meet again one day, and I can thank you for it all.

But if not, you’ll still be there, in my memory.

 

Prose

Delicately Simple

Something I wrote a few years ago:

How is it that peace comes in such a simple manner? I hear the trees rustling with the sound of a breeze flowing through them. The leaves wave and the tree branches sway ever so slightly as the wind, gentle and soft comes through. I can feel it as it flows through the open windows, cooling my skin and betraying the heat that awaits outside. The breeze carries none of the warmth, only the occasional sounds of birds calling to one another. They chirp not with excited fervor, mourning, or warning but with a soft calm, sedate conversation.
I gauge my surroundings and see the window blinds swaying silently with the breeze. They are open, allowing the sunlight to flow through, illuminating everthing around me. I gaze through the open blinds out into the sky and see white, cotten caandy puffs of clouds floating silently by taking the shape of huge white mountains floating through the unending sea of blue. Like the birds, the clouds too are calm and sedated, sailing by, content to simply be.
There is a quiet that this brings. And with this quiet comes peace that even the occasional sound of neighbors outside coming and going cannot spoil. The Peace and quiet is all encompasing. It is ruler over all, today. And for a little while, there are no worries, no anxiety and the world is at peace. I did not expect this today, nor did i realize that I was in need of it untill it came floating through my window. It is in these moments that I marvel at the fact that peace comes in the simplist of manners and without effort. Genlte breezes, trees rusling, birds calling, sun shining and peace in the heart. These are the simple pleasures of life, and it is beautiful.

 

Photo: Pixabay/kirkandmimi

Prose

10 Hours

Can you give me more time?

This just isn’t enough!

I can’t work with this limitation.

There’s just never enough time and I need more.

Oh, what I could do with more!

The wonderfulness I could create!

If only I had more,

Just a little;

Say an hour or two.

No, wait, that’s not enough.

Maybe three.

No, that won’t do, either.

Can you give me ten!? Ten more hours in the day?

This might be enough.

Yes, that will do it.

Imagine what I could do with ten more hours in the day!

If only this could be.

But alas, I’m stuck with only twenty-four.

I suppose I’ll have to settle for that,

And just the dream of what more could be. 

 

Photo: Free Images/Quim Berenguer

 

Prose

Art Talks Back

This scene is based on three famous pieces of art: ‘The Mona Lisa’ by Leonardo Da Vinci, ‘Scream’ by Edvard Munch, and ‘David’ by Michelangelo.

mona-lisa-67506_1920  statue-of-david-3889140_1920 The Scream 1893 - Edvard Munch Paintings

 

“How many people do you think we’ll see tonight?” Edvard asked his friends.

“Oh, I dunno.” Mona responded. “Probably a ton-as usual.” She replied nonchalantly. She was accustomed to people looking at her.

“I think we’ll see a lot tonight. I’ll bet it’ll be a long night.” Edvard replied

“Hmmm, yeah.” Mona responded casually. She didn’t seem to be too interested in the people who’d be coming in to the museum to see them tonight. With her dark hair and beguiling smile, it was impossible not to be intrigued by her. Everyone just loved to stare at her and guess about who she was and why she smiled the way she did.  She hated this.

“How many you estimate?” Edvard went on.

“Oh, I don’t know.”

“Seriously. Pick a number.”

“Yeah, I’m bored.”

“Ok, I’ll ask David. Hey David!” Edvard called to the naked man statue across the room. David had overheard the conversation and was ready to guess.

“I’ll go with 300.” David said. David, unlike Mona didn’t mind all of the visitors and the stares. He hadn’t quite tired of people looking at him and his toned, muscular body. Though he enjoyed the attention, sometimes he got a bit uncomfortable with being naked and objectified.

“That all?” Edvard replied, jovially challenging his friend.” I think that’s too low.”

“Ok, what’s your guess?”

“I think we’ll see 400. I mean, it’s Saturday, we always get more people on the weekend.”

David couldn’t refute this. He turned to Mona to get her back in the conversation and noticed her apathetic expression.

“Mona, you feel alright?” He asked, noticing the expression on his friends’ face.

“Oh, I’m just bored.” She sighed. “It’s the same thing every time. People just come in and look at us all day. Everyone wants to see me and stands there staring at me trying to figure out why I look this way. I’m just so tired of it. It’s like we’re art or something.”

“Ummm, we are art.” David replied.

“No, that’s not what I mean. We’re more than that.” She said. “I’m just tired of being ART. I want to be Mona, not Mona Lisa. I’m tired of the same old thing, the same old looks from people.”

“Maybe you should make a different face tonight and freak them out.” Edvard chuckled. He noticed Mona smile a bit. But she still seemed bored.

“What do you want to do?” Edvard asked gently. She pondered a few moments.

“I should talk to them or something.” She finally suggested, only half kidding. “I just hate being looked at all day.” She sighed.

“At least you’re dressed.” Lamented David.

“Yeah, I guess that’s true.” Mona laughed. “Your ass is hanging out!”

“That’s not the only thing that’s hanging out!” David quipped.

“I can’t imagine people walking by looking at my crotch.” Edvard laughed.

“And your crack!” Mona cackled.

“Are you into my butt, Mona?” David teased.

Mona surveyed David’s rear end a little closer. “Well, it is pretty tight.”

“Yeah, I’m kind of clenching.”

“Really didn’t need to know that!” Edvard said cringing. He paused. “Wait, are you saying it’d be flabby if you weren’t clenching?” With this comment Mona and Edvard curiously stared at David’s back side as if they were waiting for it suddenly turn into a pancake.

“Nah, not flabby, just not as tight. It looks better like this.”

His friends took one more look at his rear.

“Wonder what he’d look like with a normal body?” Edvard asked Mona.

“Yeah, no one would look at that.” She replied.

“There’s such pressure!” David exclaimed. “I can’t even be a normal man! I have to be ripped!” He exclaimed as he threw up his arms in frustration. “Not that I mind being ripped, but still! I couldn’t be flabby for one minuet if I wanted to be. Edvard, you’re so lucky! You don’t need to worry about looking good!”

“Hey! I don’t look that bad.”

“No, I mean you’re all swirly; being ripped doesn’t matter when you’re swirly.” David laughed.

“And no one’s really concerned with a six pack and tight ass when you’re screaming, either.” Mona added.

“True.” Edvard conceded.

“And no worries about clenching.” Mona laughed.

“Ok, can we please stop talking about my rear end?” David chuckled. “At least people are interested in something other than your body, Eddie.”

This was very true. David was just the naked man with the great body and Mona was just the pretty lady with the beguiling expression. When people looked at Edvard with his fearful look and distorted body they had to think about who he was and why he was that way. But this was mostly because there wasn’t much of a body to look at. He was really swirly. Oh, and screaming. He was screaming, too.

“Well, who wouldn’t be interested in a psychedelic, screaming man?” He replied with sarcastic humor.

The friends laughed congenially.

They went on chatting and laughing for several minutes before Edvard perked up a bit and began looking towards the glass doors of the gallery. He thought he had heard some of the curators and staffers talking nearby. As David and Mona exchanged friendly jabs, Edvard kept one ear on them and another on the hallway outside the gallery. It was nearing opening time and the staffers would be into the gallery one last time to ensure that everything was ready.

Edvard was only half listening to his friends at this point. Only bits and pieces of what Mona and David were saying registered.

“You have no idea what my exercise regimen is like. It’s really complicated and intense. I can’t build up too much muscle or I get bulky, but I still need to be strong so I have to-“

“You’re such a jock, David.” Mona laughed, interrupting him.

David smiled and was about to respond when Edvard shushed them.

“I hear someone!” He whispered urgently. This was the signal to return to their normal states and remain silent. A few seconds later two museum staffers entered the room to make a final look over before opening for the day. They passed by all of the works of art, checking to ensure each was secured and clean. When they looked at Mona, David and Edvard, all they saw were still works of art. After a few minuets of checking the two workers left to open the building.

“Have a good night, guys!” David whispered to his friends.

“You too!” Mona and Edvard responded.

All three were silent for the rest of the day. Hundreds of visitors came in and out, gazing at the three friends and all the other art work around them. They all chatted with their companions about Mona’s facial expression, what Edvard represented and, well, poor David was objectified all day long. Everyone kept looking at his rear end.

 

Photo of Art Gallery:  Pixabay/Monica Volpin

Photos of Art:  Pixabay (Mona Lisa & David) and Painting Mania (For The Scream)

Keep The Faith · Prose

Mosaic

Hey everyone! This is a post from my other blog “There Is Light In The Dark” Just wanted to share it here as well. Enjoy!

via Daily Prompt: Heal My heart was broken a long time ago. People I loved callously and carelessly broke it. Then it was broken again by other people, and again by circumstances, and again, and again. When my heart was broken the first time, it was like a big knife sliced it in half. Then another knife sliced one […]

via Mosaic — There Is Light In The Dark

Prose

“Elliot” (Short Fiction)

Today is my Dad’s birthday. After work tonight, my family is getting together to celebrate it. I love Dad’s birthday. We’ll all be there: Mom and George, my two sisters and their husbands and my step brother. I only wish Daddy was here. I think about him a lot. Not every hour like when he first went away, or every day in the first couple of years after he died, but still frequently. Now I sometimes go days without thinking of him, but he always comes to mind when his birthday rolls around. It’s still tough to live without him, but I’ve gotten better at it with time.

I was supposed to be named after Dad: Elliot Ian Boyd. When my birth mother was pregnant with me, Mom and Dad were told twice that I’d be a boy. But surprise, surprise, I popped out a girl. They didn’t have any names picked out for a girl, so they called me Elli Iana instead. I went by Elli for a long time day to day with family and friends. But a few years ago, I officially changed it to Elliot in honor of Dad. People still call me Elli, though.

He was a good Dad. He loved Mom and us so deeply, and we loved him back just as much. One of the things that made Dad so great was his desire to provide for his family. Mom and Dad hadn’t had a lot growing up in, and they didn’t for a while after they were first married, either. They wanted to make sure us kids had more than they did. They didn’t want us to struggle. Dad worked hard at his job and saved as much as he could. He wanted to make sure we never missed out on anything we needed, and he did what he needed to do to provide it. One of those things was a nice, safe, comfortable home.

That house was the collective family dream. You see, when I was little, we lived in an apartment building in Concord that wasn’t the best. We wanted to have a nicer place. Mom and Dad had gone to college after high school in part so they could get degrees that would help them find jobs that would support the family they wanted so much. And they got those jobs. Mom worked before I was born, but decided she wanted to stay at home with us girls when we were adopted. She figured she’d go back when we were old enough for school. It was alright because Dad had a good paying job, thanks to that University education. Everything was ok till I was about five years old. Then Daddy lost his job. The economy took a dive and his company had no choice but to lay off half of their staff. Daddy was forced to take any job he could after that. He struggled doing odd jobs and eventually ended up in a low paying job as a telemarketer. My younger sister Margie, the middle of us three girls was only 3 and had medical challenges and needed help someone around. Mom tried working from home so she could be with us girls.  But it was tough. There wasn’t much money, and it’s hard to raise a family when you don’t have much of that.

It didn’t help that the apartment we lived in growing up was getting old. It wasn’t run down, per say, but it certainly wasn’t fancy. It had once been a decent place- about thirty years before I was born. It wasn’t quite as nice anymore. The bricks on the outside were old, dirty and crumbling at the edges. The paint inside was peeling in places and just looked shoddy. The worst part was that we couldn’t get a unit on the ground floor, only upstairs was available. This wasn’t so good for Margie; she needed something accessible.  The neighborhood wasn’t the best, either. I think the complex had at one time been safe, nice and comfortable with a lot of families, but wasn’t attracting that crowd anymore.  Now we heard screaming fights and loud music at all hours. We even saw police cars sitting in the parking lot or passing through the complex late at night.  Mom and Dad began worrying for our safety and we all started dreaming a little harder about the house. Then one day, we heard what sounded like a gun shot late at night. A cop showed up soon afterwards- one of the regulars. This was enough for us.

We crammed into my Grandparents’ home for awhile. Finally Daddy found better work and we started planning for the house when I was eight. It wasn’t going to be the fanciest, or the biggest house in the world, but it would be designed just for us. There wasn’t enough money yet when we moved out of the apartment from hell, so we took a big loan. It was a little bigger than Mom and Dad were comfortable with, but they figured they could just pick up a few more hours at work to pay it off.  We began plans, getting more and more excited as we looked at the options. I was especially excited.

The house was going to be so great! First of all we were going to have more space. That cheap apartment was so small my two sisters and I had to share a room. Mom and Dad had given us the master bedroom because it was bigger and three young girls needed room. This time each of us would have our own bedroom! I would dream of how wonderful it would be having my very own space this time. It would have a big window with a nice window seat covered in soft, comfy pillows. The walls would be painted yellow- my favorite color. There’d even be a nursery for the fourth child Mom and Dad were planning on. They were planning to adopt a boy this time. And the rest of the house would be great, too! We’d have a big family room with soft, cushy couches, a big kitchen with room for all of us to gather and cook, a dining room big enough to host dinners for friends. It was going to be perfect! It was right around that time when Dad began having pain.

The diagnosis was tough to take. All those tests, all that hope we maintained, only to be told there was an 85% chance he wouldn’t make it. The tumor was inoperable. Taking it out would kill him, but not removing it would kill him too. With treatment he would have more time, and maybe a chance, but it was all the same to me. The image of our family in that lovely home I’d had in my head suddenly came crumbling down as if a wrecking ball slammed through and toppling it. It almost felt as though that wrecking ball of cancer was slamming through our family and taking Daddy and our dream with it. We clung to hope anyway.

Treatment took the house fund-even with insurance. Mom and Dad had to abandon the plan to adopt another child, too. Never the less, Daddy still talked about it like nothing was changing. That was always difficult for us to hear. How could we build our dream house when part of the dream wasn’t going to be there? Was it still the dream without him? But he wanted so much for us to have it. He’d worked so hard to save up for it before test results took it away. Cancer was eating him alive, and he didn’t want it to take any more than it had to. Other things didn’t have to-and shouldn’t die, he said. You must go on without me, he said. He even urged us to go on. We could still have the dream, he said.

I was eleven years old when Daddy went away.

Despite the grief, we kept planning the house anyway. We all wanted it so much. My friends didn’t understand why. To them it was nothing but a structure. But to me it was like rebuilding our family. Abandoning the plans was unthinkable. Daddy wanted it, worked so hard for us to have it. We wanted it too. As we worked with builders to sharpen our plans, find materials, get another loan, I felt Daddy’s presence. It began as something for him, a wish he’d had, a way to keep him alive; but ended up becoming about us. Planning and building helped us heal in a way. As the foundation was poured and the walls of the house went up, it was like the structure of our family was coming back together. When the windows went in, it felt as though light was shining on us again, when the furniture was set up and the décor put in, it felt like we as a family were finally whole and beautiful again. It took a few years longer to complete, but it didn’t matter. When it was finished it was wonderful; and so beautiful. And Daddy was there to see it- in spirit. I feel his presence there sometimes, warm and friendly, watching over us. The year after we moved in, Mom met George. They married and he and his son moved in. We had all finally healed and moved on, just like Daddy had hoped. The family and the dream wasn’t quite what we’d imagined, but it was still good.  Tonight we’ll sit on the deck of the house Daddy designed, eating supper and birthday cake, celebrating the memory of the man who dreamed it up.

Prose

Or Orange

Or I could not. Hmmmm. This is such a tough decision. I’ve been turning it over in my mind forever and still can’t decide. I guess I’m just gonna have to pick a direction. But it’s just so darn hard. This could have such a huge impact! I can’t just pick ONE route! …..Wait a minuet, why should I decide? I hate the thought of having to decide between two wonderful options and can’t seem to come to a suitable conclusion, so maybe that means that there isn’t one. Both options are great. Maybe the option of both is better than the option of only one. If I do that I’ll have to ask myself if I can find a way to manage both. I want to so much! If only I can find a way! Wait, why the heck is the clerk looking at me like that? I’m not a weirdo! Ok, I have been standing here for a really long time, but I just couldn’t make up my mind. Hey, what’s that sign he’s putting up? Bananas are 50% off today!? Yes! I can do both! Bananas and oranges!

 

Photo: FreeImages/adyna