In My Bones

It’s been a while since I participated in dVerse and this one called to me to join in.  Linda Lee Lyberg is hosting this one and has asked us to write our prosery using the phrase:  ‘Sometimes the great bones of my life feel so heavy,’ taken from Mary Oliver’s beautiful poem entitled “Spring Azures: A Farwell to Darkness” 144 words.  Sometimes that is just enough.

I keep a cheerful disposition; I am the epitome of positive. Do not think me foolish or idealistic for I am also a realist. I choose to not let on that sometimes the great bones of my life feel so heavy, I know not if I can take another step, smile another smile.

But I do, and do you know why I choose this? Because I feel it deep in my gut that this is a limited time offer and I cannot afford to waste a single moment of it. I know that, miracles aside, the end will come sooner rather than later. That part is out of my hands. What isn’t, is cherishing each moment, be they full of bliss or hurt like hell.

I know that one day I will look back and smile without tears because I chose as I did.

 

Cello Him Home – Friday Fictioneers

Welcome to Wednesday evening. I could not very well NOT participate this week as this is my own photo, right? Thank you, Rochelle, for enjoying my photos enough to reproduce them in paint and to use for Friday Fictioneers. I’m truly honoured. This photo was written about here, so I had to think up something else. I was inspired by a favourite movie of mine…

Do click on the frog below to read other wonderful stories, or, should you feel inspired, to write your own!.

that's amore....

Click me!

Cello Him Home

Marcy leaned over from the edge of her seat, resting her arms on the railing. She loved the buzz of the the theatre filling with patrons and it thrilled her to imagine how it would feel should she be the artist all were there to watch.

She was Lyla Novacek, playing her Adagio-Moderato from Edward Elgar’s Cello Concerto in E Minor, convinced it would bring her long-lost son back into her arms. She was so into the beautiful music she nearly jumped out of her skin when the announcement boomed over the speakers:

“Bonsoir! Bienvenue au show de Francis Cabrel!”

Weekend Writing Prompt #190 – Marginal

A word prompt to get your creativity flowing this weekend.  How you use the prompt is up to you.  Write a piece of flash fiction, a poem, a chapter for your novel…anything you like.  Or take the challenge below – there are no prizes – it’s not a competition but rather a fun writing exercise.  If you want to share what you come up with, please leave a link to it in the comments.

 

 

A woman, now a mother,

will

without qualms,

become a marginal note

on her page of life

to give her children space

to create their destiny

Then,

her next chapter awaits

 

Grounded – Friday Fictioneers

Happy New Year my peeps!  I hope 2021 brings you much love and laughter, joy and bliss, good health and prosperity and comfort – in your home, in your relations, in your work.  We’ve all had more than enough discomfort, haven’t we?

Thank you to Rochelle for hosting this party week after week and this week for snagging asking Na’ama Yehuda for her photo which caused me much grief because, like the clouds, were my thoughts. All ajumble.

Do click on the frog below to read more stories inspired by this lovely photo and maybe, be enticed to add your own?

Home - Frog Leg Mobility

How long she had been drifting? Weeks? Months? Years?  No matter. Time wasn’t measured up here. She was unfettered and loved the carelessness – or was it carefreeness? – of the wind, tossing her about at will, sometimes gently, lovingly; other times, violently, an exhilarating while scary feeling.

Dammit. By questioning her time spent, she knew it was over.

Reality was calling.  Gathering up the clouds, she braided them into a rope and formed a lasso.  With a flick of her wrist, she sent it out, caught the building and pulled herself until she stood atop.  Grounded once more. Ready for living.

Weekend Writing Prompt #189 – Troglodyte

A word prompt to get your creativity flowing this weekend. How you use the prompt is up to you. Write a piece of flash fiction, a poem, a chapter for your novel…anything you like. Or take the challenge below – there are no prizes – it’s not a competition but rather a fun writing exercise. If you want to share what you come up with, please leave a link to it in the comments. Thanks for hosting, Sammi!

 

What Charm in This?

What has happened to society? More specifically, to dating in the era of a society ruled by social media. A familiarity bred from the ability to hide behind a smartphone has brought out the bluster and bullshit and texted away the charm of good manners.

Men (and women, I’ve no doubt) have given themselves permission to probe and question in an inappropriate manner, sans offering a coffee or even a voice chat first, behaving like troglodytes in hundred-dollar jeans.

Prehistoric cavemen were only trying to survive in dangerous times. Today’s think they’re clever and avant-garde.

 

The Rushmore Thing – A Surprise Result

When Marc and I talked about doing our Mount Rushmore of musicians, I had no idea what that would mean.  I thought, easy-peasy, choose four chicks and voilà.  Joni and Dolly were quickly selected.  But who would get the other two slots?  And so began my research because I realised that I had no friggen clue.  I also realised that most of my favourite singers are men.  Well hell.  I shoulda turned the tables on Marc and said you do women and I’ll do men! He he he… that sounds wrong but right, right?

Since I was not deadset on anyone, I had to do some serious research.  Limiting ourselves to those within the last fifty years helped some.  I Googled “Women songwriters of influence” or “Women singers who write their own songs”, etc.  I was rather pleased that my two original ladies made every list.  So did Carole King and Madonna and a few others.

Full disclosure:  Not a fan of Carole King!  Well no, that’s not the right thing to say.  Not anymore.  As I did my research, I came to realise just how much I already did know and enjoy her work and enjoy pretty much all her songs – the ones she sings or sung by others.

As for Madonna, I surprised myself by finally adding her.  Research again said I had to.  We know how much she has influenced the next generation of women singers. Her ability to entertain is without question.  She has been innovative and pushed the limits.  And I hadn’t realised that she had a part in the writing of most of her songs – no, she’s no Joni Mitchell or Carole King but I could not dismiss her.

There were wonderful side-effects to this project.  There were great discussions in the comment sections.  Since I share my posts on Facebook, more discussions took place there.  Some even got their own Rushmores going.  How cool is that?

A fellow blogger, Trent McDonald, from Trent’s World, decided to do his own Mount Rushmore of Female Musical Artists. And what an eclectic mix!  Do check it out here.

Marc was further inspired.  His posts on Freddie, Bowie and MJ were all fabulous.  But then he did a series of side posts, each one more wonderful than the next.  His What If? post looked at what could have happened if John Lennon had NOT been shot that fateful night.

Next, he was inspired to create a delicious sandwich and name it the Rushmore.  All I know is I want one!

Following his fabulous post on Prince, Marc wrote a fictional story Raspberry Beret – inspired by the song but giving us the woman’s side of the story.  Delicious.

I hope he gets further inspired… hint, hint, Marco!

I’m also thinking that I shall be further inspired in the near future …

Who Are We To Judge? – Crimson’s Creative Challenge #111

Why not?  It’s not like I have last minute shopping, wrapping, cooking, showering… Oh dear!  Off I go!  Thank you Crispina for your weekly challenge of fun, fun, fun!

Would you look at him up there, lording it over everyone with that pose!

He really doesn’t have to show off in that manner.

Who does he think he is, anyway?

Heard tell he worked bloody hard to get up there.  I think we shouldn’t judge.

Yeah maybe.  But he’s alone.

Maybe that’s how he wants it.

If you say so.  What about that poor bugger. What’s up with his story?  Riches to rags?

Nah, he’s low maintenance Doesn’t require much.

Not too good at choosing his perch, obviously. It’s awfully wobbly.

Maybe he likes adventure. Who are we to judge?

What about us?  We’ve done all right, don’t you think?

Absolutely.  It’s nice to be happy with what you have, yes?

Yes.  But would it hurt you to turn around when you talk to me, though?

Oh. Sorry, Mate.

That’s okay. Go back to sleep. I won’t judge your lack of manners.

 

Allô Ma Chérie!

“We feel cold, but we don’t mind it, because we will not come to harm. And if we wrapped up against the cold, we wouldn’t feel other things, like the bright tingle of the stars, or the music of the aurora, or best of all the silky feeling of moonlight on our skin. It’s worth being cold for that.”
― Philip Pullman, The Golden Compass

Winter Solstice.  The shortest day of the year, which sometimes, can feel like the longest.

I’m driving home from a much-needed oil change for my car.  I know what day it is and yet I don’t want to focus on the sad but on the date, the season.  Claude Debussy’s beautifully romantic, and to me, sad, Clair de Lune starts to play on the radio.

I feel nostalgic and though my heart pinches a little, I smile as I drive.  I can’t help but think of Mick and Mémère (my grandmother) dying on the same day, five years apart.  Winter Solstice. I don’t know why there is something right about it.

We had gone up north to visit my mother and, of course, did a side trip two villages over to visit my grandmother – we always made sure we did.  She must have been about 85-87-89?, give or take, when she told us of a dream she had had.

I dreamt that you were my boyfriend, Mick.  Môman was not happy about it at all.  She said to me ‘What are you doing with an English boy?  You don’t even speak it properly!’  I answered to my mother:  ‘But I love him!’

Well, needless to say, she was giggling as she told us the story.  And Mick being Mick was not one to let such a thing go.  Every single time we went up north, he’d sidle up to Mémère, wrap his arm around her shoulder, give her a squeeze and a kiss on the cheek and say “Allô, Bébé! Comment ça va ma chérie?”*

She’d blush furiously, playfully slap him on the arm while hugging him back then give a big smile followed by an “Oh you!”  Their love was real.

I wonder if he is still teasing her now?

*How are things, my darling?

 

 

My Women’s Rushmore – Folk Royalty That is Joni Mitchell

I was a late bloomer. Musically speaking, that is.  When it comes to appreciating Joni Mitchell, to be more precise.  There was a time when I thought her singing was closer to caterwauling.  I know, I know. What the hell am I talking about?  What can I say?  I knew no better. Or maybe, just maybe, I can say that my taste in music has evolved over time and that which I could not fully appreciate then, my life’s experience has enabled me to, now.  Whatever it was, Joni’s place in my musical roster is firmly established.

My second-favourite movie is “Love, Actually”.  One of the characters, Karen, played by Emma Thompson, loves Joni. To her husband’s (Alan Rickman) disdainful comment: “I can’t believe you still listen to Joni Mitchel”, Karen responds:  “I love her, and true love lasts a life time.  Joni Mitchell is the one who taught your cold English wife how to love.”  I would say my love for Joni started just before this movie came out in 2003.

The radio station I listen to (yes, I still listen to the radio), CBC Music, has a little thing every weekday morning called “Under the Covers”, which, as the title implies, means they play a cover of a song.  Just this past week (I love serendipity, don’t you?) The Joni Mitchell song “Circle Game” was being covered by Buffy St. Marie. That was fine and dandy but what the DJ, Saroja Coelho shared is what grabbed my attention.  Until Joni saw Buffy in concert in 1964, she was singing other people’s songs.  Buffy taught her that women can write songs, too.  Intelligent songs. Songs that mean something.  That very day, she wrote her first song, “Day After Day” and was off and running.  Joni gave a tape of her songs to Buffy who carried it around with her on tour, playing it for everyone.  As Buffy says:

“Most of the people I played Joni’s tape for – friends and musicians – loved her music, but not the business boys. They were into Peter, Paul & Mary vanilla folk songs, and Joni and I were both originals… and Canadian (not so cool at the time). I played her tape for Joel Dean, my agent at Chartoff-Winkler Agency, and got a “no thanks”. But a younger guy in the same agency agreed to go see Joni play at a Greenwich Village coffee house. That was Elliot Roberts. He and Joni built a great career together and I’ve always loved him for that.”

Joni Mitchell has had her share of accolades:  nine Grammy awards, inducted in the Juno Hall of Fame (Canadian Music) and in 1997 she became the first Canadian woman named to the US Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. She also received a Grammy Lifetime Achievement Award in 2002 – the first Canadian to earn this recognition. Not too shabby, I say.

And she’s been an influence to the likes of Bob Dylan, Suzanne Vega, Alanis Morissette,  and Prince. I mean come on, Prince? Doing a cover?  “Drink a Case of You” is a lovely version by him.

My second favourite song of hers is her later version of “Both Sides Now”.  Her voice is deeper and richer (smoke-altered) and she brings it down a notch – gives me goosebumps.  For those of you who prefer the original, you can click here.  For the others, here you go.

All of Joni’s songs tell a story.  Her album “Blue” was so personal that Kris Kristofferson, when she played it for him, said:   “God, Joan, save something of yourself.” He might have had a point because, as she said, while recording this album, they had to lock the doors to the studio because she was in a state of mind that today would be called a mental breakdown.

 “It begins with a sense of isolation and of not knowing anything, which is accompanied by a tremendous panic. Then clairvoyant qualities begin to come in, and you and the world become transparent, so if you’re approached by a person, all their secrets are not closeted.”

When one creates such an album, it cannot help but become a classic and, in this case is called a “bastion of artistic expression”.

None of Joni’s music is meaningless. She mixes her voice (which has shifted from mezzo-soprano to contralto over time) with her superb guitar or piano playing to create music that ranges from folk to jazz to pop to rock to classical. Her songs reflect social and environmental ideals as well as her feelings about romance, confusion, disillusionment, and joy.

And, since Christmas is next week (what?), I had to bring in Joni last, because my favourite song of hers is sort of a Christmas one, which just so happens to belong on that wonderful album that is Blue

Joni Mitchell definitely deserves her place on MY Rushmore.

Do please go visit Marc over at Sorryless to see who he put as his fourth member of HIS Rushmore.  I know one thing for sure. You won’t come away untouched by his beautiful writing.

 

 

 

 

Princess Blue Holly’s Mystic Owls

The next part of the adventure!
Please leave any comments over on Resa’s blog.

Art Gowns

Princess Blue Holly was at a stalemate battling with Etamilc. She knew Hyperion could lay a final blow, if he arrived in time!

My unease for days has troubled me, when in my study the eyes of my Black Dragon statue begin to glow. From his mouth came the pleas for help from Princess Blue Holly.

Enraged that she may be in immortal danger, I transform to the Ancient Black Dragon of the North and follow the current trails of Blue Holly’s urgent plea back to the scene where Etamilc has enslaved the Art Gown Models and My Lady.

Etamilc has chosen my element of water to battle me. Pity there is no chance of success. I dive to the depths and exhale a mighty flame that roils the water in a tornadic blast. The water turns to steam. My Lady, and the Art Gowns Models begin to rise from…

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