Recent Entries

Current Mood: hopeful
Current Location: Running a little late. Got to get this up and get going.
Current Music: Brandenburg Concerto No. 4, Johann Sebastian Bach

My Clock is Ticking and LJ Idol is Pressing Onward

First of all and of primary importance, I must send a big "Thank You" out to all of you who voted for my story of Katy's birthday celebration. I garnered votes and lots of positive comments, BUT ... I'm in a write-off with one of the other very talented authors. We tied in vote count, and it was almost a three-way tie, but for a single vote. Yes ... that's how VERY important every vote can be. So, I have a day to cobble together something I'm not ashamed of putting out there, and it's a Monday - a day when I'm working the sales floor almost 100% solo, while DH is in the back room doing the financial books for the week. Will I have an entry worth posting? Maybe.

But I'm in a quandry (and how often do you really have the need to use such a cool word as quandry?). It's the busiest season of the year for my business, I don't get a Sunday off until after Christmas Day, I'm getting my Wednesdays off because I need one day to cook and do laundry, but Wednesdays are my ONLY days off until Christmas. After Christmas we dive right into our Inventory Reduction Sale to bring us to the end of the year. I really can't breathe until New Year's Day. It's called "Retail Hell" and anyone who either works retail or owns a business that relies on those holiday dollars will totally understand what I'm talking about.

So in the midst of all of this, is LJ Idol. I love the challenge of LJ Idol. I love the time frames, I love the act of sitting at my keyboard and making something click. I write every day (well ... six days a week) for my daily blog, so the mental gears are greased and moving - albeit slowly. The LJ Idol challenges come out of the blue - always making me think. When I sit at the keyboard to write something for Idol, I truly never know what will come through. Many stories have hit the cyber-garbage pile. Editing can be brutal and the stories left might be so changed as to barely appear as I had planned. I suspect it's like that for many of my fellow competitors.

But I do write in my daily blog - six days a week, every week of the year. I've been writing this blog since the early 2000's and I have dear cyber friends throughout the world who read it every day and who have told me that those rare times when I don't post (if I haven't warned them in advance that I'd be out of town or unable to get to a computer), they worry. It brightens my heart that I have so many cyber friends out there who care about my personal well being. And this time, my blog will do double-duty. I'm going to put this out there for my LJ Idol write-off entry because I simply don't have the time to compose two original word groupings today. I have to leave for work by 7:15-7:30 am, and since it's a Monday, it's all on me to deal with the customers. No time to sit at the laptop keyboard. So, LJ Idol, this is what you get. Me - straightforward, unadulterated, and unapologetic. Voila and Slava Ukraini. For those who read my blog, I'll be back tomorrow.

Current Mood: hopeful
Current Location: Wanting my turkey and hoping for votes.

Entry tags:

lj idol

ARGH - Sorry about the bad link

It took me a bit, but I finally figured out why the link in yesterday's post wasn't bringing people to the voting site. So, here's a corrected link as a Thanksgiving Treat. and I hope you found my story about Katy's "fools errands" on her birthday worth the vote.

https://erulissedances.dreamwidth.org/1075297.html

- Erulisse (one L)
Babysitting a large bird that really doesn't require babysitting at all! LOL

Current Mood: hopeful
Current Location: Defrosting from cleaning the gutters this morning.

Entry tags:

lj idol

A Birthday Celebration - LJ Idol Week 17

Katy awoke with a start. Had she heard something? Smelled something? Sensed something?

"Oh!, she exclaimed to herself. "It's my birthday today! I wonder if I'll get a cake, maybe a nice meal? Or … we harvested apples the other day. Maybe an apple pie?" Shaking her head, she shivered in the cool autumn breeze and quickly pulled on her clothing. Wrapping a warm shawl around her, she wandered down the rough-hewn stairs towards the warmest room in the house - the kitchen.

Mam was there, stirring the soup in the pot before returning it to the fireplace flames. On the table were several bags and two bowls, but there was no hint of what she would be making. The bags were the same as others on the shelf; the bowls were usually either on the sideboard or at the table where she saw them now. Maybe Mam had forgotten it was her birthday.

"Oh, Katy. I'm glad you're up. Could you eat your breakfast quickly? I need you to run to Miz Enninger's and pick up four eggs for me. She's expecting you. Be quick about it, though."

I practically gobbled my breakfast - cooked grain with a bit of honey for sweetness. I knew Mam had added the honey as a treat, and it was a fine breakfast indeed.

"Grab an apple to eat on your way, and get you going. I need those eggs."

Nodding, I took an apple from the basket and grabbed my cloak, because although it was early Fall, the weather was changing and getting ready for the deep cold ahead. Opening the door, the wind practically blew the door open, and it was a hard pull to get it shut tightly again, but I was soon on the way, bending hard against the cold wind.

Down the hill and to the right, up the squiggly road that followed the meandering stream, I came to the small bridge that would lead to Miz Enninger's homestead. She was outside in the yard, tossing grain to a flock of clucking chickens, all pushing at her for their food.

"Hello Katy! What brings you here today?"

"Mam says she needs four eggs," I called out to her, over the crowd of clucking curious chickens.

"Oh, of course. I'll settle up with her next market day. There's a bowl inside the house in the kitchen. Just help yourself. Be sure to wrap them well, though. They will crack if they roll around too much."

I nodded and headed in to the house, grabbed the eggs, and was ready to leave when Miz Enninger came through the door. She dusted the chicken feed dust off her hands, and firmly pushed one stubborn hen to the side to close the door behind her.

"Katy, could you do me a big favor?"

"Yez'm, but Ma, she needs these eggs."

"I'll take them up to her, we haven't had a chance to catch up for a week or so. But I'm running low on grain for the chickens and the boys are in the fields helping with the harvest. Could you go down to the granary for me and get a small sack of grain? I'll give you the coin for payment."

Katy looked around and realized it was still early in the morning. "I'd be happy to help, Miz Enninger," and she took the coins and headed in the direction of the silo and mill. She always loved this part of her world; the mill was located on the banks of a rushing stream. The mill's owner had altered the water's flow a bit to allow the water's power to move the grinding stonse over the raw grains, turning them into flour. He also sold raw grain, and that was what she needed for the chicken feed.

She started skipping down the pathway, then reminded herself. I turned twelve today - almost grown. It's 'undistinguished' to be skipping through town like a child! Despite wanting to act older, she couldn't resist another few skips before settling into a more sedate pace. All too soon, she was at the mill purchasing two bags of grain for the chickens.

"I'd be happy to deliver these to Miz Enninger if you have other errands you need to get done," he said to Katy. Her eyes sparkled as she nodded in agreement.

"Mam gave me a whole coin of my own for my birthday. I wanted to go to the "Hook and Eye" for some needles and maybe a new skein of yarn."

"Well now, that sounds a good idea, Katy. You go ahead now and I'll see this grain delivered before lunch."

Nodding her thanks, she continued down into the small town. Here she was greeted periodically by a variety of people, many of whom were wishing her a "Good Birthday", including Mrs. Hanson, the owner of the small produce market; Mr. Peabody who ran the local tavern and eatery, and even old Mistress Blount nodded hello and wished her a curt, if not heartfelt, birthday greeting. It was turning into a special day indeed.

As she entered the Hook and Eye, her eyes widened as she looked at the multitude of colors and types of yarns and threads available for her to choose between. She took a deep breath and started walking down the rows of shelving, and around the walls displaying brightly colored yarns spun into yarns of different thicknesses and appearances.

"Can I help you find something, Katy?" a cheery voice spoke from behind her.

"Miz Masterson, hello! Oh, I do need a pack of sewing needles, but it's just all so beautiful. How lovely it must be to work in a place like this. All these colors, all these … well, all these EVERYTHING!" She cried out in her exuberance, twirling around in a circle.

Miz Masterson burst out in laughter. "Well now, Katy, I guess it is a bit much, but I can't seem to turn my back on a nice fleece and some wonderful colors to play with."

"Do you make all of this yourself?" Katy asked as she looked around the small shop, eyes wide.

"Oh my goodness, no. Although I have dyed many of the hanks of yarns. I have other suppliers from larger cities, and quite a few of the women living in the area make skeins and balls of yarn for me. The fine threads come from a supplier in the Big City. The threads are made in big factories and come from all over the world."

"All over the world?" Katy asked in astonishment.

"Oh yes, look at this one." She beckoned the young girl closer. "Do you see this very shiny thread? Do you know what it is?"

Katy looked at an assemblage of many colors of a thin, shiny thread, shaking her head. "No 'm, I donna anything about threads, but they're beautiful!"

"It's a thread called silk - very shiny, very strong, and it comes all the way from China!"

Katy inhaled sharply - "China? Isn't that very very far away?"

"Oh yes indeed. All the way on the other side of the world. Silk actually comes from a worm's home. They soak it and then unravel the thread in one long thread, wash it, stretch it, and sell it to mills that spin it into a durable thread that they dye into many colors. Then they trade it and sell it all over the world."

"This thread came all the way from China?"

"With a couple of stops in between, yes."

"Well, it's very nice, Miz Masterson, but I'd best get the plain cotton that I came in for, and I think I've saved enough to get that small bit of light blue yarn to make a set of slippers for my little brother."

Transaction completed, Katy took one more look at the silk thread, then she took a deep breath, shook her head, and headed out, wishing Miz Masterson a good day as she stuffed her purchase into her pinafore pocket.

Looking up at the sun, she realized the day was getting away from her. It was time to stop wasting time on all of these silly things and get back home. Her Mam would be worrying about her. She turned into the direction of the farmstead and headed towards home.

Coming into the yard, things seemed quiet - unusually quiet for a workday. "Mam? Da?" she called out.

"We're out back," her mother called out.

Rounding the corner, she stopped short. Streamers of colorful cloth streamers draped over the branches of the large central tree. There was a wooden table with a variety of dishes and foods on it, and a second one with beverages - sweetened fruit juice for the young ones, beer and wine for the adults. And there were people. Many people - both adults and children. They all turned towards her as she entered the yard.

"Da?" she said, as she scanned the crowd. Seeing him, she ran to him and hugged him tightly.

"I'm sorry we sent you on a fool's errand, child, but everyone wanted to wish you a Happy Birthday and celebrate your coming of age with you."

"Oh, it weren't a fool's errand, Da. I had the chance to see ever so many people and share stories with them. It was a wonderful day. And I remembered to get the needles Ma needed, and a bit of yarn for myself,

Her father smiled at her. "Katy, girl, everyone here wanted to share the day with you. We had to send you away so that we could get everything ready, but here it is and here you are. Happy birthday, me girl. You're a daughter that any of these folk could be proud of, and I couldn't be happier than to tell the world that you're MY daughter." As her Mam and little brother joined them in a group hug, she thought she might never have a better birthday in her life.

Current Mood: amused
Current Location: Never thought the prompt would take me here. LOL
Current Music: Look What You Made Me Do - Taylor Swift

Entry tags:

lj idol

A Tale of Two Worlds - The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul – Week 15

It was an unassuming exterior. She had learned long before about blending into the societies in which she set up her practice. After all, any entity needing her services would be able to get through the wards she had set up around her residence. Still, her business also had its’ share of thrill-seekers; curious groups of students, timid would-be suitors and occasional lonely hearts. It was these people who paid the money she paid to the City of New York.

Her other customers, those from alternative realities or other dimensions gave her the items from which she paid the Magikal Dimensional Council. In turn, the MDC awarded her the license to practice in the other realms and dimensions. Funds also had to be paid to the Magikal Protective Guild (the MPG was NOT to be confused with the MDC) which assigned her “cat” to her. The “cat” having the appearance of a grey tabby, was a younger sprite tasked with her safety. On rare occasions the “cat” had frightened away people intent on robbery or worse. The MPG dues, renewed annually, were a bit steeper.

They would have been less if she was practicing in Minneapolis, but she loved New York City. To meet these pecuniary requirements, she sometimes had to provide them with a subject for experimentation or fill a cage for a special courier with a selection of rats or other critters to take back to the alternative dimension. She didn’t enjoy thinking about the fate of these beings, large or small, but the MPG and the MDC needed the beasts for some of their spells, and she had a business to protect.

She had inherited her powers from her mother, of course. Witchcraft always passed through the maternal line, although not all magic users were female. The methods she used in her craft had been honed over many years of practice, and she had tried many different styles and types before settling down to tea readings and Tarot card spreads. The cards she used were from a deck that had finally adopted her after she had tried more than 20 different old and new decks. Her deck hummed in her hands; shuffling the cards always built up a charge in her body that cleared out her sinuses as well as her “magical” pathways.

Smiling, she poured the hot water in with the tea leaves. She preferred a personal mix of two teas – a green tea named Gyokuro, and a black called Kamari. These specially selected teas balanced each other and assisted her focus. She often read the tea leaves for her clients. Most people enjoyed the slight taste of brown sugar and nuts the Kamari tea was renowned for.

Shuffling the deck, she pulled a random card, placing it face down onto the table in front of her. Continuing to shuffle, she pulled additional cards, placing them into a specific pattern. This reading was for herself – a daily ritual to guide her through the day ahead. As she prepared to turn the cards over one-by-one, the bells above the shop door rang out a warning. She wrapped the cards in a silke wrap as a baritone voice, trembling slightly, called out a tentative “Hello?”

“One moment,” she called. Putting the cards back onto the table, she put the saucer on top of her teacup in an attempt to keep the beverage warm and moved into the sales area.

This room was her main money-maker. Decks of Tarot cards, incense – both stick and cone, and jars of medicinal herbs of all types, cluttered every surface and shelf in the small street-level room. Hanging down from the high ceiling were silk scarves and bundles of herbs, kept out of easy reach while they finished drying. Other shelving held sprays of feathers, various animal claws, and crystal points, as well as talismans, incense sticks and cones, books on Tarot and alchemy, and small statuary used in personal shrines. It was a bit of “industrial chic meets Wiccan”, i.e. a jumble, but it suited her well.

Stopping short, when she saw who had walked into her store that morning, she gasped. “My Lord! How may I be of service to the King of the Fae?”

The King, for indeed it was he who had entered her shop, turned gracefully toward her. “I need your assistance, as well as your advice, if you please.”

“Of course,” she said, as she bowed deeply. “If you would pass through to the inner room, I will close the shop so that we might be uninterrupted.” The King nodded slightly and moved toward the hanging curtain separating the public area from her divination room.

After locking the door and turning the “OPEN” sign to “CLOSED”, she passed into the back room. “Would you care for tea, your Highness?” she asked before taking her chair. The King shook his head, so she proceeded to her chair and sat, waiting for the King to speak.

“Actually,” he began, “perhaps a cup of tea wouldn’t be a bad idea after all.” “Of course. Immediately,” she responded, and moved to the hot water still in the electric kettle at the back of the room. “Do you have a specific tea you prefer?”

The King made no specific request, so she made a pot of her favorite blend, which he seemed to enjoy as he took his first sip of the hot beverage. “I apologize for taking away any custom you might have received this afternoon, but I have a dilemma and hope you might assist me.”

“How may my poor skills help you, Sire?”

“My youngest daughter is missing. I have had the guard and my knights out looking for her for two days now, and there has been no sign. If she had been taken by an enemy, I’m quite sure I would have heard about it, or her remains would have been found prominently staged. But my soldiers and soothsayers can find no sign of her. From that, I assume that she came here, to your lands, where my powers are weaker.”

He sighed and continued. “It’s not as though I haven’t other children; over the millennia I have sired hundreds.” He shook his head and continued, his eyes a bit glassier than before. “She is … well, she is dear to me. She brings joy to all who meet her; enchants them without thought or effort. My Court is in mourning. We are missing the brightness that she brings.”

“She sounds special indeed. How does she present in the human world?”

“As a young woman, before children or marriage have aged her.” The King nodded, envisioning his youngest. “She has embraced the modern world, especially music. Although she plays a variety of instruments, she prefers to listen to the music of your world, especially this singer called Taylor Swift. She has trained all the court musicians to play the songs of this Swift, and dances under the moonrise to them.”

“Ah. Taylor Swift is scheduled to play this very night here in New York City. If she truly is a ‘Swiftie’ as her fans are called here, she more than likely will be in attendance.”

“That will be simple, then. I can just cast a finding spell in the venue, find her and bring her back home. No-one will know the difference.”

“Ummm, I beg to differ, your Highness. Are you aware of how many people attend these concerts? The arena, Met Life Stadium, will hold more than 80,000 screaming “Swifties” who follow her every move, know every word of every song, will be dressed in brilliant colors and festooned with bracelets up each arm as well as others nearby to give and to trade. It’s a festival of goodwill pulled together by music. I’m sure your daughter will have a wonderful time, but I’m also sure you’ll find it almost impossible to locate her until after the show ends for the night.”

She saw that the Elven King was a bit distraught at the news. “Your Highness, may I suggest something?”

“You come highly recommended, which is why I am here today. How can I find my daughter and return her to us in the Fairy realms?”

“Allow her attend this concert. Let her attend and scream along with the multitude, dance, sing, trade her bracelets and generally act human for one night. She can go back to the court revived, and ready to take up her tasks once again tomorrow. Send out a beacon. She will follow it and find you here when the concert is over. Both of you will be the better for the experience.”

“I had been told that you were wise, and as much as I don’t like the advice you are offering, I can see the wisdom in it. I will send my lieutenant to this building. He will cast a beacon to guide her to us when she has finished dancing with the mortals.” He looked at her sharply. “You are certain that she will be safe among these people?”

“I’m quite sure she has powers of her own that will protect her from any mortal meaning her harm. It might be a beneficial experience for both of you. She will have the opportunity to spread her wings a bit, and you will allow her to have just enough leash for the experience of her long lifetime. Your wisdom will be celebrated even more than it is now, and she will have a memory that will never die.”

“That is wisdom, indeed”, the King said. “Might I have more of your delicious tea, and perhaps I will indulge in a reading after all.” They smiled at each other as she got up to fetch the teapot. It would be a long night, but it could prove to be an interesting one.

Current Mood: accomplished

Entry tags:

lj idol

A Genius of Music - LJ Idol Week 14

How do you perceive genius? Have you ever met a genius face-to-face? Have you carried on a conversation with a genius, gone on a date with one, or lived in a household with one? In most accounts, allowances must be made for genius. In some instances, people would practically bend over backwards (as the saying goes) for a person who was an acknowledged genius. But in the end, it comes down to the question of who/what is genius?

I’ve met a variety of people throughout my 70 years who were considered genius. I can say with certitude that I know none who fit that definition now, although I know creative people who, in some instances, have created works of art within their field that could be considered genius. These were pieces that influenced their type of artwork for many years after their creation.

But what works of genius would you think of if you were asked to define a pinnacle work of genius? As someone who was a musician for more than a decade, my thoughts most often turn to musical genius – the tones, melodies and pure visions that music can create within the human brain while it is listened to. Of the many works I’ve had the joy of hearing, I come back to one stunning and sterling work that I would keep, if I had to give away every other piece of music in my personal collection or in my head. That work? The Ninth Symphony of Ludwig van Beethoven.

Composed between mid-1822 and the end of 1823, it premiered in Vienna’s Theater Kärntnertor on May 7, 1824. The actual notice for the premier was only published the day before the performance, so many who would have packed the audience were away at their country houses, enjoying the early days of summer. There are contradictions about what Beethoven wore, when the first standing ovation occurred; even who conducted the performance. However as it concluded, Michael Umlauf (generally attributed to have been the actual conductor of the orchestra), gently took the composer’s arm while Beethoven was still conducting the musicians, turning him to face the audience – all standing and cheering. It was undoubtedly the first performance of what would become one of the world’s most celebrated pieces of music. The fact that Beethoven never actually heard a single note of the music, doesn’t change the immense gift of music that his brilliance gave to the audience both then and now.

As the daughter of a classically-trained concert pianist and a man who adored opera and musical theater, I was heavily exposed to music as I was growing up. I tried learning the piano – disaster. It wasn’t that I couldn’t learn it – I can still play the keyboard to this day. It was that it simply didn’t sing to me. My cousin Andrea became the pianist in the family, getting an MA in music from Boston University and still, to this day, playing her grand piano daily, before going out to take care of the horses and other livestock on her rural Colorado home.

I, loving music but not the keyboard (although that might have been due to instructors and the ability of my smaller hands to reach much past one octave), changed course. I started playing the cello when I was 10 years old. That became my love until I entered college, when I realized that I wanted to become an archaeologist. I felt that lugging a cello along on a dig would be past ridiculous, so I sacrificed my music for the dirt. But the fact that I no longer played music in no way negated my love for it and my deep love for Beethoven. One of the best things I did for my boyfriend (later to become husband) was introduce him to all nine symphonies of Beethoven. As most people do, he fell in love with them - that incredible musical gift.

Why do we reach for music when we stretch out for something to cling to? In my most unhappy of times, I usually found myself reaching for my collection of Beethoven once again. Any of the Symphonies, or all of them in order, are guaranteed to return stability to me once again. Music gives me hope that people, no matter how silly, self-centered, or evil they can be; people are still capable of extraordinary things. These sounds, these melodies that create visions in the listener, calm my heart, and bring tears to my eyes; these sounds are an auditory confirmation of life itself. Everyone who loves music – any style or type of music – is my brother, my sister, my cousin or my friend. There is commonality between us through the sounds that we listen to and appreciate. It is that love that allows me to love others, both despite and in spite of the silly, stupid and sometimes horrible things that people do.

While the bombs fall on Ukraine, I remind myself that I cannot hate all Russians for the actions of their military. The Russians also gave us Tchaikovsky and Stravinsky. Do I have a problem with the current Chinese dictator? Well, yes, I have a lot of problems with him, but there’s also Tan Dun and Qigong Chen – wonderful composers. So, as we continue to live in a world of strife, perhaps take a serious look at what you like. Literature, music, artwork, it’s all there. It’s still being created by wonderful, talented people who didn’t choose their place of birth. Celebrate the artists instead of condemning the nations in which they reside. If all else fails, recover hope by listening to the symphony that Beethoven never actually heard in real life, only in his head and through the bottoms of his feet as he conducted the orchestra playing his masterpiece.

Current Mood: hopeful

Entry tags:

lj idol

A Prayer for Earth

Oh Tunkasila, Spirits, my ancestors, the Gods of Nature and those who are worshipped by people throughout the world by different names and aspects, hear my prayer today.

My Lord – All too often we fall into complacency. We seek the familiar and turn our back upon those who are different than ourselves. We build containers into which we comfortably fit, or shore up those which are uncomfortable, but familiar. We retreat from the new, turning our back on the future in favor of the same, if uncomfortable, routine.

All Seeing One – We are all blind by our own choosing. One of the hardest tasks you assign to us is opening our eyes; truly seeing others, new viewpoints, and sometimes uncomfortable truths.

Knowledge and Understanding – Let these be our goals as we walk through Life. Let us leave this world better when we die. Let us not put stains or strains upon it, rather let us celebrate the opportunity to walk upon its’ surface and interact with others doing the same. With luck, may we leave it a better place after we have left its’ surface for the next adventure.

Adar – Father of All, listen to our hearts, not our words. We can rarely express ourselves well in true words, but the heart always rings true. Judge us not on our deeds, but rather on our desires to leave this Earth a better place when we move to the next dimension.

Supreme One – Do not find comfort in your position, overseeing this turbulent world. It cries for your guidance, and it attempts everything, fearing not your possible punishment. Why? Because you have remained distant. Your punishment seems far behind or in an impossible future. Come down from your Mountain, we seek your teachings and need your steady Hand.

Exercise Restraint when you realize that we have completely misinterpreted your instructions and directions. Understand that you made a very curious mind when you imbued us with free will. Guide us as we explore the Universe that you gave us to share with whatever other beings you have graced with life. Although we may not recognize them when we meet them, we trust that you will point the Way to us, and through your guidance we will be able to leave this world behind us and become a part of the Cosmic Whole.

Mitakuye Oyasin

Entry tags:

lj idol

An Ode to the Phoenix

I sighed as I furled out the bottom sheet, fitting it carefully over the mattress. After a day spent in the kitchen making meals for the next 7-10 days, I was more than ready to sit down at the computer, dredge into my mind, and see what I could come up with for the current LJ Idol challenge: “From the Wreckage”.

An archaeologist by training, I could easily fall into the honey trap of talking about excavations I’ve been a part of. How we gained insight into long-dead cultures and/or peoples by looking through their garbage and abandoned homes or campsites. That would be a valid direction to go for this challenge, but my mind is pulling me from the past into the present and our current political situation – a wreck in so many, many ways.

I keep a close eye on the current situation here in the USA, and in the world. Once again there is war in the Middle East. I’ve quite lost track of how many wars have occurred in that small part of the world’s lands. If we pull back into prehistory, it might even number in the 1000’s of times.

I keep watching the very contentious USA Presidential campaign. Ideally this will be resolved at the polls in a bit less than a month, but the ripples of this election will carry through for decades to come, influencing policy long after I’m no longer living and voting. We experienced near insurrection after the last election, will the USA once again be faced with revolution?

Worldwide, there are wars everywhere – humankind seems to be a highly contentious species with a total inability to view different beliefs with anything other than pointed fingers and high suspicion. Everyone believes their way is the only way – not just the “right” way, but the ONLY way. What’s up with that?

North Korea is once again clamping down on the independence and personal rights of its’ people, while South Korea digs in their heels, preparing for possible invasion and war once again. Israel, Lebanon, splinter groups such as Hezbollah, and other nearby governments are preparing for what many will term a “holy” war, although I certainly can’t see anything holy about war of any kind. Still, all these powers-that-be are once again determining what is “best” for their people. Of course, the only ones of those people that matter are male, and usually only males old enough to enter the conflict. Females are being relegated to the kitchen and bedroom once again, occasionally to be brought out as “arm candy” for specific social and political events.

Remember the old song? “Old McDonald had a farm, E.I.E.I.O., and on that farm he had some pigs, E.I.E.I.O. With an “oink, oink” here, and an “oink, oink” there” … yes, and that’s the upcoming election in a teaspoon. This election is populated by platitudes, while platforms of promises are being built, populated, and then attacked. One candidate will win, and one will lose, but the conflict being staged will continue to ripple for years, perhaps decades. Who will win? At this point it’s irrelevant. The job that commenced four years ago on January 6th will end, and someone new will take over. Whoever loses will declare the entire process to have been fraudulent and rigged; whoever wins will praise the results as “totally above-board”, fair and just. Nothing will be resolved, and the revolving door of policies and empty promises will continue.

As you can tell, at this point I don’t believe anyone anymore. Everyone is bending the truth to meet their personal criteria, support their platform, or reflect their viewpoint. All I can tell for certain is that “We the People” will have a very difficult time supporting all these departures from what a truly democratic process should be. And I suspect, until we achieve the ability to truly have a “one person, one vote” viable standard - a true democracy where each individual person is truly voting their heart, not their representative - there will always be questions. It’s “1984” revisited once again.

However, I don’t want to leave this rant in a negative tone. The fact is that people survive, despite and in spite of their governments. They may lose their brightest stars to imprisonment or death, but new stars will rise from the ranks. It’s a fact that governments and kingdoms rise and fall over the millennia, but the people survive. They live their lives to the best of their abilities, they have children, they experience love, heartbreak, life and death. Until Mother Nature determines that She’s had enough and sends a plague or an asteroid or implodes the planet, people will survive in one way or another, one place or another. People are resilient.

Even the Phoenix must die in the flames before re-emerging once again from the wreckage.

Current Mood: hopeful

Entry tags:

lj idol

I'd Appreciate Your Vote on LJ Idol

Our LJ Idol guru has returned home after the hurricane, and re-opened voting for stories until Sunday night. I'd very much appreciate your vote if you read my entry and you like it. I'd love to continue in the competition for more challenges.

- Erulisse (one L)

Her's the link: https://therealljidol.dreamwidth.org/1167166.html

Entry tags:

lj idol

What is it About People and Haver?

What is it about babies that when older people meet them, they begin spouting out the most amazing bunch of gunk ever spoken? “Oh, what a cute baby! Aren’t you, though? Oh yes …” and then the gibberish begins. Words never put into a dictionary flow from the mouth of normally level-headed adult individuals; words that have no definition, that never existed in the English language, and that have no meaning whatsoever.

Now, to clarify, there are some words that have no definition outside of their sound. Those words are onomatopoeiatic; words that are often used and understood by other humans as another way to describe animal or bird sounds. These words such as “bark”, “bleat”, “gobble” and “woof” are meant to describe the sound that the animal makes when it communicates to others. They are part of our lexicon and can be found in most dictionaries.

Then there are nonsense words – words that have no definition at all. Nonsense words are sometimes used to help children learn how to read – how to sound out what a word should sound like when it’s viewed in print. There are lesson plans and supplementary materials available to teachers who want/need to examine these farther with their beginning reading students. These words, however nonsensical, still aren’t quite what spouts from the voices of perfectly normal-appearing adults when faced with small children imprisoned in strollers in a public setting.

So how does one go about devolving into the sappy stranger faced with a baby in a stroller in a public setting? (1) The person butchering the English language and warping the child for life with nonsense words must be a stranger to the child and its’ family. People who are more familiar to the family usually evolve from this state of interaction quite quickly – often with parental pushing and guidance. (2) The setting is usually a public one – a grocery store, a shopping mall, or a public park, for example. And while in that setting, the parent or responsible adult is doing “walksies” with said baby. (3) The child itself must be in a good mood, and that mood must continue despite the application of ridiculous words from a stranger who is getting FAR too close for comfort.

If you are a parent caught in a situation like this; and you are receiving a load of haver from an unknown person directed at the small Mini-Me version of yourself in the stroller, do not despair. The child will not be scarred by this total misapplication of the English language (I say English here because it is my home language, but feel free to substitute your language of choice). In most instances the child will totally ignore the strange person; or upon seeing a stranger, the ‘sweet baby’ will emote a squawk such as would awaken the Gods upon Mount Olympus, thus frightening the well-wisher with poor grammatical skills away and leaving you to apologize to their retreating backs for your baby’s “rude” behavior. Either pathway will lead to the same result. The well-wisher with halitosis and bifocals will be chased away, and you will once again be free to educate your child in proper grammatical usage of common words in your language of choice. Voila – problem solved or resolved.

Is this the end of haver in the life of your child? Oh, most certainly not. But the instances of haver will tend to settle in specific people or staged interactions. For example, someone who is very afraid of flying may end up talking non-stop in their seat when all you want to do is put on your headphones and do the latest crossword puzzle. Or a person meeting someone unexpectedly may “gush” words they normally would never say. For instance, a fan of a particular movie, meeting the star of said film on the street, may well waste that opportunity for a meaningful interaction by falling into the trap of babbling.

Then we come to the politicians. There must be an unspoken rule in politics that allows a candidate to spout really stupid things, giving incorrect data as factual, slinging mud onto the opposing candidate, or simply lying. Apparently, this type of haver is allowable because we’re getting our fill of it during the current US Presidential election. Yet, there are people who can listen to the words, think that the nonsense is true, and vote accordingly. In fact, politicians rely on that (and the short-term memory problems of the constituency). There’s really no accounting for it, but it happens in every election, from the local level through to the Presidential level.

I don’t know about you, but I have an issue having haver spoken to me. I am an adult, a highly educated individual and I’m fully capable of choosing between candidates without hearing a daily dose of nonsense fed to me over the television, through the radio, or in print. I, for one, will be grateful when the election is over. Will I approve of the result? That is still to be determined, and not germane to this argument, therefore my own haver ends right now.

Current Mood: hopeful

Entry tags:

lj idol

Write-Off Entry

A QUEST FOR SELF-IDENTITY – aka NO TIME FOR BOREDOM

I’m a 70-year-old white middle-class woman with adequate means, a 45-year-old marriage, a beautiful house (older, but quite serviceable for us), and no children (by choice). In my past, I’ve had four dogs and three cats, although I’m dreadfully allergic to cat dander. I’ve got a general BA Degree and a specialized MA in Anthropology. My personal goals as I was growing up were straightforward – a basic college education (my Father insisted on that one), and an appreciation for the arts (a strong point of my Mother’s).

The information I’ve imparted in the beginning paragraph, although accurate, doesn’t even begin to describe the person I am, however. It describes my public exterior – the surface that we all wear like a mask in a play. The mask that we use to interact with other people, whether well known or total strangers.

How often do we allow our complete selves to peek through the cracks, shine out from our eyes, guide our hands, and temper our voices with the correct words to say to others? Do you allow your “real” self to shine through? If yes, do you get support for that aspect of your personhood, or are you strongly encouraged to replace the covering rock once again?

Over my lifespan I’ve experienced both responses. My parents fell into the first category. I can’t claim that they understood me, but I knew I had their absolute support in almost any endeavor I decided to attempt. I also knew that if it required anything from them – money, a place to crash for a day or two, or just a kind voice on the other end of the phone – it would be there.

I married, expecting to receive the same support. DH and I had lived together as students for two years, survived our Comprehensive Examinations and my oral defense of my thesis (his orals and thesis weren’t complete until six months after I graduated). When we lived together as students, he was encouraging, expressed interest in anything I was doing, and seemed willing to throw himself into something new if I wanted to examine it.

But as he aged, and life responsibilities weighed heavily on him – paying for our house (whichever house we were living in at the time), taking care of his aged parents, and being the only “responsible” male in his family for years – his mindset narrowed and the fun person I had married became the solemn businessman I’m partnered with today.

While I was trying to expand my artistic vision into new areas, new trends and new techniques; he was narrowing his viewpoint while erecting a non-physical fence with a single gate that he guarded carefully.

I pushed and prodded myself, and with the help of friends, courses, and teachers at trade shows like the Bead & Button Show, I created - finding out what artistic things I loved to make, and which would be done once or twice and then not repeated. I made lots and lots of artwork, utilized many different types of techniques and media, and fed my creative side – the side that gives me reasons to live.

He, meanwhile, learned the tricks and trade of finance – the stock market and investments. He created our safety-blanket, but in doing this, by worshipping at the Altar of Money, he lost the person he used to be. It was a necessary sacrifice for our security, but it is leaving him isolated now, in his late years, when he realizes he has no real friends and no real activities of interest to him.

I still hold hope that I’ll be able to leave my business behind me and return to the things I love best – making artwork for the sake of the making, learning new techniques, teaching on occasion, and expanding myself through my personal artistic vision.

I hope that in retirement, he can allow himself to expand a bit if he doesn’t have a daily job to go to, but I think there’s an equal chance that he’ll be horribly bored. I guess that’s the kernel of our differences – I’m NEVER bored; there are always a multitude of things that I can do. I’m a multimedia artist and there’s always something that I can create or design. If I’m not designing or creating or writing, I’ve got my nose in a book. Books are my constant companion since I first learned to read. He declares himself "bored" all the time, and relies on the Television or his computer games to occupy his time. I wonder who will die of boredom first? I’m pretty sure it won’t be me.

Edited (I wanted to get this up ASAP, but realized there were some typos and a few grammatical things that required upgrade. ) 2024-09-28 08:01 am (local)

A Masterwork for Julliard

A Masterwork for Julliard

“Of course I’ve heard of synesthesia,” the Dean of Music said to Laura as he escorted her to their seats in the auditorium. "I’ve seen each of the boys perform individually, and even in duets, but I’ve never seen them perform as a group of three before.”

Laura nodded. “Then you’re in for a treat. My son may not be a musician, but he brings out the best in those two and he captures the performance in color and pattern. They study the finished artworks afterward, working out how they were a little weak here, or how Leo was too overbearing at this point where David needed to be bolder instead.”

“And Tyler?” the Dean queried. “How does he fit into this, working with two musicians although he creates no music?”

“He sees the entire effect – the tones, sounds, harmonies, and rhythms, but he sees them as colors and line. He puts their sound into two dimensions, translating them into hardcopy for the masses to enjoy long after the sounds have died away. My son synthesizes their joint talents and brings them into the room for everyone to understand and enjoy. After they are done for the evening, I’ll be happy to bring you down to the stage. You can ask Tyler to explain his artwork. You’ll see the full concert, but this time in light, color, shape and hues instead of tone and rhythm. He paints exactly what he sees, and he sees what he hears.”

“Remarkable,” the Dean responded, and they settled back into their seats to enjoy the concert that was about to begin.

Laura sat watching with just as much focus as everyone else as Tyler stood on the stage, David on one side, Leandro on the other. Leandro held his viola, ready to begin playing. David sat down at the keyboard on the other side, and Tyler, her only child, stood next to an easel, his brushes and paints at the ready. “This never gets old,” she thought as, at a nod from Tyler, the three young men began to create magic.

Their style was vaguely classified as avant-garde, but that was because terms really didn’t describe their synthesis. The three friends created art for the soul – the eyes and ears - with their hands and their talents. It was a style of art that hadn’t been codified in this fashion before.

The viola began by playing a baroque tune – very structured and, after the keyboard joined in, the two instruments played with each other, dancing around the chords and rhythms. Tyler, answered their musical call, starting with a brilliant fire engine red – a color he deemed “neutral”, (although almost anyone else would think red was a harder color than that).

The musicians eased into a rhythm more reminiscent of a country 2-step. An impromptu hoedown ensued, with Tyler splashing yellow onto the canvas, seemingly at random. The audience began clapping along with the rhythm.

At a nod from the artist, the two musicians again shifted. The beat became more tribal, evoking the savannah of Africa or the desert dunes of the Sahara. Now the instruments were playing off each other. The beat was taken up by one when it was dropped by the other; melodies merged, separated, and then merged again. The painting located at center stage was starting to take shape, but it was still anyone’s guess what it would look like when the concert came to its’ end.

Suddenly a voice sounded. “David, Lee, I need ‘kapow’ – bright and brilliant. It’s too dark, so let’s lighten up.” The tones shifted once again, playful and chasing each other around the stage. Melodies bounced from one instrument to the other, rhythms changed regularly, and after a bit of “chase” between them all, they were ready to start wrapping up the event.

“Let’s start bringing this home,” Tyler shouted over the music as he splattered the canvas with purple, feathering the droplets into stormy skies and hints of a futuristic cityscape. The musicians smiled at him, shifted their key and a quieter tone rained down upon the listening ears and open paints.

They had played together hundreds of times by the time they reached college. Since they had first met in Elementary School, Tyler and David had created together – Tyler seeing the colors in the music David produced, David seeing the canvas dance under Tyler’s focus and interpretation. Of course, they worked on canvas now, but in those early days, they had gone through many, many paper pages on the classroom easel, and dry-erase markers and boards were also a necessity while they honed their abilities to communicate with each other by a glance, a single word, a line or a nod.

Lee was the newcomer having been with the other two for only five years. The moment Tyler and David had met him, they knew he was what they had been missing, although they hadn’t known they had been missing anything until then. Meeting Lee, they knew they had their third and final ensemble member.

Leandro was also gifted with synesthesia, although his application was different. Tyler saw the colors in the music, and David understood and saw how his music directly influenced Tyler’s artwork, but Leandro saw both of his friends creating actual physical lines and new dimensions that he saw clearly. He then used his own music to reach out, encompass, pull together, and meld the three young men into a single being, by using his own viola music as the binder between the three.

It shouldn’t have worked. There shouldn’t have been a way to influence one another or gain from each other in the ways the trio did. But when the two musicians had tried out for Julliard, they insisted that Tyler had to be with them. They had required him to be a part of anything they created. The Dean bent a lot of rules for the trio – admitting them to the school, allowing them to attend all classes together, and other things – like rooming together.

As he looked at the finished artwork after having listened to the melodies that allowed the image to be created, the Dean suddenly experienced a small amount of jealousy. The three boys had a closeness that he never would have or could have in his own life. Suddenly being human seemed just a bit smaller than being lucky enough to be human with a shared gift such as they had.

Current Mood: cranky

Entry tags:

lj idol

LJ Idol Entry Week 10

My laptop is being cranky. On the one hand, it's telling me that my story has posted. On the other hand, it's not allowing me to see whether it actually has or not! So, here's the link in case it hasn't posted for you either. *sigh*

https://erulissedances.dreamwidth.org/1056107.html

Thanks for reading, hopefully commenting, and even more hopefully voting so that I can continue onward in this wonderful contest.

- Erulisse (one L)

Current Mood: confused
Current Location: My laptop is being cranky this morning.

Entry tags:

lj idol

Full Moon - LJ Idol Week 10 - Home Game

I bin called on me tale many times, but to the folks ‘round here, it’s just common sense. It’s not like none o’ em haint seen strange things a-goin’ on ‘round these parts. Hippies or “Moon Puppies,” or what’er they call theirselves these days, gather at the ol’ quarry every full moon. Maybe it’s witches. “Wiccans” they call theirselves these days. Like “witches” ain’t good ‘nuf for ‘em. Witches was plenty good ‘nuf for Grandpa ‘n Gamma. Don’t need no fancy terms to be spoutin’ off ‘n provin’ your worth. Not in these parts.

Like I said, it’s jus’ common sense. When the moon’s full, stay outta the woods. Stay in the town proper, or in a snug house with the lights on. If’n the ‘lectrical ain’t working well, light a fire and use them oil lamps. We all have ‘em. City folk call ‘em “New Age”. We know, tho. We know them oil lamps kept those bogies away fer centuries before you could just flip a switch. And that ‘lectrical stuff – it don’t work in the downpours we get. Ever’ summer ‘round Solstice the wires fail, so there ain’t no power nohow.

Ma, she taught us right, me, me brothers and sisters. On the hard nights, the ones right around Solstice times – them that she always called the Long and the Short days – she’d light a fire in the hearth and made sure she had plenty o’ kindling around. She’d put rosemary and sage ‘round the windows and doors, ‘n scatter evergeen fronds ‘round the barns. She made sure the beasts were bedded down early and locked each stall. It wouldn’ do to lose any animals – they worked fer us, fed us, and helped us with the crops every year. Our animals are kin, needin’ our protection.

When all ’a the prep work was done, we gathered in the main house for a meal, then settled down on blankets all ‘round the main room. No-one was alone those nights. We’d stay together. “There’s strength in numbers,” Ma’d always say, as she checked each door and window, scatterin’ herbs across the thresholds and sills.

The wind down the chimney would blow embers onto our blankets, burning some new holes, but we stuck together in the one room. Old Gamma, she’d start out by tellin’ us about the Old Ones - them who’d come out of their hills on certain nights, seekin’ slaves. It seemed every year or half-year someone would be missing in the area after Solstice.

I ‘member the time it was Trudy Watson’s daughter missin’. Just a youngling – maybe 12, 13 years old. Miz Watson was besides herself the next day when Trudy turned up missing – her blanket was cold and the hearth fire was scattered. She came a-runnin’ to Gamma, beggin’ for her to use her witchin’ to find her girl. We all knowed it weren’t worth the trouble, but Miz Watson was a good lady, helpin’ all in need. So we gathered into groups and went into the hills, a’ callin’ and a’l ookin’ for Beatrice. Damned fancy name – probably why she ‘tracted the wrong kind o’ attention. Lest that’s what I think. But we all gathered because we knowed it could a’ bin any of us. It weren’t more than two hours ‘til old Dan called out that he’d found her. We all gathered round Trudy who was a’shakin’ with the grief. Her girl had been pulled apart. Messy. But we knew we needed to track them hobs down this time. They had actually gone into a house to fetch the young’un, somethin’ that hadn’t happened before. If’n we didn’t teach them a lesson, none o’ us would be safe.

Thinkin’ back on it now, it seems we declared war on ‘em as had killed Trudy’s girl. The menfolk all banded together while the women comforted Trudy and made ready for the funeral. Food had to be made, ‘n herbs had to be scattered. We even called the local man o’ God to come say a few words over the corpse (and as a bye, do his blessin’ through the house as well. Me Da’ always said it never did hurt to hedge your bets.)

The old ones, Gamma and others, also came together. They cooked, and not everything they cooked was meant for food – ‘leastways, not for us’n. The food that wasn’t meant for us wasn’t cooked at the family hearth. A fire was built outside for that “stew”. We was going huntin’ that night.

After the sun set, the old ones and many o’ the other men and women gathered. It was time to take the fight to them that wuz harmin’ us. Everyone was armed with rifles and knives, and with herbs and holy water. M’Gamma always said she doubted about that holy water – that it were the intention of the persons scatterin’ the waters, not the blessin’ of the man wearing a dress. Me? I didn’t care neither way. I had my rifle and my good skinnin’ knife, and we waz in a group. No goin’ it alone.

‘Course there was those who stayed behind to keep the younglings and old ones safe. I ‘member the days when I would be a’doing that too, but now I was armed and goin’ after them that had harmed us. We gathered together and hunted high and low. We had gathered to seek, and we found them – those what had killed one of our own. We stabbed and we burned, and we got ‘em back good. Probably good enuf that they won’t bother us’n for many months. I killed one of their young ones me self; my knife had its’ black blood on it. What? Don’t think I’m big enuf, strong enuf, and mean enuf to be a’ killin’ one of them that harmed us? Well, it ain’t braggin’ if it’s truth, and them words, they’re truth. Just ask anyone from these parts.

Entry tags:

lj idol

A Cautionary Tale – six drabbles of measured advise

A Cautionary Tale – six drabbles of measured advise

Sighing, he strode towards the double doors. Ahead waited the contestants, those who had qualified for the “contest” in various ways. “Line them up,” he called, clapping his hands. Minions scurried to meet his demand, adjusting the girls into straight lines. He sat in his chair, holding his hand out for the paperwork. A brisk nod started them walking past him. Some strutted, some quaked, all were nervous. A raised finger stopped the procession, as he beckoned one girl closer. Opening her mouth, he looked at her teeth as if she were a horse, then signaled the procession to resume.

An edict had gone through the kingdom – all unmarried females between the ages of 15 and 30 had been required to assemble at the jousting ring. The consequences for disobedience were dire; his temper and reputation were well known and feared. Each girl had dressed poorly, attempting to hide her body in a shapeless sack. They had dirtied their rosy cheeks, attempting to hide anything that might attract more attention. Although they knew the last Lady of the Land had died in childbirth, there were also rumors of witchcraft, devils, dwarves and blood offerings. With power would also come fear.

He signaled the procession to halt again and got up from his chair. Walking down the line of frightened women and girls, he checked each one carefully. Turning, he queried “Is this all there are?” His Vizier bowed deeply, “Yes, your Highness. All except the girl who tends the sheep in the upper Valley. She was nowhere close, and the counselors deemed her to be too far distant for the assembly.” The ruler looked unimpressed. “Well, imprison these females here until I can see this shepherd for myself. We leave at dawn.” The Vizier, grateful for postponing the decision, nodded.

* * * * *

Dawn saw a cavalcade emerge from the central grounds, heading for the high pastures. Picnic lunches had been packed and the horses were festooned with gaily colored caparisons. The Vizier shook his head. “If this shepherdess seeks solitude, she will surely run away from this popinjay,” he thought, quickly burying that thought. Thoughts like that could lead to his death. After several hours they crested the lip of a lush valley with herds grazing comfortably below. “Ho, Shepherdess” the ruler called out. A young woman, beautiful in aspect, emerged from the center of the animals. “You will be my wife.”

“I am no man’s wife. I belong to the mountains, the wind and the rain. Any who think otherwise will rue the day their thoughts brought them to my valley,” she stated, crossing her arms. The sheep mulled around her, bleating softly, as if reassuring her. A large ram moved up to stand on her left, another mirrored the first on her right. “Her! I must have her! Make it so!” he cried out. The soldiers watched uneasily as the animals surrounded the girl. At a nod from her, the sheep began running; the herd aimed directly at the ruler.

In short order, all that remained was a stain on the ground. The girl looked around at the various Councilors and soldiers, all of whom sat astride their horses as if carved from stone. “Return to your homelands, you stupid men. Look no farther than your own hearths for happiness. Acknowledge the treasures you have. Treat your women with respect and raise your children to acknowledge the worth of each person. No person is a bycatch, each one has value and worth. Learn this lesson and pass it on. If you do, I will allow you life. If not…you die.”

Current Mood: accomplished
Current Location: Glad to get this up within deadline
Current Music: it's my life – bon jovi

Entry tags:

lj idol

Hikkomori - Solitude in Life – Haiku in Four Acts

Hikkomori - Solitude in Life – Haiku in Four Acts

Me, myself and I
Walking life’s road with myself
My life becomes clear.

People are so noisy
Talk, shout, babble; ads nonstop
I seek my quiet.

I’m solitary
I am satisfied. Alone,
I answer to me.

Do not disturb me.
Contentment follows my choice
Silence is heaven.

Current Mood: hopeful
Current Location: Wrapping up a very long day - I'm exhausted.

Entry tags:

lj idol,
vote

Please Read and Vote If You Feel My Story Has Merit

The voting for Week 6 of LJ Idol closes late Tuesday (or maybe it's early Wednesday?), and I don't have nearly enough votes to make me feel anywhere at ease with the stiff competition I've got in this group of talented authors. The entry is at

https://erulissedances.dreamwidth.org/1050985.html

And I would REALLY love it if you read it and vote for it if you liked it Also, take advantage of reading some other entries if you can. They're wonderful! If I don't get much farther in this competition, I'll be losing to some extremely talented authors.

Thanks in advance.

Erulisse (one L)

Current Mood: hopeful
Current Location: Hoping this posts correctly.*sigh*

Entry tags:

lj idol

Week 6 - DIVE IN AND DO IT

DIVE IN AND DO IT

It’s rarely pointed out that saying “I do” in front of family and friends isn’t a culmination, or even a high peak after which all will be an easy downhill scenic journey. No, it usually takes months, or even years, to get to the point where two people join their lives together “…for richer and poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part”. All too often, though, the ceremony Is considered the penultimate goal; the life following those vows is seen as an afterthought or maybe as an excuse to have children.

But in reality, that’s hardly the case. The marriage ceremony isn’t the finish line, it’s the starting line of a new life – a life shared with another. The road of marriage starts with promises, and those promises are focused on a future barely glimpsed through the trees of challenge. It’s impossible to predict exactly what challenges will be faced, but challenges are inevitable; it’s life.

That pathway stretching in front of the married couple is virgin territory. Every couple needs to find a way to work together as a team, clearing the path in front of them and absorbing the vicissitudes that life is bound to throw at each person. Couples quickly learn the strengths and weaknesses of their partners. After a short time jostling for position, the new couple will settle down into a rhythm and a true partnership. Most of the time.

However, that’s not always the case. Partnerships that are dominated by one person who weds an indifferent, distracted or unfocused partner may never succeed in arriving at the end of their life’s pathways together. Stepping off the shared pathway is easy; but sometimes staying on the track, even when it is faint or filled with dangerous obstacles, is the better goal and harder challenge in anyone’s life.

So why do we keep trying? Why do we continue to commit to walking a barely visible pathway with one other person – jointly committed to arriving at forest’s end as a couple? There are numerous reasons – friendship, love, trust, shared duties and burdens, children, etc. Most of these are duties that have existed in every family, passed down from generation to generation. But partners in marriage aren’t the only long-term partnerships available.

Friendship – best friends, “besties”, can walk the same path as you. With a best friend, you can chat about any topic, and no matter how many years you’ve been friends, there’s always something new to discover – a new corner around which to peek. The roads that friends walk can develop deep ruts over years and years of shared experiences, keeping their friendship solid gold – untarnished and brilliantly shining. The goals of friendship are different than those in a marriage, but there are a lot of similarities as well. There must be consideration for the viewpoints of the other person; an understanding between two people that doesn’t require speech to be present; shared goals and history; and the desire to keep adding to their story year after year. These things and more pulls them together time and again.

Does anyone form a friendship thinking “I’ll want to be friends with this person thirty years from now”? It’s a rare friendship that will exist for that length of time. Friendships, like marriages, start with faint paths stretching ahead, but shared experiences and common ground between friends creates stronger and stronger bonds over time. Friends can become as close as family, or in some cases can even surpass the friendship of family. A friendship like this isn’t something acquired quickly – it’s not the classmate in the history class, the friend with whom you exchanged Spanish grammar books in school, or the pal who saw “Jurassic Park” or “Minions” with you. It’s all those things and more – it’s a shared history. The slight, barely defined pathway of friendship can become scuffed into the earth over time, creating a scar which reminds them that they need that other person to be whole.

Paths in the forest are made by walking. People or animals will search out the easiest way to the freshwater stream, the wild berries, the ridgeline and the next valley. To find these paths, you must look carefully. They’re often just a faint footfall, soon to be gone when the grasses regain their height. But paths, although faint, are still there. It’s not virgin wilderness, it shares itself with other living creatures – 2-footed, 4-footed, or perhaps more. Every creature who has been on this path, no matter who/what they are, has left a mark. By reading those marks carefully, a history can be determined – the history of the area and the path itself.

Walking the paths of others can be an adventure. We’re often looking away from adventure as we age – getting accustomed to the pathways we’ve developed and walking in a rut of our own choices. But one way to stay young and to enjoy new experiences is to walk new paths. Paths don’t have to be a physical step upon the earth. What about starting a new activity? Have you always wanted to learn how to throw a pot or make an item from stained glass? Why not? What’s stopping you from exploring something new? Are you afraid to walk a new path? Or is the thought of allowing another thing into an already overcrowded life stopping you?

I think for many of us, it’s the second thought that stops us; and that’s a shame, because humanity grows through new experiences. If you walk the same path to the waterhole every day, you’ll become so accustomed to it that you might not notice the lion has come over to hunt, and you are possibly on its’ menu. Maybe change can actually be a good thing! An awakening thing. So often we look at change as an upheaval; and it often is both dramatic and challenging. But embracing change is one of those things that allows us to be human.

So, as you begin this day; while you read this small essay on pathways – old or new, four-lane highway or barely noticed footprints in the dirt, think on this. Will you be brave today? Will you allow yourself to expand your personal horizons? Will you think about doing something you have always wanted to do but never had the time/courage/guts to? Why the hell not! Dive in and do it. If it’s a mistake, you’ll grow from that too. But if you don’t try it, you’ll always feel as if you’re lacking something … just something. Won’t you? Dive in, walk the secret pathways and live!

Current Mood: hopeful
Current Location: Grateful to get this up in time.
Current Music: Row, Row, Row Your Boat

Entry tags:

ljidol

The Real LJ Idol - Week 5 - Oubaitori

Oubaitori – Goal or Anathema? Maybe Both

How often have parents wanted, indeed expected, their children to grow up the way they envision? But, as children do, they simply don’t cooperate, stubbornly remaining individuals with their own goals and abilities.

Even twins – as close as any two people can possibly be, grow up to be individual, different people. While Twin A may embrace graphic art as her outlet, her twin might become a renowned author. Both are creative, but they express their creativity through different outlets.

Despite their differences, however, they are inevitably compared to one another. All siblings, indeed most children, go through the comparison routine. However, it can be worse for twins. Twins are more likely to be pushed into scenarios such as, “Your brother excels in sports, why are you such a klutz?” or, “Your sister has been accepted to Harvard on a full scholarship, why don’t you apply there too?” It’s hard for parents and friends to see twins as two individual people. It’s even harder for identical twins, but who often look like mirror images of each other. It’s hard for parents, but if they step back from their children and look at them through a stranger’s eyes, they might be astonished by what they see.

Of course, truly identical twins share a bond with their sibling that nobody else can imitate or identify with. But is it a leg up? Does it give one child the ability to replace the other? Identical twins I have known sometimes took the place of their twin to take an occasional test at school (if one of them was better at the subject than the other). Other twins had fun switching boyfriends/girlfriends in High School (which usually didn’t turn out well).

The twin bond, however, seems to go so much deeper. It’s been recorded that often after one twin gets pregnant, the other one soon finds herself pregnant as well. It’s not a rule, but it’s been documented. But is that the case with all twins? Are they truly one person split into two? Or are they merely two eggs that just happened to be in the right place at the right time?

If you ask any parent of twins, they will always tell you that their children are different people. Although they might look alike, they have different interests, different attitudes, and different goals. In a society that values individualism, as our “Western” societies claim, isn’t that difference a worthy distinction? Don’t parents attempt to find differences between identical twins as quickly as possible to help them differentiate between their children?

As much as many of us may have wished for a twin, or perhaps just a sibling as we were growing up, would we really have wanted it? In some ways, of course. It would be great to have one person in the world to whom you’re closer than any other person, and twins are that other person. But it is almost impossible to truly give each child in a set of twins an equal amount of time with parents and other siblings.

As twins grow up their interests often diverge. That could make taking each other’s places, or merely planning a long-term life together, even more difficult. For instance, what could happen when one twin embraces the kitchen, aspiring to be a master chef someday, while the other burns toast but wants to be a world-class musician (or a starving artist since food preparation isn’t her gift).

What is important, in any family with children, is to love each child, giving him/her your full attention. Every child will occasionally disappoint their parents and siblings. It’s inevitable. Parenthood requires great patience, allowing each child to develop in their own time, and celebrating the highs while offering support and consolation for the lows. Parenthood requires an advanced degree, but the only school offering that degree is the School of Life. Mistakes will happen, it’s the only guarantee. But parents have a lifetime to both make and to make up for those inevitable mistakes, while celebrating each individual child’s accomplishments and achievements. Parenthood – it’s not for the weak.

Entry tags:

lj idol

The Real LJ Idol - Week 3 - Uncanny Valley

My current entry for the theme "Uncanny Valley" has been posted here:

https://erulissedances.dreamwidth.org/1046057.html

Voting is NOT open yet, entries are being accepted through Wednesday, but I wanted to get this completed and out there while I could. Life is crazy enough without adding additional deadlines to my life - LOL. Now to watch the Olympics for a while. I'll let all of you know when voting is open and I hope my tale merits a vote from all of you, my readers.

- Erulisse (one L)

Uncanny Valley - The Experiment

A restlessness had overcome her. She cast her thoughts back – what had her life been like before she had crossed the mountains? She didn’t remember building the house, but she must have. It couldn’t have appeared from nothing. Memories tickled the edges of her mind, attempting to find a crevice or small hole into which they could glide. A small ribbon of thought found a kink and suddenly came to the forefront. She stopped short – a quick memory of a familiar, yet somehow unfamiliar face, had halted her forward progress. Who? What? But confusion reigned. She shook her head, unable to pull the thought or memory from her deep consciousness.

Passing through the doorway, she moved onto the deck. Her yoga mat stood in its familiar corner, waiting for her to shake it open and welcome the sun. When had she last opened it? She couldn’t remember. No matter, it was time to welcome the day. As she began her sun salutations, she pushed the thoughts of “Wrong - this is all wrong”, into a far corner of her mind. What could possibly be wrong with this; these familiar motions, this feeling of comfort welcoming the dawn. The valley where she lived was a familiar scene. Conifers stretched along the upper reaches of the peak across from the house, accented by golden aspen trees on the lower slopes across the narrow valley. Her house was located below the timberline, surrounded by whispering aspen trees, leaves tickled by the morning breeze. Smiling, she continued the yoga postures and cycles. Nothing could be better. Could it? But the feeling that something was wrong kept her from fully enjoying session. She sighed as she ended the routine. She couldn’t isolate what was bothering her, and that was starting to annoy her.

Rolling up the mat, she returned it to the corner, and re-entered the house, heading towards the bathroom in the Master bedroom. Turning on the shower, she again mulled over that sense of “wrongness” that kept nibbling at the back of her mind. “Why am I here again? I thought I left this house behind when I left him. When did I arrive? From where? Why am I unable to remember?” Those questions and others were running through her mind, not slowing down and not allowing her any surcease.

As she returned to the kitchen, a damp towel wrapped around her body, she seemed to catch an odd flicker at the far edge of her vision. She shook her head and began making a cup of tea. Putting bread into the toaster and taking a container of yoghurt from the refrigerator, she turned quickly, suddenly frightened. “I don’t remember coming here,” blared through her mind, frightening her with the intensity of the thought. “When did I come back to the Valley? How? Why?” Panic started to rise. Her breathing quickened, becoming labored as she moved one step away from true panic. Her breathing got faster and her heart pounded, the beats increasing with each second as she looked around a room that was both familiar and totally alien.

Behind her a thin vertical line appeared and grew as space wrinkled, allowing two entities to step through into the house. A quick dart fired by one of them took her down, the other entity catching the tea cup which teetered on the countertop edge.

“She’s starting to remember already.”

“Yes. How many more doses can we give her before we must return her?”

“Two more at most. She’s almost at the end of her endurance. We have no option but to abandon her to her own kind once again.”

“Pity – we have learned a great deal about this world and its’ societies through her thoughts and interactions. But, as you say, no choice remains. Come, we will transport her to the other side of the valley where we can send her through the tesseract into her own dimension. It will welcome her again. Give her the antidote and let’s begin. Perhaps we will soon get another hiker in the area who will want to come to our valley.”

“Wait while I mark it down in the experimental record. ‘Total time subject spent in the construct, 60 Earth years.’ If she regains consciousness again, she’ll have a bit of catching up to do. Well, we don’t need this primitive dwelling anymore.” As if it was merely a dream, the house dissolved from around them.

“I’ll take her to the pathways that lead to her own kind while you check the area for our next subject. It’s been a valuable study, but we need more data before we return to our own planet.” The two beings separated; the body of the unconscious woman slung easily across the shoulder of one. Their orders were clear. Before their race could take over this small solar system with its’ singular, wet planet, they needed to understand the various lifeforms on the third planet. More research was required before a final decision could be reached.