Month: September 2023

Which part?

What aspects of your cultural heritage are you most proud of or interested in?

My dad is into genealogy, so I know a LOT about my lineage. Interesting stories, mostly, and all the famous people that all of everyone is also related to. His work has opened my eyes to how connected we actually are. All of us. Looking up the line is overwhelming, as looking forward from the past shows an exponential spread of DNA going down and out that becomes diluted with each generation, mixing of this talent and trait with that one until maybe a spec is left of a person that history counts as legend. But I like to think that somehow certain gifts have escaped the hundreds of years of watering down that led to me. I am not a pure bred anything, but no one is. Empires conquered empires, and the influences of some reached every corner of Earth, which in turn spread to other corners and so on. I have learned a lot of history from my dad in his quest to connect the dots, one fact being that time is rife with brutality but displays evidence of hope and beauty and love. Humans are complex but predictable, as is the trail of history left in their wake. And we are all part of that history. We descend from it. We are the sum total of those who came before us.

But none of that answers the question. What am I most proud of?

My dad. My mom. Their parents. Who they are and were and how I inherited the things I love most about them. There’s bad in there too, which I cannot deny. But I am also proud of how we all learned to overcome the darkness.

What fascinates me maybe even more than the past is how someday my own talents and traits will pop up down the line. Someone might look like me or share my affinity for literature and general frivolity. I imagine I will pass on the passions I got from those who came before me.

My heritage is an amalgam of many, and I’m fascinated by each one and how they combined. My pride is of the people who formed and reformed that heritage. I might be molding it some, and I’m proud of that, too.

devour thrice; three times devour

What’s the best piece of advice you’ve ever received?

I have two. One that I never share (okay, once I did), and one that I don’t like that isn’t really advice but a fact. Oh, and a third that I do like.

1) The one I never share that is golden:

Bad teachers don’t know the rules. Good teachers know the rules and follow them. Excellent teachers know the rules don’t apply to them.

2) The unsettling fact:

Today’s accomplishments are tomorrow’s expectations.

3) The one that has taught me humility and served me best:

Surround yourself with people who are smarter than you.

May they serve you well.

Tread lightly while unarmed in the presence of introspection, I tell myself. Rarely do I listen.

Tonight the darkness has found me. I feel as though my being has been dismembered, or rather compartmentalized. Something between the two, anyway.

I thought about how each of the few people in my life are different, and that their unique qualities match the different facets of me. Joy, anxiety, stubbornness, conscience, guilt, beauty, innovativeness, etc. Some of these people look up to me more than I deserve to be looked up to. Some tolerate me. Some are disappointed. I don’t know what the others feel, I only know what I fear they might. How can I be so highly regarded by some, looked down on by others, and not good enough for my kids? I don’t feel good enough for them. They turned out so great, but I give my husband the credit for that. He is my conscience, my straight and narrow, the one that I fail over and over. My workmates judge me, and my three friends think I hung the moon. To my parents, I am a child. I think the last couple of years they haven’t thought that, though for most of my half-century of life, they have, and not in a good way. At times like this I want to escape and live in isolation. But I would miss them all (except my workmates, sadly). I hope they’d miss me too. I’d feel more myself, I think, but I’d be in great despair of losing my family. I’ve lost some people already, and I am scarred by the unimaginable situations that caused the loss. In times like this I check in with my joy. She lives on the other side of the world, but I get instant responses when I wave hello or share a giggle. I rarely make time for conversation, though. She is my medicine, like a pill to take when I need to feel better. A silly picture suffices, always delivered and unsolicited.

So I’m un-whole tonight in a house alone, with the only thing separating me from my parts is a text I could send at any time, which brings me some comfort.

I did nothing today, and they say that idle hands are the devil’s playground. An idle mind most certainly is. My self-loathing has made an appearance. But tomorrow, I will be better.

am not…are too…

Do you see yourself as a leader?

This is such a serious prompt, but I’m inclined to answer because I feel like writing.

I do not, nor have I ever seen myself as a leader. I certainly never wanted to be one. I’ve always fancied myself a fly on the wall. But then I step out of my car at work and my alter ego takes over. Or maybe disappears. Whatever the case, I become an entertainer and speaker of truths. I don tiny plastic hands and greet my subjects at the door before inundating them with knowledge they never thought they wanted to know. I fill their heads with thoughts that wake them up in the night in fits of anxiety. And they come running to me —the source of their agony—for comfort.

¡El edificio se calló!

So I was told once.

Then he made a 4, and now the building stands strong.

Growing is scary and painful, but somebody has to guide them through. I shove them through. With my tiny plastic hands.

I guess what I am saying is that if I have to do this thing, if I have to teach, if I must lead, then I will do it with as little seriousness as possible. The subject is hard enough.

All the words. I hoard them like a troll.

What’s your favorite word?

Kerfuffle instantly came to mind, which is odd since I neither use the word nor ever think of using it. When I was young, I liked the way the word “Ledbetter” sounds. It’s not really a word but a name, except it is the name of a street, which is where I first saw it, and a street name could be a word. Not that names aren’t words, but they have no real use. I could write a book of words without ever stating a name and still be able to clearly distinguish between characters. Prince didn’t have a name for a while, and Shakespeare didn’t think much of the idea. Frankenstein’s monster was nameless until someone decided his name is, in fact, Frankenstein and unwittingly passed along the lie, which I suppose isn’t really a lie since the mistake was likely just that: a mistake. Now look. Order a Frankenstein costume and you’ll get the mask of a ghoulish undead rather than a mad scientist. But I suppose the lunatic doctor, himself, was a monster in his own right,

I am fully aware of my digression.

I might have a favorite word, but I think I like how the words are put together better than the individual words, themselves.

Wild sea money. That’s a favorite of mine. I don’t expect anyone to know the context of that phrase. But if you do, we should be friends.

Why, indeed?

Why do you blog?

Oh, well, I used to have the urge to write. Something in my core burned red-hot for it, but I seldom feel that way anymore. I like the community, though this go-round I haven’t connected with anyone. Just as well. I don’t write often enough to maintain that sort of thing. But when I did, boy, that was nice. I had amazing writers to write to and to read from. One in particular was a mentor kinda. He didn’t know it, but I learned so much from him.

Now it’s like yawning. I have a sudden urge to fill, write a little something about nothing, and then move along.

I should read more.

I was perusing FaceBook last weekend while getting a pedicure, and one of those novella ads (is it an ad?) rolled over my screen. I clicked on it, which is something I never do. I read 11 chapters of this crappy story because I couldn’t put it down. It was so bad, but reading it was like watching a bad movie that you can’t stop watching. Then at a climactic moment, I was informed that I had to pay to read the rest. I didn’t.

Anyway, that has nothing to do with this post other than to say that my love for writing and for literature has degraded into something far from passion. But I can’t put it down.

A Visit With Her Majesty

Interview someone — a friend, another blogger, your mother, the mailman — and write a post based on their responses.

She sauntered into the room as though she owned the place. In truth, she owned every room she entered. Her presence commanded attention. At this moment, I had the honor of sharing her space. She sat on the sofa across from me, grooming herself.

I greeted her.

“How do you feel about all the attention you get? Pardon my candor, but you are aloof. Does the fawning ever get to you?”

She glared at me for a moment, shocked by my forthright accusation, at the get-go, no less. I felt my aggressive approach would catch her attention and maybe even impress her enough to grace me with a response. I succeeded only in not offending her. I took that as an acceptance of my dare to entertain her ego. After a moment of sizing me up, she returned to her grooming as though I had never said anything. I scooted closer, risking her departure. A person’s proximity was usually not tolerated unless she approached, herself.

I continued.

“May I ask, what is a typical day for you? For someone so self-absorbed, you seem to prefer being elusive. People often comment on your mysterious disappearances. Would you mind sharing what you do while avoiding your subjects?”

She paused.

“That’s my business. How does my hair look? The shine is beautiful, is it not? I maintain a strict diet of the highest quality on the recommendation of my doctor. He prescribes only the best for me and insists I eat the most expensive food on the market to give me this healthy glow. He says the diet will increase my longevity and keep me beautiful. My hair is my most striking feature, and the food I eat helps keep it that way. Perhaps I will let you touch it before you leave. It’s irresistible, don’t you think?”

“Indeed, it is. Speaking of physical features, you have a distinct look about you. I’ve done research and found you may have Norwegian roots. Would you care to comment on your lineage?”

“I come from nobility, as you know. Though I, myself, will not contribute to the bloodline. I have siblings who already have. They expect to continue in that endeavor. My oldest sibling has the obligation to do so”

“Do you have plans to find a mate and settle down someday?”

“I don’t kiss and tell, my dear. I keep my private life private. Besides, the mystery increases the attention I get when I step into the limelight. I am missed. I am told so daily.”

I could tell she was getting annoyed by my prying. But I continued.

“What did you do today?”

“I slept most of the day. I prefer spending my busy time at night. I am quite tired at the moment, to be honest. Here, touch my hair. I want my visitor to know how luxurious it is.”

She leaped over to my chair and snuggled for a brief moment before biting my hand. Her teeth were sharp.

“That’s enough,” she said abruptly, and promptly left the room.

Her servant approached me and thanked me for the visit. She offered me a refill on my tea, but I felt no reason to stay now that the job was finished.

“Did you get everything?” She asked.

“Not nearly enough, but I imagine she prefers to keep people wanting. She is a princess, after all.”

“She is here, at least,” the servant added.

As I left, I caught a glimpse of Tinkles peeking at me from around the corner.

“Goodbye, cat. Thank you for your time”

I reached down to pet her once more, and she bit me again. I reared back in pain as she scurried away.

“That will scar,” I said to myself with a smile of gratitude. “A souvenir.”