Mariposa Azul

Response to Invitation to Write #11

Mariposa Azul

By Helen Sadler

Today I wrote a poem about all of my unfinished projects.  Well, almost all.  Turns out there were quite a few I forgot about and they didn’t make it into poetry.

When I was done, I could have easily sunk into depression. I had this feeling of grasping at something that was just out of reach.  I suppose the logical and sane thing would have been to get started on one of those projects.

Instead, I just sat there. This is one of those cases of just wanting to think about the problem instead of solving the problem.

Yes, that’s a problem. Falling into a daydream instead of taking action.

Strangely, in my gloomy state I found myself standing in front of the Magic Cottage, a converted garden shed. And there was SARK, standing in her full blast of color wildflower garden.

“Why so glum?” she playfully chided, stepping away from her place and somehow into mine.

One more day of feeling stalled on what I say I want to do. One more day facing my own incomplete projects.

Her eyes were wide and bright.

 “Micromovements.  You know about them, right?”

Well, yeah. After all, my friend Carol used to talk about that all of the time. And sometimes I remember. But really, SARK, don’t I need time to make all of this happen? Don’t I need those long stretches of quiet to get the writing done?

“And what do you call spring break?”

She had me there.

“Look,” she continued as she perused my collection of elephants and Beatles memorabilia, “I truly thought that procrastination and unfinished projects would bother me forever. Now, instead of a habit of incomplete ideas, I really have a habit of completion.”

  But…

“Stop with the “yea butts” already and listen. Whatever I begin, I complete in some way, and it is not a strain at all. I now see that it is a learned behavior – just as the other was learned.”

I know all about learned behaviors. I have studied mine in-depth. Very few have ever changed. It kinda sucks at sixty to still be dealing with the same shit.

“You can change it.”

Damn, I know that.

“So…micromovements. Try it.”

Just to prove something – not sure what – I immediately went to my studio and added some orange paint to my butterfly painting, the one I started a couple of weeks ago and has just been sitting there waiting for me to brighten up its deep blue roots.

I feel a teeny bit better.

“Devote your life to being creative,” she said, taking some of my apple slices from the fridge and nibbling on one.  “You need to share your vision of the world. There is only one you.”

I blushed.

“Do you have anything to drink?” she asked, peering back into the refrigerator.

I poured her some Arnold Palmer drink over ice. I poured myself one, too. We settled onto the lanai.

Help me think through how to incorporate completion into my life, my day.

SARK sighed a big sigh. “Hey, look at that turtle poking his head above the water.”

Yeah, they’ve been doing that a lot lately.

“And you’ve noticed?”

Doing my best.

Well, that’s good. How you watch can shift your soul.  What you watch isn’t as important as how you watch. It’s a small way to be invested in the world.”

Invested. I like that word. I rarely use it.

“Well, start. You can become an Investment Counselor. You can en-courage others to practice self-investment and check in with them as investments begin to “pay-off.” Then you can celebrate together.”

I like your thinking, SARK. I think you’re my Investment Counselor.

“Well, you’ve ignored me long enough.  It’s about time you invested in reading my scribbles and squiggles. You have my permission to believe in magic, even if it means giving up procrastination.”

It’s kinda scary.

“Isn’t anything that is worth it?”

That which I seek is seeking me.

“Well, that’s profound.”

Roseanne Cash sings that in a song. Means a lot to me.

“This is what I have to say to that. Allowing has much to do with surrender. Allowing your own process brings discovery.”

Like orange paint on my blue butterfly?

“Exactly. Allowing the dark truly allows the light. Allowing your fears gives them no more fuel to grow. Your strengths are already in place and can be nurtured. Micromovements. Revel in the moment.”

Like these last few days of spring break?

“Yep.”

Micromovements?

“Yep.”

Wanna go to the beach?

“I’m all for giving myself gifts. The beach sounds like one perfectly wrapped for me right now.”

I’ll get us some towels.

“Maybe we can stop for lunch? I’m hungry.”

What could I say?  She was my Investment Counselor. The least I could do was buy her lunch.

3/30/16

9:22 a.m.

Invitation to Write #11 The Imaginary Conversation

The Imaginary Conversation

A couple of weeks ago, I read a poem by Derrik J. Brown called "Le Monde Du Silence."  The poem is about the narrator having one of his recurring dreams, when he is suddenly interrupted by Jacques Cousteau. What ensues is a conversation that has a lot of humor and some actual quotes by Cousteau. Brown also adds in another influence as well (see notes at the end of the poem posted below.)

I decided immediately this could make a great writing prompt.  How can we create a scenario (a dream is a fine mode) to have an imaginary conversation about something/anything with a famous person? I found a few of the quotes from Cousteau on Brainy Quotes when I was verifying this was authentic, so that is a starting point if you are feeling dry on this one. Of course, songs or pieces of literature or other poems are fair game for this exercise.

I have not yet practiced this myself, so I cannot offer any additional advice. I just hope everyone has fun with this and lets it happen -- in other words, don't agonize over it.  Think of people you love and admire -- or maybe not -- and gather some of the things they've said. See where it takes you!

Brown's poem is three pages long, and sorry, I just wasn't up to typing the entire thing out and it isn't online; not in full anyway. See my not so great photos of the pages below.

This does not have to be a poem. It can be anything you want it to be.

For an additional challenge, try to create a title in another language!

Enjoy this creative endeavor.  I look forward (as always) to reading your creations. 

Rotten

Response to the prompt I forgot. I was supposed to write about a time when I forgot something, resulting in catastrophe. Though I'm not convinced this never happened to me, I could not think of such an event, no matter how hard and how long I tried. Maybe once our memories fail us, and the consequences are catastrophic, our brains continue to protect us by banishing the whole thing from our memory for all time! So forgive me for using creative license to respond, but I ended up with a silly, yet I think relatable, little piece of poetry instead. Just try to tell me you've never had this happen before. I dare you!

Rotten
by Laurie J. Kemp

In the bottom of my fridge it seems I've forgotten
two fresh zucchinis, now sitting there rotten.

At the back of the produce drawer I'm afraid it seems
there's a pile of brown mush where there once was green.

I had exciting plans for the marvelous fruit
unfortunately the recipe is probably moot.

I should be baking an aromatic zucchini bread
but I'm scrubbing with a nose plug and gloves instead.

The freshest ingredients home from the store
are difficult to see through a windowless door.

Placing them back, tucked and under
is the perfect recipe for a grocery blunder.

I have the perfect remedy for my food storage woes
I should market my idea to the appliance pros.

An extra wide fridge that stretches the wall
and shallow shelves so you can see it all.

Across the front, a sliding glass door
just like the ones in the convenience store.

Nothing gets buried, nothing can hide
nothing expires before it is tried.

And at the end of the week the produce drawer
is empty and clean and begging for more.

Zucchini that did not rot at the bottom of the fridge!

Five Important Places I Forgot

 Response to prompt #10 http://trailbrazin.blogspot.com/2016/02/prompt-9-i-forgot.html

Five Important Places I Forgot 

by Helen Sadler 

How easy it is to lose touch with the natural world. When I was writing everyday about the Five Questions, I found it easy to stay connected.  Now I can see that I have dropped that part off of my life for some reason. I have spent precious little time in the natural world for several months.

No wonder I am not well currently. That I’m popping pills just to stay in the game. That I watched a whole week fly by without much change.

So I have taken Herrara’s poem “Five Directions to My House” and wrote a new version.  And somehow I will pull myself out of these doors and appreciate the Florida sun and sky and trees.

Let the change begin.

Five Important Places I Forgot

Go back to the limestone rock by the lake, where the eastern sky is soft with sunrise.

Walk into the woods, the dampened trail, until it ends in prayer.

Beneath the sand on the beach, the crabs hide while the tide glides in.

You are almost there, about to remember what keeps you intact.

I said five, but the starry night of no moon says six.

Ms. Perfect

Response to prompt #10 http://trailbrazin.blogspot.com/2016/02/prompt-9-i-forgot.html

I've been *racking my brain for ideas ever since this prompt was posted, trying to remember a time when I forgot a birthday, an anniversary,  or an otherwise special day or event. Nothing. I forget names all the time, but I'm pretty upfront about that and get it corrected quickly, without too many hurt feelings (I think).

I even asked John, certain he would have something tucked away in his pocket, ready to pounce on the opportunity to let me know how I've hurt his feelings in the past. Nope.

This is not to say that I don't screw up. I do it all the time. I forget small things: why I went into a room; a purchase of something on my list at the store; the fact that I've told someone something. And, I am the queen of sticking my foot in my mouth, but admitting my faux pas and quickly apologizing usually rectifies the situation.

Once at a family get-together,  my dad responded to something I said by singing in a mocking tone, "I'm Ms. Perfect."  That cut. I don't think that about myself for one millisecond. I am the first to point out my many flaws.  This has become a joke in my little clan, although I don't always think it's funny. I don't like that others think I think I'm perfect.  I could blame my parents since I always felt I had to be perfect, but what good does that do?  Instead, I've worked hard to change their perceptions, but I don't know how successful I've been. And, I am beginning to care less and less.

I digress.

The only thing that works its way to the forefront of my mind when I ponder this prompt is that I forget important things mostly when they have to do with me. And, one time in particular, my forgetting to take care of me did have serious implications for others.

"Mrs. Ferry, you were scheduled for your post-delivery follow up today, and you didn't show," chided the receptionist at my gynecologist's office. "You need to re-schedule and get your release to go back to work."

Well, shit. The thing is, I forgot because I was at work. In fact, I had been for a full week.

After a not-so-pleasant bout with what I now know was postpartum depression, hives after being given penicillin during labor, not knowing I was allergic, painful, engorged breasts after a few failed breast-feeding attempts, and a colicky, screaming baby, John and I sat down with our checkbook and bills, and decided at 7-weeks after giving birth, I needed to return to work.  I was a basket case about leaving Alyssa with a mother who ran a daycare in her home despite her sweet demeanor and spotless record. I was also secretly looking forward to the 9-hour respite from Miss Screams-a-Lot.

I apologized profusely and re-scheduled after a back-and-forth conversation about available times and days. This practice was popular in the area, so it was tricky, especially with my work schedule.

I went to the appointment, and since my hives were gone and my boobs had settled down, I figured there was no need to mention the other stuff. It was just a phase; I'd power through like always.  I'd be fine. Plus, I needed to get the hell out of there because I was doing this on my lunch break and already pushing my luck on time.  I was the manager, so I should have been allowed this luxury, but I had a narc maintenance man who kept a notebook of everyone's transgressions---I presume for blackmail. Plus, I liked to lead by example. Man, were my priorities screwed up.

Alyssa and I battled through a couple more months of screaming and crying.  John worked long hours at a public accounting firm (the new hires were worked to the bone for the first 5 years or so), so we were calm and collected (aka sleeping) when he came in at 9 or 10 pm.  Plus, I was embarrassed to admit even to him that I was not loving my new role.

My "forgetting" to mention the sadness, the overwhelming feeling of inadequacy, the frustration, and the overall angst to my doctor affected my new family.  There was a dark cloud over a time that should have been full of joy. There were joyful moments, and don't get me wrong, I loved her to my core.  I cannot help but regret not seeking help for my feelings. It would have made me a better person, mom and wife.  It also affected those I worked with as I locked myself in my office to cry or snapped at my co-workers when they made some minor mistake.

Over the years, you would think I would have learned to put myself near the top of my list. Sometimes I do. Mostly I don't.

When I forget someone, it's usually me.

*Interesting (I think) side-note: I will admit I had to look this one up. I couldn't for the life of me remember if I should use "racking" or "wracking." Did you know the use of "wrack" in the phrases wracking my brain and nerve wracking is an all too common mistake?  I won't forget it for next time!