3WW - writer prompt - empty.highway.ignored

Another Great week of 3WW -

3WW by Bone and occasionally Pia - Check it out!

Hub:
Even though it was the dead of winter, drifting up the empty coastal highway was easier than he thought it would be. Big Sur has has a lot of magical power, including how easily it makes rest of the world seem small and far away. Taking in the plunging mountainsides and and crashing waves 400 feet below the cliffside road grabbed him by his collar. He slowly pulled off to the gravel on the side of the road and rolled down his window, inviting in the swirling fog that was lapping up the cliff and rolling across the highway. The scent of the damp redwoods and torrey pines filled the car. This was not a feast to be ignored, so he opened the door and stepped out towards the edge.

Me:
The highway is a relief, a place to empty my mind as I drive through the winding canyon back home. My pleas ignored by corporate logic, I know the real life is waiting for me at my front door.

Politics Shmolotics

Am I the only one whose getting sick of this presidential race for the D. Ticket? It's somewhat fascinating but more getting really old. Even I, as Hill's supporter, am starting to wonder if we should just throw in the old towel. Desperate does not wear well on a woman. Let the fight continue when Chelsea's old enough.... What y'all thinking?

WriterKat Prompt: Show me the Love

I recently encouraged my newly divorced friend to hook up with Match.com. For once, someone listened to me & she came over to finalize her bio. It was most interesting to peruse her bio & tag line, as well as the bait & competition. I would have thought there would be way more women then men. However, for 2 pages of women, there were about 12 pages of men. Is that possible? Where are the girls???

Anyway, it was really hard to write a tag line & bio, so I thought it'd be a great exercise.

So, if you dare, if you were trying to hook up with M'Right, what would your true or fiction tag line be (10 words or less)? If you really want a dare, write a very interesting and creative FICTIONALIZED bio (100 words or less).

3WW - writer prompt - picture.stop.reflected

Check out Bone's 3WW this week & try your hand...

Hub:
It was that fleeting moment of the day that cinematographers call “the magic hour.” The setting sun stretched out the shadows and the warm, hazy glow reflected off the wet streets. The fiery orange and pink sky glowed on the picture perfect horizon like a wake-up call capable of snapping you out of the relentless rushing in your mind. It was the kind of sunset that could stop you in your tracks, and if you were lucky, it would do exactly that. Finally, being alive in this present moment — and knowing it.

Me:
The clock seemed to stop so many years ago when Rose was just a girl. She was fifteen when her father died. They had posed for a street vendor on the boardwalk that last summer, and bought the snapshot for just a quarter. Today, she held the picture in her wrinkled hand, it still reflected everything she was then and knew herself to be now. The waves of time had softened her, but the sparkle was still there.

Boy Scouts and Camping

I'm marshmallowed out, so that's where I am right now. Probably I'll resurface for 3WW. Until then, think ghost stories, drunk parents, relentless hikes & lots of sugar..... Why didn't I earn a badge, not even a glow necklace? And I had a kick-ass scare story too. No fair.

It's all about... MeMe

I’ve been memefied by fellow shrink, Robin. It’s pretty hard to top her hilarious stories, and I’m not sure what the rules are but I guess I’ll just write.

The lamest thing about me: I’m horrible at telling jokes. I get flummoxed on the words. I tell the punch-line first. I forget what joke I’m telling in the middle of the sentence. Occasionally, I can pull off a dry comment that is quite funny, but it’s usually when I don’t try that the best comes out of me. Probably true for writing as well.

The most determined thing about me: I always knew I would be a therapist since about 5 years old. My parents adopted 2 older children when I was five and they were very difficult kids. My parents almost backed out but according to family history, I made them keep the kids. “If you don’t take them in, who will?” Lil W-Kat said. And so they stayed. With therapists. I observed, and my occupation was born.

The weirdest thing that ever happened to me: was several years ago when I woke up to my husband and 2 police men looking over me. Apparently while boiling Easter Eggs and talking to my Dad on the phone, I had a seizure. My husband came back from the store at about the same time as the police – Dad had called them after I dropped the phone. He could hear the kids in the background but no Anne. I have no history of seizures although it came out that my grandmother had one in her lifetime too. I have the kind that makes me look drunk – so I guess I walked over to the couch and laid down. The kids were too young to communicate their observations. I lost my driver’s license for 6 months, walked more miles in 100 degree weather than I ever had. Surprisingly, it was probably the only 6 months in my life where it was not inconvenient, so I coped pretty well. But no way that’s happening again. It’s me & a pill 4-ever.

The random-est thing that I can think of: After reading Robin’s bathroom story, I remembered once that an acquaintance had been in a city 2 hours from me and went to a restaurant bathroom. My business card was laying on the floor next to the toilet. Certainly an odd marketing for a shrink.

The most obsessive thing about me: is that my house is what my friend calls “Whimsical Clutter”, not the neatest place around, but when I send my kids to school, they have to be the bleachest clean, the whitest of white uniform shirts. The only self analysis that I can come to is that I want my kids to be perfect, house be damned. Other interpretations most welcome.

The writing-est thing about me: I've written about 5 picture book manuscripts which are out getting rejected as we speak; I have a list of great first chapters with no plot line; I've published 2 professional articles about things I don't really care about but know very well - try reading "managed care and you" before nite-nite; I've got 25,000 words down on my pre-novel practice activity; I'm planning for full throttle publication mode at age 60, so I've got 20 years to perfect the craft. :-)

That’s me in a nutshell. I’ll be back to meme some other folks….

3WW - writer prompt - visible.touching.stage

Check out this week's 3WW by Bone & Pia. Give it a try...

hub:

Her diagnosis came out of the blue. It stunned us, turning our world upside down in a second, touching every aspect of our lives. Diane absolutely had no visible symptoms. So when her doctor broke the news to us that she had stage 4-B ovarian cancer, we were at a loss. I just sat there speechless while tears streamed down Diane’s face.


me:

a note to suicide

Joker is wild
touching death
by the show of hand,
only visible
in mortality.
The soul remaining
in eternal stage.
You got me -
And what was your point?

What Color is Your Aura?

I'm in the company of Martha Stewart and Anthony Robbins. Who knew?

Here's my career choices: Guru, CEO, Talk Show Host
Unfortunately, Kept Woman is not one of my options, although it's a dream. The others seem far too much work.

What's your Aura?

The 39 Apartments of Ludwig van Beethoven

After reading "The 39 Apartments of Ludwig van Beethoven", I feel compelled to share this fantastic picture book. Published in 2006 by Schwartz & Wade, author Jonah Winters purposefully weaves Fact and Fiction to tell Beethoven's story through underhanded humor and contemporary language. For example, "In the diary of one Anselm Schwarz, we find the following, translated here into modern English: "After this move, I'm out of here. That dude is WHACKED in the head! Yow....My back is, like, REALLY messed up!"

The illustrator, Barry Blitt perfectly parallels the story in both full and minute illustrations. My kids (6 & 7) and I were enthralled through the book. This is the way good picture books should be written. If you get a chance, check it out.

Who’s the Boss? (No men were harmed in the writing of this post)

The kids bought my husband a mug last Father’s Day that says “Daddy’s the Boss”. If you turn it around, it says “Right, Mommy?”

My son loves to remind everyone that Dad’s in charge of the family & therefore he is too, as little Squire. My daughter and I yawn, and occasionally remind him that “G.R.B.D. “ To translate, “Girls Rule, Boys Drool.” No need to fight about it, the proof is in the pudding.

The more I live this existence in middle-class, married-with-kids suburbia, the answer seems to always coming up G.R. For one thing, you can’t call a married couple’s house and get the guy to make the decision. It’s always “I have to go ask my wife.” For a second thing, when the guy does make the decision, the woman changes it. And it’s usually changed because it’s a better plan (as far as any woman can judge).

Now if women would side-step their way out of the business would that help? Probably for the man, but then things wouldn’t be done the way the woman wants them, and the question becomes, is that good enough? Take for instance, Boy Scouts. It’s messy, it’s wild, it’s hot dogs and chips. Girl Scouts are orderly, crafty and snacks cover a minimum of 4 food groups.

Either way, it’s all in good fun and they all grow up as healthy as the other. (Although…less veggies could be tied to the symptom of B.D.)

I don’t know who decided the way things are supposed to be, but it certainly seems that whether posed or self-imposed, women are the ones running the operation. No wonder the cave men went to hunt, they had to get out from under the control and forge their own leadership skills.

But yet most of them, as is today, came back for further direction. And the women were there, waiting patiently to provide orders.

3WW - writer prompt - funny.remember.theatre

Thanks to Bone for the Awesome choice of 3WW this week.. Give it a go!

Alright, another relationship one. But hey, I'm a shrink..what do you expect? Feelings, nothing more than feelings....

Hub:
Joe: “Those were good times alright!”
Sue: “They sure were. Do you remember how we got drunk and went to see that funny Jim Carey movie at the Silver Lake Theatre?”

Me:
It’s funny how we remember the firsts after a break up. Like the black cashmere sweater on that first winter day. The first date - sitting in the dark theatre holding hands. The place we kissed, on the balcony of the Sun House Café. The first time we said “I love you” on the phone, cities away from each other. The first time you called me "Mrs." The first time we held our son and looked into each other’s eyes. If only we could remember the firsts before we create our lasts, and begin just one more time. Today. I love you for the first time this hour. And let's stay that way forever.

Disease of Alcoholism

One of my favorite place in my work is to be in the system of the alcoholic. The disease is so horrible and fascinating at the same time. It ruins lives. Like second hand smoke, the drink of one man, alters the people around him in such destruction that carries through for generations. Yet it is so powerful and out there, ready to touch, to get to know, to understand. A person in an alcohol crisis is a person on the cusp of transformation.

The hope and excruciating suspense is if the alcoholic is willing to take the chance and face themselves to start that process. So easy the first step and so, so hard. The choice is in each person’s hand. I wish so much I could make it for them but it’s not a decision I, or anyone else can make. It’s the alcoholic’s right and plight to make that decision alone.

I get incensed working within an alcoholic’s denial. It’s hard to keep straight the disease from the person. It is so frustrating to see things clearly from the outside, watching someone destroy themselves and alienate any hope for change. I want to jump up and down, scream, pull them by the collar and say “Don’t you get it? Don’t you see what you are doing to yourself? Don’t you matter? Can’t you see that people care about you?? I care!” But no matter what I say, no matter what the friends and family say, the alcoholic is not able to listen until she is able to listen.

I often wonder what makes one alcoholic a forever-alcoholic and what makes another a recovered one. Is it grace? Is it luck? Is it grades of dysfunction? One CADAC I work with says that “Some will die so others can live.” Often, it is by seeing the devastation of one that sobers another. But to get to the breaking point where one says, this is it, this is the end, how does a person get there? The well known “bottom.” Although an alcoholic doesn’t know the bottom until he’s way past it. I hear the chronic relapse stories of the bottom of the bottom of the…. And for some, it hasn’t been far enough.

There is something amazing about an alcoholic. In systems theory, the alcoholic holds the pain of the family system. The system’s dysfunction is placed on to a certain person, the scapegoat, so that the system can maintain homeostasis, an even keel. Without the scapegoat, the family would have to look at the pain, and that is too uncomfortable for whatever reason. It’s why when someone sobers up, the family will all of a sudden find a new problem person, or (unconsciously) push the alcoholic to relapse. The alcoholic is often the one with the most feeling, and unfortunately has placed that feeling into the wrong place, a bottle that will never satisfy.

When I see someone in recovery, I am amazed by their strength. Their strength feeds me. It keeps my hope alive. I see the amazing person behind the disease. I see that the lies, spider webs, spirals and denial are just part of the disease and not the true nature of the person. I see the hurt that underlies the addiction, and I have compassion to want to be with that hurt, to listen and help figure things out. It’s when the work begins. Often, it’s where the family work begins as well.

That work is so hard for people to go through. It often feels easier take a swig than face the person in front of us. It's scary facing the fears. But we are such amazing creatures. We have so much potential, so much to offer. With all our hurt, past, destruction, we are forever recreating and beginning again. I will for my clients to keep going at it, to keep the strength, because I’ve seen so many people do the work, get past the pain, into healthy, wonderful and productive lives. It feels so good to be on the other side. It’s just believing that there is another side. And there is.

And so I remind myself day after day, it is a disease, it’s just a disease. I hope by through grace, my clients will believe in themselves and come out to the sunshine to play, live and love once again. And especially, believe in themselves again.

Quote of the day

So says my 6 yr old daughter on the way to Starbucks.."Mom, in the olden days before they had coffee, they just splashed water on their faces to wake up. You should try that." Well, it is a good point and certainly cheaper, but not so warm or tasty. What did we do without Starbucks?

3WW - writer prompt - parallel.mysterious.bounce

Thanks to 3WW compliments of Bone and today's host Pia for the Awesome choice of 3WW this week.. If you haven't checked out the prompt challenge, give it a try..

Hub: TBA

Me:
If Only to Feel

The martinis were nothing more than parallel communication, a forced effort to keep a dying relationship alive. Hers with olive, his without. Marilyn looked into her glass and wondered for the millionth time what was left of her marriage with Gordon. After forty years, there was nothing left to say. When they met, they would sit in smoky coffee houses and bounce ideas to each other, back and forth, It was electric. There wasn’t enough time to say it all. Life was so mysterious.

But year after year, the mysteries became answered, the problems solved and then there was nothing new to say. Somehow the lattes had turned to wine, the talks into long stretches of silence, until they became so numb to each other they even lost themselves.

I don’t even know who I am anymore, Marilyn thought and instantly felt the crush of her realization. A tear welled up in her eye, breaking the stand-off. It had been years since she had cried, or even felt something, anything. It felt good. She lifted her head just slightly and looked into Gordon’s face. His eyes were glassy with gin and his gaze diverted. His once soft skin and shaggy blond hair was now weathered and gray.

“Look at me. Look at you,” she spoke, voice clear, cutting into the fog between them. Gordon jerked slightly in surprise and then horror as she crushed her martini in hand. Marilyn felt the warm blood mixed with lukewarm gin ooze down her arm before she felt the sting of the cuts. The blood was electric. Maybe she was alive after all.

Kids and Dogs

The thing about kids and dogs are that they don't need a hell of a lot to be entertained. I've always thought that if I bought a simple dog-rope toy, my kids would be happier than if I bought them an expensive widget with all the bells and whistles. Case in point - we bought 2 big sponges at Home Depot when my kids were 2 & 3. They were stocking stuffers. Out of all our toys that we've bought in the last 4 years, we still have and still play with those (now nasty) sponges. Crazy.

Such is the same for vacations. We could have spent hundreds of dollars on musical tickets, museums, roller coasters. But the cheap stuff always ends up being more fun.

There were many highlights to my recent vacation, but the best memories were the cheapest. It had been in the 20's and 30's through the week, but sunny and clear. Of course, the last day, I had to make a 2 hour trek by car, and it had to rain. On the way, rain turned to snow flurries which turned to hail. No matter that nothing stuck to the ground, my kids were in heaven. Growing up without snowstorms, they have no idea what one is. Windows open on the highway, feeling flakes falling on their hands as we drove, and then hard little pellets, getting wet all over... it was so fun to be with them. When we got to my dad's house they sloshed and slushed and had the time of their lives.

The rain/snow/hail melted off to sunlight and we headed for the rails. One thing I miss most about Bean Town is the Subway. My kids are now in love. For $5 in tickets we spent THREE hours riding one line to another to another, stopping at the two major train stations to check out the various trains & Dunkin Donuts, and then scrambling back to the tunnels. They weren't bored for a second, and neither was I. We went to bed thinking the house was swaying back and forth, just like the T.