San Diego Momma has another PROMPTuesday:
Please write a post about love: When you knew you were in love. How you stay in love. What those about to get married should know about love. What qualities you hope to find in someone when you fall in love, and/or so on. You can even go the route of “Best love/marriage advice you ever got or gave.” Or perhaps you want to write about your wedding day or engagement. If you’re not married or in a relationship, how will you know when you’ve found “the one?”
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We are born with an open heart, full of capacity to love and yet untrained. If we are blessed, our parents tend to our heart daily and provide support when we need it. Our heart is theirs and we share the pain and joy of life’s experiences. The parents realize a child’s heart must be unfettered if their child is to venture forth and share it with another. Parents try to teach a child how to care for themselves – to recognize threats and learn to safeguard their precious well-being. But children cannot remain as such forever and the very passage to adulthood is marked by the experiences that weather and condition the heart. The goal is not to pass through life unscathed, but to be better from each resolved struggle. The heart is sometimes damaged in these struggles, broken and scarred, and each time the child to teen to adult learns to protect their heart in a new way. And so, the adult is ready to take on the world with a shielded heart and guarded mind.
The world breeds skepticism and every day teaches us to steel ourselves lest we fall victim to our naivety. Thankfully, though, we do hold onto the contradictory belief that at some point, for some individual, we will need to cast off our armor. If we are to find purpose in our life’s endeavors then we know companionship is needed. The question is not to love or not, for we know that love given or withheld pulls upon a primal cord within us. No, the question is not an “if” but rather “who” we are to expose our inner selves to. Who do we let grasp hold of our unprotected heart?
There are many good, decent people in this world and we try to surround ourselves by those of shared values and morals. But there are few, if any, that we can completely trust to care for our spirit amid a world of self-interests. We are fortunate to have family, or find a friend, of such merit and even then our experiences with them are limited to fractions of ourselves. It is the life-companion that we are really seeking. We seek the one that can be trusted with all parts of ourselves, the only one that can truly see us.
Marriage is different than the loves we have earlier in life. Marriage is a promise between two people to care for one another more than they would for themselves. It is the final threshold of trust where you not only stop guarding your heart from them, you hand it over for their care as you promise to do the same with their heart. That promise is the birth of something new and lasting for the relationship. It is the first joining of the marriage, of the two lives, and the one that must be nurtured above all else. It must be tended to and supported together – each sharing the joy and pain and giving equally and unconditionally. It is the precious and pure thing that binds the two and from which a meaningful life of family, friends and fulfillment springs from. It is the promise that must not be broken. A heart held and hurt thus may bare a wound too deep to mend.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Monday, March 23, 2009
World of Warcraft
I've played World of Warcraft for over four years now. It was my first online game of its sort and I immediately fell in love with the emersive nature of it. The game was an escape from the stress of work or anything else. It is a hobby. Some play sports, work on cars, watch TV, read, etc. and it is a hobby just like those. But ultimately, the game's content didn't change that much over time (sure there were patches with some new places, but it was basically the same game). The part that kept me playing was the community. The guild of hundreds of people I played with are friends much like you find in real life. But there is always a self-imposed distance from them as well. Some of the regulars that I played with each week got to the point were we went beyond the in-game names, events, etc. Some of my friends talk about their wives and kids and TV shows and sports and work and so on ... just like I talk with my RL friends in person. And so, the lines blur from my network of friends I see at work or weekends (especially since some of them play the game with me) and those online.
But of late, the game doesn't bring me much joy or escape. I play due to committments made to those others in groups that need 10 or 25 on the team to complete objectives. I play because it is expected, but I am pretty much done with it. I've been cutting back my hours and days more and more anyway. Now I told them I was leaving the east coast playing times (the 25 person team) and that leaves me with two nights a week from 8 to 11. And I'm seriously thinking of dropping those too. In some ways I feel like that is my last connection to these online friends though. But really it is only a handful of them anyway. I guess I'm having a problem breaking the ties because I'm not positive I won't want to play again in the future and I also know that I won't carry on the friendships with those guys if not in-game. We don't regularly email each other or post on forums ... it would basically be saying goodbye.
I am at a point in my life where I want to take on a new/productive activity. I will most likely go back to writing a novel or maybe go back to school (if I can afford it). I will be using the former playing time to do this. But, this is also a time when I don't relish losing more friends. so it is not an easy move. Today I was home sick and in the past I would have played WoW ... I had no interest in doing that this time. However, I was bored out of my mind and feeling like I need to retrain myself to use time for something else. It is so easy to check out in WoW, just like others check out by watching TV. I don't want to check out of life anymore, but I really need to get back into the swing of things. I feel the pain in using those forgotten muscles.
But of late, the game doesn't bring me much joy or escape. I play due to committments made to those others in groups that need 10 or 25 on the team to complete objectives. I play because it is expected, but I am pretty much done with it. I've been cutting back my hours and days more and more anyway. Now I told them I was leaving the east coast playing times (the 25 person team) and that leaves me with two nights a week from 8 to 11. And I'm seriously thinking of dropping those too. In some ways I feel like that is my last connection to these online friends though. But really it is only a handful of them anyway. I guess I'm having a problem breaking the ties because I'm not positive I won't want to play again in the future and I also know that I won't carry on the friendships with those guys if not in-game. We don't regularly email each other or post on forums ... it would basically be saying goodbye.
I am at a point in my life where I want to take on a new/productive activity. I will most likely go back to writing a novel or maybe go back to school (if I can afford it). I will be using the former playing time to do this. But, this is also a time when I don't relish losing more friends. so it is not an easy move. Today I was home sick and in the past I would have played WoW ... I had no interest in doing that this time. However, I was bored out of my mind and feeling like I need to retrain myself to use time for something else. It is so easy to check out in WoW, just like others check out by watching TV. I don't want to check out of life anymore, but I really need to get back into the swing of things. I feel the pain in using those forgotten muscles.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
PROMPTuesday #47: The Triumvirate
PROMPTuesday #47: The Triumvirate
The prompt? Use in a story/poem: a skein of red yarn, a comb and a bottle of water.
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Detective Williams no longer woke in confusion to the 2:00 am sound of the telephone. He knew the script and just waited for the cast of players or location of the scene. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be there in 20,” Williams grumbled. He quickly glances at his hands to avoid transference before patting down the wrinkles in the shirt and pants he slept in. Pinching his tie into position over the missing shirt button, he runs his palm over his hair to slick it down. Williams hadn’t used a comb since he left it in the pocket of his previous suit a decade ago and he wasn’t one to veer from the frozen food aisle to track down something like a new comb. Less than a minute from leaving and only three since he was dreaming of his former life and family. He grabs his suit coat from the door handle, picks a dinner-flavored protein bar, and scans the room for his “water” bottle. The crinkled plastic of the bottle looks thin and fragile, but makes a soothing sound as he fills it with Smirnoff.
As his Taurus pulls up to the scene, Williams can tell how long ago a neighbor, relative, somebody made that panicked call to the police. He could tell the time down to a few minutes just by the number and type of response vehicles already on site. The circus is only contained by the spiraling yellow tape at the perimeter; a long-standing “dare” line to keep people in check. Williams drafts one of the Stay Puff Men up to the opened front door. The flash of lights within only make the sideshow that much more enticing to the gawkers from the street. Williams knows he is supposed to catalog the faces of the crowd, to catch the perp doting over his masterpiece of drama, but he gave up those movie-inspired hopes years ago. As he crosses the exterior threshold, he pauses to survey the room. His eyes finally light up at the skein of red yarn pinned from wall to floor and table to lamp. The room almost looks festive with the lights, spray of red and excited people mingling all about. And there, in the center of it all, is the host and hostess. Williams smirks to himself as he thinks “You’d have thought they would dress up a bit if they knew so many were attending their farewell party.”
The prompt? Use in a story/poem: a skein of red yarn, a comb and a bottle of water.
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Detective Williams no longer woke in confusion to the 2:00 am sound of the telephone. He knew the script and just waited for the cast of players or location of the scene. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be there in 20,” Williams grumbled. He quickly glances at his hands to avoid transference before patting down the wrinkles in the shirt and pants he slept in. Pinching his tie into position over the missing shirt button, he runs his palm over his hair to slick it down. Williams hadn’t used a comb since he left it in the pocket of his previous suit a decade ago and he wasn’t one to veer from the frozen food aisle to track down something like a new comb. Less than a minute from leaving and only three since he was dreaming of his former life and family. He grabs his suit coat from the door handle, picks a dinner-flavored protein bar, and scans the room for his “water” bottle. The crinkled plastic of the bottle looks thin and fragile, but makes a soothing sound as he fills it with Smirnoff.As his Taurus pulls up to the scene, Williams can tell how long ago a neighbor, relative, somebody made that panicked call to the police. He could tell the time down to a few minutes just by the number and type of response vehicles already on site. The circus is only contained by the spiraling yellow tape at the perimeter; a long-standing “dare” line to keep people in check. Williams drafts one of the Stay Puff Men up to the opened front door. The flash of lights within only make the sideshow that much more enticing to the gawkers from the street. Williams knows he is supposed to catalog the faces of the crowd, to catch the perp doting over his masterpiece of drama, but he gave up those movie-inspired hopes years ago. As he crosses the exterior threshold, he pauses to survey the room. His eyes finally light up at the skein of red yarn pinned from wall to floor and table to lamp. The room almost looks festive with the lights, spray of red and excited people mingling all about. And there, in the center of it all, is the host and hostess. Williams smirks to himself as he thinks “You’d have thought they would dress up a bit if they knew so many were attending their farewell party.”
Monday, March 16, 2009
PROMPTuesday #46: Humility
San Diego Momma's prompt this week:
http://sandiegomomma.com/2009/03/09/promptuesday-46-humility/
"Write a story about when you last were humbled, felt humbled by the presence of something/someone in your life, or lay prostrate at the feet of the universe and said “I don’t know what the hell I am doing. I will now surender and let you take over.”
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The week is nearly over and I’ve labored on posting for the PROMPTuesday from 6 days ago. I guess what it comes down to is that I’m not prepared to discuss all parts of my life yet. Introspection is one thing, but having a public light cast upon my humbling moments is quite another. But, to not completely ignore this week’s prompt and lose momentum, I will write about somebody that inspired me to the point of my own self-awareness.
I work in instructional technology at a university and part of my job is being the campus accessibility consultant. In this capacity, I’ve met truly amazing people that have overcome major challenges in their lives to go on and live exemplary lives for others. One woman, in particular, inspired me to appreciate the things I have and complain less about the small difficulties I face day-to-day. This woman lost her sight as a young adult and is now graduating with a master’s degree in literature and writing studies. She also teaches newly blind individuals on how to adapt to their environment, find new purpose in their lives, and live a totally self-reliant lifestyle. She regularly helps us communicate the need for making materials accessible for students and she does so at great inconvenience to get here and back. I witnessed the time and effort she has to go through to read books and write papers with assistive technology and it takes at least three times as long. I also went through the literature and writing studies program and I remember how much belly-aching I did back then. When I saw her process and the way she maintains a positive disposition through it all, frankly I was ashamed of myself for being so weak and whiny those years in school and now in my career.
http://sandiegomomma.com/2009/03/09/promptuesday-46-humility/
"Write a story about when you last were humbled, felt humbled by the presence of something/someone in your life, or lay prostrate at the feet of the universe and said “I don’t know what the hell I am doing. I will now surender and let you take over.”
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The week is nearly over and I’ve labored on posting for the PROMPTuesday from 6 days ago. I guess what it comes down to is that I’m not prepared to discuss all parts of my life yet. Introspection is one thing, but having a public light cast upon my humbling moments is quite another. But, to not completely ignore this week’s prompt and lose momentum, I will write about somebody that inspired me to the point of my own self-awareness.
I work in instructional technology at a university and part of my job is being the campus accessibility consultant. In this capacity, I’ve met truly amazing people that have overcome major challenges in their lives to go on and live exemplary lives for others. One woman, in particular, inspired me to appreciate the things I have and complain less about the small difficulties I face day-to-day. This woman lost her sight as a young adult and is now graduating with a master’s degree in literature and writing studies. She also teaches newly blind individuals on how to adapt to their environment, find new purpose in their lives, and live a totally self-reliant lifestyle. She regularly helps us communicate the need for making materials accessible for students and she does so at great inconvenience to get here and back. I witnessed the time and effort she has to go through to read books and write papers with assistive technology and it takes at least three times as long. I also went through the literature and writing studies program and I remember how much belly-aching I did back then. When I saw her process and the way she maintains a positive disposition through it all, frankly I was ashamed of myself for being so weak and whiny those years in school and now in my career.
Monday, March 9, 2009
Measure by Measure
We celebrated my dad’s 62nd birthday yesterday and I am left with a few sad reflections on the day. The week before, when asked what he wanted for his birthday, he told us he could use some slacks for playing golf. I bought a couple pair of slacks, wrapped ‘em, got a touching card, etc. and headed up to my sister’s. Near the end of the night we have the cake and he unwraps his slacks and he is appreciative. He then unwraps the present from my sister’s family … three pairs of jeans. So, for my dad’s 62nd birthday, he got five pairs of pants. Five pairs of pants. It kept lingering there in my head the whole drive home … five pairs of pants.
I thought about earlier events that day as I drove back home. I remember seeing my dad’s animated face as got out of his chair to illustrate the unusual golf swing technique of Charles Barkley. And as he was demonstrating it my mother got up and stood between us (in front of him) and started demonstrating it too … as if I needed greater authenticity on the exact swing technique. I think what really happened was that they both watch the same news reports and have the same stories to tell and there was only one of me to be interested at the time. My dad’s animated, joyful face went slack and defeated-like as he turned around without a word and went to play basketball with his grandkids. He no longer argues with her as I was accustomed to growing up. The two of them always rubbing each other the wrong way and making a scene over small things others wouldn’t have even noticed. But now, he doesn’t even argue anymore and I don’t see it as “better” – frankly, it made me even sadder for the both of them.
I dropped the ball … and not just a week or so ago … I dropped the ball years ago when I started taking my parents for granted. I dropped the ball when I assumed they would be satisfied with whatever time my family gave them when it was convenient for us. I dropped the ball when I lost sight of what excites my mom or dad and would put genuine joy on their face. The thing is, I love my parents and I think they know that. But my actions don’t really show it and when all is said and done, aren’t actions the real measure of a man? I realized that a card on birthdays or father’s day or mother’s day is not enough to say you love them and that they are great. I need to reconnect with my parents while I still have them. I need them to know the real me and I need to know the real them. I want to know in my heart that if my dad asks for shoes next year what he will really appreciate instead is a day out on the golf course with me telling bawdy jokes. I want to know where/if my mother still has joy in her life. She used to be my confidant during my troubled teenage years and I want to be that for her if she needs it now. Perhaps instead of buying her books this year, I’ll read the same books she likes and have lunch with her to talk about them.
I thought about earlier events that day as I drove back home. I remember seeing my dad’s animated face as got out of his chair to illustrate the unusual golf swing technique of Charles Barkley. And as he was demonstrating it my mother got up and stood between us (in front of him) and started demonstrating it too … as if I needed greater authenticity on the exact swing technique. I think what really happened was that they both watch the same news reports and have the same stories to tell and there was only one of me to be interested at the time. My dad’s animated, joyful face went slack and defeated-like as he turned around without a word and went to play basketball with his grandkids. He no longer argues with her as I was accustomed to growing up. The two of them always rubbing each other the wrong way and making a scene over small things others wouldn’t have even noticed. But now, he doesn’t even argue anymore and I don’t see it as “better” – frankly, it made me even sadder for the both of them.I’m sad for my parents because they are both incredible individuals. They both deserve happiness but I don’t see it in them. I keep coming back to the five pairs of pants. I was left thinking about something Cherie @ Blog THIS Mom quoted just recently: “You can’t always get what you want, but if you try some times … you get what you need!” [Rolling Stones … and I didn’t look it up so I’m sorry if it quoted it wrong] What is “want” and what is “need” anyway? My dad said he wanted pants for his birthday … or did he say he “needed” pants … were we really listening? If somebody “needs” something in this context, should you really strive to deliver on such a mundane desire? My father has the time and money to get slacks. He is not going without if we don’t buy him slacks. Shouldn’t we look past what somebody “needs” for a birthday wish and instead give them what we think they may really “want” instead?
I dropped the ball … and not just a week or so ago … I dropped the ball years ago when I started taking my parents for granted. I dropped the ball when I assumed they would be satisfied with whatever time my family gave them when it was convenient for us. I dropped the ball when I lost sight of what excites my mom or dad and would put genuine joy on their face. The thing is, I love my parents and I think they know that. But my actions don’t really show it and when all is said and done, aren’t actions the real measure of a man? I realized that a card on birthdays or father’s day or mother’s day is not enough to say you love them and that they are great. I need to reconnect with my parents while I still have them. I need them to know the real me and I need to know the real them. I want to know in my heart that if my dad asks for shoes next year what he will really appreciate instead is a day out on the golf course with me telling bawdy jokes. I want to know where/if my mother still has joy in her life. She used to be my confidant during my troubled teenage years and I want to be that for her if she needs it now. Perhaps instead of buying her books this year, I’ll read the same books she likes and have lunch with her to talk about them. Father-Daughter Dance
Lauren and I went to the sock hop this weekend and it was pretty cool. I'll post some pictures when I get them off the camera (I was able to pull together a halfway decent look from stuff I had at home). It was kind of funny that when I saw myself dressed like a greaser, I looked the spitting image of my dad ... who knew he was a greaser? I thought he was just dressed as a construction worker.
Before we hit the dance, we joined two other dads and their daughters at Islands restaurant and Lauren and I got there early with time to talk before the others arrived. She is fun to just hang out with now that she has her own defined personality and sense of humor.
We made it to the dance, took pictures, and went out to the basketball court/dance floor. She found many of her classmates there and we made rounds saying hello. I really expected that she would ditch me to run around and dance with her girlfriends, but it turned out she really wanted to spend the time with me. Each time a friend would come to us on the dance floor to break her away, she would turn them down and want to dance with me. I guess you could say I was pleasantly suprised by this. I would have been totally fine if she wanted to play with her friends, but the fact that she valued the father-daughter time really made me feel good about my relationship with her. I really love being a father :)
Before we hit the dance, we joined two other dads and their daughters at Islands restaurant and Lauren and I got there early with time to talk before the others arrived. She is fun to just hang out with now that she has her own defined personality and sense of humor.
We made it to the dance, took pictures, and went out to the basketball court/dance floor. She found many of her classmates there and we made rounds saying hello. I really expected that she would ditch me to run around and dance with her girlfriends, but it turned out she really wanted to spend the time with me. Each time a friend would come to us on the dance floor to break her away, she would turn them down and want to dance with me. I guess you could say I was pleasantly suprised by this. I would have been totally fine if she wanted to play with her friends, but the fact that she valued the father-daughter time really made me feel good about my relationship with her. I really love being a father :)
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Ah, Friday, March 6, 2009
I've Issued a Man-date
I set up a recurring man-date with my friend for occassional Friday nights and it is funny how little difference there is between going out with him and when I used to date (before I married my wife). I'm looking at finding new restaurants to try, movies to see, cultural events/exhibits/shows, hobbies to join together, etc. I think the only difference is that I'm not desperately hoping he comes home with me at the end of the night ... though it wouldn't be a problem if he did ... OK, I'm just not hoping he sleeps over ... though if he is drinking, I guess I would expect him too. Geez, dating is confusing when you aren't even really dating ... or you are ... huh?
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Going to a Sock Hop
This weekend I’m taking my daughter to a father-daughter dance and it’s a sock hop, ala ‘50s, and I’m trying to peg myself for the attire. Am I the greaser, the athlete/letterman, the dork
… yes, I’m all of them. So, what to wear … what to wear? I’m sure it will come down to waiting for the last minute and being stuck with whatever is in my closet, or I could justify going out to buy something since I rarely have the chance to take my daughter to a dance like this … hmm. If I was to get a leather jacket, that would expensive and I probably wouldn’t wear it enough to justify it (I used to wear one, but that is SOOOO 80s/90s). I have one now, but it is all long and gothic-like and I’d scare all the other daughters and dads (my daughter doesn’t even flinch at that stuff – she just wanted her own pink-spiked bracelet) and, oh yeah, NOT ‘50s at ALL … why did I even digress like that? This is the same daughter that chose the cheerless cheerleader Halloween costume for herself – she is totally a gothic girl!
So, I need to put something together and I don’t have a letterman’s jacket – I lettered, but it was in Varsity Badminton and I didn’t want to be the first varsity jock in high school history to get a wedgie. You see what I mean by being the athlete AND the dork? I don’t want to NOW get a wedgie by the other dads so I still don’t want to show up as a dork … so I guess it is the greaser sans jacket. Imma gonna have to grease out the hair and maybe roll some cigarettes up in my sleeve … oh wait, this is with my daughter who I don’t want to smoke … ARGH! OK, can we just pick a new theme? No, not gonna happen? Well frick!
Forlorn
Bereft of hope, supine pose, crumbling within.
Each constrained tear splashing away at my soul.
Fortifying a façade – for daughter, for family, for friends.
Feigning life when I can barely see beyond my walls.
Rash thoughts and desperate prayers take place of self-will.
The cruel voice that preys upon moments of weakness.
Spiraling cause and effect that cripples any action.
And so, with head upon the block, I wait for the axe to fall.
Waiting for my world to be torn asunder and me left with pieces
of family, of friends, of home, of my very being.
Waiting to know if essence remains to rebuild a sense of self.
Each constrained tear splashing away at my soul.
Fortifying a façade – for daughter, for family, for friends.
Feigning life when I can barely see beyond my walls.
Rash thoughts and desperate prayers take place of self-will.
The cruel voice that preys upon moments of weakness.
Spiraling cause and effect that cripples any action.
And so, with head upon the block, I wait for the axe to fall.
Waiting for my world to be torn asunder and me left with pieces
of family, of friends, of home, of my very being.
Waiting to know if essence remains to rebuild a sense of self.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Change
Change is coming. You can tell by the cut-back flight of the birds. If you stop and really concentrate, you can feel the ground tremble in anticipation. I am waiting like a gremmie in tumultuous waters; A lump in my throat swells with the outbound tide as I ready to catch hold of the barreling force lest it pass me by. Others sense something, but I can almost see it … I know it is coming … it looms just out of clarity so that I know not whether it is full of fright or excitement. I still have time to run, and running may prove to be prudent, but running is not my way. Though it may be folly, I will hunker and feel the ground boil beneath my feet before I turn away. Change is coming and I will know its face as it shall know mine.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
PROMPTuesday #45: You’re Published!
Since I enjoy reading Cherie's (BlogTHISMom) submissions each week for the PROMPTuesdays, I figured I'd pick up the habit too (submission below this prompt):
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PROMPTuesday #45: You’re Published! (San Diego Momma Blog)
For this week’s PROMPTuesday, let’s assume your book is getting published. And that you need a dedication page.
What is your book about, who will you dedicate your book to and what will you say?
Write a story based on this prompt.
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Kindred Spirits
A powerful spirit lies dormant in captivity for ages until it is unleashed upon the 21st century world. Jumping from one human to another, it splits its essence each time to share a bit of its power with the host and elluding captivity forever more. Each new hosts has unique powers tindered from within and soon the spirit is coveted by all and guarded by the chosen. Our world becomes centered around a shared spirit that connects the hosts but divides the masses.
Dedicated to my family for keeping me true to myself and fictional for others.
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PROMPTuesday #45: You’re Published! (San Diego Momma Blog)
For this week’s PROMPTuesday, let’s assume your book is getting published. And that you need a dedication page.
What is your book about, who will you dedicate your book to and what will you say?
Write a story based on this prompt.
===========================================
Kindred SpiritsA powerful spirit lies dormant in captivity for ages until it is unleashed upon the 21st century world. Jumping from one human to another, it splits its essence each time to share a bit of its power with the host and elluding captivity forever more. Each new hosts has unique powers tindered from within and soon the spirit is coveted by all and guarded by the chosen. Our world becomes centered around a shared spirit that connects the hosts but divides the masses.
Dedicated to my family for keeping me true to myself and fictional for others.
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