Writing 101 – Say Something


I was young. It was 10 years ago now. How was I to know that the chemistry I felt between us was nothing more than physical. How was I to know that you and me would never be anything, that you would follow me in the back of my mind for the next 10 years. I wonder if you understand how insignificant you made me feel. I wonder if you knew I didn’t want to be part of all the other girls who followed you around and sat beside you. I wanted to be different from them. For years I thought it was my fault that we never worked out. I thought because I was shy and felt great anxiety around you that I was the reason you never made an effort to talk to me. I believed that because what I felt for you was greater than anything I’d felt before and that the chemistry (to this day) was more than I had ever felt, that I should have done more, said more.

This story is not about a conversation that was significant; this story is about one hundred little conversations that never existed. It’s about one hundred little waves of the hand that we shared and that’s where the connection stopped. But I never understood how for years I thought of you, when I saw another guy. I compared the feeling I got around you to the feeling I got around him. I put you and guys like you on some pedestal, until one day after so much had happened to me I learned how to look guys like you in the eye. I learned how to flirt. I learned to look for other guys not like you — to ignore that huge sense of attraction — because guys like you were fake, thought they could have any girl. Guys like you got off on attention from pretty girls, they didn’t know how to treat pretty girls. Guys like you didn’t know how to be with a girl and make her feel fantastic. Guys like you were users. I hope today your still not like this.

Still, for years, I wanted the guy I thought you were. I never found him. I found another guy who loved me and took care of me and talked with me. But the chemistry is not like it was, the excitement isn’t there. I don’t know if I have just grown up or if I’m settling. I love him, but a part of me doesn’t, a part of me belongs with you. I think you stole it the last time I saw you walking down the temporary pathway to the university library. Your thickly lashed blue eyes looked at me and became huge and then we said “Hey” to one another.  It was the last of one hundred conversations we never really had. My first step towards freedom.

Say Something – A Great Big World

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Writing 101 – “The House That Built Me.”


Sorry first copy was so riddled with spelling mistakes I can’t believe I sent it like that. If there’s more I apologize.

Mandibelle16

The House That Built Me – Miranda Lambert

When I was 17-years-old, my family moved out of our 850 square foot house (one level) because my family needed more space. My brother’s were big teenagers at 15-years-old and 13-years-old, we had a medium-sized dog named Nikki, plus my parents. The old house was too small to fit us all. Slowly, we packed up boxes, putting away books, trinkets, dishes, all items that held memories. The dog didn’t know what was going on but she remained in a confused hyper-alert state and came crashing through the room anytime a large item of furniture was moved. We moved everything ourselves, rented a big u-haul truck and moved about 13 blocks closer to the River Valley into the house we live now.

Our old house was tiny. Even when we were little kids and I was 12-years-old it was small but my Dad…

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Writing 101 – “The House That Built Me.”


The House That Built Me – Miranda Lambert

When I was 17-years-old, my family moved out of our 850 square foot house (per level) because my family needed more space. My brother’s were big teenagers at 15-years-old and 13-years-old, we had a medium-sized dog named Nikki, plus my parents. The old house was too small to fit us all. Slowly, we packed up boxes, putting away books, trinkets, dishes, all items that held memories. The dog didn’t know what was going on but she remained in a confused hyper-alert state and came crashing through the room anytime a large item of furniture was moved. We moved everything ourselves, rented a big u-haul truck, and moved about 13 blocks closer to the River Valley into the house we live now.

Our old house was tiny. Even when we were little kids and I was 12-years-old it was small but my Dad had done a lot of work on our old house and I think it was a blow to each of us to see years later, the new owner had taken out the hedge that separated the garden from the lawn; sodded over the garden where we had grown every kind of vegetable — also these tiny but tart little strawberries; we saw that the new owner had taken down the deck and built a set of ugly steps up to the patio door; we saw he had chopped down the apple tree that we had grafted various kinds of green and red mouth-watering apple branches to; the new owner chopped down other trees in the front yard;  and the little house that had never seemed a hovel to us, now looks like one because of him.

Inside the little house was a landing when you came in with steps going downstairs and short flight of steps going up to the kitchen. We had an oak table in the kitchen. There were oak kitchen cabinets and drawers against the far wall where half of the cupboards were oak and the other half were still the old 1940’s cupboards that were original to the house. My Dad had never finished that project.

Down a hallway from the kitchen was a peach bathroom Dad had redone when I was a little girl (smaller than 12-years-old) and a living room where we had ripped out the carpet to reveal a wooden floor. The living room had become the nicest room in the house with  light green and gold sofas; a cream, green, and rose flowered carpet; and a runner of similar pattern to the carpet by the front door and closet. There was a piano in the living room that I hated. I hated to practice on it and hated it even more when my Dad started singing and practicing on the piano at 6:30 am on a Saturday for choir.

Down the hall were 2 bedrooms: the master bedroom painted light yellow where my parents slept, and a white room with a 90’s green carpet where my little brother slept. My brother’s room had a wide desk with 2 alcoves for seats and this desk covered the back wall. Both my brothers had been in that room at one time.

Downstairs was a small bathroom my Dad had built as well as laundry and a small pantry area to the left. Directly, in front of the stairs was my other brother’s bedroom that use to be my Dad’s office. It had grey carpet and white walls and was the perfect place for a boy who loved computers. To the left of that room was a playroom and TV room where we sat on old couches and watched tapes full of Disney movies that my Aunt had tapped off of TV.

And in the corner and to the left of that room was my bedroom. It was a room my Dad had built from a concrete storage area and when I was 8-years-old I moved down there and painted it a gorgeous bright light blue. This went with an ice blue carpet, a twin sized bed my dad had made with drawers when I was 4-years-old, a Barbie house, a dresser with a mirror, and too many spiders who visited too often.

When we drive by our old house now, we try not to look. It’s hard seeing what someone else did to your families hard work. I think my parents redid every room in that house at one time or another and if it didn’t look as nice in the end it’s because we were kids and kids are hard on houses and so are pets.

The backyard was the most beautiful area on our property.  It was always covered in flowers and the garden full of wonderful vegetables like peas and carrots that the dog pigged out on. It’s nice to know where your food is coming from, that it is truly organic — even if it’s just for your dog’s sake. And my mom made jam, canned peaches, and  frozen beans and peas. We had corn and other fresh produce in the summer, rhubarb, mint, dill, and tons of delicious apples that made so many crisps, pies, apple juice, and apple sauce.

But as Miranda Lambert sings ” [y] ou know they say you can’t go home again,” it’s the truth. That childhood home is no longer our home and only broken pieces of it remain in the yard and if I’m not mistaken, in the house. Still like Lambert’s song title, I believe ” it was the house that built me” and built my family into what we are today.

Writing 101 – Happy Easter: Cinnamon Rolls and Buns


www.zaissionlogic.com
http://www.zaissionlogic.com

I have always had this love of food. I adore it. Not that I don’t eat healthily, what I am saying is I’m one of those girls obsessed with delicious food and I could probably go on eating it if I didn’t care for my figure and love physical activity for most of my life. I love to talk about food whether it’s making a recipe less fattening or just eating the most amazing Italian pastries because it’s a Saturday and I feel like it.

But some of the most scrumpious foods in the world, foods that reminds me of hearth, home, and being a little girl at Easter time is Cinnamon Buns and Apple Cinnamon Rolls. All that delicious bread spread with butter, sugar, and cinnamon, sprinkled with raisins or apples. I’m almost drooling…

Cinzeo makes a great cinnamon bun with pecans if you like and once when I was on vacation in Disney Land with my mom and Dad we had these melt in your mouth cinnamon buns and the icing and cinnamon would just drip all over your hands and your face would be sticky but your mouth would feel all warm and gooey inside.

Those cinnamon buns were so delicious but the best one’s are made by my Grandma.When I was a little girl, I would watch my Grandma make cinnamon buns and then we would bake them and hot out of the oven came these little cinnamon buns that were melt in your mouth, and were full of delicious raisins, sugar, and cinnamon. Grandma often made these cinnamon buns at Easter but if you would like to know what the best thing we had at Easter was it was Apple Cinnamon Rolls and my Mom made these and taught my Grandma to as well.

The process to make Apple Cinnamon Rolls is the same as making a cinnamon bun except you make one giant piece of dough that you will eventually roll into a tube, wrap around into a circle, then cut at equal points and pull it a part so it looks something like a wreath. In Apple Cinnamon Rolls you don’t use raisins but you cover the buttered, cinnamoned, and sugared dough with apples. Once the wreath of Apples and dough is in the oven, you bake it, let it cool, and then you ice it with cream cheese icing. You slice the roll where you made the slits to spread the wreath shape of the cinnamon roll out. The taste is majestic and inspiring and the apples might even hint at a bit of healthiness in this dessert.

www.diffen.com
http://www.diffen.com

I think it is that flavor of cinnamon and sugar and apples or raisins together with bread that I love and it makes me think how special Easter was when my brothers and I were little kids. We got Easter baskets (a few) full of chocolate, went to 2 or 3 dinners, we went to Church and a breakfast at church, and it was all so important because that was time we spent with our families and time we spent reflecting that Jesus died on the cross to take away all our sins. He took away the sins of an entire world so all who believed in Him could go to heaven when they died. Religiously in Christianity, with Jesus’ birth at Christmas,  Easter is the most important holiday and perhaps, a wreath of apples reminds us of the crown of thorns Jesus wore on the cross. Though he was mocked and beaten, Jesus was never conquered – he defeated death and the grave and rose again. Besides cinnamon buns and rolls that’s pretty fantastic.

Writing 101 – The Red Sweater


www.optimalchiro.ie
http://www.optimalchiro.ie

A man and a woman walk through the park together, holding hands. They pass an old woman sitting on a bench. The old woman is knitting a small, red sweater. The man begins to cry. Write this scene.

Today’s twist: write the scene from three different points of view: from the perspective of the man, then the woman, and finally the old woman.

 

He hadn’t always wanted  a child. Michael found them messy and loud, a disturbance to his peace of mind. Then, Natalie became pregnant and the way he thought about a child changed. He could see her belly grow and feel the child kicking, a life force all her own saying, ” It’s me Dad. It’s me Mom. Are you out there?” Then the day came when Natalie started having large contractions and he drove her to the hospital excitedly proud that he would be a new Dad soon. The labour took hours and when the baby was born Natalie and Michael waited for it to give that first piercing cry of life, but the little one never cried. She didn’t move, she was still and remained still.

Walking through the park that day with Natalie the tiny red sweater reminded him of their lost baby and he wept. Was it his fault because he hadn’t wanted a baby in the first place that their little girl died?

Natalie watched her husband cry and at first, she didn’t know why. Mike was not an emotional man, she had rarely seen him cry except for maybe after she had given birth to a still-born child in the hospital. Then Natalie saw the little red sweater an old women was knitting and she understood why Michael wept. He was remembering the baby. She grimaced. Hours of labour and she had give birth to a lifeless doll. She didn’t understand why but the baby episode, all the preparations, the looking forward to the baby, the labour, had all made her feel numb. Natalie felt as if she didn’t exist as if her and Michael were 2 completely different people since that time 2-years ago. Mike had wanted another baby as soon as possible, she had shaken her head sadly at him and said, ” Maybe in a few years.” But Natalie didn’t know if a few years would ever come.

Grandma Florence sat happily knitting a little red sweater for her first grandchild. She was ecstatic and had even thought that none of her kids would have grandchildren, since they were all in their late 30’s anyways. She held up the tiny red sweater and a man walking by her with his wife begin to cry in earnest. Florence wondered why she holding up a little red sweater, would make anybody cry? Babies brought joy the world. They were the promise that life, that the world would continue with a piece of you in it. She shook her head absently, noticed she had goofed up the last stitch and went back to finishing the sweater on the bench. Her sparkling eyes and ruddy cheeks gave her the look of a grandma who was extremely happy and had never experienced what Natalie and Michael went through. She had other things to focus on.

Writing 101 – Adverbless Magic Hour


Life ebbs and flows, which way it will go nobody knows,
and the vastness of the sky made me feel alive.
I did what anyone would do when I cackled and conversed with the people that strode by.
I heard a lark or two, they told, and the grass around them was fresh and inviting,
As we sat in silence a moment and pondered the amazement of the moment.
That we should be here at such a place listening to silence, a forlornness.
And down in the park 3 mother’s paced by, pushing their strollers and humming.
It was an abstract moment that they should wonder by as we gazed and gloried at the sun glowing and absent beneath a clouded sky.
Dogs galloped down the trails in blazing anticipation of a stick or a rabbit, maybe a squirrel or just madness.
Puppy glory is something to be excited about as the pups stretched and rolled, pudgy bodies vigilent but uncontrolled.
And I waited for the little ones to bounce off with their owners, and a larger mut staring followed the gravel down those forest trails.
I continued walking my visage towards the light fading and haunting in the summer sky and came upon a rabbit friend still as stone, furry, and proud.
He bounded was confounded for a moment by my presence then up the hill and yonder, hopped on legs solid as the ground (our foundation).
He was spirited as the wind that blew each animal from his place in the wild.
I did not like the wasps. I did not like the bugs that flew and could sting a cry from us tyrant beings, not of this tree and meadowed place.
I pushed my legs further and ran up the hill, back home I went as night surrounded the peace found in the day that closed.
Some reflections we absorbed going back, we were tranquil, we were on fire having seen nature at an hour where dark turned to danger, and delights descended into life — liveliness.

Luxebox Fall 2014: Get Up and Glow


Yeah! the Fall Luxebox is here. I hope you enjoy the items as much as I’m going to trying them all out! Included is a Burt’s bee lip gloss, blush and contour brush, Susan concealer palette, body wash, a couple of face creams, and AG volumizing hair product. All are in the usual handy Loose Button sac, great for any number of things. Enjoy!

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Writing 101 – Both Saw 2 Different Things


Two gentlemen looking, saw very different things,
One saw a girl with laughter in her smile and sunshine on her face.
One saw a girl serious and cold, she sat in the shade and hid her plane face.
The other saw beauty breath taking delight, rosy cheeks, and butterfly kisses.
The other saw skin deathly pale, and ugliness that had crept in with the promise of death.
And those two individuals they saw what they saw, one caught up in grace and in an ethereal light.
The other saw darkness and more to the point, the blackness which invades the soul and can not be vanquished but with the sun.
And they saw two dissimilar faces as that girl walked before them, one touching his view point with the brightest of smiles, one pressing his point with the darkness of frowns.
The girl wore a dress delicate and refined, the whitest of whites that shone in the dawn.
The second one saw that the dress was tattered, fading in places, ripped in some, bleached until it was a white that could be destroyed and torn.
The first man thought her hair was golden blond, glossy and brilliant and floating round her head, the veil of an angel as she danced down the street with vitality.
His partner saw hair fake and discoloured, no one had hair as shiny and blond as that, so he called her an imposter and judged her appearance, said she was vermin, and that he knew it.
And the girl flitted down the street disappearing, while one man called her nimble the other called her rude.
But it’s the strangest of things what two different people will see.
One will see good things, the other only misery.
As a fairy tale might mention, one man was a prince, the other a beast.

Writing 101 – Ann and David’s House (from A Letter to Ann)


www.prudencefish.blogspot.com
http://www.prudencefish.blogspot.com

Ann left David’s beautiful 3 story 19th Century house as fast as she could.

She had always loved that house, loved how such history could be preserved and updated. She loved the wrap around porch where David and her had often sat on the outdoor couches and talked about their days, talked about their lives, and what they dreamed of doing in the future together.

She remembered how David had one day in the warm summer, strung up Christmas lights all around the porch and proposed marriage to her one night at sunset. She smiled as she remembered how they had sipped expensive champagne and gorged on gourmet chocolate in utter happiness and joy. Ann had sad “yes,” to David’s proposal and David had taken her in his arms and held her and Ann had felt that she was the most precious person in the world to David. That night had become part of their history and their future, or so Ann had thought.

She loved David’s house, their home. The cozy kitchen had been opened up and outfitted with the most updated appliances where David and her both laughed and cooked. She adored the master bath with its big claw foot tub where she would lie back and unwind after a particularly tense day at the office. She loved the large king sized bed where David and her could both stretch out and sleep without Ann pushing David to the corner of the bed as she spread out in the night. Ann adored waking up to David among soft, thick, and grey sheets and snuggling into him. On most mornings she would roll to David’s side of the bed and wake to kisses and busy hands.

The house had character as the people who inhabited it. Ann often felt the house was a reflection of herself more then David. The soft blue-grey walls in the bedroom were the color of her eyes, understanding and observant. The color and passionate art around the house were a mirror of her inner character, the way she felt around David. Her soft pink lips were the color of some slippery silk pillows in the living room, plush and welcoming. The color of her tanned skin was the same color as the comfy lazy boy David liked to relax in. Just as David was comfortable in that leather chair she was comfortable in her own skin.

The stalwart and geometric construction of the house were also a mirror image of her character steady and firm in her beliefs, something she was proud about herself for being, something David loved about her. The rounded furniture on the patio was a reflection of her body, one she was proud of. She kept her body in shape by running the paths that wrapped around the park in the area, yet as that plush furniture, her body still held a curvaceous shape. Walking away from David’s house felt as if Ann was walking away from herself.

David chased her down as she began the walk to her empty little condo 4 blocks away. “Stay,” he begged, “stay Ann, that little receptionist in their means nothing to me. She came here last night and I let her stay because her boyfriend was beating on her. I couldn’t  kick her out if he was doing that to her, Cameal, had bruises all over arms and legs…”

Ann pursed her pink lips, “She wants to separate us. That little red-head she’s always flirting with you at work and then I see her at your house? What am I a saint? How could I not think that she’s moving in on you after I find that letter right by your place? How could I not think you were sleeping with her after you were sleeping with me, when she shows up at your house and after all the attention you give her?”

“It’s not her I love,” David said making sure he caught Ann’s blue eyes, ” I don’t feel a thing for her, I just felt compassion for her problems. I thought she was just one of those flirty girls at work. I didn’t think she would actually show up at my door and I didn’t think well, that she could have possibly written that letter.”

” But nothing makes sense to me Ann, she wants you to leave, she’s doing it on purpose. I told her to find a friend’s house to stay at tomorrow night. She was hitting on me and when I turned her down she smacked me and makeup from one of the bruises came off on my face. She made the whole boyfriend hitting her story up, the bruises were fake, and I told her that it was inappropriate for her to be at our home any longer.” Ann sighed.

” I’m just not sure what to believe now David. I need to think.” David looked down to the pavement where he stood. He ran a frustrated hand through his inky air. He took Ann’s hand and kissed the diamond on her ring finger. “Remember this,” he said softly and left Ann to walk home alone in thought to her empty condo.

Writing 101 – A Letter to Ann


pinup-1The letter lay on the park path as if it had become part of the red, yellow, and brown leaves that surrounded it. The paper was of a thick colored stock that felt heavy in her hands and she opened it up carefully almost feeling weird about reading someone else’s private mail. It was written in business letter format and in messy handwriting. An address to the side read:

Ann Bennet

10456-105 Ave

Edmonton AB T5C 4E4

Under the address was a date September 27, 2014 followed by the body of the letter which stated that the letter writer (David) wished to end his relationship with Ann. He had met the love of his life and it wasn’t her. He wrote that he respected her and had enjoyed the time they spent together but that his new girlfriend was jealous and that Ann, his Assistant, could no longer be part of his personal life and if he she wished he would find her a new job, with better pay of course, in the company. The letter was signed David xoxo.

——–

Ann crumpled to the black pitch path beneath her. She wiped the sweat off her suddenly damp palms and stared ahead at David’s house where she had spent the night. She didn’t know what to do. Why was this letter written to her, Ann Bennet, at her address, lying on the park path by David’s house? They had been together for 4 years and she had thought that eventually they would end up marrying, that had been her end game — her happily ever after.

But now reading the letter a heaviness crept into her heart. Ann slowly got up off the pavement and hobbled towards David’s house, letter in hand. When she opened David’s patio door and crept inside the house, David was already eating breakfast and he smiled at her in that familiar way that Ann had come to love. He kissed her cheek and Ann’s tear escaped onto her cheek bone.

Ann thrust the letter into David’s hands with big sad questioning blue eyes. David gasped reading the letter quickly:

” I didn’t write this, there isn’t anyone else. You’re the only one I want,” he sputtered confused. But the red-head coming down the stairs in a beautiful wool navy shift dress made everything fall into place for Ann. She shook her head, and lifted her chin to the receptionist on the stairs believing nothing David tried to tell her.

” I’m going to get my things.” Ann said and David begged her not to. ” I would like a different job,” she whispered, ” I can’t be your assistant anymore.”

———
At the top of the stairs the seemingly saintly red-haired receptionist smiled and watched the love of David’s life walk out of his life. Things were going to change and it all begun with the wonderful letter she had left for Ann as Ann had taken her morning run.

No one knew that the receptionist had faked coming to David’s last night under the guise that her boyfriend was trying to hurt her, she knew David, wouldn’t send her away. Yes, things were going to change, and Ann was no longer an obstacle for the red-haired temptress at David’s firm.