What do you see # 17- February 17, 2020 – My Old Teddy

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Image: Lisa Fotios- Pixabay

 

I’ve seen so much I could write a book.

Secrets I hold, lies I’ve been told.

One generation to the next

I’ve been held, cuddled and thrown,

A comfort one day, a punching bag the next.

I’m in retirement now

My days are spent resting

For the most part, neglected and forgotten

Just part of a family, so taken for granted.

 

Written for: https://lifeafter50forwomen.com/2020/02/17/what-do-you-see-11/

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Sunday Writing Prompt “Tarot Reading” – Can It Be True?

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The reading had not gone as I anticipated. I had gone along to find out my future.

Instead, there seemed to be an inordinate amount of tsking and shaking of the reader’s head. This combined with exclamations such as ‘Oh dear’. ‘I wouldn’t have thought that’ and ‘that’s a bit of a surprise’ didn’t add anything to my experience.

I always thought of myself as an average sort of guy. I didn’t stand out in any way, I was never going to win marathons or climb high mountains, let alone discover a cure for cancer. I was a plain and simple man who thought having a reading done would settle the argument I’d been having with my partner that it was all a load of codswallop.

The reader was a smallish woman of indeterminate height. Sitting opposite her, I watched as she shuffled the cards and looked at me saying nothing. This didn’t do anything for my comfort levels. I expected some interaction, but there was none forthcoming.

Right from her laying out the first card and watching her eyebrows rise, I knew there would be some issue.

I had wondered if she would tell me if I’d be rich, successful in business and or relationship.

After several cards had been laid out on the table, she asked me if I had insurance. “Pardon?” I asked.

“Do you have insurance, you know, life insurance, health insurance?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Good, don’t let them lapse.”

There continued another period of uncomfortable silence, and she laid out another card and jumped back, uttering a small squeal and then burrowing her head in her hands.

“The cards say you won’t be rich, neither will you be successful. All a bit disappointing, isn’t it?”

I couldn’t help but feel my anger rising, as I thought this was such a waste of my time. It wasn’t entertaining in any way; in fact, it was more depressive than anything else.

“Don’t go,” she said as if anticipating my next move, “there’s something you should know.”

I sat waiting.

Again it seemed the wait was longer than it needed to be.

“You are an ordinary man, aren’t you? You are one of those people who fill up the spaces between the rich and powerful. I can see you working beyond retirement because you won’t know what to do with yourself. You’ll have several relationships, but none of them will bring you happiness so you should resign yourself to a solitary life.”

She looked at me and then gathered up the cards. “I’ve never had anyone so ordinary sit before me. Good luck with everything.”

I left feeling despondent and then had to spend the rest of the day listening to my partner tell me of her future, full of hope, promise and potential.

 

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2020/02/16/sunday-writing-prompt-tarot-reading/

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Reena’s Exploration Challenge #122 – Reading on the Train.

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Image: Daniel Salmieri

The commute was a daily coming together of some like minds. You got used to the same people sitting around you even if there existed little more than a nod of recognition between you.

My travelling companion was an avid reader, and on occasion, we compared the novels we were reading.

“Have you read Rachel Joyce?” I asked one morning.

She hadn’t and was immediately interested in hearing my thoughts on her writing.

She had written four novels I had read and thoroughly enjoyed. My enthusiasm must have been obvious as she took in my every word.

“I like the way she creates endearing characters and through them, she leads you along a path. All her books have a journey of some kind in them. “The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry’ takes in the journey Harold Fry makes on foot from one end of England to the other end. Harold is a most unlikely character and along the way attracts a range of odd characters who encourage him to continue his journey. The aim of his journey is to meet up with a work companion from twenty years earlier, Queenie Hennessy. Queenie Hennessy’s story is followed up in a subsequent book, “The Love Song of Miss Queenie Hennessy’.

What I liked also was the author’s ability to lead you along but have a twist at the end you didn’t anticipate and which leaves you a bit speechless, so to speak.

My level of enthusiasm must have inspired her for the next week she sat by me reading her own ‘Harold Fry’ novel. I was pleased to tell her that she would enjoy all four novels and that a new novel was due out later in the year.

We both agreed a good novel not only drew you in but also filled your head with so many wonderful thoughts in response to the writing and in some cases for your own writing.

 

Written for: https://reinventionsreena.wordpress.com/2020/02/13/reenas-exploration-challenge-122/

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The Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest 2/8-2/14 – My First Love!

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Sue Dorn was more than a thorn,

Across the playground she demanded

My stare, my mouth hanging open

My best gormless look

A magnet to every boy,

Like bees round a honey pot

Like maggots hanging on her every smile.

I dreamt of her at night

My first wet dream

My first scream

What is this girl doing to me?

How to get onto her team.

 

Written for: https://chelseaannowens.com/2020/02/08/the-weekly-terrible-poetry-contest-2-8-2-14/

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Tale Weaver #262 – Carry – February 13th – Cyril Rum, An Angel on Sabbatical.

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Cyril Rum was an angel and an angel on sabbatical.

Cyril was not as you might imagine an angel to be. Rather than the magnificence and wonder the storybooks tell us of angels, Cyril was more your middle-aged, portly shaped, balding and for the most part non-descript human man.

He chose this appearance as he basically didn’t want to stand out and appearing in his true form would do nothing but attract a lot of attention he didn’t need for in reality he was a shy divine entity, and his true form would be far too much for the human brain to comprehend.

Cyril was sure he could carry off the appearance of normality, in earth terms at any rate. He chose to live in a town where not a lot happened, in a house on a very average street and was fortunate to find his neighbour, Mildred Thrupp, the ideal mentor in terms of guiding him through the complexities of being human.

Mildred thought Cyril was a visitor from another country as his ignorance of so much was obviously in her opinion the result of cultural differences.

Cyril loved his life on earth. He found he had a diversity of neighbours, mostly good, and only once or was it twice did he intervene in the lives of the people around him.

It was important to Cyril that when he did act that his actions drew little attention upon himself.

Over time he did begin to miss his home. Being an angel was relatively stress-free compared to life on earth. Having spent an eternity in angelic splendour, it had a lot going for it whereas life on earth where he had to cook for one thing was always going to be a challenge.

Mildred had been a great help in this regard, and she seemed to have an endless supply of recipes to tempt him with. Her ‘Beef in Red Wine’ was beyond delicious in Cyril’s opinion, then again eating had never been an issue for Cyril for as an angel it wasn’t something he needed to do. As a human, however, he discovered the pangs of hunger, and he was grateful for Mildred’s rescuing him.

Tonight, Mildred had promised to make him a “Tangy Chicken Curry’, and Cyril had quickly discovered the mouth-watering qualities of curry.

On his back veranda, Cyril had two wooden chairs, painted white and facing west. Part of his sabbatical was his reporting to his superiors on his progress and discovery of all things human.

His mentor was the Angel Trevor, who would appear regularly and offer Cyril deliverance from where he was. They would sit in the wooden chairs, and Cyril would regale Trevor with what he had observed during the past week or so. Trevor was impressed with Cyril’s resilience and left him each time with reassurances he would be welcomed back when he requested it.

A little later Mildred would appear with cookbook in hand and the ingredients for the evening’s meal.

Smacking his lips, Cyril thought there were some good things about being human, eating being one of them.

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2020/02/13/tale-weaver-262-carry-february-13th/

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What do you see # 16 February 10, 2020 – Rain at Last.

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After months of drought, several months, in fact, since last September, raging bushfires have cost the lives of 33 people and over 3000 homes lost, but finally, it has rained.

Now in some places, we have the problem of flooding, but I think for the most part people are coping with flood far better than they did with the bushfires.

What was once a barren brown land has come alive, everywhere is green again, lawn mowers are being fuelled up, and our landscape has changed.

This coming weekend there is talk of a cyclone bringing more rain to the east coast, big seas and strong winds. Beaches are being eroded and holiday destinations are suffering because on the one hand fire was threatening so many and now its rain and flood.

 

In 1908 the poet Dorothea Mackellar wrote her most famous poem, “My Country” in which she wrote:

 

‘I love a sunburnt country

A land of sweeping plains

Of ragged mountain ranges

Of droughts and flooding rains…’

 

You could say nothing much has changed apart from the summers lasting longer and starting earlier.

Written for: https://lifeafter50forwomen.com/2020/02/10/what-do-you-see-16-february-10-2020/

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Photo Challenge #302 – Dreams and being Lost.

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Image: Shichigoro Shingo

I’m leaving school heading home, a path I have taken a hundred or more times.

Today I’m confused, the road I take leads me nowhere, I’m in a place I don’t recognise, and every turn confuses me further.

I stop and ask for direction, and I’m given some which sound easy, but when I follow them once again, I am nowhere.

I know if I reach the train station I’ll be safe, as the train will take me home.

I arrive at the station only to find I’m at a place I don’t recognise. People tell me there is a train in a few minutes. It arrives, and I clamber on, grateful to finally have found a way home.

The train travels along an unknown path and eventually stops at a station I don’t recognise.

The people all get off, and I realise this train will now reverse back to where it came from, that it only operates on this particular piece of railway.

I find myself back where I started, no closer to home and no way knowing what I might now do.

 

I awake wondering what does all this mean? I have had this dream a lot, what is my mind trying to say to me?

I am well over my working days, I don’t harbour any ambition to go back there, but maybe in my sub-consciousness, there is unfinished business, and it keeps dragging me back. The theme of the dream of being lost is re-occurring, always in a different location, sometimes with people I know, sometimes with people, I don’t think I’ve ever seen before.

The alternative view could be its about not knowing where home is?

That in itself does make some sense to me as when my marriage ended, I did feel very disorientated, lost you might say.

 

 

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2020/02/11/photo-challenge-302/

Posted in Uncategorized, Writing prompt | Tagged , , , | 9 Comments