Velvet Verbosity

100 Worders, I’m having problems with the Mr. Linky software.  The only one I could get to work was one that opened a new window and I don’t like that.  Getting help and hoping to resolve soon.  In the meantime, you can get started on the next challenge which is

Pillar

I’m on the road today so you definitely won’t hear from me until at least tomorrow.

Hi Internet, the 100 Words post is in process.  Whew!  I’m going to HAVE to start using Mr. Linky because with more and more people getting this post ready takes a long time!!

See you soon.

I pull up to the intersection where the bike path suddenly disappears.  Out of the shade and the quiet the path dumps out on a four lane trafficked road lined with strip malls, fast food joints, and gas stations.  A gaggle of cyclists wait with me at the light for the cross signal.  The father asks me, “So where the heck is the bike trail from here?”.  I eye his family.  The seven year old just barely off her training wheels with her pink glitter sport bike.  The 10 year old on a wide three wheeled bike that seems fit for an 80 year old.  I wonder how she’s going to get it through the narrow dirt path I’ll have to show them.  How she’ll get it over the train tracks and down the wooden pallets.  The mother who, contrary to Gary Larson cartoons, does not want to take directions from someone else thank you very much.  The 12 year old who blends into the background with her normal bike.

“You can follow me”, I say.   They don’t follow me, they surround me like a cloud and we swarm across the busy intersection, and into the parking lot.  They fan out on either side of me in migration pattern.  We part after the tracks.

The sun beams down and I’m flying, ripping through air.  A cat sits watching me approach and when I call out to her she blinks yellow eyes at me in greeting, lifting her nose as I pass.

Under the bridge a young man naps, a handkerchief tucked into the back pocket of his jeans, his bike tucked in next to him like a lover.  I stop a little way on to adjust my seat and passing cyclists call out in the code of the trail, “you ok?”; “Tools?”, “Need anything?”.  I smile and wave them on.

Welcome back to the weekly (more or less) 100 Word writing prompt and challenge.  Last week’s prompt was “City”.  The word city brings to mind a visceral memory from childhood.  I grew up pretty rurally and no one in my family had much love for any city, so my first exposure to a city was on a late night car ride to visit some family friends.

At midnight we passed through a city.  Suddenly, the inside of the car was lit up like daytime.  I plastered my face against the back window and stared in awe at this magical place called “city”.  The whole place was lit up like Christmas.  Here it was, the middle of the night, and people were awake!  I was at that age where I resisted bedtime because I was sure that I was missing on secret parties with cake and ice-cream.  Here was the proof.  This city, in the middle of the night, was one big glittery cake and ice-cream party!

This has nothing to do with 100 Words but I just have to tell you.  I’ve been riding my bike into work.  We have one of the oldest municipally managed bike trails in New England and it’s pure joy to ride on it instead of commuting in a single person moto-pod that closes me off from other people and the world in general.  On my way home this early evening, I was tooling along when I noticed something rather large up ahead.  My first thought was “dog”.  Then my brain put on the brakes, started pulling all the emergency levers and sounding the alarms.  Whatever this was, it was WAYYYY to big to be a dog.  I slowed down as my brain searched the files.  The large black thing with four legs then came into focus and it was a BEAR.  A big ole bear just standing there on the trail, taking up both sides, and staring right at me.  I came to a stop, of course, and stood there a good non-attack distance away and stared back at him.  I started calculating how fast I could get my Iphone out to get a picture, but before I could even process the thought, he trundled off into the trees.

I stood there a few minutes more.  Those trees weren’t very deep with residences all along the bike trail.  I wondered how close he was to the edge and if when I rode by I was going to spook him.  Thoughts of this giant animal coming thrashing out of the trees was making my mouth a little dry.  Finally, after a few minutes of no activity, I cautiously rode on without event.  No bear thrashing through the trees to maul me.  No eyes starting at me from between the branches.  No sign of him whatsoever.  I don’t know where on earth he could’ve gone, but he was gone.

So that was my adventure for the day.  Now on to the 100 Word submissions for the last prompt.  Let’s see, in order of appearance…

Ash wrote about his favorite city, Hong Kong.  Fantastic little piece!

It is a confusion of color and sound and smell, a crush of humanity, a paradoxical confluence of cultural currents. Stepping off the plane the whole mess of it washes over you at once, sickening and overwhelming. It isn’t until you delve into the details that the city invests you with its life. Stall vendors waft exotic spices on invisible tendrils of ester. Flashing neons in a rainbow of colors declare it the most superlative city on earth. Rickshaws and junks, skyscrapers and world commerce, it seamlessly blends the sophistication of Europe with the fecund traditions of China. Hong Kong.

The Night Blogger paints a descriptive and cold image for us with her piece this week.  I think this is often how we feel about cities at first glance.  Maybe even upon several glances.  But it does truly depend on the city.  Night Blogger, you should check out San Francisco sometime.  Beautiful words.

The city: crammed with towering, glittering buildings. Odd shapes—pyramids here; abstract contortions there. Layers of smoke coat the air. To breathe in is a slow death.

Winter brings a relentless cold. The kind of cold which grows like mold upon the bones.

Summer brings blistering humidity. The pollution oppresses, bearing down on its creators.

A white blossom swings lazily in the median. In summer, sweating people hurry past, seeking an air-conditioned haven. In winter, the blossom dies, a stalk standing silently through the snows, only to bloom in the spring.

But this is the city, and no one notices.

So LCeel did something interesting with this challenge.  First he wrote this:

He walked into the cool dark of the corner bar, a refugee from the sapping heat and the Sun.
“What’ll ya have?”
“Bud.”
“Two Fifty”
He closed his eyes and let the cold beer wash down his throat.
“You out lookin’?”
“Yeah. Been poundin’ the pavement for weeks. It’s brutal.”
“Want another?”
“Yeah.”
“Hot out there, huh?”
“Shit ya! ‘Specially when you’re out in it all day. Last few days I’ve been in every store, factory and office building within ten blocks of here. I’m done.”
“Nah, don’t say that. You’ll find somethin’. Just keep lookin’. It’s a big city.”

And then he wrote another 300 words to flesh out the story some more.  Go check it out.  Pretty cool.

Mama Bear (ack! Bear!) sent a little shiver up my spine with this one.

By day it is a crowded jungle of writhing bodies rushing past each, never bothering to stop and notice life as it passes them by.
With the fall of the sun and the arrival of darkness it takes on a new life. The rushed pace of business is replaced with the sounds of revelry as the night folk wander out of their daylight hiding places.
The city is theirs when night falls, theirs to haunt, to own. Do you dare to walk the streets while they watch your every move? Or do you hide in your night dwelling, safely away?
~ July 8, 2008
Penelope Anne Bartotto

I so thought Secret Agent Mama was going somewhere else with this, but that’s the thing about Mishi, she’s full of delightful surprises.

In the city that is littered with people bustling about, you will find her. Her red lips, her stilettos, her designer bag, and her growing belly. She rests her hand on her stomach while a serene smile takes over her porcelain face.

In the town where everyone knows everyone, you will find her. Her pink lips, her flip-flops, her favorite bag, and her growing belly. You will see her hand rest on her stomach while a serene smiles takes over her porcelain face.

It doesn’t matter where you are from; life is lived, the best way we know how.

Wow, just wow Renee.

Beyond the loud crowds is another world. A world where the neighbors sit together, fanning the heavy still air as they laughingly recount the day’s happenings and times past. A smiling stranger offers a bowl of etouffe from her stove as if all were family. Here strains of music can be heard drifting on the air growing until it moves limbs and catches heartstrings and binds every spirit together. Beyond the flashing lights and glittering façade designed to entertain visitors is a beautiful city. Her soul will forever call to those who know her and our souls ache to respond.

Angelgal presents us with a challenge to guess what city (cities?) she writes about in this piece.  Can you guess?

Requirements for the perfect city (in no specific order):

Multiple famous/infamous people lived in/from city and surrounding areas
Excellent inhabitation options in 50-mile radius
Starts with one of the first 5 letters of the alphabet
AFL Conference football team
Multiple concurrent visits to the Super Bowl
Large airport with remarkable architecture
Dazzling natural landmarks to the west
Heart beats quicker at thought of it
Newspaper with a wide circulation
Famous for something food related
Must refer to itself as a “Queen City”
Must have snow—and lots of it!!!
Multiple television stations
Loads of confusing traffic
Family in nearby towns

Adam, the mysterious Adam, conjures up some pretty powerful imagery here.  One of the things I love about the 100 Words challenge is that it can really be done well in such a way that leaves much to the imagination.  I really like how this piece evokes so much and yet leaves miles and miles of interpretation open.

Stepping out of a shaded side street, she merges with the radiant din. The surrounding human buzz presses her from all sides, numbing her unbearable self awareness, and silencing the broken record thought: “What have I done…”

A few moments later she merges completely, becoming invisible - even to herself. All that remains are the walls of neon signs, booming empty rainbow enthusiasm down upon the throngs of adult children below.

Together they drone ahead - a blind, aimless mass. For only in such mindless anonymity can they temporarily calm the wake left behind by a lifetime of forsaken dreams.

JM at Fiction Scribe used the 100 word prompt for some character development.  Another thing I love about this challenge is how you each do something so different!  Fun!

City. City. Filthy, filthy city.

Mr. Talbert, Mr. Frank Talbert, pushed open the door from the psychiatrist’s office with his shoulder. His hands were entirely too busy to push it open, occupied with the antibacterial wet wipes he always kept on his person.

Not that he would have touched it anyway. Filthy doors. Just like the rest of the filthy city.

He stood at the top of the concrete stairs and looked down at the many people and vehicles, each hurrying on along. They looked like bugs. Filthy, disgusting, ever-touching bugs.

The city was just one big concrete bug farm.

The Wandering Author wrote a short Sci-Fi piece.  If you don’t get it, hop over to the blog for an explanation.  Clever.

Our voices still as we enter the ancient village. Even crumbling, smothered with new growth, the ruins are impressive. I know the stories, how they choked on their own folly. I wouldn’t wish to live crammed in with countless others, to smother in the reek of endless fires.

Still, they had powers and knowledge I cannot imagine. They reached to the sky, they dreamed, even their failures scarred the earth for generations. I wonder what my ancestors were truly like. I crouch to study the figure the hunters found, tail outstretched for balance, but it is only a hairless monkey.

Ok, so that wraps up last week’s challenge.  I’m too tired now to reach over and grab a book so I’m chating and picking a word I can see right from my pillow.

Treasures

Sunday by midnight, KO?

Hi Internet, it’s nice to know you’re still here when I’m not.  Sunday night I came down with a head cold, and simultaneously my cat got sick too!  She is an indoor cat who lately has decided to try to be an outdoor kitty, and she’s quick as a fox and as slippery as a shadow so she keeps getting outside.  I’m worried that she’s picked up something strange that her body has no defense for.  I was going to take her to the vet today, but NO, she got out again last night.  We’re waiting for her return.

I’ll be posting the 100 words from last week when I get off work today.  Just wanted to check in as I have a penchant for disappearing.

It occurred to me that the title “Being Buddhist” is a bit off the mark, but I’ve started with that so I’m going to stick with it just for consistency’s sake.

After I met RT, well really starting a few weeks before then, I read every book I could get my hands on. Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind (Shambhala Library), The Accidental Buddhist, and Buddhism without Beliefs to name a few.  Actually, there were only a few at my local library.  I lived in a small town, population in the hundreds.  What I could find was only leaving me thirsty for more.  The internet was still new, and I didn’t have a connection at home anyway.  Meeting RT, for me, was the quench to my thirst.  He embodied the practices I was reading about, he radiated the truths I could only still guess at, but most importantly, his presence in our classroom that day meant that there were teachings available right nearby.  (The fact that I ended up in this town when I did is a story for another day.  Remind me, Internet, to tell you that story.)

I was eager to visit the meditation center RT had visited from so I called as soon as I got home.  The woman told me a calendar would be on its way to me shortly.  I was dismayed to discover that the “programs” cost money.  I was a struggling single mother and could barely afford time, much less greenbacks.  I used the books I read to start my own practice as I understood it and decided to be patient.  I wouldn’t have to wait long.  Life had a plan.

Internet, I can’t believe you put up with my crazy schedule sometimes. Maybe it’s because you know I’m well-intentioned.

I’ve been biking to work more lately, and after a week of rain, today was the first day that I felt I could safely take the bike to work and back. It struck me, as I was whipping along the bike path, that the invention of the wheel, such a simple thing, has been turned into so many modes of transport and recreation. Roller-blades, bicycles, strollers, contraptions whose name I don’t know but whose foundation is wheels, and on and on. I love riding my bike. Always have. Moving myself through space and interacting with others with smiles, nods, and “good mornings”. If I could give up my car altogether, I would.

So…yeah. That had nothing to do with the 100 Word Challenge but I’ve been glowing all day from the weird sense of freedom I get when riding. Last week’s challenge was to write 100 words on “Hour”. For some reason, I was excited by this prompt more than any other so far. The word hour has always held a whisper of something thrilling to me. It brushes up against infinite worlds for me. A word used to define one segment of the construct of time that we do not fully understand, yet make work for us. So let’s see what the word brought to mind for others.
I think Ash and I have some similar relationship with the word hour. This piece resonated powerfully with me.

The silken hour slips away with a whisper,
at once soft and cutting,
like a ghost of treasure;
a homeless man’s memory of wealth.

Already the fabric of time slides
again through fingers numb with
the caducity of life, unable to
grasp its only true riches.

Time cannot be trapped,
cannot be stoppered in a bottle
like an epochal elixir
to fix all the world’s ills.

Indeed, it is only those who
have discovered the ancient rhythm
of joy and surrender
who are the masters of time.

For them its silken fabric is a sail filled with wind.

Lceel had some fun with this one!

“Want to go upstairs?”, he asked.
“Nah, I don’t think I’m in the mood.”
“Oh, come on. It could be fun.”
“Yeah, I know your idea of fun”, she said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t want to get into that, right now.”
“No. What did you mean?”, he asked again.
“Okay .. It’s always you, you, you and it takes five minutes and boom, it’s all over. I’m left hanging and you go to sleep. Okay?”
He opened the bag and showed her the ‘toys’.
“These could take an hour, or so”, he said.
“Oh … at least”, she said.

The Night Blogger evokes the dreamy quality of a fulsome hour passing lushly and lazily. These are those hours we remember.

Smoke drifts lazily upward. I dream.

There is a meadow. With every breath of wind, innumerable fronds of yellow grass wave to the sky. Scattered cottony puffs coalesce above to form an umbrella against the searing sunlight.

The ground is cool here, beneath a wondrous giant redwood. Far above, so far I believe my neck will preak from straining to see such a distance, branches sway. There is such harmony here.

He’s there. He sits beside me and puts an arm across my shoulders. I’m happy then.

The smoke dissipates and I wake to find an hour has gone by.

Penelope over at Mama Bear Writes brings us to another time, another hour.

The night grew darker as the horseman rode,
The moon casting barely a dusting of light upon the ragged path he rode.
They said the answers he sought waited for him,
Hidden away in the castle keep for many a long year.
He had no memories of this place they claimed was his,
A home they said his mother and father and loved him in.
His father, a man he would not recognize if he passed him,
His mother long since buried in body, but never his heart.
He rounded the bend, there sat the keep,
Now was the hour.
~ Penelope Anne
July 3, 2008

Secret Agent Mama, aka Mishi, brought tears to more than one pair of eyes with this one.

Just one hour, that’s all I want. One hour to smile at you. One hour to laugh with you. One hour to listen to your voice. One hour, to crave more.

Just one hour, that’s all I want. One hour to cry with you. One hour to burden you with my problems. One hour to help you with yours. One hour, to drag on to two and three.

Just one hour, that’s all I want. One hour to share my hopes with you. One hour to dream together. One hour to hold hands and sit. One hour, to wish forever.

Susan introduced us to her character Chelle. I think I know her…

Lots of you come up to me and try to keep me from leavin’ shows when I got to. I try to be nice and all, but boys and girls, Chelle’s got a deadline here. If she don’t hit that deadline over at The Trumpet, her review don’t make the paper. Capiche? And since the whole reason Chelle’s got a job is to review bands for The Trumpet, if she don’t make her deadlines, she don’t get a paycheck.

You heard it first and you heard it here: Let Chelle make like Cinderella and get to the paper on time.

Renee Daniels is back this week speaking da truth! Right on sister.

Sixty minutes

Three thousand six hundred seconds

Each on a chance

Every moment an opportunity

Every tick gives us an option

To live consciously or move carelessly through life

To smile at that stranger, to hold a door, to pause long enough to say good day

Or to rush through the crowd, wrapped is self, selfishly trying to hoard time

To what end, for what purpose

These moments will pass regardless of our intentions or lack thereof

Each minute, each second can be used in a positive manner

Sixty minutes. Three thousand six hundred seconds. On hour. A lifetime.

The Wandering Author decided to try a short story for this challenge. The hours that we let slip past unnoticed, are the same last and precious hours for someone else. A lesson we all know, but forget to apply in our lives every day.

 

Final Hour

A short, sharp knock, the sound I’ve been expecting - and dreading - for months now.

A guard thrusts open the door, not waiting for my reply. “You have an hour to prepare.”

My goodbyes have already been said. If God has rejected my earlier pleas, all I can do now is accept His decision. I pick up my pen. So many ideas, so many observations jostling to escape before darkness erases them. Their loss seems sadder even than my own. Which shall I save? My pen wavers in midair.

Another knock, and the guards come in. How brief an hour is!

JM at Fiction Scribe had some technical complications but is back with this piece, another short story.

An hour. One whole hour.

What possessed me? How could I have so, so easily signed over my mind – my soul! – to another being. I was and am naïve to think that such a thing could possibly be good. Could possibly give me some sort of shred of decency or goodness to make this torture worthwhile.

“Mr. Talbert.”

Have I gone mad?

“Mr. Talbert?”

I look up. Could it be? Has an hour passed so soon?

The receptionist smiles. “The doctor is ready.”

Mr. Alberts walks out right on time. “Welcome, Mr. Talbert. I see you got here early today.”

Allison, who prefers to participate by email, turned her observations from the lakeshore into 100 delicious words.

Waves crash at my feet, the wind tussles my hair and the sun heats up my skin.
Around me, my little ones run on the beach, filling pail after pail with water and sand.
The seagulls fly overhead, wishing for crumbs from the strange large creatures beneath them.
I watch the peaceful rhythm of the natural state of the world.
Time passes but stands still while the sun slips down the sky.
Questions about the beginning and the end enter my mind.
Who and how did they decide to mark an hour?
When? Why? What did people do before that?

I haven’t been doing much reading lately, of anything. Work, the outdoors, and the social call of summer have been keeping me busy until exhaustion. However, I just pulled off my bookshelf Smilla’s Sense of Snow, which happens to be one of my favorite movies . Except the end. Why do they always ruin brilliant movies with lame or nonsensical endings? Anyway, the word is

City

Entries are technically due by midnight Thursday, but late comers will get posted too as long as I see them before I put up the post.

Hey guys, I know you’re waitin for it.  The 100 words post will be up this evening.

Every time I listen to this song, I fall more and more in love with it. And not just because it’s my brother’s band yo.

http://becarefullittlehands.com/unravel.mp3

I like it as much as I like this.  What?  You’ve seen it?  I don’t care.  Watch it again.

Lceel gave me an award, like what? A week ago? I have a half written post about it but I have to choose 5 bloggers to pass it on to. Should be easy, but nothing is easy in my world. The act of choosing something, ANYTHING, for me is pure torture. Let me put it to you this way. Recently someone I work for who totally loves and respects my work basically outed me as an obsessor (I would obsess about obsessor not being a word, but I can’t obsess about EVERYTHING!). Now before you start hopping around in front of your computer yelling to your spouse in the other room, “I SO called that one!!”, let me tell you something.

I obsess because I’m ADD and obsessing helps me to focus. I have this on very good authority. Yep. I had my brain waves measured cause I thought I was suffering from anxiety (aka obsessiveness) and lo! No anxiety pattern, but a CLEAR and DISTINCT ADD pattern. Whaddya know?

Turns out I adapted to my ADD mind a long long time ago by hyper-focusing. As a toddler I could watch ants or spiders for hours. After I learned how to read, I read voraciously, consuming books like other kids my age consumed popsicles and Saturday morning cartoons. Once I discovered TOPICS I would read every book on a topic that interested me, and then I would read all the books that were referred to in those books. I never left the library with under the maximum number of books I was allowed. Ever.

So what’s my point? There isn’t one. I’m just making excuses for my poor blog etiquette. This whole post is a product of my reviewing some of the blogs I read, and then clicking through to other blogs, and THEN discovering the whole world of Daddy Blogs which has totally restored my hope for humanity. Sort of. And now I have more choices than I could ever handle.

So I’m working on it Lceel. I haven’t forgotten. It’s just going to take me a while because I’m busy obsessing about WHO to choose. I hold you personally responsible for the state of my fingernails.*

*So totally not true. My fingernails are beautiful and healthy and I’ve never once chewed them.