Velvet Verbosity

Ah Eden. Paradise lost. Was it ever real or merely a construct of human imagination, a place created in the mind to explain and ease our suffering? A past and future promise that there is a place we can return if only we get “it” right.

Yesterday I discovered that I missed the deadline for a local arts grant by HOURS. I had been checking and checking their site waiting for the deadline and details to be announced sometime in April. Then I got sick with this fatigue and it was all I could do during that time to get up and get my daughter to school in some approximation of “on time”, and then work. My limbs, even my fingers, felt hollowed out and fragile like an abandoned wasp’s nest. I could move, I could think, I could stay awake, but it took so much will. By the end of the work day, all that pumping of will power left me mentally exhausted and I forgot all about checking the arts council site. I would just crawl under the blankets and stare with dry eyes at the television. I couldn’t move, but I couldn’t sleep either. As I’ve already said, I’ve now seen more movies in the last few weeks than I’ve seen in the last 5 years. Being a couch potato is as alien to me as walking on two legs is to cats. It’s just not in my nature. That alone tells me just how sick I’ve really been.

My point? I’m not sure I have one except that I feel as far from the grace of Eden as one could get, and missing that deadline by such a small margin was the exclamation point on a bad few weeks. Let’s get to the 100 Word submissions for Eden.

This week, Jeremy emailed me this delicious entry. The link to his site is for his book, you won’t find this entry there.

So, this was Eden, the magical garden where life began, at least, she thought, for her. It was the small garden outside the church in the town where they first met, where they put off getting married until spring, when it could be in that garden so family, friends, and God could enjoy the sunshine they brought to each other’s lives, the love. She toddled through here as a child so many times, she knew each rock, rose, and root. And she now held them both, brought them back, to where it all began, to become part of it forever.

Sassy Mama Bear asks if Eden can exist.

Eden, can it exist? Where could one find a place that qualifies as paradise? Does such a place exist that could ever meet everyones needs? Is there a tangibility to the word?
Or is Eden a state of mind? A sense of perfect happiness, sublime bliss?
Have you found your Eden? Is it a place or a feeling?
Are you still searching? Will you know it when it is there?
Was there once a garden, where God started humankind? Are the gates still waiting somewhere for the right person to find them again?
Do we have that power within us?
~ May 8, 2008

The multi-talented Secret Agent Mama is back from vacation with poetic vengeance.

Her head is seemingly filled with
A senseless silence

Despite constant efforts to increase the volume
There’s still a personal void

This emptiness often muted
By the sounds she chooses to muddle life with

I’ve tried to tell her
I’ve tried to make it clear

But my words are too softly spoken for her to hear
She doesn’t understand why it can’t be easy

Why can’t she just recreate that melodic tune
That personal eden

Where there’s more light than dark
Where there’s more love than hate

She’s trying to amplify and resound
So….she opens her mouth and sings

Lceel reminds us all of the innocence around us every day. By the way, Lceel, aside from being a loyal player of 100 Words, and flattering me each week with new descriptions of me, is also a burgeoning artist. Go check out the evolution of his paintings.

There are those who would say that Eden is lost. For Eden was Innocence; we knew not we were naked. And Eden was no knowledge of Fear; danger had never arisen. And Eden was a lack of Want; all needs were provided for. And it would seem that Eden is lost. But there are those among us who live in Innocence; they don’t care if they’re clothed. And they have no fear; for they don’t recognize and understand danger. And they want for nothing; they ask for nothing beyond what they are given. They are Children. They live in Eden.

JM over at Fiction Scribe offers a, erm, slightly cynical view of what might have become of Eden. Of course it’s fiction, but captures well the disillusionment we all have felt at the receiving end of lost love.

Eden. The mythical, biblical land of absolute perfection and paradise. Thinking of Eden made John think of great expanses of very green grass with beautiful trees in sight in every direction. Some bore the purest beautiful fruit you could ever imagine.

Eden meant perfection. Love. Serenity.

That is, the biblical Eden.

The Eden of his reality was anything but serene. He tossed another one of the pictures featuring her and him on the fire and took a cold pleasure in watching it slowly curl up before turning into ashes.

Maybe after the betrayal of Adam and Eve, God burned Eden.

And so begins a new challenge. Readers, if you are new to the 100 Word writing prompt and challenge, you can find details here. I’ve just picked up a book that’s been on my “must read” list for years. Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. It’s one of those books I heard about over and over again through the years, and I’ve finally come round to reading it. From its pages, I challenge you with:

Want

Good morning fair readers.  The day is grim outside and I’ve caught myself a virus of some kind, so I write from a cocoon of blankets as I peer out from puffy eyes.  It’s a sucky Tuesday in my neighborhood.   Last night I saw Eddie Izzard at the Orpheum, and that was fantastic fun even though I started to feel the tiredness from impending illness towards the end of the show, and certainly on the long ride home.  I’ll write more about that later.  Eddie Izzard that is, not my sickness.  Why make you suffer too?

Last week’s 100 Word challenge was “Hooked”.  Let me take a moment to direct new readers (and hopefully new playas) to the 100 Word Challenge Rules, such as they are.  The first 100 words is a reflection of one of the things that comes to my mind when I hear the word hooked.

Heroine hooked him with promises of bliss.  She became his lover, his friend, his steady companion, his home, and his escape.  She needled her way deep and deeper into his flesh, his brain, his soul, then she methodically took him down until he didn’t know how he ever lived without her, or ever would.  She turned on him, turned him inside out and he loved every minute of it, even when the bliss was punctuated through with searing longing, even when the lies stacked upon lies; those she told him, those he told others, and worse, those he told himself.

None of us are entirely sure about what happened to Secret Agent Mama this week when her 100 words turned out to be about Hidden, yet at the same time about Hooked.  Truth is, doesn’t matter.  SAM always delights me with whatever she writes, and with her photography.  Did I mention she has a new website just for her fantastic photos?   Damn I miss my camera!

I can’t
I won’t
It’s sad
It hurts
The pain
The lies
The cost
The loss
My heart
It broke
The past
Long gone
And still
I sit
I wonder
I balk
I question
How come
And why
Just some
Too much
Or maybe
Just maybe
The pain
Is deep
And maybe
Just maybe
Evil creeps
Sadness looms
Happiness doomed
Squinted eye
Furrowed brow
Underneath it
Somewhere somehow
Truth sprouts
Good grown
Paths chosen
Evil dethroned
I can
I will
I’m happy
You know
My slate
Is clean
My heart
Is well
You’ll see
You will
What’s hidden
Must stay

LouCeel, in addition to coming back again and again with clever and thoughtful 100 Word submissions, also always has a unique descriptive word to describe me.  This week I was “diabolical”, which of course means incredibly evil.  Of course he meant it playfully.  I mean, I’m not really evil.  Hehe.  I digress.  LouCeel uses 100 words to describe his love and passion for art and being an emerging artist.

The names come to me in my sleep. Unbidden. Relentless. Remorseless. And the visions the names conjur up are all the things the names imply - romantic, intimidating, eloquent, frightening, terrible, bloody, angelic, pastoral and religious. To give a name to but a few of the things they imply. The names are old. So very dead. But they have a life of their own. Something that I would wish for myself if I had but one wish to claim. The talent to live among the names. For their names are ART. And I have found their Art. And I am hooked.

I was thrilled to see Sassy Mama Bear back for this week.  Her poem evokes peaceful and gentle energy.  I feel like I could know this man.

Sitting upon the park bench,
the wind whistling through the trees
He sat and watched the water flowing past.

With fingers gnarled by years gone by,
He gently wound the line
A twist a turn, a knot deftly tied.

A flick of the wrist, and a tip of his hat
He sat, watched and waited.
The sun warming his weathered skin.

A gentle tug, just a simple sign
Slowly, with skill learned over time
He wound the strand around his hand.

Dangling at the very end flopping fiercely
Hung his dinner, trying hard to break free
a beautiful perch, hooked.
~ Penelope Anne Bartotto
April 25, 2008

So that wraps up the Hidden 100 Word challenge.  I’ve got a book laying here that I’m not actually currently reading.  One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich by Alexander Solzhenitsyn.  An old fraying paperback with an orange cover that I picked up at a tag sale because it looked interesting.  From its yellowed and aged pages, I give you:

Fringe

“Every reform movement has a lunatic fringe” ~Theodore Roosevelt

What? I give you “lips” and not one tawdry entry? Readers, you disappoint.

No. I’m just kidding. Truth is, I think that this was my favorite challenge for submissions so far and it once again inspired me to write my own 100 Words this week.

The Compliment

“I just noticed you have the most amazing lips”. She said this to me across the desk I was leaning over and she was sitting at. Compliments always take me off guard. I get trapped up there, somewhere in my head among the dendrites and neurons and synaptic clefts. Such an intimate compliment brings me back to the Now in all its juicy and mundane detail. Here now is the brown carpet, the calligraphy hanging behind her head, the movement of people in the hallways, the wild red halo of curls framing her face, her own pink-red cherub lips.

Secret Agent Mama’s, while on the “hot” side, was most definitely a tribute to love. A delicious one. Any man whose wife writes about him this way should count himself a lucky lucky man.

There are ways that your touch makes me wild with desire.
There are ways that your hands travel the curves of
my soft body that reduce me to a puddle.
There are ways that your eyes can look into mine that makes me crumble.
There are ways that you can hold me that reminds me that I am safe.
There are ways that your lips meet mine that enchants me.
There are ways that your tongue dances across my skin that captivates my senses.
There are ways that you can enter me like no one else ever can or will.

I love this gently sweet entry by Lceel.

Lips smile, and let the world know we are well and happy.
Lips pout when we don’t get our way, or when the world intrudes itself in an unhappy fashion.
Lips pucker in anticipation of a baby kiss or when they have been attacked by a strong dose of lemon.
Lips soothe when the world has bounced itself off our noggin or scraped some skin off our knee.
Lips give form and shape to our speech, wherein we express love, kindness and understanding.
Lips nuzzle and nibble and tease our tingly senses. Oh, the things we do with our lips.

Warm welcome to calicobebop. I haven’t had a chance to explore the rest of her blog, but this was a charming 100 Word tribute to a daughter.

Sweet little rosebud that looks nothing like mine, you must have inherited a rouge gypsy gene to make such a perfect bow. Either puckered in frustration or pulled wide in happiness, I never tire of your expressions. I remember the first sounds that crossed them. I remember the first words they formed. I remember all the laughs and cries in-between but what I’ll remember most fondly is their best friend - Thumb. Between you and Thumb many sorrows could be cured. A tired little girl is comforted, a reassured soul drifts to sleep and a gratified mother is forever grateful.

So that wraps up the Lips challenge. Let’s see, I’m not sure I can pull an interesting word out from the book I’m currently reading, but let’s just see….

Hey! Not bad. This week’s challenge?

Hooked

Speaking of hooked, if you’re new to the 100 Word Challenge and wondering what it is and how you too can play, go here.

Oh my god, you thought I died or something, didn’t you?  Nope.  I’m still alive and kicking, but my wrist did almost fall off this week, and my head did almost explode, and my well-being did fall down a slippery slope, but that’s another story.

And holy batman readers, you’re crawling out of the ethernet just when I disappear for a bit! As Basil Fawlty would say, “Just typical”.

So because I’m lagging behind with all of the 100 Word posts (rules here for you new folks) this is going to be a long post. Once I get up to 10 participants in one week, I’m going to start choosing a top three or something to post in full and provide link love to the others. This week, to make up for my, er, absence, here are all the entries from the last two challenges.

Two weeks ago, the challenge was “Hidden”.

“When a thing is funny, search it carefully for a hidden truth.” ~George Bernard Shaw

Secret Agent Mama continues to impress me with her creativity, her honesty, and her heart. If you’re not already a fan of hers, please let me introduce you to her.

Underneath all the years,
The poor choices,
Constant procrastination,
She waits.

The skinny, fit girl,
Who’s often felt but rarely seen,
Waiting to emerge again,
Hopefully.

Blaming her pregnancies,
Was an easy way to deny,
That the damage that has been done,
Is of her own doing.

Her body is getting older,
It’s getting harder to face the facts,
Though one thing’s for certain,
No more carelessness.

She owes it to herself,
To be the best she can be,
Inside and out,
Every breath she takes.

No more will she be hidden.
Come out,
Come out,
Where ever you are.

Lceel, having just returned home from an England tour, entered what he called a “half-assed effort”. I don’t know about the effort, but the result was clear and true.

How do I explore the word ‘hidden’? I ask myself, “What things are hidden?” Treasure. Treasure is hidden, else it is wealth. Motives. Motives are hidden lest we give up advantage. Truth. Truth lies hidden because to tell the truth exposes us to the judgment of others. Meaning. Meaning is obscured for the same reason, for to understand the meaning is to know the truth. Love. Love lies within, in our most secret places, wrapped in layers of obscured meaning, colored truths and camouflaged motives because love is the greatest treasure we own. When we spend it, we are exposed.

Sassy Mama Bear, another poet, joined the challenge for her second week with a piece on pain and secrets we all keep hidden away in our minds.

In the shadows of the mind where secrets often lie,
You may be intrigued by the hidden doors you will spy.

Dare not consider to touch the locks upon any door,
What lies behind, I wish to see no more.

Tucked away in the closets of my mind it should be,
The hurt, the pain, the shame you must not see.

Let the cobwebs take control and hide it all away,
May the memories that haunt never see the light of day.

Fear not that may escape and run free,
Always guarded by my soul and heart they will be.

Methinks the lady Judith Shakespeare doth make us laugh too much!

“Chocolates! It’s not my birthday, you know.”

“I know. I thought I’d do something special for you just because it’s Monday.”

“Oh, honey. These orchids are stunning!”

“…just because it’s Tuesday.”

“Yes, I’d love a back rub! Thank you!”

“…just because it’s Wednesday.”

“Did you clean the kitchen and fold the laundry?”

“…just because it’s Thursday.”

“A real restaurant? The kind that doesn’t offer booster seats? Really?”

“…just because it’s Friday.”

“Thanks for letting me sleep-in, love.”

“…just because it’s Saturday.”

“You know, this has been such a great week! Chocolates, flowers, back rubs…”

“Honey, can I buy a boat?”

Madame Meow was one cool cat with her “Hidden” submission. Do you see it?

However way in which one wants something to be seen, sometimes the only real way
In which one can truly be taken seriously in any absolute situation is a time when they
Deign to remain… unseen. Perhaps it is the quality of the mysterious and the unknown that
Draws the attention of so many. Perhaps it is the nature of the unseen to markedly
Embark on an adventure so great that to reveal it to the unprepared world would be
Not unlike casting pearls among swine. And what a true and great waste and crime that would prove to be.

I might get in trouble for bad words on my blog, but I met my next favorite Mommy Blogger in Mr. Lady. Anyone who names their blog “Whiskey in My Sippy Cup” is good in my book. If you don’t like the bad word, close your eyes, and then go yell at Mr. Lady cause I’ll be having none of it. I already live with two teenagers. I’m long past graduating from whiskey in my sippy cup. I go straight for the bottle now. (Just kidding Mom, no need for an intervention.) Also, make sure you click the link and read the back story on this one.

She sat around a table, sipping on stale coffee, nibbling on whole bran muffins made with applesauce instead of oil. Children squealed somewhere in the distance, but she hardly noticed; she was out, with adults, and she wore the smile that she forgot she had tucked in the back of her jewelery box.

She drew a deep breath, exhaled, and grinned. She finally could relax and just be with these new people in her life. Maybe the sunshine, or her determination, was calming her. Maybe it was just that, this time, she had the sense to wear a fucking cardigan.

Hehe.

Wow! Are you still here? Good, because there’s a whole other round to go. Last week, the challenge was “Spark”. Great word, spark. I always like to pair it with “stomp” in writing and have probably done so ten too many times. At least Woman Remodeled didn’t. But she did use that darn F word again, so now I’m probably going to get a bunch of Google hits for weird porn stuff from a bunch of pervs. Thankfully, I’ve done gone and put up some anti-pornography posts so that should bounce em right out of here. I digress. Here’s WR’s sparky submission!

A spark is something that I had. You have that spark, that something special. It is that jump-start that gets you moving with enthusiasm. It is that drive. It is the sex that you want to constantly have. It is that blind ambition that others envy. It’s fearlessly moving forward and being able to say FUCK IT I DON’T CARE, and really meaning it. It is having a little “Fuck You” in your soul. I had that spark. It is still there, deep inside buried by frustration and perceived struggle. My spark is emerging with the arrival of the future.

A sweet 100 Words on friendship from Secret Agent Mama:

Hey, thanks for meeting me today. This coffee’s good, isn’t it? I did wake up with a headache, but knew that we were going to see each other and it almost instantly cleared. I’ve missed you.

What’s new with me? Everything! Life is good. Sure I don’t have enough money to buy that new pair of shoes, but these shoes I’m wearing are still a good fit.

I know that life can sometimes get away from us, but we need to make more time for our friendship. I miss your spark, your zest, your smile. Let’s do this again. Soon!

Love is like this Sassy Mama Bear, yes it is.

Each morning I watch you, my heart aching as you drive away, turn the corner and start your day. I feel the pain that tears your soul as you face the drudgery, the hypocrisy, and the monotony.

Yet I know when you light that first spark, the metal pooling into a puddle of liquid magic, flowing forth, your eyes brighten, your heart flutters with a hidden passion quite deep. Your hands move the torch and from your actions great, useful things are made. Today it may just be another washer, but tomorrow it will be a work of magnificent art.

Sadie was looking to “spark” her creativity with the 100 Word challenge. Looks like it worked!

A darkened room, a flickering light, a whispered prayer, peace fills my soul. The white, the red, the blue and the green; each flickering along together. I sit and watch, absorb the peace, the few minutes I have on my own. Tomorrow brings more turmoil and upheaval, but tonight is mine.

I picture my family, and my friends, at peace, healthy and near me. Imagery is a powerful tool, and I dream of it working again.

Light dims not with a breath, but a lack of as I snuff out each light by hand. Tonight I will dream in peace.

Talk about spark, this girl’s got it going on! Judith Shakespeare, you are one sassafrass woman. But, I couldn’t get your blog to load! I’ll check back later. For now everyone, here’s the link. (Let me know how it was!)

Lceel, I just want you to know that quoting Joni Mitchell gained you MAJOR bonus points.

He approaches her door, his heart is thumping in his chest, the blood pounding in his head has faded his vision, his hand is trembling in anticipation. He is going to see her. Her touch is enough to make it hard for him to breathe, he grows faint at the slightest whiff of her scent; to kiss her is to suspend time as their lips brush each other, the softness of her expended breath on his lips leaves him unable to move lest he move too far away to feel it. He approaches. He has come to court and spark.

Wow! How about a round of applause for all the 100 Word participants? This week’s challenge is from my friend Laurie Ann Guerrero’s new book, Babies Under the Skin. I invited her to join the 100 Word challenge, but she’s too busy finishing up her next book! Check out a review from Smith College here.

Lips

Hoo boy. I don’t even want to know what Mr. Lady does with that one.

Happy Tuesday! Last week, thanks to the wildly popular Secret Agent Mama, we got some fresh blood for the weekly 100 Word Challenge! So let’s get right to “the point”, shall we?

Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves like locked rooms and like books that are written in a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will find them gradually, without noticing it, and live along some distant day into the answer. ~Rainer Maria Rilke

From Secret Agent Mama, who still boggles my mind with poetry written in 100 Words. Really Mishi, would you just cut that out?

How long has it been, dear?
Far too long, I fear.

I can still remember my first glance.
How we gave our friendship a precious chance.

I’ll never forget our laughter on that old couch.
For you I’ll always vouch.

How long has it been, dear?
Right now all I can think of is to jeer.

Fresh in my heart is sadness and pain,
I feel I’ve lost all that I’ve come to gain.

What’s the point of seeing you once more?
My heart is already way too sore.

How long has it been, dear?
Far too long, my dear.

I love how Judith Shakespeare only refers to “the point” in this classic little life tale.

“One mustn’t do that, love. It isn’t nice,” she says a tad absent-mindedly as she searches the shelves for the peanut butter. “Yes, yes, that’s good, dear,” she nods her encouragement at the chattering child. He goes on and on without really saying much at all. But it’s sweet and familiar, and she smiles. “Of course, mommy is listening,” she assures the Peter Pan and then the Nutella. “Uh huh,” she mumbles to the Skippy. Finally giving up on the idea of Jiff, she turns her attention to the little boy… and the finger that found what she could not.

Sassy Mama Bear, another new victim participant, also manages to weave 100 words into poetry. Sister…I hear you. Less stress is best.

I see it in the distance
just a simple glance

Not a light at the end
Maybe not even a friend

It stands guard to tell me
Open your eyes, see

It does taunt and tease
Promises to please

It leads us on a journey of stress
Something I need of, less

There is stands a beacon
And we just keep on seekin’

Where it leads we do not know
Follow we must, there we shall go

Follow they do our young ones
like we are their shining suns

The point means peace
At last a chance for final release.
~ Penelope Anne Bartotto
March 28, 2007

As always happens to me, my best writing is written in my head just as I drift off to sleep, and it is beautiful and perfect and inspiring. Then I wake up, forget the exact words in the rush of the day, and am forced to spit out something so much less than perfect and inspiring. Some day I will keep a recorder by my pillow, and I will whisper into it the perfect words that come to me as I slip into hypnagogic fantasy. Here are my 100 words.

We search our life maps, endlessly planning and reminiscing about where we’ve been and where we’ll go next. We hope to find the place where everything converges into one point, the summit of all our experiences and our lives. We look at a map to find our destination, but the map only tells us, “You Are Here”. The map never says, “You Will be There”. We can see where we’ve been, and plan where we want to go next, but we can never be anywhere but here, right now, on this very point. That is the point. Be here now.

This week’s 100 Word Challenge is from This Precious Life: Tibetan Buddhist Teachings on the Path to Enlightenment by Khandro Rinpoche:

Hidden

I had the incredible privilege of meeting Khandro Rinpoche about 7-8 years ago in a one-to-one meeting. “Audience” is what they call it. This is when you are granted the opportunity to sit with the teacher alone to ask questions. Some day I’ll tell you that story if you’re interested.

If you would like to participate in the Velvet Verbosity weekly 100 Word Challenge, the rules, such as they are, are here.

Someone pointed out to me that my use of commas and semicolons needs some work. The person was an English major so I could hardly argue. They also complimented my writing in general. This also wasn’t the first time someone had pointed this out to me. In college I took a creative writing class. The professor really liked my writing and would often tell me that I was quite talented.

“If only you would get this punctuation thing down”, she would say in exasperation.

I would respond with a sheepish look and a smile. The truth was, I didn’t want to go back and learn how to properly use a comma or a semicolon. Those were the mechanical details of the craft, and I’ve always been resistant to mechanical details. Mind you, this is not because I can’t understand the mechanical details. I can, and very well. If you gave me a list of 100 sentences with instructions to place the commas in the right places, I would score a 95 or better. I know this because this is how I’ve always scored on such tests.

No, the problem is that once I’m into the artistic vision, I can’t merge it with mechanical details. I’m the same way with my camera. I got my first 35mm SLR upon graduation from high school. It was a Pentax K1000, and I still have it and use it. Even with the advent of digital cameras, this camera holds a special place in my heart. I am familiar with it’s heft and it’s basic mechanics. When I got it, I immediately sat down and read the manual. I learned about the light meter, the focus, and a few of the settings. Then I immediately set out to begin taking photographs. Once I started taking photographs, I was taken with the art of the photos. I took very good photos almost immediately and was satisfied. I never returned to the manual again. I could probably advance my art significantly if I did, but it would slow down my picture taking and I’m too far into that now.

Thus it is with my writing. I’ve been writing for so long now, and even though I aced those high school punctuation exams way back then, somewhere I went astray with my commas and I’ve never been able to go back and revisit the rules. Yet, having yet another person tell me that it detracts from my writing has compelled me to finally, grudgingly, return to some simple grammar rules. I Googled it and found these two good explanations. Sigh. I will be reading the rules now and then over the next few weeks so that I can try to get it right. I know I’ll be glad I did.

Commas Vs. Semicolons in Compound Sentences

English Punctuation: Commas, Semicolons, and Colons

Good morning! I am inexplicably delighted that it is Tuesday. Perhaps because Tuesday is not Monday. Perhaps I am still riding high on the good news of a friend. Perhaps because I am just poking my head out of a long, blue funk, and I always feel hopelessly hopeful (hehe, oh yes I did!) upon emergence from blue funks. I also tend to fall in love with everything and everyone, and that is the corny mood from which I greet you this morning.

Before you reach for the Pepto Bismol, or sacrifice a cute fuzzy bunny in order to reduce global saccharin levels, let’s get to the 100 Word Challenge. (Rules, such as they are, are here.) Last week the challenge was “Openings”. Openings are many and varied, from a first move in Chess to opportune positions on a playing field, from beginnings to premiers, from the gaps in things to a clearing, like in a forest. I tried to find a good quote on “openings”. There were few. I did like this one by Daisaku Ikeda, a controversial and dynamic Buddhist leader.

You must not for one instant give up the effort to build new lives for yourselves. Creativity means to push open the heavy, groaning doorway to life. This is not an easy struggle. Indeed, it may be the most difficult task in the world, for opening the door to your own life is, in the end, more difficult than opening the doors to the mysteries of the universe. ~Daisaku Ikeda

Here is what our my readers had to say about “Openings” in 100 words. First, Secret Agent Mama rings in with another poetry piece. I can barely keep my head around writing exactly 100 words, but to make that work in poetry form simply blows a few circuits in my brain. Hopefully I don’t need them.

Like the flower blooming in spring,
I am.
My petals outstretched towards the sun, absorbing warmth,
They are.
Drops of rain wash over, cleansing my soul,
It does.
So purely my eyes release tears,
I weep.

Like the flower, I am so delicate,
Penetrable.
We are colorful, fragile, and free;
Abundant.
Seasons of life, so much endured,
Metamorphosis.
Yet the rain still beats down, washing,
Cleansing.

Time changes so much–years escape,
It continues.
And like the fragile flower, I’m anew,
I grow.
Looking for openings to find warmth,
I search.
Still the sun comes out and together,
We discover.

Ever faithful 100 Word participant LouCeel has taken flight to England and left behind a few hot and bothered mommy bloggers with this one.

You bless -
My Eyes - meant to see you, explore you, see the line of your hip, the swell of your breast, recognize danger and keep us safe.
My Ears - meant to hear you and know your voice, your laugh, the sweet sounds you make during love.
My Nostrils - meant to smell your pillow when I’m alone, so I feel close to you when I’m not.
My Mouth - with lips to kiss you where it hurts and tongue to taste you in times of intimacy, teeth to nibble those sensitive places you like being nibbled.
Your presence, it blesses my openings.

Say it isn’t so, but I haven’t written my 100 words yet for this challenge. I’ve been really chewing on this one and have yet to be inspired. Don’t worry, I will rise to my own challenge. There’s something brewing in here that I can’t quite get a grasp on yet. It could be the sinus infection I’m suffering from has gotten into my brain. Great, two brain eating episodes in one post. If this keeps up, I’ll be a drooling idiot within the year.

This week’s challenge comes from the The Conscious Reader, Ninth Edition. My first choice was to choose a word from the actual book I’m reading this week, Collapse: How Societies Choose to Fail or Succeed, by Jared Diamond, but five random finger points produced only dry, scientific or political terms like “exterminate” and “sulfur” and “leaders”. While I understand that given the right mood those words could be inspiring, I just wasn’t feeling it. However, if you feel a burning need to write 100 words on sulfur, please do. I’ll be, er, interested to read them. In The Conscious Reader, my first finger point landed on:

The Point

Who are these, my teachers? Not who I expected them to be. Not who anyone expected them to be. Lessons learned on love from a triad and a single journeying man. Lessons learned on parenting from a teenage boy. Lessons learned on patience from an angry, venomous girl. Lessons learned on forgiveness from a hypocrite. Lessons on grief and softening from a stranger let in. Lessons learned from the paradoxes of life, from the in-betweens and opposites and unexpected hidden corners. Who are these, my strange and wonderful teachers? The greatest lesson? Everyone has something to teach. Be still. Listen.

Last week’s 100 Word challenge was “Lessons”. The greatest gift to me in giving this challenge is getting a window into other’s thoughts and view on the world, and how that differs from my own.

Lceel uses a comical and light approach as he tells about early lessons in parenting.

Home from the hospital just a few days before. Our son, named after me. He was so small and helpless. And Annie was nursing. They would lay abed. And she would suckle him. And I would be shushed to silence. I was seldom there when he was awake. I ached to hold him, to touch him, to bond with him. Finally came the call. “Will you change him?” At last. My time with him, alone. Diaper off. I turn away for a moment, reaching for a diaper. I feel warm wet falling on me. Just one of life’s little lessons.

Secret Agent Mama (aka One Cool Secret Agent Mama) uses poetry to express frustration over others’ judgement on the important decision she has made for her children and family to homeschool:

You’re going to what?
Why would you want to do that?
I’d just send them to school,
Then you could get a job.
You know it’s going to be hard, right?
What about friends?
What about riding the school bus?
The cafeteria?
I think you’re being cruel.
Why on earth?

Do I care what you think?
How crazy you think I am?
Decisions not made lightly;
Life’s all about choices.
We’ve chosen what we feel is best for us.
Lessons learned, here at home,
Are applied everywhere, all the time.
Cruel, wrong, strange, or imposing?
It’s your judgment that is!

So, let’s see, what books do I have around here…ok, just looking over at my bookshelf without opening a book this time, the challenge for Thursday is:

Atonement

Happy writing, and please do pass the challenge on! Tell your friends, your neighbors, your bloggily buds. Oh, and news! Blog O’ The Week, One Sentence, has linked to the 100 Word Challenge on their About page. Onesentence.org is a place where you are challenged to sum something up with one sentence. There are no specific challenges, just whatever is on your mind. The majority are somewhat confessional, giving it a Post Secret feel, only not so heartwrenching.

First, let me just get this out of the way. I got carded the other day. Not just carded. When I handed the guy my license, he laughed and said, “Wow!”. When I asked what the “Wow” was for, he said, “Nothing. I just wasn’t expecting, you know, 1970. I was expecting 1980-something.” Oh. My. God. Did he just say that and mean it? Score! Any of the crap going on in my life was suddenly and swiftly erased from my memory for a brief moment.

Ok, it stroked my ego. Sue me. Believe me, the universe will punish me for it in some unkind way in the very near future. Let me have my moment.

Last night I experimented with the different paints and brushes I bought. The children’s washable paint was crap. I mean crap. I wouldn’t let a two-year old paint with this stuff. It left washed out lines with rough borders, and was hard to control. There’s a good waste of a buck-99.

Then it was on to the tubed water-color. I was pleasantly surprised. I was able to add two drops of water to a small amount and get a very good consistency. I begged my daughter to let me practice on her, but I had to bribe her with Ben and Jerry’s (this would not be the first time) and she giggled and squirmed so much that it was an exercise in frustration. So I had to resort to paper and my own forearm which required a lot of washing to renew the “canvas”.

I was skeptical about watercolors, thinking they would run too much, but with a bit of practice, I was able to get beautiful, crisp, dark lines. I was also surprised by the brushes. I bought one very thin one that I thought would be best, but I also bought a few others with thicker points, and it turns out that the thin point was too thin and didn’t hold enough paint, forcing me to refresh for each letter.  I would have pictures to show you, but alas, my camera is dead.

I still have to try the pens and the glass quill.

I’ve been receiving a lot of enthusiastic support for the project, and I hope this translates into higher likelihood of getting grant funding. So far, everyone I’ve asked to write and model for me has been happily willing. Still, I don’t know a lot of people in my local area. I had to ask at least one person that lives in another state, but as it happens he’ll be passing through my general area in about a week so that was just a stroke of luck. I spent the bulk of my time here in the Smith bubble, not getting to know anyone outside of the college. Then I took a job where most of the people work remotely from New York or elsewhere. One might think this will be a great opportunity to meet new people, expand the circle…but I think that approaching guys at the local hipster cafe and asking them to write and strip for me could be a little, uh, misconstrued.

The problem with blogs is that you have to keep giving them attention. There’s been so much activity in my life lately, and I’d love to be sharing it here, but the nature of being busy is that some things have to slip. For me, it’s been writing.

The big news is that I have embarked on an interesting art project that has been percolating in the underground of my mind for some time. 4 or 5 years ago, I saw the movie The Pillow Book. It is not a story for the feint of heart, but the imagery is stunning and left a mark on me I’ve never forgotten. The idea of writing on the body has been with me ever since. I knew then that someday this would come to some kind of fruition, and for me the idea has come.

I am still working on articulating the vision. I will be asking various men to write a piece of prose or poetry in response to women’s experience in the world, in our culture, but also throughout history and across many cultures. A world where we are often not safe simply because of our gender, and nothing more. As some of you know, I’ve gone off on a few tangents here regarding some feminist issues. I also expressed that I was never keen on being an “angry” feminist. It always left a bad taste in my mouth. On the other hand, being a woman, and not knowing a single woman, including myself, that has escaped unscathed from male to female violence, whether physical, sexual, or emotional, I cannot sit idle and silent. This has been a lifelong personal struggle for me. I know so many wonderful men who have seen the damage done to women, and who grieve themselves over it. I see no usefulness in creating more division between the sexes, and I’ve struggled with how to communicate to men what it is we women are upset about and why.

Then, in a beautiful moment, many of my passions came together at once. An opportunity to bring together many loves into one project. Men will write, from the heart, to women (as a general body of people) and I will write these “pieces” somewhere on their body and create a photographic record of this.

There are some difficulties with the project. In fact, there will be a lot of experimenting before I get it right. I am putting together a portfolio now in order to apply for an arts grant. So, here are some of the things I need to figure out.

1. What is the best paint or ink to use, and what tool will best work to administer that ink or paint. The difficulty is that it needs to be non-toxic to the skin, the tools should be pleasant enough to the skin, and the consistency should be neither too thick or too thin. Too thick makes it difficult to write legibly. Too thin makes it run or bleed on unsmooth surfaces. So far I’ve experimented with eyeliner as it is made to be used on skin. Liquid eyeliner works decently well and I’ve had the most success with that so far. However, it is expensive for very small amounts, and the brush, while allowing great control, has such a small grip that it makes it uncomfortable for me to write very long. Pen eyeliners are problematic as they actually don’t give nice sharp lines. Even the best ones tend to leave ragged edges. Today I picked up some good paintbrushes and various types of washable paints and I am now experimenting with those. I will also be experimenting with soy-based ink and calligraphy pens and a glass quill.
2. Photographing. In my first round, we got some very good shots, but I found I had to sacrifice good form shots for getting a clear shot of the writing, or the opposite. I will need to experiment with different lenses, lighting, size of writing, and poses to find the best formula.
3. The biggest obstacle will be to properly convey to the subjects what my intention is and to thus draw out of them powerful and meaningful messages to women. The ultimate goal here is to bridge the gap, to get people thinking, and to get people (men and women) to be more thoughtful toward one another, not just in their personal interactions, but in how they behave and engage generally with the world.

So, that is one big reason I haven’t been writing here very much lately. My mind is pretty engaged with this project at the moment. Feel free to write to me if you would like to make an offering of any kind to the project, whether it is an idea, materials, cashola, or just a kind word.