At a meeting, she sits across from me, careful not to look anyone directly in the eyes. Diminutive in stature, she pulls into herself so tightly I half-expect her to implode and I can’t take my eyes away for fear I might miss it. I imagine the sound effect; a small sucking noise followed by a small *pop*. I can imagine that, but I can’t imagine what would be left in her place. Perhaps nothing more than a little vortex of dust stirred up by tiny implosion.

There are things I’m avoiding today. Not any one thing in particular. Wanting to avoid life altogether, as though I could check out just for a day. Reboot tomorrow. Sleep is not the same as being totally shut down, and it makes me jealous of my computer. Sleep doesn’t seem rest enough. The body and mind rage on, even in sleep.

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The post Sunday Morning first appeared on velvetverbosity.com.]]> 175 https://velvetverbosity.com/2020/10/19/secret-sorrow/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=secret-sorrow Mon, 19 Oct 2020 09:22:54 +0000 http://velvetverbosity.com/?p=123 “What do you want to know?” “I want to know the secret source of your sorrow.” He says it plainly enough, but I feel my tongue clamp to the roof of my mouth. I smile, look away, pretend to be thinking. He gently takes me off the hook with a… Continue Reading Secret Sorrow

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. You can find many examples of work at EssayMania

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.

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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. For collage we usually use apa essay format

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

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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.

You can find masters of their craft on the website Professays

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.

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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.

I miss the curve and arch of your neck, your hips cradling mine. I miss that moment, etched in my mind, when you lifted me in your arms and kissed the sorrowful tears from my eyelids. I miss your words, your talk, the steady generous manner in which you spoke my name, your voice on the phone.

I miss your scent of secret sleep. I miss the tremble in our bones.

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