Crispina has issued her latest creative writing challenge: CCC #81
“Every Wednesday I post a photo (this week it’s that one above.)
You respond with something CREATIVE.”
To see the rules and get the image, CLICK HERE.
And here’s the photo that will inspire us this week:
And here’s my response:
ROWING WITH THE FLOW
“Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream…”
“Oh, Mom. You always come up with those silly little songs. No matter what you see, you have to sing about it.”
“That’s because I’m so old. I’ve heard many songs in my life. It’s all about triggers, my girl. When you get to be my age, you’ll understand.”
Melissa rolled her eyes.
“Actually, I wish we were rowing down this stream instead of walking beside it. Wouldn’t that be lovely?”
“Yeah. Let’s rent a paddle-boat and do it sometime. I’d go for an espresso right now, though…and there’s a Coffee Kicks two blocks ahead.” Melissa pointed, then sang the latest Coffee Kicks jingle.
Realizing what she’d done, Melissa wailed, “Oh, no – it’s happening already! I’m becoming just like my mother.”
“And your grandma. Where do you think I got it from?”
Here are some thoughts from 19th century American evangelist Billy Sunday. He’s speaking about the concern of a parent for his child, as well as sharing a memory from his own childhood. I believe what he says here applies to all parents.
“As a rule a man wants something better for his children than he has had for himself. My father died before I was born and I lived with my grandfather. He smoked, but he didn’t want me to. He chewed tobacco, but he didn’t want me to. He cursed, but he didn’t want me to. He made wine that would make a man fight his own mother after he had drunk it.
One day a neighbor was in and my grandfather asked him for a chew. (The neighbor bit off a chunk and) He went to hand it back and I wanted some. (Grandfather) said I couldn’t have it. I said I wanted it anyhow. He picked me up, turned me across his knee and gave me a crack that made me see stars as big as moons.
If there is a father that hits the booze, he doesn’t want his son to. If he’s keeping someone on the side, he doesn’t want his son to. In other words, you would not want your son to live like you if you are not living right.
An old general was at the bedside of his dying daughter. He didn’t believe in the Bible and his daughter said, ‘What shall I do? You don’t believe in the Bible. Mamma does. If I obey one I’m going against the other.‘ The old general put his arms around his daughter and said, ‘Follow your mother’s way; it is the safest.’ Man wants his children to have that which is sure.”
Note re: Editing I started this post with the Description + Image block pattern, then went to Paragraph for the quote, inserting an Inline image. You can regulate the image size, but there doesn’t seem to be much control over where the image goes. This is a Superscript.
Still as children asking why
adults gaze upon the sky.
Still as children, grownups seek
reason for the comet's streak.
Still to sages, baffling are
sun and planet, moon and star.
On a garden's tiny space
miracles are taking place.
And as children, age explores
God's bewildering out-of-doors.
Questioning, till the day they die,
Life's great mystery -- how and why?
Today’s prompt at Jibber Jabber with Sue is HAPPY, which brings to mind this verse by Edgar Guest — and I think it’s suitable for Mother’s Day.
Happy Mother’s Day to all you mothers out there, to all of you who’ve borne and raised children, also to those of you who have been a home-maker and/or mother-mentor to someone in need of help.
The Joy of Getting Home
by Edgar A. Guest
The joy of getting home again
is the sweetest thrill I know.
Though travelers by ship or train
are smiling when they go,
the eye is never quite so bright,
the smile so wide and true,
as when they pass the last home light
and all their wandering’s through.
Oh, I have journeyed down to sea
and traveled far by rail,
but naught was quite so fair to me
as that last homeward trail.
Oh, nothing was in London town,
or Paris gay, or Rome
with all its splendor and renown
so good to see as home.
‘Tis good to take these lovely trips,
‘tis good to get away,
there’s pleasure found on sailing ships,
but travel as you may
you’ll learn as most of us have learned,
wherever you may roam,
you’re happiest when your face is turned
toward the lights of home.
We have — on once had — an expression in English to the effect of “He already had his gloves off.” Which means that as he approached the other person, he was already expecting this was going to turn into a fight and he’d be prepared by having his gloves off, ready to throw the first punch at any sign of aggression.
My mind goes back to a mother-daughter situation of long ago, neighbours to us, who almost typified this expression. I told my own daughter, “Those two seem to be functioning on a NO level.”
That is, the mother, a real go-getter, would order her more laid-back daughter to do some task. However, Her tone of voice indicated that she was anticipating resistance. The daughter obligingly resisted. This sounded something like: “Jane! Clean up your room once.”
Jane, reply dragged out and unwilling, “I’ll do it later. I have something else I wanna do right now.” “I said, Clean up your room. This means right now!” “Do I have to, right this minute. Can’t it wait until…?”
“No it can’t! Now get busy.”
I’m not sure how they fell into this type of interaction, but by now it seemed like a standard between them. Had Jane always been so unwilling? Or was she simply responding to the cue given by her mom? Maybe the mom’s tone was warranted. But it was clear she expected a “No” of some sort and was prepared to argue the point.
The tones weren’t all that bad and the daughter did do what she was told. In a worst case scenario a listener will get what sounds like a whiny daughter responding to a whiny mom.
This poem, written in the old long-winded style by Canadian poet Archibald Lampman, refers to people in general, but I think it has a good message:
Blind multitudes that jar confusedly At strife, earth’s children, will ye never rest From toils made hateful here, and dawns distressed With ravelling self-engendered misery?
And will ye never know, till sleep shall see Your graves, how dreadful and how dark indeed Are pride, self-will, and blind-voiced anger, greed, And malice with its subtle cruelty?
How beautiful is gentleness, whose face Like April sunshine, or the summer rain, Swells everywhere the buds of generous thought? So easy, and so sweet it is; its grace Smooths out so soon the tangled knots of pain. Can ye not learn it? Will ye not be taught?