Tag Archives: DP Challenge

Dark Chocolate to my Soul

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First smile from my baby~

Fingertips at my back~

Purple hued sunsets o’er mountain or sea.

A word fitly spoken~

Laughing toddlers at play~

Secret gifts sent before there’s a plea.

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But I Don’t Wanna Go On a ‘Bencher!

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But I Don’t Wanna Go On a ‘Bencher!

Adventure.

There’s so much in a word. What’s your take on the word adventure?

Some say it’s about taking a risk, trying something new, or exploring new territory.

Some say life’s an adventure.

Here’s a little story, based on a real episode, involving adventure:

They passed the turn toward home, and Missy, though only three, knew they had missed it. “Wher’re we goin’?”

“We’re going on an adventure!,” Nana proffered, in her most excited tone.

“But I don’t wanna go on a ‘bencher! I want my mommy!”

Nana drew in a breath and considered her response. She knew the meltdown would only last a few minutes, but it broke her heart every time. She knew, by now–by the tone of Missy’s voice, the rate of her breathing, the look on her face–whether she was ready for an explanation, or comfort, or distraction, or whether words would only make it worse. This time she chose a brief explanation, followed by a time of respite for Missy to regain her composure. When the time was right, Nana brought in the highlights of the upcoming trip.

“We’re going to Tampa, to see Cousin Stevie, play in the pool, and visit a place with lots of pretty fish to see!”

“Stevie? Yay, Stevie! I miss him so much!”

Missy cheered up. The rest of the trip she counted cows and horses on the hillside, “loved” her new bedroom, devoured popsicles at the pool and hung on Cousin Stevie all through the exciting trip through the aquarium. It ended too soon.

Along the way

Along the way

One Cool Chick

One Cool Chick

Checking out the Giant Mr. Grouper with "Cousin Stevie"

Checking out Giant Mr. Grouper with “Cousin Stevie”

On the ride back home, Missy’s love for adventure blossomed.

“I like Tampa. When can we go on another ‘bencher, Nana?”

Lookin' for Adventure!

Lookin’ for Adventure!

No matter the level of risk involved, all adventures are a little scary. We can’t always have our mommies with us. Sometimes we get stuck and afraid of stepping out. Sometimes outside forces launch us on adventures we’re not so sure we want to go on. When this happens, we can take time to process it, like Missy did, and end up embracing the experience. If we look for the good, there’s always something to gain. . . eventually.

With risks weighed against benefits, we can usually make good choices about our adventures in life.

That’s my take on adventures for today. What’s yours? Have you a little story of adventure you can share? It’s your turn now!

Joan T. Warren

With appreciation for this week’s WordPress Prompt.

 

It’s not all about what’s inside.

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These days we have disposable containers, because what matters is what’s inside. Right?

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Besides, what’s inside is not the same as the container, right?

Not so, on either count. Often the two are so melded, so interactive, so mutually dependent, that we just can’t separate them. We can’t value them separately, either.

Take, for example, a good book and its cover. Oh, you don’t think so? Well, how about Uranium-235 and its core container? Or, here’s a good one: the inner self and its human body.

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Successful grandkids: My granddaughter contained my grandson the troll, in an unexpected snare.

We are quite attached to these bodies, our containers.

Think about it; when we were little, we’d fall and scrape our knee, and it hurt. We cried. Our inner selves felt as if the world was coming to an end; at least until some sweet and very tall human kissed it, bandaged it, and promised, “No Mercurachrome.”

As children, we saw dead bugs, dead flowers, maybe even some dearly loved dead pets. Our inner selves realized those dead ones aren’t coming back. Most of us learned to be more careful with our bodies, to avoid the pain–and, hopefully, not go away forever.

I know I did. I wanted to grow up to be . . . alive! Then, when I grew up, I wanted to live to raise my daughter. Then, to see my grandchildren succeed. Still, I want to live, to create gifts for future generations.

Speaking of grandkids, I’ve seen this generation grow up playing war and street-gang video games, with avatars instead of real people. They don’t even flinch as they gun down innocent bystanders in the midst of the game. On top of that, the heroes get right up and keep going.

But life is for real, and so is death.

Many religions teach us about the inner person, the spirit, and a glorious afterlife. These teachings are inspirational. They are vital, compelling and comforting. Yet something about this begs more.

Maybe it’s the poor track record religion plays in war and peace.

Maybe it’s the impersonal way many religions try to comfort those who mourn.

Or maybe it’s the fallout of valuing inner, spirit-life as eternal, while considering the containers disposable.

Ask anyone who has lost a loved one; it’s not easy to separate the person from the container that now is gone. There is no one in their arms to hold. The loved one’s laughter no longer fills the room. Yes, the memory remains, and gives some comfort. A little comfort. To the grieving widow, child, and friend, though, the container is gone, and so the person inside.

Last year on this day we lost our beloved . . . been in a daze for over a year. . .

 

Containers are important.

With so much talk about what is in the container, what about the container itself? With such emphasis on inner life, and on the glorious afterlife, do we devalue the precious containers that are vital to achieving our purpose here on earth?

Just tonight, I opened my refrigerator to get a salad I hadn’t been in the mood for yesterday. Having not been sealed in a container, the salad had wilted. I regrouped, and slid it into the juicer with the other veggies. As the juice flowed out, I wondered: what if there were no container to hold the juice? That juice would have spilled out, rather than fulfilling its purpose– to nourish my body.

Our bodies–our containers–are important. They are more than avatars in a game! Take care of your body and treasure what it holds. Encourage others to nurture their bodies. Respect life in others. Feed your bodies with healthy, organic food. Exercise regularly in whatever way you can, building up to and maintaining your best physical state. Take care of the relationships and the planet we need for our containers’ survival. Live in balance: work, rest and play.

For without your container, how will your purpose here be fulfilled?

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For we hold these treasures in jars of clay –II Cor. 4

 

Joan T. Warren
Heart to Heart in a Shielded World

This post grew from:

Containers | The Daily Post
http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_photo_challenge/containers/

And further developed into a mystery ending with encouragement from:
Mystery Ending | The Daily Post
http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_writing_challenge/telephone/

ROFLMAO

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I can’t remember the last time I actually rolled on the floor, laughing my ass off. Maybe that would explain the slight but ever so definite widening of this writer’s derriere?

This week’s DP Challenge from WordPress prompts us to remember and share the last time we had a “real, authentic, tearful, hearty belly laugh.” Perhaps the editor is in need of a good laugh. Apparently, so am I!

It’s funny you should ask, WordPress. Just yesterday, I wondered aloud (to a confidant) if I may be getting depressed, maybe need a little medication. I’ve been pushing my mind toward gratitude, happiness, enjoyment, and it keeps sliding back into the gutter where sludge hangs out. Sludge like the PLOM’s (poor little ol’ me’s), BLAHS’s (Boy Look at Her Stuff’s) and the POINTY FINGER’s (Projecting Out In Negative Thinking: Your Fault I’m Not Getting Everything Right!).  There’s been a lot of stress in life in the last year, oh, actually make that in the last fifty-six years (yes, I’ll be fifty-seven soon! Maybe that’s reason enough!). Stress, they say, can lead to depression by depleting the serotonin levels over time.

The prescription, so kindly returned, included practical things to improve my mindset, such as mentally rehearsing all I’m grateful for (check), getting enough sleep (un-check), exercising regularly (getting better, check), making time for friends (yeah, right), and, last but not least, laughing.
“Rent a comedy you’re sure will really make you laugh: belly laugh, can’t stop laughing, rolling on the floor laughter. It’s really good medicine!”
I slumped on through the day, the next morning, and then saw the WordPress challenge for the week. Maybe there’s something to this idea, twice in two days coming at me.

So, dutifully, I Googled movies that are sure to make me roll on the floor laughing.

Reading their reviews, I noticed something odd. All, without exception, had a dark side, a tragedy or relationship struggle, a cancer to battle, you know, really un-funny stuff, blended with “hilarious” antics. It made me wonder, Is it funny because we need something to be funny at that moment? Would it still be funny if you take it out of the context of contrasting misery? They say most comedians come from grossly abusive and dysfunctional families, you know. Anyway, I’m not sure that’s the sort of comedy I need right now. None the less, I selected a few that seemed lighter than most. Here’s my list:

Midnight in Paris

Greenberg

Kick-Ass

MacGruber

Seven Psychopaths

Sleepwalk with Me

This is 40

What do you think? Will any of these actually take me there? What funny movie or show do you recommend?

Hopefully at least one of these movies will get me ROFLMAO. Real. Authentic. Tearful. Hearty. Belly Laughs. Then I can tell you why it’s funny.

In the mean time, something happened to remind me that someone around me may need encouragement more than I. It only took a minute to give that person some positive feedback. Guess what? I feel better, for two days now. I think she does too.

So for now, I’ll be happy with feeling better, but I won’t turn down a hearty laugh as soon as it finds me.

Thanks, WordPress!

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=9_fjZHcs2bY

©Joan T. Warren

Wife of Stone

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A story of contrast, our WordPress photo challenge for this week.

As we toured our cruise ship last January, it seemed one gentleman found his companion for the trip and brought her a drink! Perhaps the cruise to Cozumel would soften her a bit?

Thanks to my sweet hubby for snapping the shot, and apologies that it may be a bit grainy; he took it from the level above, and I cropped it for today’s post.

Enjoy!
Joan T. Warren

click here for WordPress Weekly Challenge

Life is Better with a Twist: Weekly Photo Challenge

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On the Move: Church for Introverts

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Fading fast, treasured steps and memories.
Church for introverts.

imageFor WordPress Weekly Photo challenge,On the Move

Joan T. Warren
Randy’s iphone

Lessons Without Walls

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Blue succumbs to brilliant washes of orange, raspberry and violet–each tipped with glowing

golden aura. Not just above now, but reflected in the sea. Completeness. The sun melds into

the horizon with a final burst of resplendence, as a lover gives an extra squeeze to bid

adieu, “Remember me. I will return.”

Deni Image of Sun reflecting in water

Courtesy of Denesia Christine on Flicker

I believe. I will see you on the other side.

Night begins.

White. The presence of all colors, gentle light bears witness to the sun. Lifting dark veil,

illuminating field and glistening dew-tipped petals, smiling moon lights the way home. A

beacon, as a parent’s consolation to frightened child, “I’m here, baby, it’s okay.”

Courtesy of Denesia Christine

Courtesy of DenesiaChristine on Instagram

I believe. Safe, secure, through dark of night.

And the sun rises.

Sun and moon, seasons, cycles. Seed to tree, decay, fertile soil bears life again. Teachers,

all. Eager student, I, in wondrous reception, hoping to relay these glorious lessons, teacher,

student, teacher. Breathe in, breathe out. . .

Selah.

©Joan T. Warren

In response to this week’s WordPress writing challenge, to share our experience as

teachers, as students. Appropriately, for teacher appreciation week, too.

 

More Than Words

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Pen in hand, released to the floor; chicken scratch.

“I. . . I. . . I. . ,” sputtered Vera, summoning strength from the tips of her toes and fingers, as they squeezed the foot and armrest of her wheelchair. A polite and apologetic smile took backstage. Vera forced her thoughts and intentions out of her eyes to the kind woman sitting across from her, giving her all.

“It’s okay, I know you’re in there. I know you’re having a hard time getting your words out. I’ll try to ask questions so you can nod yes or no.”

Vera settled and wiped a tear. She nodded yes.

Tessa breathed in, out, and laid her clipboard aside. This occupational therapy evaluation won’t be as easy as checking the boxes. None are. She quickly regrouped. “Is it okay with you if I ask your husband about things that are important to you so I can make our therapy sessions as meaningful as possible?”

Vera shook her head no. Then her eyes opened widely, she reached for Tessa’s hand and nodded yes. “Yah. . . no. . . . yes.” Eyebrows burrowed in at the sides and raised in the center, she looked pleadingly at Tessa, as if to say, “I can’t even control my yes and no answers!”

It was a left cerebral infarction with expressive aphasia. Tessa understood Vera’s condition from the textbook. Vera’s stroke spared her ability to understand language, but blocked her ability to speak–and to write. Now it was time to understand it from the eyes of a dear woman looking pleadingly to her for help.

Vera understood her condition from the textbook as well. Forty-five years a speech-language pathologist, now it was her time to understand it from the inside, reaching out.

Borrowed from gradydoctor.com

Photo borrowed from gradydoctor.com

 

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In honor of National Occupational Therapy Month and in response to WordPress’ Weekly Writing Challenge (Flash Fiction: 300 words or less)

Joan T Warren

Weekly Photo Challenge: On Top

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Weekly Photo Challenge: On Top

Easter Sunrise from a spot aptly named ‘Pretty Place,’ at YMCA Camp Greenville, SC.
This, after a night spent on the top bunk in a rustic cabin, just certain the rain would never stop.

Haiku Grace Journey

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The Fall

Heart falls–glass vase. . . down
Droplets and shards splay with force
Dreams, with them, splatter.

imageThe Ache

Heart aches–lost in gloom
Dull and flat to spite the sun
Hopes, defied and slain.

imageThe Hardening

Heart hardens–dark shroud
Surrounds, squeezes, tender shoot
Shriveled, left to die.
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The Gasp
Heart gasps–reflexive,
Violently as from sleep
Final thrust for life.
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 The Cry
Heart cries–help me, please–
Sobs deeply heaving, need dire;
Light enters, here, now.
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The Nurturing
Heart heals–sunrise warms,
Kissing snowdrops, melt to tears
warming buds unfurl.
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The Restoration
Heart rejoices–Grace is!
Joy and life fill broken heart
Carry on to love.
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©Joan T. Warren

DPchallenge this week, to write five Haiku (or more) about anything. I choose to write this series, a journey of grace.

Savory Seductions

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“Oh, my God, you’re ummmaaaaazing!”

“You like it?”

Oh, yes! Babe, you’re the absolute best! Do it again!”

“You want more?,” he asked, the edges of his lips tipping up with  anticipation. . . Read the rest of this entry

Faulty Fault Lines–When Bad Things Happen to Little People

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Janie smiled through her tears and put her arms around Stella.

“How do you do it, Stella? You always seem to find a way to help me put things in perspective when I get like this. I wish I had your confidence! I wish I could stay on top of things the way you do; you never seem to let people push you around, yet you’re not a bully either.”

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Composing herself after at least thirty minutes of crying and talking, Janie now felt better. She sat back in her seat and picked up her coffee mug, her favorite mug, which she loved for its heft, its shape and its ability to channel those amazing aromas right where she needed them most. She felt now that she had some good ideas about how to tackle the problem. “Really, Stella, how DO you do it? Were you just born this way?”

Stella sipped her coffee, too. She loved it when someone took the time to ask her deeper questions. Though she’d never broadcast her life or push her opinions, she felt deeply rewarded when she was able to help another. It was as though all her troubles were worth it.

Well, Stella divulged, “I wasn’t always as I am today. One of my old trademarks was that I used to think everything was my fault–and nothing was my fault!”

I was quick to apologize for anything someone else was unhappy about, as if I were responsible for the world, but slow to see things that actually were my responsibility.

Rain on your wedding day? I’m sorry. Mad at your boss? I’m sorry. Lightning struck your Uncle Milford? I’m so sorry. You’re home from work early and hungry because you didn’t stop for lunch and I didn’t have a premonition about this and fix your dinner early? I’m sorry. Here, let me drop my work, mid-sentence, and get right on that.

Then, on the other hand, nothing that I really did was ever MY fault!

Oh, I’m late for work? Well, boss, it’s not really MY fault.  I had to make breakfast for my family, get the laundry started, stop what I was doing every time someone couldn’t find their socks, walk the dog when everyone left without doing it, stop at the store so there would be coffee in the break room, and then drive my aunt to the dry cleaner–yes, she had an emergency apparel deficiency.

Geez, why can’t my boss understand that, doesn’t she have a family? I would think.

Stella smiled as she animated these stories. They were true for her, she had lived in that realm for so many years. She looked at Janie, who smiled back, waiting for more of her story.

Well, after about two or three THOUSAND people said I shouldn’t apologize so much, I slowly started to think maybe there might be something wrong with me (Oh, and I’ve been sorry about that too, two or three thousand times).

But what could it be? I thought. What’s wrong with being nice? I’m empathetic, dedicated, loyal, helpful, sensitive, compassionate, considerate. . . What’s so bad about that?

Plenty! Well, actually, nothing, as long as that’s REALLY what you are. Peel away the nice facade, though, and what did I find? The real reason I had such a hard time recognizing what I was truly responsible for. . . the real reason I defended myself when I truly was responsible for doing something wrong. . . the real reason I tried so hard to be so nice, empathetic, dedicated, loyal, helpful, sensitive, compassionate and considerate. . . was my inner wretch!

Underneath it all, I felt completely ashamed of who I was. I was a wretch.

Wretch, according to Miriam-Webster:

a miserable person;

one who is profoundly    

unhappy or in great misfortune

 

II was miserable on the inside. I felt as though I were less than everyone around me.

Why would a young woman (yes, I was young once), with such admirable qualities feel so miserable inside? I was living out of a self-concept that was seriously flawed.

If you said I was pretty, I’d say, “Yeah, pretty ugly.”

They both chuckled.

“I know what you mean,” Janie offered. “I never in a million years would have guessed you felt that way about yourself. You’re beautiful, and you seem so confident.”

Thanks; it’s true, though. I felt ugly on the inside because I bought into some seriously wretched lies about myself when I was a girl.

Where did those lies come from?

What it boiled down to, after digging deep into the soil of my innermost thoughts and feelings, is that the lies came from trying to figure out why bad things happened to me.

READER WARNING: From here we will talk a little about those bad things. If you’re feeling brave today, click for more–

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Political Correctness: Mean Girls in Charge?

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Is political correctness a useful concept, or does it stifle honest discussion? This, the question posed by WordPress’ Daily Prompt. For my take on this prompt, I will stretch an analogy as far as I can:

Political correctness is the group of mean girls at school. They are beautiful. They are cool. They set the standard of what is fashionable versus what is ridiculously out. They look down their noses at all those who are too stupid, ugly, poor or otherwise inadequate to be a part of their high status. Read the rest of this entry

Making Fun

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Humor. Humor has always been kind of a funny thing to me.

I like laughing, that’s for sure. I enjoy reading and hearing funny people. Then I try to be funny. That doesn’t always work so well. Maybe its that I’ve been living in the house with step-teens for the last ten years. Before that, a teen girl of my own. Somehow what I think is funny gets turned into “weird.” Read the rest of this entry