White Maggot and Bumblebee Salad

Love bumblebees!

Love bumblebees!

Every Monday morning for the last eight weeks, eight to 10 of us gathered from nine to noon at the Bibliotheque North Hatley Library to write.

Expertly led Carolyn Rowell, who came to the workshops equipped with all kinds of interesting exercises, prompts, thoughts, and ideas to challenge us, we put pens to paper (or fingers to keyboard), then shared the fruits of our labour between ourselves.

I also shared some of my output here (e.g. The Lost and Found, See Me?, Life is Breathtaking, An Endless Prayer, Oh Mom!, Life Breaks My Heart and more in the “Writing”category in the drop down at the bottom left of the page if you’re on the site, if not then skiddadle on over there!)

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An Endless Prayer

This is part of an endless series of posts about my experience of Alzheimer’s disease. Some others are: I see you and me. And love. Loving Words at Sunset, Life Breaks My Heart, The Lost and Found, and See me?

An endless prayer

Pinkie Patti prays with “her beads” (Spring 2012)

An Endless Prayer

She has fat little fingers now.
Her precious rings don’t fit them anymore.

At night, she counts her rosary:
one bead after another after another after another.

In the day, she sits and strokes the tops of her legs:
up and down up and down up and down.

Her hands, the days and the nights:
soft, gentle tides going in and out in and out in and out on a desert island.

I wonder what she feels as she comforts herself and gazes,
mindless, into the near and far.

She turns to look at me.
“Hi Punkie, I’m so glad you came to see me,” she says.
My heart is in a million pieces.

Post notes

I wrote this poem in this morning’s writing group. The prompt was “Five easy pieces,” a quick warm-up exercise in which we were asked to write five discrete sentences thus:

  1. describe someone’s hands
  2. say what they are doing
  3. add an exotic location
  4. ask the subject a question
  5. have them partially answer the question

Tweak if necessary when done and voila!

10 Top Things Writers Love to Hear

Nellie Bly insane asylumMost writers are a bit crazy. Some are a lot.

Adventurer and journalist Elizabeth Jane Cochrane (born May 5, 1864, and better known by her pen name Nellie Bly), even faked craziness in the late 1800s to get herself admitted to an insane asylum to research a story on mental institutions.

She broke all kinds of journalistic barriers back then, just by being a woman. Unbelievably, women journalists still face gender-related obstacles more than a hundred years later. But this post isn’t about that. Continue reading

Solitary romance

IMG_5392I dine by candlelight thrice daily.

“Why waste romance on one meal alone?” I once asked myself. There seemed no justifiable reason to do so, so I’ve romanced myself at breakfast, lunch and dinner ever since.

The candles that cast the light by which I eat stand in various and sundry mismatched holders: a tall, white, ceramic and daintily painted one from my mother’s former home is paired Abbot-and-Costello-like with a short golden-clear bulbous one I found at The Pomegranate (my favourite antique store in North Hatley, Quebec, Canada). Continue reading

Spring fever

Cardinal_birdQuestion: Spring has sprung, the grass is riz, I wonder where the birdies is?

Answer: Many of them are in my backyard, much to my joy and delight.

Weeks ago, on my early morning walks, I heard cardinals sing as I sauntered down Sherbrooke street, especially around Anne’s house, in which I now sit tapping away on today’s prompt (i.e. “spring fever”). Continue reading

On ex-cars & ex-husbands

Note: At the start of our weekly writing group meetings, we do a five-minute warm-up    exercise based on a prompt. The prompt for this one was “I hated it because it was new.”

Pink convertible car“I hated it because it was new” is a particularly uninspiring prompt for me this morning, mostly because I don’t recall ever hating anything new.

Ah. No. That’s a lie. Now that I think of it, there’s at least one thing: new car smell.

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