Daily Prompt; Tables Turned
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Are as comfortable in front of a camera as behind…
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Are as comfortable in front of a camera as behind one? Being written about, as well as writing?
Photographers, artists, poets: show us DISCOMFORT.
Discomfort huh, now that is an interesting word. My discomfort may be your pleasure. We are all so different. Instead of me writing about what I find a discomfort, how about I show you some photos of this dreadful word. I bet you can figure them out just by looking at them. Now let’s have some fun friends. Can I hear a laugh now and then?
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Write about something you consider “ugly” — war, violence,
failure, hatred — but try to find beauty, or a sense of hope, in your
Photographers, artists, poets: show us UGLY.
It creeps up
On you slowly
To eerie thoughts
And creepy shadows
Allowing all of the
Out of their cage
Making you feel
They are speaking
Turns into dull
As day turns
But yet something
Changes, the cars
Train whistles silenced
Kids all in their beds
It is just me and myself
A time to come together
To go over what
The day has given
A time to pray
And a time to snack
Wrapped under my sheets
Just my TV and peace.
Al and I were introduced to our step-grandparents and these were very good times of our lives. Our Granddaddy as we called them lived in town in a big white cement brick house. It seemed like it took up the whole block.
It had a wrap a round porch and I can remember sitting out there with Granddad many afternoons when he was home. He was a furnace man. He installed new furnaces for customers and many nights during the winter he had to go out late at nigh to fix some person’s heat.
Granddaddy had floppy ears and big brown droopy eyes. Al and I would crawl on his lap and he would always let us without hesitation. He talked to us and played with us. It brings me smiles now just thinking about him.
I remember seeing Al happy too. Grandma and Granddaddy took great care of us and spoiled us with lots of good food. I remember one time I waited on a white rickety square stool and watched my Grandma making a Black Raspberry pie. She took the left over crust and rolled cinnamon and sugar in it and baked them right along with the pie.
I couldn’t wait to eat a slice of that pie. Even when it came out of the oven I could barely sit still waiting for my own piece. I remember Al was four and I was five now. Waiting for a piece of pie with ice-cream on top was pretty hard to do.
When I finally bit into the first piece I can still remember starting to cry as I told Grandma that there were bones in it. You should have seen her. Her belly shook as she laughed so hard. She told me those were seeds and not bones. That pie still remains my favorite today.
We lived within the same block that they did. We lived in an even bigger house than Grandma and Granddaddy. I remember being scared every night when I went to bed. There were four bedrooms upstairs. I was the only one who slept up there. Al slept downstairs as he needed more watching over than I did, and yet I was the biggest baby of the two of us.
I laid up there many nights afraid of the trees casting shadows on the walls. I dreamed of people being in my room. I seemed to always be afraid of the night and darkness. The only thing that I really recall that was funny about that house is watching Dad use one of those old push style mowers. They were hard to work and he sweated a lot when he sat beside me on the porch steps to rest. One particular day when he and I were talking after he mowed a big old nasty bird pooped on my dad’s bare back.
I know that I laughed and laughed so hard. Dad said some kind of cuss word that I didn’t recognize but I didn’t care. I was sitting with my Daddy, just him and me. I idolized my Daddy. He was God to me and never did anything wrong.
The other thing I recall is sitting in that small back bathroom that was behind the kitchen. Mom always thought sturdy. She had bought me black and white saddle shoes. I hated them with a passion. So when I was using the potty I would swing my feet back and forth. As soon as my shoes came into target range, I would spit on them. I told my step-mom about it when I grew up and she laughed with me.
Al always struggled walking. He had skinny little legs. He didn’t run and play too much. He liked laying on the floor and lining up those little hot wheel cars. For a few years Al wore Buster Brown shoes for toddlers. Mom always told me they helped his balance. I thought they were silly because he wasn’t a baby anymore. He needed red Keds like I had on.
I tried to teach Al how to use the hoola hoop but he never did get the hang of it. Al and I played a lot together. There was always some type of bond that I didn’t have a name for but it was like we understood each other.
I began to realize at a young age that I didn’t need as much help as Al. I could do more on my own, so I became his big sister and pulled him in our big red wagon. I pedaled our big trike and Al stood on the back so he could ride too.
Al cried every time he had to have a hair cut. In fact cried isn’t an accurate word. Scream is more like it. I don’t know today what the connection was but when he saw and heard the clippers he screamed bloody murder. I was always along and I bribed him with one cent bubble gum pieces but Mom always said no. I guess he always swallowed the gum.
He also screamed bloody high pitches when we were sitting waiting at the train tracks for the train to pass by. I can remember Dad always yelling at him to knock it off. It’s only a train. I can still see remember trying to figure out why Dad would yell at Al when he was scared. I would wrap my arm around Al and tell him, it will be alright baby brother. It is almost gone. Al sucked on one of those pacifiers and he used to offer me a suck off
of it when I made him feel better. Some how even back in those days Al
knew I was there for him.
When we were children, we were read many books, that would lull us into a restful sleep, to only arise upon the morning sun. Visions of sugar plums dancing in our young minds, dreams of fairy princesses, making our wishes come true of the new toy our heart desired for the moment.
Wiggling down under the covers, afraid of the big bad shadows that may come along and get us. Worrying at our young age, that when we woke up, and went to the kitchen, we really would see green eggs and ham.
Counting sheep when we could not sleep, and watching the cow jump over the moon, was fun. We could spend many nights daydreaming our way into sleep land. Watching Captain Kangaroo, and asking mommy, if we could go see a talking moose. Being afraid, that if we told our parents that we got a bad grade on our report card, and instead chose to hide our report card, causing us to lie to mom and dad about where the card went, would and could cause our nose to grow long.
There was the wicked witch of the east that hated everyone, forcing me to go crawl into bed with my parents for fear of the unknown. The three blind mice, see how they run. Will they try to run over my blankets in the dark tonight?
How about the scene, where I had to close my eyes, because watching a frog kiss a princess to me was gross, the kiss was awful, but the frog was pretty cool! I remember having mommy help me pray that the cowardly lion would get a heart like we had.
One time it took me hours to fall asleep as I was afraid of the giant chasing me and wanting to eat me in Jack and The Beanstalk. I learned that if I bent over and made my arms like a spout, I could pour tea. This was magic!
I asked daddy one day what our house was made of, and he said, aren’t you a little young to be involved with architects? I told him I wanted to make sure the big bad wolf couldn’t blow our house down, and he laughed and picked me up and gave me a big hug and a kiss, and said don’t worry, we will keep you safe.
One day I went outside for my play time and I spent my time digging holes in the yard, looking for my magic lamp. Mom cried when she saw the damages to the yard. This made me feel bad, and I hugged her and promised I would never dig holes again.
One time I was playing dress up in my mommy’s closet, and I picked out a bright, shiny dress and put it around my head and pretended to be Little Red Riding Hood. I found out later it was mom’s special nightie, whoops.
When we had my favorite dinner, I made sure to gobble mine right up so the big bad wolf would not eat it all. I would check in the mirror and see if my teeth were beginning to grow as long as the wolf’s.
I was afraid of spiders, as they would come try to scare me away, and not let me eat my meal. I asked mom if I could take a lamb to school one day, because I was lonely, and I wanted a new friend for myself, and she said no!
I learned what sounds the animals made by singing the song Old McDonald had a farm. One day I went through all of the clothes closets and pulled out everyone’s shoes. I lined them up in a row, and then looked in each one trying to see the Old Lady That Lived In The Shoe. Mommy made me put them all back, right now!
I never wanted to lose my mittens, because if I did, I would not get any of that pie tonight, that mommy baked, and it sure smelled good. I think it was cherry pie.
We were all brought up on fairy tales, and these were some of my favorites that I was read, and I also read these to my children. Now, today, there are no more fairy tales, and I realize that the life I live is called reality. I can still dream, and I have the right to make my own choices in my life. I can choose to be the fairy godmother, or the wicked witch of the east. I can choose to walk forward, or to remain in the past.
For me, I have chosen to walk the path moving forward. I don’t want to be any particular fairy tale. I figure the best I can be is a combination of several of my favorites. Carrying with me the fables of love, attitude, dreams, and hope for the future.