Dust to Dust

  • Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page.

    Dust to Dust

    By Brenda Bellinger

    This post happens to fall on what would have been my mother’s 86th birthday if she were still with us. She passed away thirteen years ago, yet I often feel her presence. Recently, I was dusting a small antique genie lamp that belonged to her mother, my grandmother. Made of white china, its glaze bears the spiderwebbing of many tiny cracks. Miraculously, the hurricane glass and original brown paper shade, though faded, are both still intact. As I carefully pushed a corner of the dust cloth through the curled handle, I thought of all the times this had been done before. Both my mother and grandmother were fastidious housekeepers. Myself? Not so much.

    I wonder at what point this lamp will cease to hold its significance. A time will come when the sleeping genie will no longer be woken by the caress of a dust cloth and the lamp will find its way to the land of the unwanted and unneeded.

    In the 1950s, the Lane Company of East Providence, Rhode Island gave graduating students at the local Catholic school for girls, a miniature hope chest. Mom gave hers to me many years ago and I use it for odd bits of costume jewelry. Amazingly, the cedar scent is still present. As I mentioned in my last post, times have changed. The idea of a hope chest today, though quaint, seems so horse-and-buggy.

    When she and my father first married, they struggled financially for a while as many young couples do, trying to get their footing. One Christmas, he bought her a bottle of Joy perfume by Jean Patou. She so treasured this bottle that she rarely used it. I remember how it sat regally in the center of a mirrored tray on her dresser. I have it now. One more thing to dust. It’s still about two-thirds full, the perfume having aged a deep amber color. Writing this, I paused for a moment to go open it; something I’ve never done before. As you might have guessed, it turned a corner a very long time ago. I’m not sure why, but I’ll keep it a bit longer.

    Memories. Something else to be thankful for when we gather around the table.

    Brenda Bellinger

    Born in Rhode Island, I spent the first eight years of my life in New England. I can still remember the delight of summer thunderstorms and the fragrance of fall in the air as leaves crunched underfoot. My parents moved to San Francisco and eventually settled in the North Bay Area.

    In 1992, a friend asked me to sign up for a writing class with her. I agreed, never anticipating that class would open a new door for me. At that time, my husband and I were raising four boys and I was working as a courtroom clerk. Writing provided a creative outlet I didn’t know I needed..

    For the month of November 2009, I cleared my calendar of all commitments other than work and Thanksgiving Day to participate in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) – a challenge to write 50,000 words in thirty days. Fueled by good coffee and dark chocolate covered espresso beans, I zipped past the goal and completed the first (extremely rough) draft of what would eventually become my debut novel, “Taking Root.”

    My work has appeared in Small Farmer’s Journal, Mom Egg Review, Persimmon Tree, THEMA, the California Writers Club Literary Review, and in various anthologies, including The Write Spot: Reflections, and The Write Spot: Musings and Ravings From a Pandemic Year.

    Note from Marlene: Brenda’s Blog is a collection of thoughtful and entertaining reflections on what matters.

    “Dust to Dust” originally posted on Brenda’s Blog, November 16, 2021.

  • Photo and heart, by Susan Lawrence

    We hear a lot about being grateful, giving thanks, gratitude lists, and silver linings.

    But what if you just aren’t feeling it?

    How about creating a hygge calendar? I read about this in a Facebook group.

    Make a list of things to be mindful about, a way to help get out of the doldrums and into a feeling of calm, care, and positivity.

    Pay attention to one item each day.

    Personalize your calendar and use it as advent calendar, or as a way of looking at old things in a new way.

    Hygge: A quality of coziness and comfortable conviviality that engenders a feeling of contentment or well-being, regarded as a defining characteristic of Danish culture.

    Hygge Advent Calendar ideas, or a list of how to create a feeling of coziness:

    1. Light a candle during meals.

    2. Chalk a friendly greeting on a sidewalk.

    3. Share an uplifting poem or a story with friends.

    4. Bundle up and sit outside in the evening with twinkle lights.

    5. Read children’s books about Christmas and winter.

    6. Drive around and look at Christmas lights

    7. Hold or look at an item that belonged to a beloved family member, or a beloved friend.

    8. Phone a family member or a friend, just to say hello. Talk about a fun or memorable event you shared.

    9. Make something, it could be a baked item or a craft item.

    10. Sit outside for ten minutes and look at trees.

    11. Write a thank you note or a note just to say “Hi, I’m thinking about you.” Mail it!

    12. Boil cinnamon and orange peels to make the house smell good.

    13. Turn off all lights except for a candle or two (recommend battery operated). Get comfy under a warm blanket. Sit with the quiet.

    14. Look at family photos.

    15. Send a donation or donate your time to helping others.

    16. Make a nest of pillows and read a familiar and cozy book.

    17. Stand at a window and gaze at the view.

    18. Donate money or food to a food bank.

    19. Make paper snowflakes.

    20. Spend some time with a neighborhood pet.

    21. Take a few, deep, nourishing breaths. Breathe in. Breathe out.

    22. Soak feet in mineral salts while listening to music.

    23. Zoom into GROOVE dance with Diane Dupuis, Yoga with Adrienne, Feldenkrais, Insight Timer meditation.

    24. Write, using prompts from The Write Spot Blog.

    Thank you, Susan Lawrence, a speech therapist, in Los Angeles for this inspiration. Susan created her Hygge advent calendar by making a heart shaped wall hanging with pieces of gold paper, each one has a cozy activity written on it and placed in the pockets randomly.

  • Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page.

    Today’s Sparks is a pantoum.

    Barbara’s Braid

    By Karen Ely

    Weaving strands of amber honey

    Over, under, around and through

    Silky locks of shimmer sunlight

    Plaited patterns, three by two

     

    Over, under, around, and through

    Brush strokes cultivate the threads

    Plaited patterns three by two

    A tapestry of golds and reds

     

    Brush strokes cultivate the threads

    Silky locks of shimmer sunlight

    Plaited patterns, three by two

    Weaving strands of amber honey

     

    Karen Handyside Ely was born and raised in Petaluma, California. She delights in difficult crossword puzzles, the Santa Rosa Symphony, and traveling with her husband, James.

    Karen has been published in The Write Spot to Jumpstart Your Writing: Discoveries, The Write Spot: Reflections, The Write Spot: Possibilities, The Write Spot: Writing as a Path to Healing, and The Write Spot: Musings and Ravings From a Pandemic Year.  All available at Amazon and your local bookseller.

    Discoveries is on sale for $6.99 at Amazon for a limited time.

    Writers Forum hosts Saturday afternoon writing for the month of October 2021. Free on the Zoom platform.

  • Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page.

    Chuckstable

    By Lynn Levy

    Dana cracked her gum and then smoothed it against the roof of her mouth. She pushed her tongue through, making that all-important thin membrane that would become the bubble, and Bobby watched, thinking that the gum made her tongue look as pink as the boa she was wearing. Which was saying a lot.

    There was no explaining, really, why Dana was wearing a boa at all, but Bobby knew her better than to ask. Dana had on a boy’s tank top, cut-off jeans, and Goodwill Kiva sandals with one of the straps broken. She also had a scab on her left knee that grossed out the toughest kid in the neighborhood, and a thin white scar on her right arm from the time she’d fallen out of the big old oak on a dare that she could climb higher than the boys. The bone had stuck through, but Dana didn’t cry. After that she made her own rules, and nobody stopped her. If she wanted to wear a pink boa to catch snapping turtles, that’s what she did.

    Dana blew the bubble and popped it, and used her tongue to pull the broken film back into her mouth.

    Bobby pushed his old safari hat down over his forehead, hoping the shadow would hide his eyes. If Dana caught him staring, he was sure he’d shrivel up and die, though he wasn’t sure why. He wasn’t even sure why he was staring, actually, it was just that over this last summer, somehow Dana had gotten really … interesting.

    While he watched, she took a couple of quick lithe leaps across the flat stones, until she was in the middle of the creek, cool water riding over her feet, making the creek surface a different shape right there, two smooth glassy bumps that no longer looked like feet. Dana crouched and looked down into the water. She let her fingers dangle just below the surface, the current drawing little wakes around each one. She didn’t seem to notice the ends of the boa dipping into the creek, the feathers shrinking with wet.

    Bobby jumped a little when she squealed. “It’s a big one!” she called. Then, annoyed, “Are you gonna come help me or what?”

    Bobby ambled over to the creek bank as if he was just himself, instead of how he felt, like he was someone meeting Dana for the first time and shy because of it. He’d known Dana since their Mommas had let them play out in front of the trailers, in undershirts and no pants.

     “What do you want with them snappers, anyway?” Bobby asked.

    “I wanna put one in Duane’s outhouse,” she said. “On accounta what he said about Chuckstable.”

    Chuckstable was Dana’s dog and the love of her life. He was also the ugliest thing God ever put together. What Duane had said was actually pretty funny, but didn’t bear repeating unless you liked the taste of soap.

    “His Pa finds it, he’ll just kill it,” Bobby said. Dana looked up at him, squinting. The light caught her eyes, and the browns and greens flickered just like the creek bottom.

    “Ya think?” Dana asked.

    “Uh huh,” Bobby said.

    Dana sighed, and leaned forward, reaching into the water to stroke the turtle’s shell once, carefully, from behind. Bobby noticed the way the knobs of her spine pushed against the tank top, and had the weird thought that she’d be safer in life if she had a shell too.

    “You’re right,” she said, standing. The wet ends of the boa came out of the water and clung around her knees. “But it was fun to think about.”

    Originally published in The Write Spot to Jumpstart Your Writing: Discoveries, print version available for $6.99 for a limited time at Amazon.

    Lynn Levy’s writing has also been published in The Write Spot: Possibilities and The Write Spot: Musings and Ravings From a Pandemic Year. All available in print ($15) and ereaders ($3.49) at Amazon. E-reader available with Kindle Unlimited.

    All the Write Spot books are also available through your local bookseller.

    Lynn Levy lives in Northern California with her husband, an endless parade of wild birds, and one dour skunk who passes by nightly. She and the skunk have an understanding.

  • Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page.

    One Wish Now, or Three In Ten?

    By Patricia Morris

    Patricia’s response to the writing prompt: Would you rather have one wish granted today, or three wishes granted ten years from now?

    Given that my dear friend of forty years died last week after a fast and furious 6-week illness, I will take my one wish today, please. No waiting for ten years for anything anymore. There are no ten years guaranteed, especially when, in ten years, I will be six months shy of 70 years old. That is a shocking thing to write, but that is my reality.

    Having only one wish, the pressure is on. To make it the “right” wish, the “best” wish, the “greatest good for the greatest number” wish. I could game it. I could make my one wish be to have one wish granted annually for the rest of my life. Leave it to the dormant lawyer brain to spring to life and offer up that one.

    I could wish to know when and how I will die. But no, I couldn’t do that and do away with the fundamental mystery of life. Then I would probably spend the rest of my days fixated on that moment and drain the life out of life.

    I might wish to end and reverse global warming. A wish to repair all the environmental damage that humankind has wrought and then, once repaired, for earth’s ecology to hold steady. I like this wish, but I can’t help wondering about unintended consequences. It violates the scientific fact that nothing holds steady. That even seemingly solid mountains are moving, that friends come and go, that I will come and go. That stars, made up of the same stuff as you and I, burst into life and flame into death. I wouldn’t wish for it to be any other way.

    Patricia Morris’s lawyer brain went dormant decades ago, and she tries to keep it that way when she writes for fun, as she does on Monday nights at Marlene Cullen’s and Susan Bono’s Jumpstart Writing Workshops. Her writing has appeared in Rand McNally’s Vacation America, the Ultimate Road Atlas and The Write Spot:  Possibilities and The Write Spot:  Musings and Ravings From a Pandemic Year, both edited by Marlene Cullen. The Write Spot books available at Amazon, Book Passage (Corte Madera), and Gallery Books (Mendocino).

    Patricia Morris will be a featured presenter at Writers Forum on July 29, 2021 at 6 pm.