A Book Meme...

Okay Aurora...

Total number of books owned:
Last time I took inventory the count was 480... but that was 2 years ago...

Last book bought: was from a second hand book sale. Amongst my purchases there, I bought a collection of Mark Twain's short stories.

Last book read: was Tuesdays with Morrie by Mitch Albom. It left a lasting impression. My day includes a talk with the bird on my shoulder. I ask, "Is it today?"

Five books that mean a lot to me:

1.) The greatest priviledge is reading God's Word.

2.) Anna Karenina. I learned a lot about people from Tolstoy's characters.

3.) The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People by Stephen Covey. Actually, I have not finished reading this yet. I am working on the 3rd habit which is about scheduling, a favorite past time for me. This is definitely the best self help book that I have ever read.

4.) Who Has Seen the Wind by W. O. Mitchell. This novel is very special to me as it introduced me to the wonders of literature. This book also captures the prairies, which I love.

5.) I love the romantic book, Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. Sigh...

I am going to leave this tag open to other book lovers out there.

1. Pearl-see comment section
   
2. 
   

I am Still Here...

Dear Blog Pals,
I am down to 1 tablet of lithium from the 4, I was taking 7 months ago. I have been feeling amazingly well. I still have some anxiety at times but am reaching levels of well being that I haven’t in a long time. This is not a mania but a calmful joy as I told my therapist. I am BUSY, for sure but also happy and grateful.

I have not been doing a lot of writing except for journalling and emails.

Currently, I am organizing a talent show for a church gathering. I feel almost like a conductor in a marching band, for real this time, although tuba-less.

Excerpts from a Life: An Epilogue

In my series of excerpts from my journals in the 70's, I talked a lot about my crush on Chevy, a fellow student at my High School. I lost weight and became anorexic in trying to win this boy but to no avail. I never even talked to him, except to ask for his autograph in my Grade 11 yearbook.



Epilogue: August 3, 2007

I was at my 30th High School Reunion this weekend.
At the evening get together, I told my Husband that I was looking for Chevy.
I noticed this fellow (a chunky man, kind of) with graying black hair and dark eyes. I looked at him and thought I might've known him. Our eyes met but I looked away, not knowing him after all. I had been looking at people like that ever since we arrived in my my hometown, trying to find faces that I might remember.

Then this kinda chunky man got up and I followed him (with my eyes). He walked up to me. "Hi Carol," he said. I looked quickly at his name tag and replied, "Hi Chevy."

Not wanting the moment to end, I invited him to sit down with my Husband and I. He proceeded to tell us, at record speed, his life story. I interrupted him at one point to ask, "Did you always talk this much?"

I felt like I was going to cry after a while; I knew my face showed it.

When Dreams Become Reality

I am travelling to my 30th high school reunion this weekend. Saturday night, we will gather to share our reflections. I am not sure what this will all entail, but I wrote this poem in honor of what we shared together in 1977.
The grad theme that year was Roads Beyond Our Own. I was not in favor of this choice at the time. I preferred the one in the title of this poem, but as you will read, both are signicant in this present.



When Dreams Become Reality

The person beside
the person behind
the person beyond
were writing languidly in class.

The Lit teacher desired relevancy to our words
so we doodled the dreamy margins
of the final journal pages of June
with corsages and boutonnieres.

Time enough to hope in black and white
before roads grow gnarled
with passion, luck and life.
The paths bent around the corner, unrevealed

until now. With eager faces,
we travel down opened notebooks,
fulfilling the theme of long ago
of seeking roads beyond our own.

Mothers and Guilt

She said I would receive her wedding ring
I protested
for I didn’t want to think of her dying
or of taking fidelity off her finger

So soon,
we were dividing the possessions
My sisters stated,
she wanted you to have the ring
I protested again

She was buried with it sparkling
but now every time rings are mentioned
I cringe and remember
I didn’t listen to her

Oh, I'm Okay

When someone asks how I am, I sometimes reply, “OK.” OK feels like a noncommittal word, meaning not great but not bad either. However, as a child, I used to think that the big red K on the Kellogg’s cereal box stood for OK. It was a healthy and bright word back then.

I realized, that I really didn’t know what OK meant. I looked it up in my Canadian Dictionary and discovered that it is an abbreviated form for the words, “orl (or oll) korrect". Further study into the etymology of OK revealed that the term originated in Boston newspapers in 1839. There was a humoristic fad at that time to reduce phrases to their initials then supply sometimes incorrect spellings in parenthesis. OK (oll korrect) should really have been OK (all correct). Get the joke? It wasn’t all correct!

After studying this word, OK, I found that it is a vague and even misleading term. So if you ask me how I am doing, I might be OK or might be OK in another more literal sense which actually means I’m not OK.

What a suitable word for all occasions.

Castles and Lairs

Fingers flicker
imitating dragons leaping
from page to page
casting fire and chivalry
over dew dropped fairy tales

Dragon Girl by Caroline Young

A Visit to Tara

in disarray,
your heart throbs
for tranquil kind thoughts

but stocking magazine mansions
with Chinese porcelains
and marble Athenas
will not satisfy
tomorrow

The Magus

A long time ago in 1982, I read a book by John Fowles titled "The Magus". At the time, I was heavily into tarot cards and found that the different roles of the cards came alive within this book. I was intrigued by analyzing this book and spent a lot of time with it. I must say though that today my philosophy differs somewhat from that which I discovered in this book.

When I read RDL's blog, When I Grow Up, I was amazed to read her request for someone to give her a book report on it. Finally, after all these years, my effort will be put to use. Here's for you, RDL...

The Magus

a book review

This novel is about the journey each man must take-the journey of the inexperienced Fool, of the Major Arcana(Tarot), existing only in the physical plan of consciousness into a man existing in harmony with his subconscious and conscious desires, being so aware of both, that they become one.

Urfe is the Fool of this novel, bound by earthly pleasures and unaware of the true love he desires , ie the love that exists in Alison, a girl he leaves for Greece. However, in Greece he meets the Magus, (Magician), Conchis, who helps him see what he couldn't see before- ie the unseen, his subconscious desires.

Urfe begins to understand what reality is-endless interactions. The masculine view is to see as objects whereas the feminine view is to see the relationships between objects; both are true. The individuals are what make the interactions possible.

Each man must achieve the power to discern what he considers good, what he considers wrong in order to relate himself successfully. But first he has to step above his material ambitions and not be ruled by carnal conscious desires. The man who does not accept or have his own philosophy, will remain the Fool.

This novel is rich in mystical symbolism, hard to understand but harder to put down.

Talisman

That is me
hanging from the rear view mirror
Balancing Feather

A stranger asks
"how are you?"
I shake, smile
and answer
good
she smiles,
"me too"

Balancing Feather
falling from the rear view mirror

During service
He asks “Are you okay?”
he knows the signs
how I hunch forward off the back of the pew
fingers tapping
He asks,” Are you okay?”
No, I might have to go to the back
he makes a little space for me to pass
I hesitate then make my move
during the hymn
taking my briefcase, I head for the back
sometimes
I feel safer
with no one behind me
no one watching as I struggle for air

“I am Safe”
the unbalanced feather falls to the floor of the van

Driving home
someone follows
to make sure I arrive home safely
I watch her in the rearview mirror

I pick up the fallen feather
reinsert it
on the mirror.

Acts of One

I believe. I pray. Believing and praying is only the beginning of a relationship with God. I act, too.

I read. Books provide knowledge, motivation, and insight.

I learn. Through a variety of mediums, I hope to succeed one day in changing the paradigm of myself.

I write. Buddhism teaches that anxiety can be flicked away through the fingertips. I find this true as I quickly type.

I speak. It takes courage for me to say my thoughts aloud to people other than a chosen few. I perform with trepidation, bravely.

A woman from Toastmasters spoke in front of a large group of people. A stranger approached her afterwards and complimented her articulacy. She beamed as she related her experience as she has always been a quiet person. She crossed over successfully.

To me, her story showed that it is possible to trudge along day after day, unrecognized for the work you are doing, then suddenly be acknowledged.
I hope that someday, someone will come up to me and say, “You are a confident person” Or, “You were an example to me while I was growing up” Or, “Your writing stirred me.”
Or “Well done , good and faithful servant…”

Meanwhile, I have to just keep on going, one foot ahead of another, one word after another and hope for that success.

After Her Kind

Chatterers fly overhead
calling others to turn their eyes
upward to see their sky dances.
They promise, with no certainty.

These babblers search me with puzzled crests,
casually analyzing for entertainment.
Evading their curiosity,
I imagine a clever few

who sit upon flower boxes
with their backs to the crowd.
They notice me disappearing
from the multitude.

Flowers in their hands,
they pace impressions before approaching
the silent screamer.
Then we fade away in secrets.

Sweet Nothings

She married today.
I saw golden rings rotating around the Sun.
Startled children with opal eyes and stifled cries
tossed rose petals under her feet.

Well wishers uniformly gathered
in party dresses, suits and ties
hovered stunningly beneath her ivory wings,
reminders of their own sweet presence.

The Bride descended slowly
through the spiralling space of orchids
to the Groom who eagerly awaited
to see his image in the mirror of her eye.

(What I find amazing is when I find a photo that
so aptly illustrates a poem I wrote.
To see more, go to Friedericy Dolls)

Remember My Life Insurance Scare...

As you might recall, four weeks ago I had a unsettling call from my Insurance broker. She informed me that my request to be insured was denied. (My husband and I are already insured but the premiums have gone up with our age so we decided to check out another company.) She stated that this was unusual and I went into worry mode, fearing the worst.

I sent an email to the Insurance Company requesting that a letter stating the reason I was refused be sent to my Doctor. I didn't see my Doctor until ten days later when she finally received the letter from the Insurance Company.

However when I visited my Doctor , she couldn't locate the letter but told me that she remembered it and that the insurance company had denied me because of kidney disease. I was stunned because I am on lithium, which has the potential to harm the kidneys. I was a mess all weekend.

Then on Tuesday of the following week, I could wait no more and called for another appointment. By then I had done a lot of Internet research and was convinced that not only did I have kidney disease but I might undergo renal failure at any moment.

At that Tuesday appointment, I was about to list my symptoms to her when she confessed that she had mixed up my insurance letter with someone else's. I do not have kidney disease and she doesn't know why they would refuse me for there was nothing in my charts to warrant it.
I laughed, would you believe? I didn't even care that she had made a mistake! I am healthy!

As it has been my long term plan to cut back on Lithium and eventually be Lithium-free anyways, I am now on the low dosage of 600mg/day. I have 2 healthy kidneys that I want to keep happy.

Unexpectedly

White cotton and pink lace

adorn the heroine

for another classic midnight fall

down spiral stairs.

Unexpectedly, she twists

and a backward gaze reveals

a robe sash caught on the rail.

In astonishment, she smiles.

How Well Do You Know Me?

I found this quiz on Barbara's blog. If you want to answer these questions for me, copy and paste into my comment section. I will be waiting to see your answers!

My name:
Summarize me in three words:
Where did we meet:
Take a stab at my middle name:
How long have you known me:
When is the last time that we saw each other:
Do I drink:
Am I happy:
Am I a good person:
What was your first impression of upon meeting me/seeing me:
What’s one of my favorite things to do:
Am I funny:
How do you make me smile:
What’s my favorite type of music:
Have you ever seen me cry:
Can I sing?:
What is the best feature about me:
Am I shy or outgoing:
Am I a rebel or do I follow the rules:
Do I have any special talents:
Would you call me preppy, average, sporty, punk, hippie, glam, nerdy, snobby, or something else (what):
What is my favorite food:
If there was one good nickname for me, what would it be:
What’s your favorite memory of me:
What is my worst habit:
Have you ever had a dream about me? If so, what?:
If you and I were stranded on a desert island, what is the one thing I would bring?
Are we friends:
Do I believe in God?
Am I family oriented?
Who is my best friend?
Will you repost this so I can do it?

Tagged by p.p.b-fly

Rules are:
* Each player starts with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
* People who are tagged need to write posts in their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.
* At the end of your post, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.

Kai tagged me
with a meme about 8
random facts/habits about
me

but because I like to substitute and rearrange instructions, I say:

Kai tagged me
With a meme about 8
poetic random facts/ habits
about uncontainable
me

1. I’m not an octopus, but if I had 8 arms, I could write more poems and I could write more poems quicker!
2. Kai’s a poet. I am a poet. I am not a lonely poet.
3. I remember being a single young poet. Love and pain spurt like the ink from my pen.
4. Then I got older and more congealed. (Actually, I can still kick up my heels and spurt like the young ‘uns)
5. My journals were a catapult to poetry, back in university.
6. Now, blogging is the catapult.
7. (Shhh.Don’t tell J. Andrew this but ) I’ve forgotten what a tanka is.
8. I missed National Poetry Week, Would you believe it was in April! One month off, I can’t believe it. I was hoping for another theme month.

Now, I tag these fellow blogger poets for their own unique poetic random facts/ habits about their uncontainable selves. Have fun with it! If you're not the meme type, let me know. I will take your name off the list after you write me a 100 word comment about why you are too busy to do this meme.

1. Mompoet who is like me and likes to change the rules, wrote 8 things about herself in my comment section. That will do...
   
2. Pat Paulk
3. Art Puppy made it easy for her taggees. They only have to do a 50 word comment!
4. J. Andrew accepted the challenge.
5. RDL wrote her 100 word comment and is officially off the tag list!
6. Emily accepted the meme challenge!
7. David was quick to respond.
8. Barbara has her 8 facts up!

Bargain H. Blues

Now and again, I grieve strangely for the Thrift store that was closed down a month ago. There were 7 stores closed in the city. They were losing money, a $ million a year. Every once in awhile, I forget that the shop is empty now and crave a shopping trip.

My heart longs for the store that was once filled with real fur, leather, designer names and friendly faces. The red-haired clerk greeted us with remembrance every time. I recall the time they played a game of giveaway. The manager would roll a dice and the lucky recipient hop scotched to the back to pick out their prize. I wanted to go to the back room but you had to spend a certain amount first. We did get to go to the back eventually with only 10 minutes to spare. There were 3 racks of clothes to choose from. The clothing was from Winners and they weren’t allowed to sell it because it was a donation. They had to give it away. We found a skirt and a cotton jacket. What a fun give away game

Now it is gone. There is always Value Village but it is not the same. There are no friendly greeters at the door. There are no phone calls reminding the faithful shoppers of sales and surprise draws. There are no giveaway games played there.

The Critic Does Her Job- A Revision

I freewrote for 30 minutes this morning, that is, I wrote without thinking. “And that is so unusual” speaks my internal critic. It is this robust internal critic that I am trying to quell. She suspects this may be a waste of 30 minutes but I recall that the past few days she has been busily preoccupied with being depressed, which is not exactly a stellar activity either.

I choose to develop what may become a talent instead of hiding it in the ground. I started reading the book, "Writing Fiction” by Janet Burroway this morning. Freewriting clears the writer’s pathway from thought to paper (or to keyboard). The exercise is best done daily at the beginning of the day before any other mental activities get in the way.


I also read the section on the active voice. My last Toastmaster’s speech introduced the concept to me but it feels unnatural to me. Convinced, I carry on.

I experienced a funny dream this morning. My husband handed me my baby girl. Phew, the smell clearly told me that she was in need of a diaper change. I held her up and realized that she could almost stand on her own. Then, my cat literally pounced upon me, jumping on the bed and waking me. The smell was evidently not a dream. Kitty! I looked around for the mess but found none. She hid sheepishly under the bed. I tried to ignore the fetor and fortunately, it disappeared. I conclude she, or someone, had a bout of gas.

I reread a book called A Separate Peace by John Knowles. I read it the first time when I was 16 years old and absolutely loved it. One moment in particular captivated me that first time. The memory of being spell bound drew me to revisit. I waited and anticipated that climatic moment but it never reoccurred! Disappointment reigned instead. I saved that book in my library to one day experience the awe of being 16 again and nothing. A lot of books under the bridge since then, I guess. I recommend it though, especially for 16 year olds.

Writing Exercise:Freewriting (Uncut Version)

I will b e studying aboookk about writing. the first I have read says to write for 3 0 minutes freestyle that is without thinking about what I am writing so as to still the critic inside of me. That will e interesting for I have a strong critic living inside of me. I desire to write so as to have some method of comuniccation available for me. So far it has been 1 minutes. Oh man.
Learning to write will take a long time and I am concerned about that of course.
So instead I have been wasting my dayss with being depresssed whih is a greater waste of time but one in which I am accumstomed to. So looking at it that way, this is not a waste of time but a developing of a talent, so as not to hide itin the ground.
A section that most interersted me was that of using an activve voice. I only heard of this in Toastmsater's. My lalst speech was about using it. It did not feel natural at all. Reading about it coninved me that this is the way to go.
So far I have written for 5 minutes and am sure tha I will be unable to write freestyle for 30 minutes. but I will continue for a while.
Does it have to be about ony one subject? Asks the critic) No I don't think so.
I am looing forward to learning what is in Glynnis's journals. I have an idea but will not give it away here.
I am not writing but thinking, pausing some which I think is not supposed to happpen. I will go for 10 minutes mainly because I don't want to bore anyone...well who cares if I bore anyone then they can just stop reading. Silly me!
I alike reading what I have written afterwords and am already curious to read.
I had a funny dream this morning. My husband handed me my baby girl who was in need of having her diaper changed. Phew, what a smell. I held her up so she could ge used to walking then I was literally pounced upon by my real life cat. She jumped on the bed and woke me. What was evidently real wasa the smell, like that of a diaper needing to be changed. Kitty! I looked arouond for a mess but fouond none. She hid sheepishly under the bed. I was not looking forward to the hunt but fortunatley it disappeared which made me conclude she had a bout of gas. Whew, almost had to change another diaper!
11 minutes.
I should try going for it, 30 minutes I mean. What would my words per minute be? I wonder. I am looking forwar d to reading this book about writing Fiction. It is by Janet Burroway and is one of the books I bought at the last book fair I was at. Remember?
There are two more bok fairs coming up! Yahoo. I love buying books.
I read a book (reread) callelld A Separate Peace by John Knolwes. I ha dread it when I was 16 years old and I remember loving it. There was one moment in particular that had me spell bound so this time as I revisited the place, I was waiting and anticipating that moment. Except it never happened. I was disappointed to the say the least. It is like I was saving tha t book to reexperience that moment of awe again. Oh well, I am not 16 anymore and I have read a lot of books since then. It whas all been heard before I gurss. I recommend it thoough, still. Especially for 16 year olds. Ack, my spelling or computer /typing glitches. So embarrassing. I am used to editing my work, yousers. Yowsers?
And an amazing 4 more minutes has passed!
Umm...
Okay, I had to stop and read what I havd written, I admit it. Maybe this should be a private exercise but I hate to waste a writing experince all to myslef now. Isn't that strange. I used to write only for myself and now, I don't want to be alone. Does that sound similar to you?
100 envelopers, 50 white envelopes are on my shelf...Have you fouond any interesting memes? Hey, this could be oe. Write for 30 minutes freestyle and I will post your name here with a link. Or is that what you do everday? Hmm. It is a good idea regardless and if you do, let me now.
3 more minutes has passed and I am still writing with nothing to say really but this is to be a good writing exercise becasue it gets the thoughts on paper or computer. Maybe I should do this everyday. That is what the book said to do. Write freestyle for 30 minutes at the beginning of the day. Preferrably before you wake up. Which remeinds me of changing a diaper.
I have no plan stoday. I have been isolating here. Feeling that I give up so easy... But I am still going on so I guess that means that the internal critic is wrong!!!
I have 8 minutes left .Can I do this and how long will this post be and who will read the whole thing?
I don't know if I can do this every morning? It is kinds fun but might be too long for a post really. I feel adolescent. I would rather sound more mature . What? That takes editing, I guess. Shhh. 6 more minutes...
Come on I dare you, it is not that hard but it might be too revealing. Like talking to a therapist. Or to Mango...
Silly me.
I want to learn to write in the active voice.
Shall I try it here?
Carol sits writing in the active voice. She improves because she keeps going, moving forward. Where did I hear that before, moving forward? It was in a movie and was a quote that Walt Disney spoke or lived by? Keep moving forward. Which is like writing this. I am not to go backwards and edit. 3 more minutes like Gumby and Pkey and the clock was ticking. Do you remember Gumby and Pokey? My sister had Pokey, the ornage claymotion Poikey and I had the green Gumbey. Anyways, there was a scene, where they were waiting for the clock to reach zero. That's how I feel now. 2 more minutes. This is hard like doing physio exercises and other uncomfortable things. which I don't want to do. 1 more minutes and I will be done. If only others didn't have to read this mess, Why do I feel a need to post this?