Tag: activities

Papi

Daily writing prompt
If you could be someone else for a day, who would you be, and why?
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I think I’d like to be my cat, Papi. With us almost eight years, he remains so wary, I’d like to be him and know if there are memories of events that shaped him.

Papi on the living room button chair.

I’d like to get some insights into what the little floof is thinking when he comes to me and sits by me, staring up. He often does this after he finishes eating. I assume he wants attention, affection, so I scratch his head and chin and pet him. It usually seems to answer his need but sometimes he scurries off like he’s disappointed.

I want to be him so I can find out where he goes when he disappears for an hour. I want to be him to gain insights into how much he endangers himself with his roaming. Kind of looking for reassurance that the worse which I imagine isn’t what’s happening. I want comfort that he’s not running from dogs, almost getting hit by cars, narrowly escaping bears, cougars, and foxes. I want to know what he has against the gray and white cat that shows up once in a while, and why they start yelling at each other. Is it territorial, politics, or something else, like a miscommunicaiton.

I just want to know who he is, what he thinks, and what he does. Really, is that asking too much?

3

Crossroads

Looking out

And up

Listening

Thinking

Speaking

And singing

Going to weddings

Graduating school

Walking the dog

Meeting friends

And lovers

Embarking on trips

Returning home

Cooking meals

Cleaning the house

And car

Speaking on phones

Disconnecting

Eating food

Drinking coffee

Or tea

Trying to decide

What to do

Where to go

What to say

Or wear

Wondering how to respond

Questioning

When to surrender

Make a stand

Or walk away

It’s such a crossroads

This day

This time

This moment

And year

Here comes another

3

Two Unheard Questions Dream

We were located in an old service station garage. Tall glass garage doors along either side. It’s raining on one side. Just splatter against the window. Through it, I can see another building. I know it’s a coffee house. I can see one person in there, a tall, slender, white, blonde woman with short, curly hair. I want to go over and have coffee. I will when I’m done, I keep telling myself.

I’m conducting two activities in parallel. In one, I’m in charge of a class where people are learning to play music to calm and relax people. Mixed in with the people learning that are people there for advice on retired life. Both are packed classes. One group is filling out paperwork and asking me questions; the other group is selecting music, playing it on radios, and asking me questions. I walk among them, helping, talking, instructing. We’re all tired. We’ve been up a long time. I’d been up over twenty-four hours. I want to go get coffee. Then go to sleep.

We’re done. Classes are finished. The class members all lie down on the floor to rest just for a few minutes. Two ask me questions, one from each class. Settling on the floor with them, I answer, “I didn’t hear your questions. Were they about music or retiring?”

0

New Puzzle

We were off jigsaw puzzles for the summer. It was a deliberate decision. Gardening called my wife, and reading called us both, and I was doing some DIY stuff until I broke my arm. Now, arm healed, the days have become cooler and shorter, and it seems like it’s time for a jigsaw puzzle. Also, the theme is Halloween. My wife saw it online and thought it’d be fun.

So here we go.

2

The Fingerprints Dream

I was working for a company whose mission seemed to be tracking fingerprints on the Internet. A young and brilliant bearded guy was our leader. Many young people worked there.

I’m not certain of my responsibilities with this company. I also had a second job with the NSA. When I came into work at the company, they told me, “We can’t find any traces of you on the Internet. Your fingerprints are completely missing.” They took some time to explain that was very unusual.

I resumed working but kept thinking about what they were saying. I knew that the NSA was always covering my tracks and hiding my fingerprints. I suspected something they were doing was spreading to other activities.

I took my suspicions to the CEO and engineering time. They didn’t know I was working for the NSA but thought that what I was suggesting was possible.

It was time to party. The company was celebrating a milestone. As part of that, they were re-creating early scenes from the company. Everyone but me was involved. I hadn’t been there, so I stayed back to watch. It mostly involved people singing, dancing, and laughing.

The CEO visited with me. “Do you want some tea?”

“Sure,” I said.

We were both lying down, which is how we worked there. He turned. Behind his back was a small white tray with two tiny white cups and a small and delicate teapot and creamer.

He handed me a thimble-sized cup. I reached for the pot to fill it but discovered it already full.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Wheatberry.”

I drank it down. It scalded my throat but tasted fantastic.

“Wow,” I said. “That’s amazing. I feel like it’s a shot of energy.”

Nodding, the CEO answered, I”It is,” and walked away.

The dream ended.

0

Six Days of Fun

We finished puzzle number seven today. It was definitely my favorite. Vivid colors and well-shaped interlocking pieces (and none missing) made it challenging but fun and satisfying.

We’ll probably take two days off (that’s our norm so far) before beginning another.

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The Pre-writing Walk

A northern wind slices off some of the sun’s warmth. It’s a surprisingly clear, bright sun, the kind of sun that appears after storms dump inches and feet of snow.

But there’s no snow today. Snow is as rare as found diamonds this year. Ashland’s traffic is light. Town’s energy emanates a feel-good vibe. Restaurants are gearing up for lunch. Enticing aromas tempt and tease on every corner and most doors. I identify grilled burgers, French fries, and grilled onions among the scents. There are others that tantalize but leave without identification. We have a lot of good eateries and abundant offerings. Fortunately, their plot to capture me is avoided.

The writer, editor, and I discuss today’s writing plans, works spoken only in my head, so others don’t pin unwanted labels on me. The plans are fully developed, and I’m eager to get to them.

Still, I walk, thinking about last night’s dreams. One in particular trots alongside my thoughts. I was doing dishes, and I had a plan, but I was falling behind…is that about writing, life, or something else? It involved a POTUS but not the current guy. Others want to step in to help me, but a woman instructs them, “Let him go.” I struggle, turning in different directions, becoming thoughtless and distracted about what I was doing. It occurs to me that the sinks in my dream were full of dirty dishes and hot, soapy water. I slip a reminder into my head to look that up.

Lifted by the day, I walk longer and farther than planned, but finally make the turns necessary to reach my office away from home, the coffee shop where I write. ‘My’ space is available, and I take to it.

Time to write like crazy, at least one more.

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