Tag: dailyprompt

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Bang, Bang You’re It

Daily writing prompt
What was the best compliment you’ve received?
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I can’t say this was necessarily the best, but it’s the one that’s stayed with me for more than fifty years. In junior high (now known as middle school) I wore my hair like everyone else did in those days–straight, long and parted down the middle. Looking back, it was hardly the most flattering fashion, on me and most others. But that was the style.

One Christmas vacation, for reasons I can’t remember, I decided I wanted bangs. I was pleased with the result and looked forward to showing off my new hair style when I got back to school. Unfortunately, most of my friends either didn’t like it or didn’t care and said nothing. But one boy did.

“I like your bangs,” he told me. “It makes your face look less round.”

I never was quite sure that my bangs really did make my face look less round, but a boy had noticed my hair. Not a boy I was particularly interested in, but one whom I wouldn’t have expected a compliment from.

I’m not naming him, even with a pseudonym. It took me years to realize he was interested in more than my hair. He liked me. I was shy and decidely not popular, he was outgoing and quite a hit with everyone. Unfortunately, by the time I recognized his interest, I was in my 30s and hadn’t seen him in more than fifteen years.

But back to my hair. From that time in seventh grade until now I’ve always worn bangs. Not so much because a boy said he liked it, but because he was right. Bangs do look better on me.

So from me to this unnamed boy (now both senior citizens, good grief): thank you. And I’m sorry I didn’t see you for who you really were.

Image Credit: Header © Felippe Lopes–stock.adobe.com

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Owl or Pussycat?

Daily writing prompt
Which animal would you compare yourself to and why?
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Well, now, that’s a tough one. I’d like to be a wise old owl (well, maybe not old, although I’m getting there), but that’s a myth and I’m really nothing like an owl. If owls truly were bookish, that would be me. Again, a myth.

The simple fact of the matter is, I’m more like my cats than I care to admit. I have my spurts of activity followed by long rest periods. I like my routine, except for getting up at dark o’clock in the morning.

Now, unlike my cats, I don’t care for seafood. Nothing that lived underwater, nuh-uh. And I do like a little more variety in my meals than they seem to need. But I really don’t need a whole lot of mixing it up in the kitchen, literally or figuratively. I’m content with only some variety. Or let me put it this way, I like the option of variety.

But the kitties and I have another thing in common. They check out the household on a daily basis, and so do I. They’re looking to mark territory, I’m looking to plot my next cleaning move. But you’ll see all three of us wander from room to room.

And I do like yarn. I’m constantly having to keep my cats away from my current knitting project.

I hope I’m as sweet and gentle as my kitties, but I doubt it. I think I have a little sharper edge. Okay, that might make me a little like Mimi. I guess female cats are somewhat feistier.

So, hmmm, if, like some say, my cats think I’m just one giant feline, maybe they’re right.

Image Credits: Owl at computer © Taras Vykhopen–stock.adobe.com; Cat and yarn © kenza–stock.adobe.com

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Outgoing Mail

Daily writing prompt
Have you ever unintentionally broken the law?
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That’s a good one. And I’m not going to confess to anything here. But did you know it’s a felony to throw away mail sent to your address but belonging to another person? Yep, a felony, even if it’s junk mail. The proper way to handle this is to write, “not at this address” on the envelope and put it in your outgoing mail.

The problem I face is there is no way to send outgoing mail at my apartment complex. They took away our mailbox and there’s been nothing to replace it. You may not believe this, but I’ve actually driven a mile to the post office near my workplace to return mail that isn’t mine. Given the return address on those envelopes, they looked important.

Nope, no outgoing mail for me.

Fortunately most of the junk mail I receive is addressed “Occupant” and that’s me, so I don’t worry about it. And I confess, I’d feel pretty silly taking a credit card offer for another person to the post office. I wish they’d get us a box for outgoing mail, but so far, they’ve refused to do so.

Have I unintentionally broken the law? Perhaps I did before I knew about this law, but I don’t remember for certain.

Image Credits: Pop Art Mailbox © sapunkele–stock.adobe.com; Outgoing Mail © Kathy images–stock.adobe.com

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All I Want For Christmas…

Daily writing prompt
What is the greatest gift someone could give you?
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This is a tough question for me to answer. My mom bemoans the fact that she can no longer afford to buy me gifts, but that doesn’t bother me. I get very few gifts any more, and that’s fine, because I’m trying to downsize and gifts would just clutter up my already messy space.

A co-worker gave me a wonderful gift right before Christmas–a plateful of fudge and peanut brittle exactly the way my mom used to make it. I get nostalgic this time of year for the candy and baked goods that were so much a part of my family’s Christmas tradition. I don’t have the recipes–not that I could make peanut brittle anyway–and my mom is in assisted living, so she no longer makes any of those goods.

But the greatest gifts I’m getting these days are words of wisdom. So much of that comes from my blogging buddies, and I thank you for those thoughts. You may not be aware of the good that comes from sharing your life experience, but it’s there.

Then there are the gifts God gives us, sometimes in small measure, sometimes larger. This morning in church I was overwhelmed with the idea that I was created in the image of God, that God created me to be who I am. More than that, I felt a conviction that my parents were chosen for me, faults and all. I struggle with so much pain from my childhood and even my relationship with my parents as an adult, but perhaps that was all part of God’s plan for me. That’s pretty basic stuff for a lot of people of faith, and it’s not a new thought for me, but there was a wave of conviction I haven’t felt before.

I attend an Episcopal church, and I’m fortunate to have a priest who emphasizes God’s profound love for us despite our failings. We can fall again and again and God simply doesn’t go away. I find myself failing, but I know there is hope for the future.

I guess that’s the greatest gift anyone can give me, unwavering love despite my worst behavior.

Image Credits: Peace on Earth © cartoon-IT–stock.adobe.com; Fudge © olyina–stock.adobe.com; Family © GarkushaArt–stock.adobe.com

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New School, New Friends

Daily writing prompt
Tell us about your first day at something — school, work, as a parent, etc.
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I was shaking on my first day of sixth grade. We’d recently moved from a larger city to a small, unincorporated area in the mountains, with a school that spanned kindergarten to eighth grade. I knew no one at the new school.

Unlike most of the junior highs at that time, sixth-eighth grade were together. Not in the classroom, there were enough of us to have separate classroom for each grade, but we shared everything from lunch times to teachers, rotating classrooms for each subject. Common enough now, but certainly not then. I was particularly frightened of the eighth-graders. What if they beat me up?

I didn’t know what to wear to fit in. Until recently, girls had been required to wear dresses to school. Now we could wear jeans, much more suitable for the mountain area. To be honest, I don’t remember what I wore, I just remember agonizing over it. I’m not even sure I had jeans at that point. My mom had made all my clothes, including my pants. I’m quite sure I didn’t wear homemade pants on my first day of school.

My mom didn’t make me take the bus that first day, something for which I was very grateful. She drove me to school and together we found the playground, where kids hung out before school started. After she left, I pressed up against the brick building and hung my head.

Much to my shock, two girls approached me. “Are you new?” one of them asked in a welcoming manner. I nodded my head yes. “What grade are you in?” When I told them sixth grade, they gleefully said, “We are, too!” Since there was only one sixth grade class that year, we would be together. They proceeded to show me around the playground, giving me vital information such as where the bathrooms were.

Those two girls, Sue and Lisa, would remain my friends through high school. After that we drifted apart, and I’ve kept up with very few of my high school friends, so I don’t know where they ended up or how their lives are today. I hope things are good for them. Sue’s mom died in a plane crash shortly before seventh grade, and her dad remarried not long after. I suspect now that things were difficult for her through all those years, but I didn’t know enough to lend my support. I feel bad about that now.

Sixth, seventh, eighth grade. High school. Tough ages for all of us. But I had friends, and that made all the difference.

Image Credits: School Children (header)–© stock.adobe.com, Jeans © GOOKKIK–stock.adobe.com, Happy Kids Jumping © Bigstock Photos