Do you spend more time thinking about the future or the past? Why?
What’s wrong with staying in the moment, in today? It’s the only day in which I can do anything. If I’m thinking about yesterday or tomorrow, what am I getting done today?
There are a few sayings about this topic. One is: “Don’t look back you’re not going that way.” Another is: “The future is a gift, today is the present.”
Many mental health professionals will tell you to think too much of the past may lead to/can be a sign of depression, and to think into the future may lead to/can be a sign of anxiety.
As a writer, I put myself into a zone which has no knowledge of time. The zone sometimes includes the past, as some of the best material for poetry is mined from the past. I’m not interested in writing about the future, unless I’m working on a fictional piece that involves fictional characters. In my every day life my feet are firmly in the day that I was given.
As soon as I saw this prompt, I thought of Van Halen. I started singing the lyrics, in fact. Below is the verse that my mind went to from the song entitled, “Right Now.”
Hey It’s your tomorrow (Right now), C’mon, it’s everything (Right now), Catch a magic moment, do it Right here and now It means everything
Do you play in your daily life? What says “playtime” to you?
This prompt question has recently been asked, and you can read my piece on that here.
There was a similar prompt question, which asked how you remain a kid at heart. Read my piece on that here.
I guess it’s pretty obvious from the previous prompts I’ve answered, the fact that Hello Kitty is found throughout my house, and that there was a red nose on my car for Rudolph season, that I am thoroughly invested in play every day.
The key to staying young in mind and heart (and hopefully somewhat in body), is to find the moments of play. And if you can’t find them, create them. Opportunities are all around if you just look.
Below you’ll see photographic evidence of play in every day situations.
What does play look like in your life? Do you make time to play? Do you make the effort to look around you and see the opportunities? Let me know in the comments. Thanks for stopping by!
If you have a white coated tongue, you may have just eaten an Oreo cookieWatering cans threatening to douseRhinosicorn enjoying lazy winter dayCandle with googly eyes, sweater and capGeorge is ready for summer It’s hers
If I started a sports team, it would be racing pigeons, and their mascot would be Bert Pinkfoot.
Bert Pinkfoot was a racing pigeon who absconded a race and somehow ended up in my backyard. I knew he was a racing pigeon because he had green bands on both ankles. He was also rather tame. He arrived several Septembers ago, and I knew he wasn’t from around here, because we don’t have many pigeons where I live. That and the bands, as I mentioned. There are plenty of mourning doves, but no pigeons.
I immediately called the local bird sanctuary, and asked about this racing pigeon in my backyard, who had attracted a local flock of doves. As a matter of fact, all the female doves were quite impressed with Bert and tried to get his attention. Bert was a working man, he was a racing bird, and he was not interested in any female attention (this is when some doves cried).
The woman at the bird sanctuary told me that Bert likely left a race. My understanding is these birds race from point A to point B and back to point A, as pigeons are trained to do. She told me it was likely if I tried to return the bird to its owner, the owner would likely kill the bird because he absconded the race and lost the owner money. She also said that there had been a race about 300 miles north, and that he probably was from that race.
I wasn’t sure what to do with Bert. I had already been feeding and giving water to the “normal” birds, so he had a bit of an all-you- can eat buffet and sanctuary in my backyard. The woman also told me that he’d be likely to be eaten by hawks because he was raised to be a racing pigeon, and had no true exposure to the outside, natural world. At least not while he was trying to sleep.
Bert hung around for several weeks, though he never joined in with the doves. He tolerated his distant cousins, and maybe he found solace with them. We’ll never know why he left the race – whether he was seeking freedom or he got lost – but after about two weeks, Bert was no longer in my backyard. I didn’t see him again. I like to think he found his freedom and flew to a nearby city to be with his brethren city pigeons. I don’t think of the alternative.
My mother told me that when I was little I would stare at people to size them up without saying a word. But she didn’t need to tell me that I did it, I remember doing it. I did it even before I could talk. I can imagine a baby silently observing an adult would be a little unnerving for the adult. As I got older and continued to do it, people would say that I was a brat or spoiled or whatever other hurtful phrases they sputtered because they were afraid. These were people that had something to hide. I’m not quite as obvious about it anymore. I do it with every person I meet, it’s not an ability that I can control. I sense the essence of a person, whether good or otherwise, without them ever saying a word. I was born this way. There are other attributes of claircognizance. Check out this page for more information about the phenomenon. Do any of you have the ability? Or any other ability that seems unique to you? I’d love to read your comments!
When I am creating another world through writing, showing a glimpse of a world through photography, sometimes combining the two. Making basil pesto pasta sauce from scratch. Baking brownies. Spending time with animals. Wrapping Christmas presents.
Creating something or some things that will be perceived by or given to others for their hopeful enjoyment is usually when I am most happy.
Watching tennis makes me happy. I’m not creating anything but noise for anyone else, but I enjoy watching tennis, especially from the stands.
I am also most happy in the summer. When I can walk through the soft, cool grass, with bare feet and feel like the warm air is an enveloping calming blanket, I am content – the combination of happiness and stillness.
Describe a *person* who has positively impacted your life.
She was both mother and father. Even when my father was alive, my mother was my father. Everything good that I’ve learned, I’ve learned from her. It was not a perfect relationship, but she was my best friend, and positively affected my life. My father, for his part, gave me these hands and these eyes, and this technical brain. Don’t get me wrong, he was impactful. Sort of like an asteroid hitting earth. Someone wise once said, “Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this, too, was a gift.” Mary Oliver.
Thanks for the darkness, dad.
Thanks for the light, Mom.
Mother and Child – an extract from The Three Ages of Woman by Gustav Klimt
Join me for Part One of a new series entitled, “Not My Cat™️.”
I first noticed Star in 2016, after new neighbors moved in. Star moved in with her two dog brothers and her human family. I walked past “her” house on many occasions. Shortly after Star and her family moved in, I noticed her sitting on the front stoop. Because I am unable to walk past a cat without calling out to it and trying to get it to come to me, I slowed down my pace in front of Star’s house. Star glanced over. She was intrigued, perhaps sensing I speak Cat, and made her way over to me. She sniffed then rubbed my hand. This was the beginning of our friendship. Much to my surprise, it was also the beginning of Star walking with me on my walks. I had never known a cat to walk with a person before, nor have I met another.
Star doing her thing
And so it went. I would round the corner and Star would strut at her own pace down the driveway to meet me, and we would commence our walk. The whole time, I whispered to her that she should go back home. It wasn’t safe. There were dogs and cars. She did often stop eventually and returned home on her own.
As spring turned to summer, I saw Star’s human father, and told him that I loved his cat. He told me that she runs the house. She was a feral stray at one point and she does what she wants. Her two dog brothers were much larger than she, but I witnessed Star corral the two dogs after they had escaped the fenced backyard. She went out to the driveway where they were, hissed and swatted at each of them until she could get them back to the fence. Star was very tiny, but very, very mighty. She reminded me of my own cat, Kitty. Kitty has been long since gone but Star had her personality. And star was aptly named.
Girl, bye or follow me – your choice
One sweltering summer day, I looked out my window and saw members of Star’s human family walking their two dogs. Then I saw Star trailing behind, her humans oblivious to her struggle to keep up. It was so very hot and I knew she was an elderly cat. I scrambled out of my house to get Star. I scooped her up, but she didn’t want to be scooped up. So, I tried to bring her some water. But she didn’t want any water. She kept walking, so I walked her home. We went very slowly as you can imagine an elderly cat in humid, hot weather would move. I felt awful that I could not pick her up, but she was not willing to be held. We reached her home and I knocked on the closed door. I had trouble holding back my anger and concern. I said, rather rudely, “I found your cat. She’s old and she’s hot and probably needs to come in and drink water immediately.” I was met with a couple of blank stairs from a couple of teenagers. I hope that they let Star in that day, even if she didn’t want to come in, and that she had all the water she could drink.
I didn’t see Star after that day. I walked daily, and as each day passed and I still didn’t see her, I knew that Star was among the stars. A star. I have a picture of Star hanging in my kitchen along with many photos of cats that I’ve met or have been owned by in my life. She fits right in. And yet, she doesn’t. She shines bright. ✨
Star was a Shepherd – a rare cat breed The photo I display on my kitchen wall
“It's Amy,” I said. 