Today’s prompt: Write a short story or poem about rain.
Rain Delay rain leaked into the House this week, falling faster than we could catch it Rain Dance eventually it let up and the reigning Speaker is dancing Afterparty Cleanup while the rest of us clean up the mess the Grand Old Party left behind
Thanks for reading!
Yours in Haiku,
Connie
Today’s prompt is, “Why do you write?”
Some people can think things through. Others like to talk things out.
I like thinking and talking, but if I’m to make any personal progress as a human being, I need to write. It’s my physical way of processing data, assessing facts and understanding situations. Writing is where I am most careful, most cautious and most concerned. Writing is how I understand a little bit more about myself and others.
Several years ago, I read Anne Lamott’s book Bird By Bird. Her brother had to do a bird project for his science class and procrastinated until the day before the project was due. Their dad said he’d help and they’d just go at the task “bird by bird.”
Since I read that book, I’ve gone “bird by bird” whenever I feel overwhelmed or even underwhelmed. It helps me break things down and build things up.
Similarly, when I struggle to understand a person, a personal situation, I like to write about it “word by word.”
Thanks for reading!
Nerd by nerd,
Connie
Over the Christmas holiday, I read the book How We Live Is How We Die by Pema Chodron. I read it in tandem with another book entitled Wicca Nature Magic: A Beginnier’s Guide to Working with Nature Spellcraft. And yesterday, I visited with my Baha’i friends at the local Baha’i Center. We had a potluck goodbye party for our friends before they traveled back to their home in Nevada.
There were non-Baha’i friends there, too; each spiritual in their own way. It was fun to catch up, visit and, as my friend put it, “cogitate.”
This morning, when I saw today’s prompt, “What brings you joy?” I knew I would need to cogitate.
Without cogitating, my immediate answer at 6:00 in the morning was, “My husband and our children.” But something didn’t feel right about answering a question about “joy” with “my family.” My family is so much more than “joy.”
Truth be told, I don’t understand “joy.” I don’t understand “happiness” either. I understand moments of joy and moments of happiness, but I don’t understand society’s need for perpetual joy and everlasting happiness.
So, after cogitating, here’s my answer:
Social media brings me joy. Buying something nice, be it expensive or on clearance, brings me joy. A venti non-fat cappuccino with extra foam brings me joy. Finding the cheapest gas in town brings me joy. Shopping at ALDI brings me joy.
I want less joy!
Lately, after reading the aforementioned books, I’ve been tasked with thinking of my body as a miniature version of Earth. Earth is made of water, fire, air and stone. Following the logic of the books I’ve just read, my tears, saliva, urine and blood are my planet’s water. My body heat is the fire. My breath is the air. My bones and teeth are the stones.
Visualizing myself as tiny planet — not needing anything materialistic, electronic or caffeinated — I can sort of see it. (I can live without Starbucks but I cannot live without coffee.) This way of thinking has taken me on a little spiritual journey of living with less joy. I rather like it. To be clear: It doesn’t bring me “joy.”
Hey, thanks for reading. If the photo of me impersonating Pema Chodron doesn’t work for you, here’s a 29-second video of my back yard impersonating my mind. Cheers!
Thanks for reading!
Yours in cogitation,
Connie
Today’s prompt is, “What is a treasure that’s been lost?”
Black and white televisions with limited reception.
I had a tiny TV from 1995-1999. My friend Eddie McNulty gifted it to me when I moved into my first “alone” apartment in Stevens Square of Minneapolis.
It was my first time living alone and I had big plans. I was very keen on not having a TV. I was an artist after all…
“I’m far too busy to watch it anyway!”
After one day I could barely stand the sickening silence. I was confused, jittery and sweaty. I couldn’t concentrate on reading or writing. I was only 25 but I wondered, “Am I having a heart attack?”
I called Eddie and told him I wasn’t feeling well. I confessed to him that I was having a hard time with the transition and felt like I had made a terrible mistake.
Eddie came right over. He brought me his old TV and said, “This is a loan.” I remember the eye contact. Eddie valued his antiques and I knew not to mess with that.
“Oh I promise I’ll give it back.”
He left and I tested the TV in every outlet until I found the best reception which was gloriously in my bedroom, also something I had previously sworn I’d never do. I placed it precariously on a stack of old books and no the irony is not lost on me.
The little television didn’t have very good reception but the NBC station was reliable. Many nights I would watch the late news (KARE-11) followed by a Cheers rerun and then The Tonight Show with Jay Leno.
One night I couldn’t sleep so I turned it on, gently turned the dial a little to the left and begged the TV to bring me something to watch.
“Come on, TV. You can do it. Be positive. ‘I think I can, I think I can…'”
Even though I wasn’t technically on a channel, my TV miraculously picked up an old movie!
I didn’t immediately know what it was but the dialogue seemed familiar. After a couple minutes I recognized it was the 1939 film The Women because I had stage managed the stage play with the same title by Clare Boothe Luce at Park Square Theatre in 1996.
It was pure joy to watch this film in the middle of the night. It was hilarious and glamorous and wonderfully campy. I remember eagerly watching all the way until the end of the credits, soaking up every second of the old black and white magic.
Other than that one night, my TV-watching was routine: news, Cheers, Tonight Show. I often fell asleep with the TV on and one morning in August 1997, I woke up to the shocking news that Princess Diana had died. It stunned me right out of my bed. I sat on the edge of my bed and watched the early morning breaking news. I didn’t realize it at the time, but the princess’s death kickstarted my obsession with the Royal Family, something I really don’t want to admit.
In 1999, I moved to a tiny old house in north Minneapolis. I brought the black and white TV with me, but it didn’t get any reception. I was television-less for months but finally saved enough money to purchase a color TV. I brought the black and white TV to the basement with the intention of returning it to Eddie “some day.”
“Some day” never happened. The basement became the TV’s “forever home.” I moved to a new apartment in 2003. I left the TV along with several paintings and yard tools in the basement. There just wasn’t room but I still feel terribly guilty about leaving those items behind and I’m certain Eddie will never forgive me for not returning his television.
Years later, I learned that the house was demolished. I have no idea if anyone rescued the art or TV from the basement before the house was leveled. It’s one of those things that gnaws at me, especially when I find myself watching Harry & Meghan on Netflix on our ridiculously enormous screen in our ridiculously tiny bedroom. Note to self: Get some damn discipline!
Thanks for reading,
The Woman
Today’s prompt is, “What is the earliest memory you have?”
I have many. Here’s a list:
Everyone calls me the Clod Clown and I can't blame them cuz every time I sit down, I fall down every time I stand up, I fall down and then when I walk up and down the stairs I trip and fall and break my neck
My sister went on to write another groundbreaking song entitled, “Guess What America Is Eating Tonight?” If you’re wondering what the answer is, here’s a hint: She wrote and performed this song while popping popcorn.
Guess what America is eating tonight Something light that you make at night And when you eat it your pants won't get tight
All of these memories (and so many more) have obviously heavily influenced who I am today. I’ll write more about the “art” aspect of my childhood on the Rockford Fringe page later tonight. I had to write this quickly today. Thank you for reading!
Funiculi funicula,
Connie
Today’s prompt is, “How are you brave?”
Sigh.
I’m not particularly – or even generally – brave.
No one has ever called me a warrior. I’m not fierce. I don’t slay. I’m neither a fighter nor a beast. I have yet to grab life “by the balls” and I am certain no one has ever looked at me and whispered, “hero.”
What I do have is an unflinching awareness for originality. I am drawn to people who think, write and speak for themselves. They may be brave but I, Connie, am not.
I’m more of a creative survivor. That means I deal with the stuff life throws at me in my own weird way.
In Harper Lee’s To Kill A Mockingbird, Scout says, “My father, who hated guns and had never been to any wars was the bravest man who ever lived.” I’ll admit that sounds better than, “My father, who hated guns and had never been to any wars was the most creative survivor who ever lived.”
Hmmmm. Brave versus Creative Survivor – You be the judge:
I will never have a career in marketing or branding but you can count on me to be original, just as I can count on you.
Yours in creative survival,
Connie
Today’s Bloganuary prompt is, “What do you want to achieve in 2023?” My answer: a better vocabulary.
In 1991, I stage-managed a holiday musical revue called I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas for Carolyn Vincent Productions at the Plymouth Congregational Church in Minneapolis. Like many churches (I would come to learn), it had a small stage that lent itself to Christianity and shitty theatre.
During a rehearsal, the cast, producer and director were talking about including the Cole Porter song, “Begin the Beguine.” I had never heard of the song.
“Begin the what?” I asked.
“The beguine.”
“How do you spell it?” I asked, for I was taking rehearsal notes.
“B-E-G-U-I-N-E.”
“What’s it mean?”
“You know. A beguine!” said Jennifer, an impatient actor.
Nobody provided a satisfactory definition; there just wasn’t time for that sort of thing at the Plymouth Congregational Church or apparently in the past 32 years because it dawned on me this morning that in all that time I have never looked it up.
Until this morning. It’s a rumba-like dance.
That’s beguine pronounced “buh-GEEN” with a hard g. I also learned there’s a separate definition with two different pronunciations!
"Beguine -- pronounced BAY-geen or BAY-jeen: a member of one of various ascetic and philanthropic communities of women not under vows founded chiefly in the Netherlands in the 13th century." -Merriam-Webster
Now doesn’t that sound like a rip-roaring good time?
Maybe not, but I’ll tell you what is. Listening to a recording of Sammy Davis, Jr. sing “Begin the Beguine” is pure perfection. I’m listening right now and I highly recommend adding it to your playlist. Here’s a video of the legendary crooner.
With that, I’ll sign off for the day. Happy New Year and thank you for reading my blog.
Under vows as I endeavor to achieve a better vocabulary,
Connie
P.S. Blogine is pronounced Blog-EEN, not “bluh-jeye-nuh.”
P.P.S. “Begin the Beguine” never made it into the show.
I started this 31-day blog challenge with a personal essay about my husband and it only seems right that I conclude it with a photo of him. In the interest of keepin’ it fresh, I snapped a pic of Jesse today after I picked him up at O’Hare International Airport (ORD). With no further ado, here is my new favorite photo.
Now that you know what “Goldie” looks like, I want to thank you for reading my blog. I know who some of you are because you clicked “like” or commented. But most of you are a complete mystery. Who the heck are you?
WordPress metrics tell me how many people visit every day and that’s about it. I mean, I know most of you are from the United States, but I don’t know which states or what you think of my blog.
I suppose I don’t need to know who you are or what you think, but I definitely want you to know I am grateful for your readership.
Here is a roundup of the 31-day blog challenge:
My most popular blog was Here’s the thing. It’s about gratitude.
My most commented on blog was A merry old soul. This was about an eccentric theatre director I worked for many moons ago. Several people messaged me about similar experiences with their early-career directors. It was amazing feedback.
My least popular blog was Before the Ding Could Dong. No surprise there as it is terribly long short story with penis humor. Hey, I write what I write.
My favorite blog was Which item on the McDonald’s menu are you? It’s about assumptions I made when I was 16 years old.
My least favorite prompt was for There’s no place like home row. The prompt asked what I liked most about my writing. Instant cringe! But as I answered the question, I learned that my body and my mind are two separate things and so is the part of me that likes to write. Until I started this blog challenge, I always thought of myself as “whole.”
My most emotional blog was about Alfred. Writing about my old director reduced me to an absurd amount of tears but also opened my eyes to real forgiveness of self and others. I am still somewhat awestruck by the experience of writing about him.
And the blog that was shared the most was What keeps you up at night? It’s about dog poop.
***
When I picked Jesse up from O’Hare this afternoon, the first thing he asked me was, “Did you blog today?” I told him I was going to do it this evening, which is several hours later than usual. He said he missed it and that he had been waiting for it.
Furthermore, a few nights ago, we were talking on the phone before bedtime and he said he looked forward to reading my blog every day. He said he valued it more than talking on the phone at night because “that’s when we’re both exhausted from the day.” He said my blog helps him see what’s going on in my brain when he’s far away, which is most days of the month.
I realize nobody is going to care about “my brain” the way my husband does, but his words meant something to me and just one short month of blogging has improved my life. So I’ll continue to blog, even without the WordPress prompts. Thanks again for stopping by! -Connie
A Promised Land by Barack Obama is the next book I will read. But first I need to I finish James Baldwin’s Go Tell It on the Mountain.
I started Baldwin’s slim but deep novel a month ago. It’s short; only 225 pages long. Usually, I have my books read and reviewed within a week or two, but Baldwin’s story about a closeted homosexual coming of age in 1930s Harlem is so unsettling and ironically unspiritual that I have to carve out a specific reading time for it. It’s just not the kind of book you pick up and casually read.
To read Baldwin, the house must be still. Gospel music needs to be playing softly in the background and natural light should be streaming in through the windows and glass door. At least one cat will be asleep and gently snoring. I will occasionally look up and notice dust dancing in the sunbeams. I will feel organic and peaceful and that is when I shall give this book the attention it deserves.
I’m not normally this high maintenance* but some books demand a certain reading ambience.
Obama’s book, on the other hand, will be a zippy read even though it weighs three pounds and is more than 700 pages long. In spite of its enormity, it will be fun to read, as long as I can convince my cat to stop sitting on it. Confession: I already snuck in reading Obama’s foreword and first ten pages and it really moves.
So why is Baldwin’s shorter book a more challenging read for me?
Because Obama writes for Americans whereas Baldwin wrote for a literary crowd. That’s my quick opinion.
Both books are excellent for different reasons and I look forward to them. But before I finish Go Tell It on the Mountain and delve into A Promised Land, I need to finish this blog challenge. Only two more to #bloganuary prompts to go!
Just as I peeked ahead into Obama’s book, I peeked at tomorrow’s prompt and it looks like I’ll have to write something “mysterious.” Until then, thank you for stopping by! -Connie
*I am always high maintenance.
I’m a very public person. I like public libraries, public transportation, public radio, public parks, public events, public art and the public domain.
I comfortable with public displays of affection and I’m fascinated by public opinion, public enemies and people who run for public office.
I am grateful for public restrooms.
My passion for John Q. Public is personal. We unschooled our kids from 2005-2020 and I credit the public for providing them with a great education.
Unschooling is a touch more radical than homeschooling. It means you don’t follow a set curriculum. With a fervor, you follow the interests of your family.
For us, unschooling meant getting on our feet and discovering the public to the best of our abilities. It was a borderless education and we are proud of what we learned, who we met and what we did. We were invited into many homes, cultures and communities and provided with numerous volunteer activities. Jesse and I are forever grateful and the kids know it was special.
But nowadays they attend Rockford Public Schools and even when it’s stressful, they prefer RPS 205 to unschooling. Yes, they appreciate their unschooling experiences, but they’ve moved on. They value the structure and their independence, and enjoy looking ahead.
I have moved on, too, but am still passionate about my “cause” which is the public.
On a smaller level, once a week (at least) I make it a point to take advantage of something “public.” I take a walk, I make a trip to the library, I listen to public radio, I check out public art or whatever. I just intentionally do something public. I believe every time I am out there in the world, even if I’m just picking up litter, I am adding a touch of goodness to the public.
On a slightly bigger level, a few times a year, I organize art or writing-based public events. Writing pop-ups, art parades, 5Ks, silent hikes and poetry caroling are examples of my free public events. I love them and am looking forward to figuring out what my “spring” event will be. I hope you come!
But if you can’t come, I hope you continue to read my (public) blog. I am so thankful that you still pop by for a quick visit. -Connie
Constance Kuntz 