Today’s Prompt: Think about an event you’ve attended and loved. Your hometown’s annual fair. That life-changing music festival. A conference that shifted your worldview. Imagine you’re told it will be cancelled forever or taken over by an evil corporate force.
Many years have gone by since I attended, but many still do. Bill Gothard’s Basic Youth Conflict Seminars. Why do I remember? I couldn’t afford to attend, but a friend of a friend paid my way. I needed to be there and would like to return, even if I’m almost sixty. These can’t stop!
The seminar message explains the seven commands of Christ: God’s design for our lives, living under God’s authority and those in authority over us, our responsibilities, forgiving others, giving our personal rights to him, allowing the Holy Spirit to lead and guide us, and keeping his commandments. These are important for all of the youth of today to learn. Don’t stop these! Think of all who can learn. If you don’t want to be there, at least allow others to be there. It changed my life, it could change theirs.
Pick up the nearest book and flip to page 29. What’s the first word that jumps off the page? Use this word as your springboard for inspiration. If you need a boost, Google the word and see what images appear, and then go from there.
Haven’t you heard yet? Today’s word is respectable. Do you even know what it means? Can you be like that? Of course you’re wondering just what that really means you need to do to be respectable. You really need to be good. Of course, if we go with Webster’s definition, we should be “correct” in our character, behavior and appearance. How? Start by teaching your kids to keep their pants pulled up to their waists, and do so yourself. Keep yourself and your children disciplined and of good character(no rioting). Being of good character, to me, means being friendly and trustworthy. Can you do that? If we can be trustworthy, then more people will accept us. Everyone wants to be accepted.
How did I come up with this word today? I’ve been reading The Hobbit, by J. R. R. Tolkien. I chose the word from page 29. The author is describing the lands that Bilbo and the dwarves are traveling through. He describes the land as being respectable because it has decent folk living there. Can all of us be “decent?” If so, our own land can be respectable. Wouldn’t you enjoy people liking you and those around you? Be decent and more people will consider you more respectable.
Today’s Prompt: write about finding something.
Tell us about the time you retrieved your favorite t-shirt from your ex. Or when you accidentally stumbled upon your fifth-grade journal in your parents’ attic. Or how about the moment you found out the truth about a person whose history or real nature you thought you’d figured out. Interpret this theme of “finding something” however you see fit.
I haven’t painted with my oil paints since we moved in 2011. Why? My hubby is afraid that I’m going to spill the turpenoid(paint thinner) everywhere. The way my hands are right now, he’s probably right. So, how can I do it neatly? I found a way this week! It will work.
To paint with oils, I can use disposable utensils. Sure, that means purchasing more items, but inexpensive ones. I won’t need the paint thinner. I can use q-tips, plastic silver ware, straws, and even paper. These can be just thrown away after use. Easy clean-up! I mostly paint abstracts anyway, so it doesn’t matter what I paint with.
Write a post inspired by a real-world conversation.
I’m sorry, I can’t go anywhere and haven’t been able to hear any conversations. I am going to have to skip this one because there is nothing to write about.
Where did you live when you were 12 years old? Which town, city, and country? Was it a house or an apartment? A boarding school or foster home? An airstream or an RV? Who lived there with you?
When I was twelve. That was 1967 and Dad had recently retired from the air force. We were living in Temple, Texas. We? That was Mom, Dad, myself and two sisters.My older brother lived in Temple also.
After my birthday that year, we all moved into a brand new brick home in a new neighborhood. It was a nice house. It had a big front yard and backyard, lots of room to play. It wasn’t the back yard we all congregated to though. Everyone seemed to prefer the big front porch, because that was where the outdoor chairs were. There were only three bedrooms. I shared with my younger sister and the older one had her own room. It had been that way before Dad retired and remained that way. We all attended new schools and met new people.
It was a retirement town. Dad wanted us there because that was where his folks were. I don’t blame him, though I never really liked Temple. A rail town, not dirty, and quiet. Not much happened there and not much to do. There was a library. That was one of my favorite places to go, although when I was twelve I rarely went alone.
Mom secured work as a beauty operator. Dad got work first as a delivery man and then as a postal clerk. That was good work. We always had food on the table and the house payment made.
That year, Mom met new people also. A woman referred her to an eye specialist who was properly able to diagnose my eye problem. I had a congenital condition that manifested itself mainly in old folks. Cataracts. The main thing that bothered me that year was all the prodding done on my face, or rather eyes. I began to hate drops really horridly.
Tell us something about your favorite childhood meal — the one that was always a treat, that meant “celebration,” or that comforted you and has deep roots in your memory.
What was my favorite childhood meal? Liver and onions. When Mom cooked it, she cooked it well. The onions perfect and the gravy just the right consistency and color. For me it was a treat, because Mom had me on an almost constant diet. I didn’t need the gravy, but she knew I loved it. For me, that was a celebration. After I left home, I never forgot the liver. I learned to make it, though not as perfect as Mom’s but close. Too bad I married a guy who hates liver. That just means more for me! I suppose it’s part of why I’m overweight.
A man and a woman walk through the park together, holding hands. They pass an old woman sitting on a bench. The old woman is knitting a small, red sweater. The man begins to cry. Write this scene.
Man’s point of view: The sweater caught my eye. Mama used to knit a lot. I remember the one she knitted for…no, I can’t think of that right now! It hurts to. Well, it was five years ago. I remember like it was yesterday. My first wife and I were strolling down the street with our newborn son when a drunk came around the corner jumped the curb and ran us all down with both my wife and son being killed. While we were preparing for their funeral, Momma knitted a sweater just like this one for my boy. We buried him in it with his mama. I cried for over a week, but never forgot that sweet gesture of hers. I cry every time I see red yarn.
Woman’s point of view: Why is he crying? he’s going to embarrass himself. Doesn’t he know that it’s a sign of weakness in a man to cry in public? At least, that is what I’ve been taught. He needs to stop. I guess I need to have a good talk with him when we’re home.
Old woman’s point of view: Such a nice looking couple coming this way. They’re stopping. Now why the tears in his eyes? Do I remind him of his grandmother? Did she knit also? Little does he know about the young lad who is to receive this sweater. And the young woman. Why does she look scornful at him? I must finish soon. I have no time for questions. The funeral is tomorrow.