welcome readers & writers! thank you to krowles1981 and cjohnson for yesterday's posts. cjohnson, you win the prize for the shortest story ever told on write away every day ;)
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i hereby present today's photo prompt, along with my creative non-fiction spin (excuse the pun!) on it:
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My second baby was a great sleeper, the best of all three of our kids. But the circumstances had to be perfect. None of this drifting off in the car seat, the shopping cart or the restaurant's high chair like some angelic children. But give that baby a darkened room and some white noise and his little eyes would be drooping before the first sweet strains of his favorite lullaby escaped our lips. To this day he sleeps best with a fan going in his room. I guess it drowns out the sound of life going on around him - the TV, his older brother's piano playing, his dad and I chatting, the garbage disposal and dishwasher. In this case, white noise is good.
My second baby was a great sleeper, the best of all three of our kids. But the circumstances had to be perfect. None of this drifting off in the car seat, the shopping cart or the restaurant's high chair like some angelic children. But give that baby a darkened room and some white noise and his little eyes would be drooping before the first sweet strains of his favorite lullaby escaped our lips. To this day he sleeps best with a fan going in his room. I guess it drowns out the sound of life going on around him - the TV, his older brother's piano playing, his dad and I chatting, the garbage disposal and dishwasher. In this case, white noise is good.
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It works for adults as well. Our New York city friends have a white noise machine in their apartment to mask the noise of the city - sirens, horns, blaring car stereos, heavy-footed upstairs neighbors.
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But what about another type of white noise -- those intentionally sought out distractions that mask reality, blocking out what's real? Those things that become an excuse for missing our own lives? When I was growing up, TV was a pretty constant white noise machine in our house. Sometimes that's still true for me. But these days my white noise is often the soft glow of this computer and the snazzy little apple clicks that run a hundred laps a day around the same loop: email, facebook, twitter, this blog, news pages, other blogs. What, I wonder, is the noise masking? What reality am I missing? Good things? Difficult things? Maybe it's time to scale back a bit and really listen to my life, to what's real inside and all around me.
It works for adults as well. Our New York city friends have a white noise machine in their apartment to mask the noise of the city - sirens, horns, blaring car stereos, heavy-footed upstairs neighbors.
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But what about another type of white noise -- those intentionally sought out distractions that mask reality, blocking out what's real? Those things that become an excuse for missing our own lives? When I was growing up, TV was a pretty constant white noise machine in our house. Sometimes that's still true for me. But these days my white noise is often the soft glow of this computer and the snazzy little apple clicks that run a hundred laps a day around the same loop: email, facebook, twitter, this blog, news pages, other blogs. What, I wonder, is the noise masking? What reality am I missing? Good things? Difficult things? Maybe it's time to scale back a bit and really listen to my life, to what's real inside and all around me.
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come write with me! i love to read your work. click on comments below to send it in.
It was the tiny dents in the blade edge combined with later identified microabrasions that did it. I caught the killer. His fan was running when we searched the place. He laughed in my face and taunted me. We checked the fan and it was clean. We searched and wrecked the place. Nothing. No axe, no butcher knife, no obvious murder weapon. But I could tell looking at him, at his glee and confident behavior. He looked at us and knew we were not good enough to catch him. The place smelled of bleach. We tried the vaccum cleaner. Yah know, clean up... maybe particles or hair in the works. Even the damn vaccum cleaner had been scrubbed shiny in and out. Like he has soaked in in a tub, hoses and all. It didn't work... but it had nothing. But that fan was so shiny. And at the end of the day I went over it again... and looked close. And closer. And there were dents or bumps in the blade edges. With that grill around it how could something bit those blades. But if you took off the grill...
ReplyDeleteForensics is beautiful and ugly. The scarring was not much to look at, but definitely organic. And in the few grooves... our evidence. Who knew? He didn't. And he sure wasn't happy. I slept unmoving for sixteen hours. And then my life moved on. To another case.
Sit Quiet and Part the Mist
ReplyDeleteWhat’s real inside and all around me can’t be seen. It can’t be felt with the touch or heard with the ear but it can be noticed. Daily distractions keep it at bay but noises such as the television or radio are massive deflectors. Years ago I drew a pen and ink drawing of a sign. The sign was made of a thick plank of wood and it was attached to a twisted wrought iron hanger and it read, “Dark Dungeon Inn.” I liked it so much that I framed it. At the time I thought my drawing was going down a road that it shouldn’t and I began to question it and I came to the conclusion that I should draw happier things so I took that drawing of the sign and I sat on my bed. I told God that I wanted to put a different drawing into that frame and I asked for a suggestion. I closed my eyes and blanked my mind by thinking of darkness and I waited in my quiet room. Pretty soon the darkness began to get brighter and it turned into a gray mist. I could see that it hung right on top of an ocean with waves that reached up to meet the steady wind. Suddenly the mist parted and a great sailing ship came into view. Its sails were full from the wind and it came at me on a slight angle to my right. It dipped down once and then rode up onto a wave and stopped right in front of me as though a photographer snapped a shot and time ceased to move forward. I never drew that sailing ship for my frame but I did get a suggestion of something happier to put there because I sat quietly and was able to hear the whisper that is always around us.
Demery: William is one of those who sleep best with a fan on. Curiously, this didn't start until he was in High School. Perhaps it put the day to rest. My thoughts about the Internet are not yet formed. There IS something about incarnational relationships that is unique to us as human beings. So how do teens spend their time compared to us Gen-xer's? Watching TV--about the same, sports or exercise--about the same. Working around the house--much lower today. Reading books and magazines--much lower. Creative writing--marginally higher. Community service--significantly more. So, it would seem that teens are substituting the Internet for reading books and working around the house. This is conjecture, but I wonder whether the decline in reading books and work around the house is in part the result of having parents who are not as present. Might an antidote to too much Internet be a tradition begun early of going to museums, concerts, days out with their caregivers? Or seeing caregivers read?
ReplyDelete