Going Up

18.  Looking down
I sort of wish this prompt were coming this weekend, as it is the WalkerStalker Convention and Hugh Laurie concert weekend, and there might be some nice pictures I could take from "up high," or some cool stories I could relate.

As it is. . .

Looking down from where I am right now, I see Finn curled up next to me on the couch, and, ummmm. . .

Am I allowed to look "across" and "over"?

Another Sense

17.  Touch

Floral?

16.  Floral

Hm.  This is a bit of a stumper.  One of those prompts that is much more easily tackled with a picture than with words.

"Floral" makes me think, first, of funerals.  Then of upholstery fabric.  Then of everyday fabric.  

My wardrobe has always leaned toward solid colors.  Easier to mix and match.  But I do love me some gingham and small polka dots. But I am drawn, moth-like to calico florals.  You know:

When and why I decided to go all Laura Ingalls Wilder, I cannot say.  But get me in a fabric store, and this is where you'll find me.  

That counts as "floral," doesn't it?

My ever-frugal/practical mother didn't like being sent flowers, as they are "too expensive," and they were "just going to die in a few days anyway."  Me?  Send me flowers all day.  (Late husband was not very good at this.)  And plants.  A whole bunch of things around us are going to "die anyway," but we can still enjoy them, can't we?

Yes

15.  Books
Books have been everywhere all my life. There was a floor-to-ceiling bookcase in one room of the house where I grew up, and in my parents' final home there was a library.  Mama was forever buying books.  I belonged to a through-the-mail book club when I was in elementary school.  When my children were little, I told them I wouldn't always buy them a toy, but I would always buy them a book.

They have always liked reading, except all those times in school when there were reading lists.  Neither of them appreciated being told what to read.  Granted, each of them found some favorite books during those periods, but, overall,  it was not their favorite academic exercise.

This is a tree I painted on one of the hall walls --- as each of us finished a book, we put its title and our initials on a construction paper leaf and put the leaf on the tree.  (Except around the nesting birds, which Hannah added.)  The tree's lain dormant for a while now, but I can't bring myself to take it down.


The tree's wall follows the steps upstairs;  you can see I've run out of conventional bookshelf space:


There is an old entertainment center in the dining room full of books, and the top half of my armoire is full of books.  They are both a little too, shall we say, untidy for photographs, but here is the chest that sits at the foot of my bed.  Yep.  Full of books.

I don't/can't read a book twice.  With two exceptions.  I read Charlotte's Web to both Briton and Hannah, and I had read it a couple of times before.  To Kill A Mockingbird never gets old.

Even my favorite book, Blindness by Jose Saramago, I dare not pick up again.  Besides, it made such an impression on me that I don't need to re-read it to remember it vividly.

The book I just finished, Brain on Fire, was a speed read.  It was so riveting, I got through it in barely over a day.  Before that, I read The Astronaut's Wives Club, which was very interesting.  Right now, I'm reading Mr. Penumbra's 24-hour Bookstore, and am thoroughly enjoying it.  There's scarcely anything worse than a bad book, is there?

Are you reading anything interesting?

Still

14.  Stillness
One of the most insidious aspects of depression is how it robs you of movement.  You are so drained of energy, so devoid of caring, that sitting becomes your norm.  Sitting or lying down.  And you don't do anything, because you don't care about anything.  You just sit still.

The best indicator of how deep my depression is is how much time I want to spend in bed.  Not the usual "I love naps" time in bed.  No, this is I can't think of anything to do but go to bed.  The only thing that comes into my mind to do is go to bed.  If all I want to do is be in the bed, I am in a very bad way.

Knitting, however, is being still and getting something accomplished.  It's one of  the best things about knitting to me --- that you can sit still and have something to show from your motionlessness.  And when your body is still, and the clicking of the needles and the movement of the yarn are in that glorious rhythm, you aren't only still, you're peaceful.  You're meditative.  Never say to a knitter that knitting isn't therapeutic.

Depression --- at least mine --- makes my mind race when I'm trying to rest.  I can't fall asleep without copious amounts of drugs, because racing through my head are all the things I didn't do that day, all the things I didn't do that week, all the things I haven't done since I've been out of a job.  Trying to keep up with those sprinters are all the pronouncements of what a failure I am, how hopeless my life is, how deeply and permanently I'm damaging my children.  Depression makes you look still, but your heart and mind are speeding along lonely, treacherous, unrealistic roads.

I long ago realized that if I could have any single non-material thing in my life, it would be peace of mind.  Peace of mind and stillness go hand-in-hand to me.  And they are both powerful and powerfully healing.

Where the Heart Is

13.  Home
I have lived in Athens longer than I've lived anywhere else in my life.   Yet, when I hear or think of the word "home," it means Nashville.  I even go out of my way not to refer to Athens as "home," no matter what the context.  If returning from out of town, it's always "I'm going back to the house."  If someone here asks me if I'm a "local," I always say, "I live in Athens, but I'm from Nashville."  I did the same thing when I lived in Tuscaloosa.  "Home" = Nashville.  Where I'm living = "house."

I don't know if everyone feels this way about their birthplace.  I know Briton and Hannah aren't all that excited to claim Athens.  But I adore Nashville.  I love Tennessee.  I haven't been back since I finished up all the business with Mama's estate, which makes me so very sad.  But since she and Daddy aren't there anymore, there hasn't been the same pull.  In all truth, I think it would take a great deal of emotional energy to get back up there, and I simply haven't had any of that since. . .  well, well before I finished up all the business with Mama's estate.

The house that my parents lived in was not the house I grew up in.  I never felt the connection to it that, say, Briton and Hannah did, as that was the only place they ever knew for Granddad and Grandma.  This is where I grew up (although markedly different from back then.  The two windows on the right are my room.):

This is the house Mama and Daddy moved to:

Lots of trees, front yard and back.

Either way, either place, Nashville is HOME.

At A Distance

12.  Far Away
The ocean is too far away.  Nashville is too far away.  Hannah is too far away.  My best friends are too far away.  Happiness and peace of mind are impossibly far away.

Maybe I need a new pair of binoculars.

The Play's the Thing

11.  Play

Okay, this is a word that has lots of uses in my life.

"Plays" which count Briton as one of their cast members.  "Plays" (in high school) which counted Briton AND Hannah among their casts.

"Play" a musical instrument.  In elementary school, I played clarinet.  Hannah played it in her middle school orchestra.  But I have always wanted to play drums.  Always.  Driving around a few weeks ago, I was suddenly and inexplicably seized with the idea that I should learn to play drums.  Or cello.  Where the cello came in, I have absolutely no idea.  Turns out drum kits are very expensive, and I really don't have any place to set one up.  So, cello it became.  I had my 4th lesson this week.  Not really far enough along to grade my proficiency.

Hannah named her "Adelaide."

"Play" as in games.  The three of us, plus most of Hannah and Briton's friends, really love games like Bezzerwizzer, Loaded Questions, UNO Scrabble, Apples to Apples, etc.  A couple of us (who shall go unnamed) can get, uhmmm, pretty competitive.

"Play" music --- If we're going somewhere, Hannah can't even get to the end of the driveway without plugging in her iPod.  Briton might wait a couple of blocks.  Which means the only time I listen to music is when I'm driving alone, or take a notion to turn some on when I'm just sitting around the house.  On shuffle, these are the first ten titles on my iPod:
1.  "Did I Shave My Legs for This?" by Deana Carter
2.  "Sweet Baby James" by James Taylor
3.  "My Love is as a Fever, Longing Still" a Shakespearean sonnet read by John Hurt
4.  "Cure for the Common Heartache" by Terri Clark
5.  "Stayin' Alive" by the Bee Gees
6.  "I Can See Clearly Now" by Johnny Nash
7,  "Sea of Heartbreak" by Rosanne Cash and Bruce Springsteen
8.  "High Sierra" by Linda Ronstadt
9.  "The Jealous Kind" by Delbert McClinton
10.  "Tusk" by Fleetwood Mac

What are you playing?

Not Really in My Color Wheel

10.  Red

There isn't a lot of red stuff in my life.  Never has been.  I remember exactly three red tops I've had in my life, maybe a couple of skirts with red print.  My one red fashion statement has been my red cowboy boots, modeled after my Daddy's red patent leather ones with the gold toe tips.

Red just doesn't suit my coloring.  Mama could wear it.  Hannah can wear it.  It's just never been a big part of any of my color selection life.  I gravitate toward purples and blues and grays, some green.  I avoid orange at all costs.  At least red doesn't awaken that kind of loathing in me.

Guess Free Association is our best plan, then.

RED
blood
wine
Cross
Bull
blood cells
rover
white and blue
hot
wings
(HA!  "hot wings"!)
potatoes
River
Sails in the Sunset
queen
herring
handed
Riding Hood
tape
light
carpet
Scare
ant
clay
rooster
head
panda

And you?  What does red do for you?

Taste

9.  Taste
My sense of touch aids in my love of knitting, as the feel of good yarn running through my fingers is a joy.  My sense of hearing helps me enjoy the beach, the rain, my children's laughter, good music.  My sense of sight (painfully, blindingly near as it is) allows me to see clear Fall skies, my children being happy, good movies and TV and books.  My sense of smell is easily my most powerful memory trigger.  So what's up with my sense of taste?

Taste doesn't jar remembrances.  Taste doesn't aid in knitting.  Taste is unneeded when enjoying people, places and things.

What taste does is let me appreciate wonderful flavors: pecans, caramel, sour cream, green onions, lobster, Dr Pepper, milk, toffee, potatoes, catfish, corn on the cob, scrambled eggs and toast, honey peanut butter, crab legs, corned beef, hot and sour soup, blue cheese, rare steak, biscuits, scalloped oysters, cabbage, broccoli, black-eyed peas, dry rub ribs, tomatoes. . .

You get the picture.

Oh, and answering one of those "Which Would You Choose?" questions, if I had to pick a single sense to lose, it would be taste.

Someone

8.  Selfie