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Category Archives: 642 things to write about project

642 Things Thursday: Menu for My Last Meal

25 Thursday Sep 2014

Posted by inlovewithjournals in 642 things to write about project

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This week: The menu for your last meal.

Well this is kind of morbid but here goes:

Appetizer: Steamed PEI Mussels with garlic butter

Main: Lobsters and Pan-fried Scallops

Dessert:  Blueberry pie

Notice a theme? All of these products are available in the Maritimes. And if I had to have a last meal I would want to have it there. Then I could die happy and with a full belly.

Next week: ?? The book is at home!

This is the latest exercise in my 642 Things to Write About Project. Click on the link to find out more, or click on the category 642 Things to Write About Project to read past exercises.  🙂

642 Things Thursday: Favourite Moment in Film

21 Thursday Aug 2014

Posted by inlovewithjournals in 642 things to write about project, journal writing

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The topic for this week: Your favourite moment in film.

My favourite film is Truly Madly Deeply, written and directed by Anthony Minghella, released in 1990, and starring Alan Rickman and Juliet Stevenson. It is a film abut letting go of the past. I have watched it many times. This film ignited my love for the poetry of Pablo Neruda and the films of Anthony Minghella.

Nina (Stevenson) and Jamie (Rickman) fall in love. Theirs is a deep and everlasting bond. When Jamie dies unexpectedly Nina finds herself quite unable to move on with her life. The movie opens approximately one year after Jamie’s death, and we find Nina crying her eyes out in her therapist’s office. A few days later Jamie returns, as a ghost, along with his buddy ghosts, to watch movies, to avoid catching colds, and ultimately to help Nina and Jamie say goodbye to each other.

My favourite moment in the film is when Nina confronts Jamie about the demands he and his friends are making on her and we see Nina struggling to reconcile the annoying Jamie, whose irritating habits she has forgotten, with the Jamie she has longed for all this time; with the past and the present. And wouldn’t you know it other people enjoy this scene too, as I learned when I found it on Youtube: http://youtu.be/Aj1BlyOcmBs 

The poetic bits are from The Dead Woman, by Pablo Neruda. Here is the poem in full:

The Dead Woman

If suddenly you do not exist,
if suddenly you no longer live,
I shall live on.

I do not dare,
I do not dare to write it,
if you die.

I shall live on.

For where a man has no voice,
there, my voice.

Where blacks are beaten,
I cannot be dead.
When my brothers go to prison
I shall go with them.

When victory,
not my victory,
but the great victory comes,
even though I am mute I must speak;
I shall see it come even
though I am blind.

No, forgive me.
If you no longer live,
if you, beloved, my love,
if you have died,
all the leaves will fall in my breast,
it will rain on my soul night and day,
the snow will burn my heart,
I shall walk with frost and fire and death and snow,
my feet will want to walk to where you are sleeping, but
I shall stay alive,
because above all things
you wanted me indomitable,
and, my love, because you know that I am not only a man
but all mankind.

– See more at: http://allpoetry.com/The-Dead-Woman#sthash.GQXCjn6c.dpuf

Next week: The menu for your last meal.

This is the latest exercise in my 642 Things to Write About Project. Click on the link to find out more, or click on the category 642 Things to Write About Project to read past exercises.  🙂

642 Things Thursday: Red

17 Thursday Jul 2014

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The topic for this week: What a character wearing something red is thinking.

“This is exactly what I need,” thought Ellen as she approached the cafe at the end of the block. She’d been on her feet all day, waiting on customers in the busiest department store in the city. She had earned a sit down and a cup of tea.

She ordered an Earl Grey latte, large, and sat down with it at one of the outdoor tables. She loved to watch people as they hurried past, on their way to an appointment, a meeting, a rendezvous. Often she would sketch people as they walked by, so intent on their own little lives they took no notice of the girl in the red sweater drawing in her notebook. Once she had seen a man propose to his girlfriend, right in front of her practically, and what an amazing picture she had drawn of them. At least she thought it was amazing; no one else had ever seen it so no one else’s opinion mattered.

On days when she worked until 5 she allowed herself to sit here for an hour or so, imagining stories behind the faces who appeared in her pages. Each one had a rich and exciting tale to tell, so very different from her own life. Wistfully she watched lovers greet each other, husbands and wives meet up before heading to the bus that would take them home. Men running with bouquets of flowers, to present to their wives at home, in penance or celebration she would never know. No such welcome awaited her in the small apartment she rented on the west side of the city; no phone calls would break the silence of her evening. So she sketched, and maybe ordered another cup of tea, to keep the loneliness at bay for a little while longer.

Next week: Your favorite moment in film.

This is the latest exercise in my 642 Things to Write About Project. Click on the link to find out more, or click on the category 642 Things to Write About Project to read past exercises.  🙂

642 Things Thursday: The Speech

12 Thursday Jun 2014

Posted by inlovewithjournals in 642 things to write about project

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I’ve been neglectful of this project but here is the topic for this week: A man giving a speech to a crowd of thousands is suddenly caught in a bald-faced lie.

Stephen Green had built his health and fitness empire in a relatively short time. His book, Lose It Now, had been on the best-seller list for over two years. His health drinks and energy bars flew off the shelves. He spent most of his time travelling the country on a speaking tour. Tonight he would appear in Chicago to a crowd of just under 4,000 people.

He was an enthusiastic user of Twitter and had close to a million followers. As often as he could he tweeted health tips and encouragement for his followers to stay on track with their weight loss or fitness programs. He had just been interviewed by Vanity Fair and he was quite proud of the article; among other things his denouncement of all fast food came across loud and clear. Indeed one of his quotes from the article had been re-tweeted thousands of times: “I have never eaten fast food in my life and I never will. Why would I put toxic sludge in my body?” Understandably the fast food industry had immediately gone on the defensive, attacking his philosophies and highlighting their healthy menu items. He didn’t care; he stood by his comment. There was no room for fast food in one of his eating plans.

He was introduced by a local television personality and he walked to the stage with thunderous applause. The huge video screen behind him started his planned presentation, showing his book, his food products, and images of Stephen working out and cooking healthy meals.

About 20 minutes into his presentation he opened the floor to questions. He expertly fielded questions about maintaining your motivation and finding the time to exercise, and then made everyone laugh by telling the story of his first attempts in the kitchen cooking healthy meals. “Practice makes perfect,” he said with a smile.

Then a young fellow approached the microphone and said “Good morning, Mr. Green.”

“Please, call me Stephen.”

“Oh ok, Stephen, thank you. I was just wondering if it’s really true that you’ve never eaten fast food. I mean, not even a fry? Not even when you were a kid?”

“As hard to believe as it seems, I have never eaten fast food. When I was growing up I suffered from food allergies and sensitivities, so I was on a very strict diet from almost the instant I started eating solid food. As a teenager I was tempted, sure, because my friends would invite me……..”

He couldn’t go on because people were starting to point at the screen behind him and murmur among themselves. The murmurs grew louder as he looked from left to right at his audience and then he turned his head to look at the screen. And there were the pictures that he had paid so much money to destroy. Pictures of him eating a hamburger in a very recognizable chain fast-food restaurant. Pictures of him cheering the camera with a milkshake and a carton of fries. He couldn’t even claim these pictures were taken in a wild and crazy youthful rebellion; he looked exactly like he did in his presentation, running marathons and working out. It was obvious these pictures were taken in the last couple of years. There was no denying the evidence; his little secret was out, and in a very public way.

He didn’t turn back to the crowd. His hands shook as he reached for his briefcase. He slowly walked off the stage, amid the laughter and booing. If he had glanced at the fellow who had asked the final question he would have seen him smiling, triumphant.

Next week: What a character wearing something red is thinking.

This is the latest exercise in my 642 Things to Write About Project. Click on the link to find out more, or click on the category 642 Things to Write About Project to read past exercises.  🙂

 

642 Things Thursday: Her Grandson

22 Thursday May 2014

Posted by inlovewithjournals in 642 things to write about project

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journal, writing

This week: A woman thinks she might be living next door to her grandson.

She woke to the sound of a woman shouting. “Living room!” “Kitchen!” That new family must be moving in next door. Rose, her neighbor across the street, knew everything about everyone, and had informed her just last week that it was a family of five moving in. She was worried how much noise three children would make. Rose didn’t know their ages but thought the oldest was a teenager. She liked the quiet street; it was a big reason she chose this home, 10 years ago now. But she found herself wondering about them too, what they looked like, how they acted with each other, who was boss, who was baby, who was daddy’s girl or mommy’s boy. She hoped the family were clean and didn’t like to party too much. She would turn 67 in two months time and didn’t want or need any disturbance in her peaceful existence.

Coffee on her front porch sounded good. Then she could observe without being too obvious.

The big moving van was parked in front of their house, and she noticed with approval, was not blocking her driveway. It looked like bedroom furniture was being unloaded at this point. She rocked herself in her porch swing and watched through the leaves of her big oak tree. I hope they like my tree as much as I do. The tree was firmly on her property but it did cast a shadow onto theirs; she suddenly panicked as she thought of how she could bring herself to trim it if they asked her too. Best not to worry about such as hasn’t happened yet, she sternly told herself. Still she drank and watched.

About half an hour later a minivan drove up and three children tumbled out of the side. She could just make out two girls and one boy, through the green leaves and the various legs and torsos of moving people. She thought the boy looked to be the youngest. A man got out of the van, presumably the dad, as a woman, presumably the mom, had been directing the furniture and box traffic all morning. Mid-40s, she would say, looked like a professional. The kids were standing around, trying to figure out what they should be doing. Dad ushered them inside. And it was time for her to go inside too. The pies for the church sale wouldn’t bake themselves. She didn’t hear much of anything from her new neighbors for the rest of the day.

She made four pies that day and towards noon the next she made the decision to give the blueberry one to her new neighbors. It wouldn’t hurt to make the first gesture of friendliness, to set a good example. She wrapped the pie in a tea towel and headed across the lawn. Their house wasn’t so very different than her own; the same wide front porch, but without the swing. That will change, she thought. In her experience children couldn’t resist a swing.

She tried the doorbell but didn’t hear the reassuring tinkle within, so she opened the screen door and knocked three times. The door opened and a woman was standing there, a wine glass in one hand and a towel in the other. “Hello! My name is Charlotte, I live next door. I don’t want to bother you but I made this pie and thought you might like it.”

The woman’s face broke into a brilliant smile. “Omigosh thank you so much! Please come in.”

“Oh I don’t want to interrupt.”

“Not at all! The place is a mess but come in and meet the rest of us.” So Charlotte crossed the threshold. Boxes everywhere, most still unopened. Dishes on the drying rack in the kitchen. “I’m Dana and this is my husband, Bruce.” Bruce said hello through a mouthful of nails and put down his hammer to shake Charlotte’s hand. “And these are our girls, Laura and Natasha.” The girls were mini-versions of Dana, with some Bruce thrown in. Golden haired with big blue eyes, Charlotte judged Laura to be about 12 and Natasha 8. “Please sit down. Look Bruce, Charlotte made us a pie! Oh it smells like heaven. Won’t you have a cup of coffee? We just found the mugs. Only took us half an hour and three boxes!”

So Charlotte stayed and met the Webster family. After about a half hour of talk about the schools in the area, and being shown the craft project that Laura and Natasha were working on, a tiny figure wrapped in a blanket softly padded his way into the kitchen. As he climbed into Dana’s lap, she introduced him. “Charlotte, this is Tommy. He is our foster child. He’s been living with us since he was 6 months old.” The 6 year old stared at Charlotte with big brown eyes. His dark hair contrasted sharply with Dana’d blonde curls. When Dana encouraged him to say hi she was rewarded with a barely audible “Hello.” Charlotte, on the other hand, couldn’t speak at all. In fact she was having difficulty breathing and there was a furious pounding in her ears. She mumbled something about getting back, left something on the stove, sorry to cut this short. She stumbled out of there, embarassed and gasping for breath. Dana called out, “Thanks again for the visit. And the pie!” but Charlotte was halfway across the lawn, almost running into her house. Once there she collapsed onto her sofa and burst out crying. It couldn’t be, it couldn’t, the boy was only 6, just a baby. But that face! Those eyes, even his ears, exactly the same!

She glanced at the piano in the corner, where a single photo stood in an ornate silver frame. “James, oh my beautiful James, what is happening?” Charlotte whispered. The photo, taken when her only son was 6 years old, could be Tommy’s twin. Charlotte moved to the piano, picked up the photo, tears streaming. She studied the face so intimately known to her, and it was as if James had just run out the front door, of that long ago house on Maple Street, so excited on his first day of school, never to return. He had been abducted at the age of 7, on his way to school. She and James had practiced the route so many times yet she was so very reluctant to let him walk alone. But he insisted. The school was only around the corner, so Charlotte would watch until he disappeared and then phone the school to make sure he got there. That was how she had found out so quickly that terrible day 40 years ago; she watched him turn the corner, waited 10 minutes, then phoned the school. He hadn’t yet arrived. She called back 10 minutes after that and by then she was panicking. The school secretary started walking toward Charlotte’s house and Charlotte also started walking; they met at the corner and both knew something was wrong. James had disappeared. The police dogs were called in, alerts were put up on the television, groups of volunteers canvassed the neighborhood for clues. No trace of her beautiful baby was ever found.

Forty years missing was a very long time and she had given up ever learning anything about her son’s disappearance. Until today. Tommy looked so much like James it was frightening. Dana had said he was their foster child. Could he somehow be related to her James? And therefore to her? They must have records of his birth parents, where they were, what their situation was, alive or dead. The thought brought another fresh set of tears that left her gasping. Could it be possible that after all these years there was a clue? That he might still be alive?

She knew she had to try.

Next week: A man giving a speech to a crowd of thousands is suddenly caught in a bald-faced lie.

This is the latest exercise in my 642 Things to Write About Project. Click on the link to find out more, or click on the category 642 Things to Write About Project to read past exercises.  🙂

 

 

642 Things Thursday: The Best Thing That Could Happen

15 Thursday May 2014

Posted by inlovewithjournals in 642 things to write about project

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journal, writing

This week: the best thing that could happen

I still feel like I dropped the ball with my post last week, the worst thing that could happen. Because I don’t have anything in mind for this week either. The best thing that could happen is that everyone sees the bright side of every hardship and rises above it. But that is a very simple and naive way to look at the world. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been called naive; I guess I can’t help it. Good things do happen and they have happened to me throughout my entire life; conversely I have never gone through what some others have gone through, namely abuse of any kind, trauma, disease, financial ruin. It’s easy for me to say “Look at the bright side” because perhaps I have never really seen the dark side of humanity. So in that way am I even qualified to talk about the worst and best things that could happen? I can feel some of you rolling your eyes at such a self-indulgent post. Sorry. I should put my writer’s hat on and write a piece of fiction around the topic. But for some reason I just can’t do it. 

It may sound trite but the best thing that could happen already has: my life, with all of it’s joys and sorrows, is the best thing that could happen to me. I wouldn’t be me without the people in my life, my family, the job I do, the friends I have, as well as the enemies, the stress, the aches and pains, the challenges I face every day. I am the best thing that could happen….to me.

Next week: A woman thinks she might be living next door to her grandson.

This is the latest exercise in my 642 Things to Write About Project. Click on the link to find out more, or click on the category 642 Things to Write About Project to read past exercises.  🙂

642 Things Thursday: The Worst Thing That Could Happen

08 Thursday May 2014

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journal, writing

Next week: The worst thing that could happen.

I’m stumped by this. When I start thinking about this topic I think about the worst thing for me, or for my family, or for my city, or for the country or for the world. Which one to focus on? And I don’t want to think about the natural progression of the worst thing that could happen for any of those situations. For me it might be losing one of my limbs, or my sight. For my family it could be financial ruin or debilitating illness. For the city it could be a natural disaster or an unrelenting crime wave. For my country it could be dire economic crisis or an act of terrorism. For the world it could be global warming or the extinction of dozens of animal species. So when I was thinking through how I would write even one of those scenarios, all I could think about was the positive side of each of them. There is always a positive side, even to losing a limb or having a fragile species finally disappear from the world (although it’s hard to see the positive side of that – survival of the fittest maybe?) I just keep concluding that any “worst thing” can be overcome, can be adapted to, can be survived and made better by the experience. 

Maybe I’m wimping out on the topic for today. But the worst thing that could happen is to become incapable of seeing the bright side. 

Next week: The best thing that could happen

This is the latest exercise in my 642 Things to Write About Project. Click on the link to find out more, or click on the category 642 Things to Write About Project to read past exercises.  🙂

642 Things Thursday: No Longer a Child

01 Thursday May 2014

Posted by inlovewithjournals in 642 things to write about project

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journal, writing

This week: The moment you knew you were no longer a child.

Losing a parent is never easy, no matter how old or young you are. I lost my mother the year I turned 30, and during her illness and after it, I found strength I never knew I possessed. I am the baby of the family, with 13 years between my only sister and I. She is older and wiser and stronger than I will ever be; and I’m not just saying that because she might read this. I have put my sister on a pedestal my entire life, often when that was the last place she wanted to be. But in the middle of our mother’s last illness my sister had to be out of the country, so I was left with Dad and my aunt. The prospect of life without Mom was devastating for all of us. A husband and lover grieves differently than a sister, as a daughter grieves differently in turn. When the phone rang no one ran to answer it. When the doctors spoke of arrangements that would have to be made, my father refused to listen. So when the end came we got word to my sister and she came as fast as she could. In the meantime I found myself having to answer the phone, to choose the last outfit my mother would wear during her wake, to order flowers and food for the inevitable out of town guests, to find the perfect photos to display at the funeral home, to help Dad choose his final gift for her: pink mother-of-pearl rosary beads to wrap around her fingers.

My mother and I had talked about what might happen during this time; the events that caused her death were swift and unexpected but the winter before we had discussed at length how I would function after she was gone. We didn’t usually talk about such morbid things but I had become convinced that I was going to lose her soon and the prospect terrified me. This is the only time in my 43 years that I had a sort of premonition. She assured me she was not about to die; she had high blood pressure and diabetes but they were under control. She told me that when she died, in the far far future, I should not be sad; I would always have her with me. She jokingly said I would never be able to get her voice out of my head and by golly she was right about that. I think it was during this conversation and of course the terrible events that happened just six months later that I realized I was no longer a child. I couldn’t just run to my parents or my sister and have them solve my problems for me. For they might not always be there. 

I would have to listen to their voices inside my head and forge my own path.

Next week: The worst thing that could happen.

This is the latest exercise in my 642 Things to Write About Project. Click on the link to find out more, or click on the category 642 Things to Write About Project to read past exercises.  🙂

642 Things Thursday: Thoughts on Gracie

24 Thursday Apr 2014

Posted by inlovewithjournals in 642 things to write about project

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journal, writing

This week: Thoughts on your favorite pet’s personality.

 

gracie

Gracie is affectionately known as our little lemon. We suspect not all the wires are connected in her head. But she is a sweetie and we couldn’t imagine our lives without her.

Gracie is driven by warmth and affection. She is a lapcat and loves her electric blanket. She is very interested in whatever I bring home and put on the kitchen table; she must investigate everything and mark it by rubbing her cheeks against it. She likes to get up with the sun and thinks everyone in the household should do the same. We do not hear her very often, in stark contrast to her sister; however when she does make a sound it is to signify something important like treat time or cuddle time. Her tail is her favorite toy, although her favorite game is what’s under the blanket; she is continually shocked to find it is only my hand. She is not a destroyer of clothes or shoes but can convey displeasure by conveniently forgetting where her litter box is. She has her favorites with her humans, and we have discovered certain patterns; she loves to sit in Dad’s lap and gives him kisses (licking his nose) willingly. However at bedtime it is Mom she seeks out for cuddles and reassurance, and usually no amount of coaxing will produce a kiss. At best it is a half-hearted semi-lick designed to oblige me in the hopes I will stop being so demanding and go back to my assigned role of chief ear scratcher. 

Ten years ago this December she came to live with us. The four-month old kitten was to be a surprise for my husband; he was less than pleased at not being consulted but soon came round. Now she is his baby Gracie girl and caters to her every whim; she is completely devoted in turn. And if you ask me who makes a towel-nest for her every morning on my vanity so she can nestle while I shower I will deny all knowledge. 

Next week: The moment you knew you were no longer a child.

This is the latest exercise in my 642 Things to Write About Project. Click on the link to find out more, or click on the category 642 Things to Write About Project to read past exercises.  🙂

642 Things Thursday: Nobel Prize or Rockstar?

17 Thursday Apr 2014

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journal, writing

This week: Would you rather win the Nobel Prize or be a rock star?

Nobel Prize. For Literature. And my husband, who is a rockstar, agrees. 

Next week: Thoughts on your favorite pet’s personality.

This is the latest exercise in my 642 Things to Write About Project. Click on the link to find out more, or click on the category 642 Things to Write About Project to read past exercises.  🙂

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