The drama teacher told us the other day that the boys do not emote enough and asked me and Francine to give examples. Is she kidding? I am a bundle of emotions. My soul and heart are like a bunch of elastics that pile one on to the other building a ball bigger than a golf ball. Each elastic can snap at the knowledge of sadness, pain and suffering. An elastic or two will snap if there is hatred and bitterness. I am the most ridiculous example of someone you should NOT be like. But these guys need examples, she said.
Well, I beg to differ, Mrs. Messier! These boys know how to emote alright. They did it just fine when they were babies, even as toddlers but when they got to nursery school at the ripe OLD age of 3 and 4, they were laughed at for showing emotions. If they dared show any signs that remotely looked or sounded like a kid with a sad face or wanting to cry…well, the boys would call them sissy. The girls were allowed to cry if someone called them stupid or told them, “I hate you!” A boy had to cross his arms, pout, scrunch up his nose and narrow his gaze with eyebrows trained to make a high V. That was how they emote alright. The hid it in their hearts and sometimes it got too big, it slipped into their fist especially if they felt a tear escaping…
So how can I show these 16-year-old boys how to emote tomorrow in drama class?
Hmmm, I think I will tell them a story about a little boy going off in the forest to hunt deer with his father, grandfather and uncles. And suddenly it starts raining and thundering. And then lightning strikes and hits a tree and falls on his uncles, striking them dead! Lightening did not let up, yet, though, no sirree! Lightening hit his father and his grandfather and all he had left was his little rifle and a knife and a deer that was off to the side staring at him with those big doe eyes! He stared back…he bit his lips, he scrunched his nose, he narrowed his gaze and the dear gently sauntered up closer to him and nudged him with its nose. The doe had also lost her mom and dad and brothers. The boy understood right there. He put down his rifle and knife and knelt next to the deer and hugged it and cried… he wept with it in his arms until nightfall.
When the moon came out from behind the clouds, he could see his way back home. He had an apple in his rucksack and gave it to the deer and whispered to it, “Run and hide, dear one. Thank you for healing my heart. I have become a man today. I am not afraid to cry and to show compassion.”
These are Linda’s instructions and it’s a fun prompt…just let it go, write until your thoughts stop, then you’ve reached the end, then publish.
Linda says: This week’s prompt word is “emote.” Feel free to add a suffix to it, or not, and just let it flow. After you’ve written your Saturday post tomorrow, please link it here at the prompt page in the comments so others can find it and see your awesome Stream of Consciousness post. Don’t hesitate to join in!Here are the rules:1. Your post must be stream of consciousness writing, meaning no editing, (typos can be fixed) and minimal planning on what you’re going to write.2. Your post can be as long or as short as you want it to be. One sentence – one thousand words. Fact, fiction, poetry – it doesn’t matter. Just let the words carry you along until you’re ready to stop.3. There will be a prompt every week. I will post the prompt here on my blog on Friday, along with a reminder for you to join in. The prompt will be one random thing, but it will not be a subject. For instance, I will not say “Write about dogs”; the prompt will be more like, “Make your first sentence a question,” or “Begin with the word ‘The’.”4. Ping back! It’s important, so that I and other people will come and read your post! The way to ping back, is to just copy and paste the URL of my post somewhere on your post. Then your URL will show up in my comments, for everyone to see. For example, in your post you can copy and paste the following: This post is part of SoCS:http://lindaghill.wordpress.com/2014/06/27/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-june-2814/ The most recent pingbacks will be found at the top.5. Read at least one other person’s blog who has linked back their post. Even better, read everyone’s! If you’re the first person to link back, you can check back later, or go to the previous week, by following my category, “Stream of Consciousness Saturday,” which you’ll find right below the “Like” button on my post.6. Copy and paste the rules (if you’d like to) in your post. The more people who join in, the more new bloggers you’ll meet and the bigger your community will get!7. Have fun!
I spoke to the river, it listened to my sorrow a gust made lilies quiver I then looked on below a fountain did cascade the sound of water sprayed I couldn’t help but smile feeling better all the while.
Carpe Diem Tan Renga Challenge #41, ”a fallen flower” by Moritake
This week’s Tan Renga Challenge is a beautiful haiku written by Arakida Moritake (1473-1549), a Japanese poet who also wrote haiku (in his time it was called haikai or hokku). This is a Dutch translation of a wonderful haiku written by Moritake.
Simone went berry picking with her cousin who had been after her for a week. She finally gave in. It had been the first time in five years she had ventured into these woods. Nicole was nattering about mon oncle Ovid and his eccentric ways. Simone half listened, dodging gnats and wishing she were home with a good book. Suddenly she heard Nicole call out to her. “Look there’s a pond here. Viens vite!” Simone got to the other side of the bushes and stopped suddenly noticing the tree by the pond, where she’d lost her son.
This week’s quote prompt for Ligo Haibun Challenge, focuses on Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi, more commonly known as ‘Mahatma’ (meaning ‘Great Soul’) Gandhi. This is the quote that inspired my haibun.
“Whatever you do may seem insignificant, but it is most important that you do it.”
As I was writing this I also had another prompt in mind for Haiku Horizon and the prompt was “comfort”. I realized when I completed it that I had two themes in mind and yet, I find this important person I talk about was a significant comfort to me and important role model…my mentor and strength in life.
I am reminiscing of times passed in Grand-Maman’s house when she was still living there. I would arrive and she’d always have that mocking chuckle. It was a teasing laugh with affection. In French there is an expression, “Qui s’aime, se taquine.” {One teases a person they love} I am quite tall and she would often greet me with a laugh and then ask me before I had time to sit down, “Oh, by the way, “la grand jaune” *. I was holding these items here just for you.”
Warm feelings
taunting with affection
comforting words
Folded with care on a chair next to the washroom were tablecloths carefully ironed. She ironed everything, even sheets and dish towels. She would wait for me to store these high UP in the cupboard over the bathtub. I know that sounds odd. My grandfather built this house “à la pièce” {bit by bit}. At first it was a snack bar for summer tourists who came over to rent a row-boat or go for a swim in the river. He added more and more until it became a 2 bedroom home. perhaps he was still chief of police then and living at City Hall ….I am not too sure of the entire story and not many people are living to confirm this, so I am going by the memory of my youth.
I would take the pile of linen, stand up on the side of the bathtub and place them in the cupboard. The ceiling in the washroom was about 12 feet high compared to the kitchen it was very high!. I guess that was once part of that snack bar.
Then we could sit and chat with a nice cup of tea. I liked my tea strong because I added sugar and milk the way I used to as a child. Grand-Maman, on the other hand like her tea like most French Canadians, black. So when I would pour the boiling water in my cup, she would always say, “Don’t throw out the tea bag…put it in my cup…I don’t need it strong.”
It always felt good to sit at the kitchen table and munch on some of her pies or sugar cookies she had baked. And if there weren’t any, she would pop in some bread in the toaster and we’d enjoy toast with des cretons or molasses. The latter was one of her favourite. She would talk about stories when she was younger. Sometimes I would talk about a friend or colleague I worked with in town and she would remember the mother of that friend. Most probably she had delivered them at birth since she was the village mid-wife, she had delivered thousands of babies in all the surrounding towns including most of her grandchildren…I was one that was born in her bed!
She would talk about madame so and so, the wife of a military man when she had pensioners boarding in her home during WWII that were referred to her from the Military Camp in Farnham, our home town. People called her for recipes, gardening, how to patch their roof, how to sew a coat, advice on child rearing and for ailing the sick or a dying relative. Being a midwife was only one smart part of her role, as well as raising seven children, supporting her husband as Chief of Police, being a fervent Catholic. She brought me to my first communion as everyone seemed busy that day. As if raising her children was not enough, when I was 14 and my sister 16, she took us in with our mother when our father flew the coop. Never once complaining about wanting to “live” for a change but continued to cook, clean and nurture us as we were her own…proudly too!
Many called her madame Daudelin, others called her Garde Daudelin (nurse) and most just called her Grand-Maman Daudelin.
When GrandMaman passed, I asked for those four cups that I favoured . They look like ordinary “diner” style cups but still they meant a lot to me. One particular cup had some paint smudged on the bottom and I NEVER wanted to scrub it off. There is something about that particular cup that comforts me when I drink my tea. It holds old memories of times passed and the bond and love I had for Grand-Maman who was my second mom and my model in life.
extraordinary
humble, selfless
ma grandmère.
~
extraordinaire
modeste, généreuse
ma grandmère
All our visits to her home had a purpose. She had linen or cans to store on shelves, work for my uncles to get done outside or fix some pipes in the basement, my mom would colour and style her hair regularly…everyone had a feeling they gave her something when they visited and felt good about themselves when they left; and yet, she gave so much to all of us in wisdom, love, hope and mostly purpose in life.
Last Saturday I went to visit my mother in my hometown. I was pleased to be with her and it was also on the longest day of the year, summer solstice. So on my way home, I decided to drive by the church where I was baptized and received most of my sacraments including matrimony. What is lovely about sitting across the street from this huge cathedral styled church is the river. There are benches where you can look down and see and hear the water flow over the dam.
I like hearing the water rushing downstream like that. I could feel some of sombre thoughts float along with the current. The river has always listened to me, somewhat like my private journal, only I don’t have to speak and I don’t have to write. As I followed the flow of the water, I could see the sun setting in the east…so beautiful even this late!
I was quite surprised to see only two buttercups blossomed in that huge mass of green leaves. As I got closer, you could see the buds of future blossoms. {I must drive down next week}. It was still a beautiful sight and I was so pleased to be able to still capture some nice shots at such a late hour. It was 9;30 P.M.! But hey, guess that’s why they say it is the longest day of the year. Seeing the flowers changed my mood. Walking towards another bunch of bushes, I saw more buttercups. I’m not sure if they will withstand the wind by the river but that bright yellow sure looked nice.
Tournesol dans un Jardin 
