Wednesday, September 30, 2015

#46 Chores; #47 Bird; #48 Wrinkles

Write about housework chores, such as vacuum cleaning or mowing the grass. Who did it in your childhood home? When you were introduced to this work first? Is it something you enjoyed doing or tried to avoid at any coast?
OPTIONAL: Work on your fiction and share.

You know what I want? I want to learn to love chores. I mean, truly, to stop resenting them and not just that, but finding poetry in doing them! It’s very hard for me. I am out of shape, that’s the reason number one – it is just physically very challenging to do housework for me. My head is full of creative ideas, and I’d rather be working on them than cleaning the floors, that’s another reason. And there are more, but the point to me is not in counting reasons why you hate doing something, but in finding a way to stop resenting and even finding a way to do them that will bring me joy. I know some people focus on the result – they look forward to the result (clean house), and it somehow makes it OK for them to actually do all the chores. I understand, but it does not do the trick for me. Other people just tell themselves that once it’s done, it will be over, and they will be able to enjoy whatever it is they actually want to do. Not a bad way, but again, somehow it's not helping me. Once I read a post by a woman whose approach to cleaning the house was the most inspiring of all – the most creative and I even want to use the word “artistic”! She lit candles, played relaxing music while cleaning her home – she took it as a meditative, creative, and truly cleansing process! It's hard to impress me when it comes to cleaning, but there I was really impressed. Cleaning your home, the sacred place where you enjoy being, enjoy sharing life with the people you love, enjoy creating whatever you love to create, can be actually such a beautiful process, similarly to cleaning your tired mind or exhausted soul, or aching body. It can be as beautiful as having a spa day. Banya for the house!

10 min

Write about a bird - the one you have (or had as a kid), or a magical bird from a fairy tale that you love, or a bird that visits your yard and teases your cat.
OPTIONAL: Work on your fiction and share.

Excerpt from my fairy tale

Anya walked in the snowy wintry woods, feeling all cozy in her cute little coat and valenki*, wearing mittens and a long scarf which Chickenleg House made for her, when suddenly she heard someone coughing. She looked around and couldn’t find anyone, but then she heard it again… cough... cough, cough…
“It’s me, Anya, Snegir **, can’t you see me? Look up!”
“Oh hello dear Snegir, and I was wondering to myself, who is coughing? Did you catch cold, poor fellow?”
“There is that, a little.”
 Anya took the woolen scarf from her neck and handed it to the bird.
“Here, wrap it around your neck, that’s what mama taught me to do when catching cold. It will warm up your sore throat. You will feel better in no time!”
“Thank you, Anya, you are such a kind little girl,” said Snegir and wrapped the scarf around his neck.
“But wait a minute, take this bunch of frozen berries with you, they will prove being useful some day.”
With these words, Snegir handed a bunch of bright red berries to Anya.
“What should I do with them?”
“Just keep them in your pocket. Don’t worry, they won’t go bad. They are not just some frozen berries, but rather magic little things. They will keep till Summer and help you one day. You will know when you need them.”
And Anya did just what the kind Snegir told her. She put the bunch of bright red berries in her pocket and saved them until she needed their magic power.

* valenki - traditional Russian woolen (felt) boots.
** Snegir (from the word "sneg" which means snow) is a Russian name of Eurasian bullfinch, a pretty small bird with bright red tummy which is very visible in the snow.

10 min

Write about wrinkles - yours or on someone's face, or maybe your character's. What stories wrinkles can tell?
OPTIONAL: Work on your fiction and share.

A kind wrinkly face looked at her, and she sensed the open, wise spirit from its features, and even some sort of loveliness which is usually hard to describe, but one can feel it with their heart, or maybe with something bigger than a heart. It was as a choir of angels was singing from every little wrinkle passing through this lovely face which only a sleeping one could describe with this quick meaningless word – “old”. The silver voices sounded so harmonious – as if someone’s healing hands held her whole being, softly touching the very core of what was her soul.

5 min

1 comment:

  1. It is hard to think in such short bursts of time but you have captured volumes.I hate chores too!