A Garden of Delights

Posts Tagged ‘friendship


Way Out in Left Field

I went to my first ever baseball game last night, opening night for the TriCity Valley Cats, and…  I did it under duress.  Not that I knew I’d have a bad time, or that I didn’t appreciate the skill of the players or any of a number of things…  I don’t hate baseball.  I actually find a lot of things about the sport interesting (though none enough so to make me a fan).


Two Boodles

It was just…  well, I wasn’t kidding when I said I have been super busy in yesterday’s post.  And all I could do was think of the multitude of things that needed to be done yesterday and how far behind on things I was….

Still, we went.  We had tickets, and we’d promised the Boodle that we’d go to at least one game this year (and this game came with a bunch of fanfare and fireworks so it made for a very full, intense evening).  It was fun.  The lines were insanely long at the concession stands (the register computers were acting up, so people often got their food while being stuck standing in line several minutes more just to pay), but the between inning antics were amusing, and the Boodle made a friend.

On a side note: I also think I’m finally perfecting my ability to take fireworks photos in manual mode.  I’m not quite there yet (I just downloaded the photos, and yeah…  not quite there yet).  It’s hard on this old camera–probably would help if I reduced the quality of the shots from CameraRAW images to JPEGs; just the time the camera takes to write to the Compact Flash card (yes, compact flash; yes, the camera is that old).  Thing is…  I’m trying to figure this out.  And maybe I’ll get there eventually.

And on that note…  I know what I’ll be doing for next week’s First Friday Photo!   The linky is now active (part of the change I decided on this week so we can actually get our photos in by the First Friday).  Don’t worry…  it’ll be open over next weekend end too for people who want to post holiday images.

Come on and join in the fun!

A little upkeep is needed here, with a few announcements.

  • First there are some wonderful upcoming features coming up including a review of Diane Ackerman‘s eloquent One Hundred Names For Love (May 14th) and a delightful guest piece in Your Inspirations by Barbara Chepaitis (May21th)
  • I’m in the process of merging both this blog and Many Worlds, but the process is becoming far more emotionally stacked than I would like it to be.  Please stop in occasionally for updates.

For the moment, please allow me to share a piece with you I’d written for the  StoryDam Writing Challenge prompt this week

Spring time is about new beginnings and with new beginnings you have choices. We often are so excited to see the first days of spring turning into warmer days of outdoor fun, new projects, gardening, home improvement, new outlooks and decisions that have to be made if you want to start something new. Is there a doorway you always wanted to go through but allowed something to hold you back? What great adventure might have been waiting on the other side of that opening?

Dam Burst Prompt:

Write fiction or non-fiction, tell us what lies on the other side of the door. Will you take door number two or door number one? What magical wonders are just waiting for you to step through?

Despite writing this piece on the 30th of April, I’ve been unable to do anything with it until today….  It’s fairly raw.  Still I hope you enjoy it.  Sometimes life simply “is”.


Two doors… Where do they lead?  Choices, choices…


A watchman stands at the door to the left.  With promises of the stable life, the known life,  everyone else seems eager to enter that door.  Get your papers in order.  The watchman–or watchwoman, depending on how you get here–deals with this every day.  Just pass the information over and let him do his job.

He, or she will compare your papers to a checklist they keep.  (Be careful–these guards all seem to have slightly different checklists!)  It doesn’t matter what the little variation might be….  Child out of wedlock, too many job changes, a tattoo in a noticeable location… There are countless numbers of little things the guards check for.

After perhaps five strikes you have your papers handed back to you, and guard turns you from the line. There a few ways to get through the door even so.  Perhaps you have a bonus supply of money or good looks or chutzpah… even talent can be used as currency to bribe the guard.  If you have a surplus in some area, you still might get through.  You can be one of the ones who has it all.

If you are smart, you may go over your papers on you own . Once you are in line, you’ve made you choice and unless the guard urges you out of line, you have to go through that door.  You really have to mess up once you are on the other side to get sent back out to try again.

Ipsden: inside the church porch Entering the 1...

At least that’s what every one around you in line says, whispering in low, horrified voices, the sheer weight of ostracism held in each letter, each atom the air that is exhaled from their lips. They look askance at the ones that stand in line at the other door… Its blackened, muddied, peeling surface, dented and warped just enough that occasionally a whiff of “something” that doesn’t set well on your stomach escapes it. They have made it quite clear that you don’t want to enter that door.

That’s where those people go. You don’t want to be one of those people, do you? (They motion to their guard and say with pride “Why do you think we have to guard our door? Everyone wants to come in here. We have to be selective, you know.”)

And it does look so much nicer. There are flowers growing on a arbor over it. There is a light. Everything about their door is bright, clean. You once were near enough to catch the whiff of fresh clipped lawns and gentle perfumes as someone was let in.

Roses along a trellis, Interbay P-Patch (commu...

But as you stand in the crowd, knowing that you should decide, already starting to step forward toward the door with the guard, you see someone push the other door open. This person hadn’t even considered the flowered, guarded door. He stepped out of the crowd boldly, he even seemed to smile when he got to the door and found it was stuck closed from having been warped so much. He pushed against it with all his weight, making his body into a battering ram in his determination to get through that door. And behind him, you could hear others calling to him saying “No! Please don’t do this!”

Suddenly, the door opens for him, just as the guarded door is opening for someone else, and you see inside for just the briefest moment. You see the guarded door and the rows of neat little boxes, of neat, carefully manicured grasses and faces, the sameness of it all.

Your eyes take it in in a second before you look back to the unguarded dooor as it creaks closed against the boy who has ducked into its depths. You see a multitude of colors and glaring brightness amidst devastating darkness, You hear music. You smell flowers and refuse and you hear laughter and tears.

You know that it’s all the same then. And why should you ask someone else yo judge you fit to simply “live”

We know the end result of both doors. The long term end that is. The doors all end in death.  We cannot avoid it. Even if we were to try standing still and never move, we have chosen our exit from the world. And what a sad, desperate exit that is too. So what exit do we chose to use?


  • Watchman (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
  • Ipsden: inside the church porch Entering the 1761088 and closing the outer door behind you, it soon becomes clear that the porch does not have much in the way of illumination. Not having looked beforehand, I had to reopen the outer door so as to find the handle of the inner door. Here, we look back at the closed outer door, facing south on a bright sunny day as sunlight seeps in through gaps in the woodwork and under the door. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
  • Roses along a trellis, Interbay P-Patch (community garden), Interbay neighborhood, Seattle, Washington. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I feel like a beginning programmer, writing my first 3 lines of BASIC. And with that, I have just dated myself for all the world to smile at. Go ahead. I’m smiling too. It’s funny how the older I get, the more I realize how wonderful what I have in life is…and how silly it is to get uptight about any of it.

Today is the first day of my life. It’s the only day. The past doesn’t exist anymore. What we call the past is a collection of memories and impressions, none of which truly match what had happened. And the future is nebulous, prey to the whim of a butterfly sneeze….

If only…

Plotting a Blog, saving myself for the future reading pleasure of those across the ether–I don’t know where to start. The one thing I do know I want to use this for is to explore my writing in a more public forum. I write speculative fiction, a variety of swords and sorcery meet nanotechnology and isolation labs. The world grew out of a high school fanfic obsession with Star Trek, Dr. Who, Star Wars, and Jayce & the Wheeled Warriors scribbled in wire-bound notebooks that a friend and I traded during classes. It grew, it evolved, it climbed out of the primordial sludge and grew wings. Lately I’ve been trying to catch it before it tries to achieve super-atmospheric flight and leaves me stranded. I like my world–technically worlds: There are several, and not a one, not a person in them, is the same as we wrote about in those tortured notebooks.

I hope I will be able to share them with the world and bring pleasure to readers.

* Just got a very odd email from that friend in question. We’ve gone on different paths in our lives, though we both still love to write. And every time we seem to write to each other of late, we seem to write in tangents or parallel to each other. The only connection seems to be the actual contact of the letter or email. Clearly I’m not phrasing myself well. The reverse is also true. Why does the world seem to require so many absolutes? And why do we accept this limitation by doing the same to each other?

I’ve done it myself too many times. I have a wonderful son, but too often I fall into the “I’m the Mommy, and I say X needs to be done” trap that creates a small war in our house. I can say it’s for the good of our whole family all I want, but at three, Marcus just wants to enjoy his time playing, reading stories and being hugged. He doesn’t want to pick up the pile of blocks that are strewn across the floor where others are trying to walk. He doesn’t want to keep his books picked up. And he’s the first one to cry and run for comfort when he trips over said blocks or books.

But he won’t clean them up when he’s asked. Not without the prerequisite of several hours of whimpering, procrastinating and delaying tactics… he gets hungry a lot, and he always wants a hug. The human beast wants its cake and wants to eat it too, whether the beast is a 40yr old mommy who wants a smiling child and lots of private time or a 3yr old who wants the security of discipline and rules and the freedom to run free.

My friend is Unschooling her two children. She finds the lifestyle works wonderfully for her. I confess myself both amazed at the life she is living and wholeheartedly terrified of it. I do know that the person I am at this point in my life is not ready to take that Leap of Faith. I don’t know where that leaves our friendship, but the years and the questions, the discussions have not faired it well. It’s both sad and a relief, but it is what it is for the moment. Life seems to go in cycles, a continuum of possibilities balancing on the pinpoint of a needle. Things start going one way, then they drift back… We never seem to reach equilibrium.

With love to you all.

Be well

First Friday Photo

Something to inspire

obligatory “What I Allow”

Short Stuff

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