Posted in the Throwback Thursday weekly series
Poetry, photography, tales and things that nature!
Winter Frost for TBT
“A good snapshot keeps a moment from running away.” ― Eudora Welty
Frost
Like the icing on a cake
Or a frozen yoghourt and a milkshake
The window filled with frosted flakes
Away your breath will take
Posted in the Throwback Thursday weekly series
Poetry, photography, tales and things that nature!
Winter Weekend for TBT
“Oh Winter thou art a heartless bitch!” Gun Roswell
Winter Weekend
Posted in the Throwback Thursday weekly series
Poetry, photography, tales and things that nature!
Winter Weekend for TBT
“Oh Winter thou art a heartless bitch!” Gun Roswell
Winter Weekend
Posted in the Throwback Thursday weekly series
Poetry, photography, tales and things that nature!
Winter Tracks for TBT
“A good snapshot keeps a moment from running away.” ― Eudora Welty
Tracks
Early morning after snowfall
The snowy blanket filled with footfalls
The early birds got up for skiing
And down the snowy road now fleeing
Posted in the Throwback Thursday weekly series
Poetry, photography, tales and things that nature!
“Photography is more than a medium for factual communication of ideas. It is a creative art” Ansel Adams
Moon, Moon, where art thou?
Moon, moon
Where art thou moon?
Come out from your hiding
On the nightly path guiding
Before off the trail
I go slipping and sliding
Posted in the Throwback Thursday weekly series
Poetry, photography, tales and things that nature!
“Row, row, row your boat, Gently down the stream.
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, Life is but a dream.”
Serially Lost in Fiction
Writer’s note: This content is the work of pure fiction and is in no way associated to the writer ;P
The best guideline for any writer is to read, read and read some more. With all available resources, carrying a “book” around is easy as pie and you can read anywhere. There is a downside to this though and I found that out the hard way: I got caught between the realm of reality and fantasy.
It started slowly, reading a short story here, another there. Then things started to escalate. I was hooked up on longer stories, even sequels and serial ones. It had gotten to the point where I was reading on the bus stop, in the bus, at lunch, on coffee break. When I got home from work I could not wait to rush through my daily chores and emerge myself in more stories.
Feeling like the children who found Narnia, I was devouring all kinds of the stories. Re-enacting some of them in my sleep. Even taking part in conversations with my imaginary new friends in my head.
Staying up until late hours, reading, reading, reading. Sleep was scarce, almost non-existent. Drinking lots of coffee was the only remedy to somehow muddle through my work days. Even during the day fantasizing of the time I was back home and able to fully concentrate on my reading.
Then I got a wake up call. It was in the form of an intervention from my family and friends. I was on my way from work like usual and happily thinking on my next read. And there they were, sitting in the living room, waiting for me. Not a tablet, laptop, book reader nor an actual book in sight!
They sat me down gently and told me in no small way how my constant reading was affecting them.
I could not believe they would dare confronting me like this. After all, I was only reading for leisure.
Bewildered and utterly distraught I dwelled in self pity for a few days. Locking myself in my room and reporting in sick. I decided “to hell with it” and emerged in even more reading. For four days and four nights apart from potty breaks I read anything and everything.
After those days, I guess something got me thinking. Could have been the sleep deprivation, could have been the fact I had hardly eaten, but I realized I was in over my head. Then and there I decided it was time for a change.
Next stop: Reality? Who’s Brilliant Idea Was That?
Posted in the Throwback Thursday weekly series
Poetry, photography, tales and things that nature!
Part Two of Serially Lost in Fiction
“Losing an illusion makes you wiser than finding a truth” Ludwig Borne
Reality? Who’s Brilliant Idea Was That?
“You really need to pull it together and clean up your act!”
The words still echoing in my head from the intervention. The whole thing had made me extremely angry. But after my initial tantrum had subsided, I was willing to admit I had a problem.
So now, I needed a plan, but it was going to be hard. I had two choices, to gradually wean myself off of all that fiction and fantasy or go cold turkey. I estimated it would take around two to three weeks or so either way. I chose the latter option. I did not trust myself, suspecting the gradual way I would only make excuses and not read any less.
The options at hand would be then to:
a) Get rid of every single piece of technology or readable book.
b) Lock myself in an empty room at home.
c) Travel to a far away place, preferably a cottage in the middle of the forest somewhere without any creature comforts.
I chose plan c. It seemed the best option, since my family owned a cottage some hundred kilometers up north. There was no electricity, no running water, basically nothing but survival against the wilderness. Well, to be honest, the nearest shop was only five kilometres away, so not a god forsaken place after all.
Since the margin of me running off mid process, my family opted to drive me there and I would then have a bike to use for my trips to buy groceries. And that being my only option of transportation, it would be highly unlikely I would run off on a bike.
So it was agreed and I was on my way to the cottage in the woods with only my necessities.
Next stop: Time for a Reality Check?
Posted in the Throwback Thursday weekly series
Poetry, photography, tales and things that nature!
Part Three of Reality? Who’s Brilliant Idea Was That?
“It is strange because sometimes, I read a book, and I think I am the people in the book”
Time for a Reality Check?
So there I was, in the middle of the woods, all by my lonesome. No where to hide, no where to run.
I was in for a challenge. Not only because of me detoxing from the fiction I was greatly hooked up on at this point, but also living in an archaic house without any creature comforts.
I watched the car drive off, and then I was finally alone. Time to start the battle with the demons!
I went inside the wooden cabin finding a layer of dust settling on the surfaces. Sighing deeply and thinking ‘Welcome to the labour camp’. Placing my rucksack on the chair closest to me, I rolled up my sleeves and started cleaning up.
Windows and door open to get the air circulating. Making do with an old broom to swipe the floors. Luckily I had brought some cleaning wipes with me. Those would come in handy while dusting the surfaces.
A few hours later I looked around and the place was spick and span clean. It was time for the evening meal and I was unpacking my bag. I had several cans of food, some crackers and a juice canister. Now all I needed was water and wood!
The rest of my day went pretty much doing chors like cutting wood and hauling water from the well.
A few more hours went by and I was inside getting the wooden stow started. When the fire was burning nicely, I opened one of the cans, pea soup of course, good for any camper!
It was night fall and I had my little oil lamp burning and the fire was going keeping me warm. It had been a little bit of an effort, but luckily some smart Alec had written instructions now hanging on the wall next to fireplace.
So there I was without a care in the world, my stomach full with soup and juice. I was wondering how people managed to get anything else done in the olden days. Most of the daylight hours seemed to be wasted on cleaning and gathering necessities for meal preparation.
Then I realized I needed to use the facilities. Unfortunately there was only an outhouse and it was a bit tricky to navigate there in the dark. I had my torch with me so that helped a little. I just hoped no wildlife were close by feeling peckish and thinking I was food.
The routine for the two week period was pretty much the same every day. Get up at dawn, because the birds were screaming in the trees, hunt and gather for nourishment. The cottage grounds actually had a pretty good assortment of various berries and luckily it was the season for most of them.
In the end, I did not even miss reading, anything, fiction or otherwise. I didn’t have time, when the real life hit me hard, and using a log to do it!
Let’s see what happens when I finally get back home, where all the temptations await me!
Posted in the Throwback Thursday weekly series
Poetry, photography, tales and things that nature!
“I’m a writer and, therefore, automatically a suspicious character” – Alfred Hitchcock
Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Sailor, and a Writer
Looking into
A writers mind
You may phew
On what you find
Look in,
Carefully
Surprisingly
Lurking
Emerging
A
Tinker, Tailor,
Soldier, Sailor,
Rich Man, Poor Man,
Beggar Man, Thief
Peeping Tom, Stalker
Pervert, Prude
Sister, Brother
Loud Mouth, Mute
A
Antagonist
Protagonist
Killer, Saviour
Bad behaviour?
Winner, Looser
Coward, Hero
Or simply a Zero?
Storyteller, Liar
Truth teller, Denier
A questionable character?
Or just a clever Actor?
Psychopath,
Or, on a Path?
Writer, Politician, or a Crook?
Did I get you hooked?
Posted in the Throwback Thursday weekly series
Poetry, photography, tales and things that nature!
“When I was kid, my social network was called ‘outside’ “
Back in time
This is the work one of pure fiction. Neither polar bears nor reindeer were harmed in the creation of this literary process!
The year was 1924.
Longitude and latitude: Somewhere up north, thataway! The Finnish Lapland would probably be the most accurate location for this tale.
How old was I?
I guess I was somewhere between ten and twelve years of age. In those days, people were born and they died. No one really bothered with the record keeping. Lord knows there were plenty of us to go around.
Despite the fact it was close to midsummer, there was still snow on the ground. The reindeer and polar bears were roaming the streets while us kids were running around, having snowball fights. That is, during the minimum spare time we had between school, chores and work. Sleeping in those days was a luxury. Sometimes we had a full night’s sleep, sometimes the watch duty fell on my plate and I needed to stay up all night. Luckily, coffee had been invented ten years prior and we were all pretty much hooked on the sweet dark liquid.
Our housing for the winter months was an igloo, which the whole family constructed out of ice. Snow was used as plaster to fill in any holes between the blocks of ice. During the summer time, we had a tent like structure made out of bear and deer skin. Unfortunately all of us favoured the winter dwelling for one simple fact: The summer house stunk like a skunk. The choice of material was not a good one, but then, it was depression and all commodities were scarce.
The trip to school, either winter or summer time was made on skis and it was part to the exercise curriculum for all of us still eligible for the classes. A twenty kilometer trip back and forth was not a big deal and was building the strength and endurance nicely. This also came in handy for our after school activities. Some of us went to work in the coal mines, while others were herding rein deer or taking care of their younger siblings.
Each Saturday the Sauna was heated and all the family gathered into the cramped little room, heated up to eighty degrees. We were sitting all butt cheek to butt cheek in the nude on a wooden construct in the small dark room. Only the burning fire in the stove gave some lighting. As a luffa, a loosely tied bunch of birch tree branches with leaves on them was used. Out mother pummeled us with the concoction and me thinks she enjoyed it a little too much. Granted we children gave her grieve sometimes, so I will give her that.
Bathing for us then meant taking dips in the icy, below freezing waters. This, after we had first heated our body temperatures close to baking. Then we ran naked to the lake, where a large hole had been dug into the ice and plunged in.
All in all life was pretty ordinary and uneventful in my childhood, apart from the minor quirks.
Do I miss it? My childhood?
I would rather spend my next holiday on a labour camp!
Rantings Of A Third Kind 