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Posts Tagged ‘DPchallenge’

Sometime last week there was a photo challenge for incorporating glass into your images.  I obviously missed the boat (this is why I will never be successful at Twitter) but went scrolling through some older images looking for things taken through or with glass.  And approximately two years ago today, we went to Scotland, and we spent time at the Kelvingrove gallery.  And I saw some of my favorite pieces of glass art work ever there.  Here are my amateurish photographs of two of my favorite bits.

Glass plate, entitled "The Lovers".

Glass plate, entitled “The Lovers”.

These glasses reminded me of the ones my mother collected, and I took the picture for her. They are gorgeous, and amazing examples of hand-etched glass work.  Also, they were taken of glass, through glass, so I felt it met the challenge.

These glasses reminded me of the ones my mother collected, and I took the picture for her. They are gorgeous, and amazing examples of hand-etched glass work. Also, they were taken of glass, through glass, so I felt it met the challenge.

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What stands between you and where you want to be?

What stands between you and where you want to be?

 

What is it, really, that is between myself and who, where, or what I want to be?

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Weekly Writing Challenge: Fifty – Write a short story in only fifty words.  Condense it.  Tell as much as possible with as little as you can spare. Here goes:
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I’d never looked in her handbag before, and now it felt like sacrilege.  Gum wrappers, old receipts, enough loose coins for a coffee. Lipstick.  Empty tampon wrappers. Three letters, stuffed into one envelope.  A keycard from a hotel.

Her suicide note hadn’t said it, but I knew.  I’d always known.

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DP Weekly Challenge:  The Power of Names

Warning for triggers about child loss and infertility.

There is an empty space in my life.  It is a vacuum, a hole that I don’t know how to fill, or whether I should.  It is, unfortunately, a common void in many lives.  Many of you will know the pain of this.  I’m sorry. 

Our family is complete.  We have three beautiful, fantastic boys that i would not trade for anyone, or anything.  Each of their names has a power over me, and over anyone who knows them.  That power is associative; the memories we have of their actions, the way they’ve shaped us, the way they’ve made us laugh or cry or excelled in such a way that made us absolutely burst with pride.  The power of their names brings every memory to life with the mere mention of it, which is why I named that part that of mine that is missing.  And that name will always bring associative memories as well, but the memories are not of grueling days changing diapers or nights spent nursing a colicky baby.  The associative memories are all fantasies, suppositions, and what ifs. 

When my second son was nearly two years old, I lost a child I didn’t even yet know was growing inside me.  I began to miscarry and that was the first that I knew of my pregnancy.  I know nothing of what could have been; who the child would have grown into, whether the child was a boy or a girl, what they would have enjoyed learning most or what their favourite meal would be.  And I began to dwell on the what ifs – by not knowing, I think I was deprived of the opportunity to mourn for a specific person, I had no tangible, or even real, memories to hold on to or to treasure in my grief.  To some people, mourning a pregnancy that was so early and so unexpected seemed a bit like an act of hubris; those people we can make our own judgments about, hm?  But I needed something to grasp.  In my mind, I’ve named that child, and I’ve imagined that child growing through each developmental stage, I’ve imbued that memory with a personality and a curious nature and a stubborn streak. It comforts me to know that child is not a non-event, that child is not an empty space, that child was, for the blink of an eye, my child. 

Claire Elise.  That is the power of a name. 

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The Daily Post‘s Prompt is Leaving.

 

 

 

 

Freedom

I loved him where my breath was caged,

between the space where truth and desire dwell.

The cell tightened by dimensions,

each inhalation grew my shoulders,

brushed against the cold walls,

knees clasped tight to chest

scraped and bled against concrete,

the unlocked door drew shadow bars

upon my face.

VKF 2014

 

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