Pineapple Musings

Now wear did that pineapple go? I swear I placed it on a counter somewhere but my memory has failed me. It’s an odd looking fruit, indeed. Did you know that pineapples really exist in the ocean? The taste of pineapple can be described as spicy, sweet, and sour at the same time. A taste is left in your mouth that makes it hard to eat more pineapple later on.



Birthday Wishes



“Look, Lorie, it’s a comet!”, shouted her brother Pascal, nudging her slightly. They were sitting together on the roof of their house, just outside the open window of Lorie’s small room, listening to the crickets chirp and the wind blow calmly. Sure enough, when the teenage girl looked up, a brilliant trail of silvery dust could be seen speeding across the stellular sky. It quickly disappeared behind the horizon of trees in the distant countryside.

What a great thing to see on her birthday, Lorie thought. Nothing too exciting ever happened around the sleepy hillside just on the East side of the river that snaked though this part of Garris County. She sometimes wished she could get away and experience what was on the other side of the river, what mysteries she would uncover. Pascal and she would come up here often in the evenings just after supper had finished and mom and dad had settled into their favorite TV show together. It was a peaceful moment of bonding for them and they usually didn’t say much but let Mother Nature do the talking.

It had been a good day for the girl from a small town in the rural landscape. Her mother, a very fine chef, had meticulously baked her a cake, chocolate with strawberry frosting, and when she went to blow out the fifteen candles on top, she secretly wished for a number of things to happen to her in the future:

No.1 – She would marry a handsome prince who rode through the country on a white horse. No, that sounds so cliché and fairytale like. She did want to meet someone with a little ambition in life though, someone she could travel the world with, him having money being an obvious thing in this case, though she would definitely want to have her own source of wealth. This man would come from a rich family, of course, and would have attended the finest colleges, preferably one from the North.

No. 2 – Her eighteenth birthday would be even more extravagant than anything before. She imagined it being held in a large dance hall with chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Everyone would be dressed up in their finest clothes, the men in tailored suits, the women in free-flowing dresses. She would be like the queen, everyone singing for her, all the eligible bachelors wanting a chance to dance with her on that smooth parquet floor.

And No. 3 – She would have had the greatest last year of high school during that eighteenth year. Many unimaginable things would happen to her. Lorie would be elected Homecoming Queen, walking along the good-looking King who happened to be the star quarterback of the football team. She would get to take the class trip to a faraway country, preferably Paris, since that is what she had heard was exclusive to the upperclassmen of her school. Again, it all sounds so cliché, but after living her life for so long in a low-key, unassuming way, being able to do something that not everyone gets so lucky to do and being celebrated for just once would elate Lorie.

She would love to have a day everyday that celebrated her, made her feel like the most important thing in the world. Like having a birthday everyday, as Katy Perry would say (yes, she knew about pop music even way back in this area where it all but seemed unlikely to exist, having listened to her friends music at school), getting the most wonderful gifts, being able to go anywhere she chooses. She would be floating on a weightless cloud, not a thing to harm her, always happy.

“Hey, Lorie, you okay?”

She hadn’t realized she was still sitting up there on the roof with Pascal, having drifted off into deep fantasizing thought. Pascal had made as if he was about to go inside again, silently gesturing for his sister to do the same.

“Yeah, I’m fine, was just thinking about something”, Lorie answered, still looking ahead towards the forest, the last bit of sunlight slowly sinking.

“What was that?,” Pascal asked curiously, choosing to sit back down again.

“Just something amazing. I can’t hardly put it into words but it is nice.”

Pascal didn’t answer this time but looked at Lorie as if he was intrigued by what she said. After she seemed to fall into deep thought again, he simply smiled and sat there quietly with her, just staring at the cosmic display of stars amid the half crescent moon.

After a few minutes, he finally broke the silence.

“It’s okay to dream sis, but don’t let it go to your head.”

Lorie finally looked at him after he had said this. He must had figured what she thinking then  With him being a few years older than she is, he was basically fit to tell her to not be so naive when it came to the world, that not everything is as good as it seems. Sure, she thinking she may get to be a famous moviestar someday might had seemed an impossible thing, but in her dreams it seemed closer than ever as if she were actually there on the red carpet…

With this final thought, she sighed deeply and went back inside, Pascal following close behind. She’ll get to show off someday, Lorie solemnly thought.

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Festivus for the Rest of Us.”

Stovetop Chats

These days, it is getting harder and harder to keep up with blogging, because for one I have officially gotten into the groove of making YouTube videos again, cutting away a lot of time from my daily posting. Things are getting more elaborate, more time consuming, I’m getting more adventurous, more creative. This is why I have not posted in the early morning in a long while, letting the hours tick away until the time seems right. So trying to make every post from now on seem like I put the well earned effort into making it shine, not typing up something with haste just to keep my streak alive (which has ended now) takes more willpower and time dedication than ever. The habit of waiting until the final hours of the day to post is not very good, because I find myself cramming in words to meet a pressured deadline.

The thing that is difficult with blogging day in and day out is that my mind seems to “close off” from wanting to write and I basically feel burnt out, out of ideas, not sure where to turn next, the inspiration well running dry. The social part of the experience also starts to fall behind and I lose touch with the community, which turns out to have some bad consequences (losing viewership, likes, comments, etc.).

Which takes me to the prompt:

First of all, I don’t have a fireplace, but if I wanted to chat with someone by a “fire”, the video on Netflix featuring a slowly burning yule log would suffice – but the Christmas music that accompanies might be a little annoying to some. Or, I could just turn on the stove’s gas burner, pull up two chairs, turn off the lights except for that of the oven’s overhead filter, and converse in a secular moment.

I’ve never thought of chatting with anyone beside a fire, real or not, and this does seem like an early 20th century thing that has gone out of style. Franklin D. Roosevelt used to have “Fireside Chats” with people over the radio, aptly named because they used to sit by their roaring hearths, all warm and cozy, taking in FDR’s inspirational messages, words of hope, goals for the country to accomplish. It was a way of connecting with his country, getting to know what they liked, wanted to see happen. I guess if current President Obama wanted to have a “Fireside Chat”, it would happen out on Twitter or Reddit, questions and answers coming back and forth, but it just wouldn’t have the same emotional feeling that comes from soaking in the heat of a burning log and hanging onto every crisp word of the commander in chief.

Someone who would make a great guest by my little stove top fire, and a person I only know on the surface, would be one of my favorite bloggers, Angloswiss (sorry to single you out), whose real name is Pat. I would love to get to know more about her travels in England, what she grew up with, the source of her witty humor, where she got the inspiration for her blog from, and more about her photographic skills. Her blog, Chronicles of An Angloswiss, was actually one of the first blogs I started reading regularly (or when I get the time to). I know she would be able to tell her life story the same way she writes – with elaborate detail, vivid imagery, powerful, outspoken narrative, and always with a tasteful sense of humor. Mr. Swiss would probably be there too, supervising the whole matter, feeding advice into my subject’s ear. And then after meeting and chatting face to face for the first time, I would set her cats down by the stove top fire and get to know them as well – and I would be surprised that they could speak English as well.

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: Fireside Chat

What person whom you don’t know very well in real life — it could be a blogger whose writing you enjoy, a friend you just recently made, etc. — would you like to have over for a long chat in which they tell you their life story?

The Great Divide or Blurred Line?

Daily Prompt: The Great Divide

I disagree with the notion of The Great Divide when talking about non-fiction and fiction. Since a lot of fictional works do incorporate elements of reality into them I don’t think it’s quite a great ‘divide’ as in the crack of an earthquake but more of a ‘blur’ between two worlds. Some historical works also take liberties as well to incorporate fiction as a way to make the story a little more interesting than it would be if it was told straight. The author might also be intimidated by writing something so historically accurate, such as if it was dealing with a tragedy and the survivors, that they use fiction as a way to escape some added heat, such as with Jessica Francis Kane’s retelling of the Bethnal Green Tube disaster. Either way, it is a matter of the author choosing to go wild with his or her imagination, play it straight up, or incorporate reality and fantasy into the story as to make the characters more human and connect with the readers. That’s the blur of fiction vs. non-fiction: imagination.

Do I prefer fiction or non-fiction for a fun read? Depends on how I am feeling but recently I have been preferring fiction more since the knowledgeable half of me is a bit uninterested at the moment.

Fiction is for days when I am feeling bored or content and would like nothing better to do than read something that doesn’t tax my brain power. I like being transported to a world totally unimaginable and out of our realm. This stretches my imagination and I usually come away with happy emotions and some food for thought. Harry Potter is obviously my favorite fictional series ever (I just bought a new 7 book set in hardcover) followed closely by Artemis Fowl which I have been waiting eagerly for a movie to be announced but it seems quite unlikely now.

Non-fiction is for days when I feel like being intellectual and adding something worthwhile to my “data base”. Many a great times I have walked by shelves in the library and saw books about real-life or historical events, machines, or the human body that instantly opened that curious door in my brain. Some of my favorite non-fiction books tend to be on the subject of how things work, how they are built, or what is inside them. One of my favorite non-fiction titles was (and still is) called The Way Things Work by David Macaulay, a reference book actually, which was choke full of artistic drawings of machines from simple to complex and explained the process of how each one operated when they were initiated by a human or something else. One of my cherished memories of reading that whole book (yes, it was THAT good) was the humorous drawings of wooly mammoths and people in it where they would often be pictured in some way on the machines either operating or dwelling within them. I suppose one of the true non-fictional works I read was about three NFL players whose boat capsized in the middle of the ocean and recounted their rough battle for survival. It was told from the eventual final survivor’s point of view, who was the author. The book was so captivating and full of emotion and strong words that I believe a few tears were shed reading it, much like listening to Simon & Garfunkel’s “Bridge Over Troubled Water”.

I get a sudden ‘itch’ to read or watch fictional works because I am willing to escape and get lost in another world that plays on my emotions and I get a sudden curiosity to read or watch non-fiction because I am looking to come away with some new-found knowledge and find answers or I want to relive the heroic or harrowing journey of someone based on my own emotions at the time.

So to sum things up, non-fiction and fiction are alike in some ways and there is no deep, impassable abyss between them. They do overlaps sometimes, depending on the book, with emotions, relationships, morals, and tragedies. It all comes down to a little thing called imagination. Without imagination there is no fiction. A lot of characters in fiction are drawn from the author’s own experiences and they both end up sharing things in common. The same can be said for non-fictional characters; their experiences, personalities, and dialogue are based on the actual person themselves either from the author’s point of view or someone else’s and when the author is not so sure about true events they sometimes might use a little fiction to move the story along.