Five Minute Friday: Dare

Today I'm writing for Five Minute Friday. I haven't done this in awhile, and I definitely wrote longer than 5 minutes :) Writing feels good. 

You can write along and follow Kate's prompts and her blog by clicking below:

Today's prompt: Dare.

Go:

As a girl, I hated playing the game Truth or Dare. I dreaded that time of night at the birthday sleepover, snug in my pajamas, that my friends would whip out the "Truth or Dare card." I could sense it coming. My stomach would start to twist in knots, butterflies would begin to flutter, and an unsettling queasiness began to rise in my belly. All over a stupid game of Truth or Dare. 

Living with OCD, dares were not my thing. At all. They still aren't. My whole life I have had to push myself to take risks. As I've gotten older, it's gotten much easier to shove myself in the direction of adventure; however, as I kid, I wanted nothing to do with it. Rules soothed me. They were predictable. If you followed them, they would always lead to a tried and true outcome: no one would get in trouble, no one would get hurt, and no one would die.

Of course that last part has a little OCD-flair added in. To me, not following the rules could also, unequivocally, end up in illness or death. A huge leap, I know. OCD does not understand the relative distance between Deviation A (getting in trouble) and Deviation B (dying from not following the rules). In my little kid, OCD brain, contracting gangrene, having all my limbs amputated because they rotted, and then dying from a horrible infection caused by the gangrene was not a far jump from getting in trouble by my mother for yelling at my little sister--all because I didn't follow the rules.

Me (in the middle) with my sisters at about age 11 or 12. (Those bangs!)

This adherence to the rules always hurt in me in my ability to play Truth or Dare with my friends. I was never the cool one who took on the dare. I was the one who stared, eyes at the floor, hoping no one would choose me to decide whether I wanted to break the rules. I never wanted to break the rules.

At one such sleepover in 5th grade, my friends decided that everyone at the party had to complete a dare. No if's, and's, or but's, everyone. Being the rule follower that I was, I didn't want to go against the birthday girl's request. 

All of my friends knew I never chose a dare in the game of Truth of Dare, so I, of course, became their obvious first target. The birthday girl decided to come up with some disgusting concoction of  food smashed together in her hand: cottage cheese, cream cheese, Parmesan cheese, hot sauce, and some kind of lunch meat. Giggling the entire time, she told me that she dared me to eat five bites of the disgusting mess and then smear some on my friend's face (who fell asleep earlier in the night).

The queasiness began to rise into my throat, not just because the mess she dared me to eat stunk to the high heavens, but for three reasons:

1) In my house, I would never waste so much food. My mom had three little girls to feed.

2) I was taught to treat others the way you wanted to be treated and did not want to wipe any of that slop on my friend's face.

3) Who knew what kind of disease you could get by mixing so much cheese together!

I knew as soon as I saw her working in the kitchen that I was not going to go through with my dare. My friends were laughing and giggling, egging me on, chanting "do it!" over and over. I was mortified. The sting of tears formed in my eyes. Not knowing what else to do, I blurted out as loudly as I could, "I'm allergic to cheese!"

The room went silent. I knew my friends had seen me eat slices of pizza, a slice of cheese on my sandwich at lunch, my favorite food was French onion soup, for God's sake. No one moved. The birthday girl broke the silence, "Are you really?"

"Yeah," my meek voice barely audible.

"Why didn't you say that in the first place?" she asked.

From that moment on, I learned my lesson: before a game of Truth or Dare, tell your friends that you're allergic to cheese and never feel bad turning down a dare.

Stop.

Love and happiness <3 Holly

Five Minute Friday: Grateful

Today I'm linking up with Lisa-Jo Baker over at Surprised by Motherhood for Five Minute Friday. 

For Five Minute Friday, the goal is just to write for five minutes straight. No hyper-editing, or revising, just writing. Put your thoughts on paper, and that's it! Stop on by Lisa Jo's blog and check out all the other amazing people and their writing for her Five Minute Friday link-up! 


This week's topic is Grateful.


Go:

I Am Grateful Because

I am grateful because I had my dad for 26 amazing years.

I am grateful because I can still remember his smell.

I am grateful because I can still hear his voice and his laugh.

I am grateful because I can still feel his hug and see his smile while he squeezes me tight.

I am grateful because I am married to the most amazing man.

I am grateful because he promised my dad he’d take care of me.

I am grateful because he’s known me since I was a teenager.

I’m grateful because he gets me, even when I haven’t said a word.

I am grateful because I have a mom who loves me unconditionally.

I am grateful because she would stand in front of me while the storm is raging.

I am grateful because I have fun loving, crazy sisters.

I am grateful because they are there for me through thick and thin.

I am grateful because I teach amazing kids who make me want to be the best I can be.

I am grateful because I love to learn, to read, and to write my life in a book.

I am grateful because I have friends who get me, who accept and love me.

I am grateful because I just want to make this world a little happier.

I am grateful because I have a body that can dance. 

I am grateful because I am not afraid to put myself out there.

I am grateful because I have this one life.

I am grateful because I have time to figure it all out.

I am grateful because I never give up.

I am grateful because I am.

Stop.

Thanks for stopping by!

What are you grateful for?

Love and happiness <3 Holly

Five Minute Friday: Mess

It's time for another Five Minute Friday! I'm linking up with Lisa-Jo Baker to write for 5 Minutes straight. No planning, no worrying, no hyper-editing--just writing! There are so many wonderful people who link up to share their writing on Lisa-Jo's blog. You should check it out!

This week's topic is mess. Here's what I came up with:

Go:


Honestly, my life is a big, hot mess.

A big, fat mess of headaches, headaches that cause anxiety, emotions, exhaustion, stagnancy.

Springtime is not my happy.

This time of year always brings me down.

Another school year over, drained and needing some down-time.

Relief from migraines.

Time to process grief that has not yet passed.

For some reason, this year, I feel a little more down.

Not necessarily cry-my-eyes-out sad.

Just can't-get-up-and-moving-just-make-it-through-the-day sad.

Pushed to my limits emotionally, I want to crawl into bed and sleep,

but the show must go on.

Always.

Keep repeating over and over (I'm good at this):

And this too shall pass.




Stop.



Thanks for stopping by! I needed to write tonight. Happy weekend everyone :)


Love and happiness <3 Holly

Five Minute Friday: Paint

It's time for another Five Minute Friday! I'm linking up with Lisa-Jo Baker to write for 5 Minutes straight. No planning, no worrying, no hyper-editing--just writing! It's so much fun, and there are so many other wonderful people who link up to share their writing on Lisa-Jo's blog. You should check it out! It's so much fun! Or maybe you could even try writing about the topic!!

Here's what I came up with for this week! I wrote about an amazing friend who I love dearly like my sisters :)


This week's topic is...

Paint.

Go:

Her art hangs on my walls. It adorns my home. She is reflected in her paintings. In every room, I am reminded of her beauty. Warming my life every day with happiness. It's her strength, her happiness, her sadness, her passion--her insides poured out for all to see. Her bravery. Her honesty.

Every night I eat dinner, I am comforted by her presence. And when I relax on my couch and get dressed in the morning. Each paintbrush stroke, so perfectly placed. Her eyes looking back at me. She listens to the details of my rough day, nodding with understanding. "Another headache again? Don't worry, you'll be okay. Just take a deep breath. You'll get through it. You always do," she says. 

She is my friend, my sister from another mother. My strength when I don't have any. My heartbeat, my joy, my laughter. My person when I need someone. She has been through my ups and downs. My rock bottom. She helped me through like no one knows. I think about her often and how her strength pulled us through difficult times. Making us spaghetti for dinner when we didn't think we could go on any longer. Knowing just how her presence was the only thing we needed to pull us together when we had nothing left. It meant everything. It still does. I don't know what I'd do without her love and support. 

Her paintings say it all: this is me. A piece of her heart is left on the canvas. I couldn't imagine it any other way. And I wouldn't want to. Her paintings are my comfort and my joy. Today, her son's painting decorates my wall right alongside his mamma's work. It lightens my heart and my soul. Innocence, sweet hugs, and laughter jump from the white paper and into my heart. Closing my eyes, I hear his tiny voice, his big laugh, and see his sweet smile. 

Him: "Howwy, I scare you again, pweese?" 

Me: "Sure, honey. You can scare me again."

Him: "Okay. Aaaaggghhhhh! I scare you?"

My heart warms and becomes lighter. His art makes me smile. His mamma's art makes me smile. Their art is my happy. They are my happy. May my walls always be embellished with passion, love, and laughter. I wouldn't have it any other way. 

Stop.

Some of her art in my life

Love and happiness <3 Holly

Five Minute Friday: Mighty Anxiety

Tonight I'm linking up with Lisa Jo Baker for Five Minute Friday. Every Friday, people from all walks of life from all over sit down and write for 5 minutes about a given topic. Then we share our writing on her blog.

The goal of our writing is to sit down and write without big revisions or editing. We just write. It's fun! Try it; see what happens!


This week's topic: Mighty


Go:

Mighty Anxiety

You, my friend, are mighty.

There are times when you

have taken over

my sight,

my heart, 

my mind.

You have taken away

my vision,

my hope, 

my voice.

With a strength and power

I had never known

how to overcome,

I struggled to

stay afloat.

I gave you my tears,

my thoughts,

my go-with-the-flow,

my too tired to fight.

You, my dear anxiety,

you put up a good fight.

I know you're used to surrender,

but I haven't given up yet.

Sorry to disappoint you, but 

I'm tired of your bullshit.

I am the mighty one,

putting up with your games

day after day after day.

I'm tired of fighting.

Some days, I'd rather not,

but every day I prepare for war.

This girl ain't going down easy.

She never has, and she never will.

Stop.



Let me know if you give it a go!!


Love and happiness <3 Holly

Five Minute Friday: My Grandpa's Garden

I'm linking up again with Lisa-Jo Baker for 5-Minute Friday. The topic this week is garden. I have to say, I am sure I wrote a little longer than 5 minutes today. But I couldn't stop! I wanted to finish my story! Good memories :)

Go:

Picture by of Mandy Paige Photography

My grandpa had a garden. Situated at the bottom of his back yard, it shared a fence with a golf course. Golfers meandered by discussing their plans for the next hole, never noticing my grandpa’s little piece of heaven. Every year he planted tomatoes, asparagus, peppers, zucchini, green beans, okra, and cucumbers. Tomatoes were his favorite to grow. Every year he grew so many tomatoes, he had to give them away to our family, my uncles and aunts, his friends, and his neighbors so they wouldn't go to waste. My grandpa didn't even eat tomatoes that often. He always said they were not his favorite. He was more of a meat and potatoes kind of man. He grew them because gardening was his passion. 

My grandpa owned a bakery before I was born. When I was young and first heard this, I couldn’t believe it. My grandpa, a baker? My mom told me stories of how he used to let her invite her friends over to make salt water taffy in the kitchen. She remembers pulling and pulling the long, sticky mess until he said it was ready to eat. He knew what he was doing. He baked pies, cookies, rolls, and cakes. Growing up, I don’t have memories of my grandpa baking things, but I sure do have memories of his garden.

I remember my grandma canning Grandpa's fresh and delicious green beans for winter. She used to cook them with a ham hock. They were that perfect mixture of saltiness and smoky goodness--one of my favorites of all time. My grandma used his fresh tomatoes to make her homemade salsa. It was a tad sweet, not like the normal salsa I eat today. It had a hint of nutmeg mixed in. It made me feel warm and fuzzy inside when I ate it. Every time a chip went in my mouth, I did a little happy dance. My mouth waters for that salsa.

My grandpa’s tomatoes were the best. He always grew them big and juicy. They were dark, red and perfect just by themselves. My dad always ate them with a little bit of salt shaken on top. He could eat them straight up like an apple. But mostly my dad and I would slice three or four tomatoes up on a plate, shake a little salt on top, and eat them like they were candy. We ate so many tomatoes during the summer that our lips would tingle when the acidity from the tomatoes got to be too much, eating one after another after another. Our mouths would water when grandpa called to tell us he had more tomatoes waiting for us.

Even when my grandpa had a stroke and heart trouble, you could find him down in the garden staking tomatoes with his oxygen tank lying on the ground next to him. He was no longer a baker, but by gosh, nothing was going to stop him from gardening. Even after his daughter (my mother, who is a nure) gave him what-for about driving stakes into the ground while wearing an oxygen tank and having a heart condition, he didn't care. He still tended to his garden and supplied us with tomatoes until he wasn't physically able to anymore.

I miss his garden so much. Writing this hurts my heart a little. Even though my grandpa’s garden is no longer here, I still have these memories of his love and passion for this art that he perfected. It means so much that he shared love with me. I know he’s growing tomatoes up in heqaven for my dad and my grandma. I hope they save some for me. 

Stop.

Love and happiness <3 Holly

Five Minute Friday: Visiting with My Dad

For this week's Five Minute Friday, I found someone who loves Five Minute Friday as much as me! I'm linking up with Lisa Jo and her Five Minute Friday Post topic: Visit. If you like to write and want something quick and fun to do, you should check out her blog! Every Friday she posts a Five Minute Friday topic, you write for five minutes, share your writing, and can read other writers' five minute musings too! It's really fun!

Here's what I wrote on the prompt Visit:

I never knew how I should feel about visiting my dad at the cemetery. At first I would go and sit by his gravestone with the view of the pond, talk to him about my day, laugh about how much the geese loved to leave him presents on his stone, and just sit.

At first, it made me feel connected to him in some way—like when I went to the cemetery, I was visiting him. Sometimes, it made me sad to think of my dad like this—buried in the ground, in a place where I would never see his face again. It would bring me flashbacks of his funeral. The rain poured down like cold stones as we ran from the car to the tent at his grave-site. It rained on his wedding day.

But this is no longer my reality. Going to the cemetery is just a quick stop to say hello. It’s just a minute to walk around peacefully, looking at the beautiful trees and that pond with the silly geese. Maybe it’s bringing my dad flowers; maybe it’s just looking at the beautiful headstone.

I don’t go that often anymore. I feel connected to my dad every day. I feel him everywhere. I feel him in my laugh. I see him in my youngest sister’s smile and the squint of her eyes. I see his likeness in my middle sister’s eyes and the color of her skin. I feel him in the craziness of life when his voice whispers in my head that everything will be alright. I dream of his hugs. I feel him in my heart every day. I love having a place to visit if I want to, but I don’t need to anymore. I know that he is with me every second of every day. I like that. I’m better with that.

A Little Five Minute Friday

For today's Five Minute Friday, I used a prompt from my book The Daily Spark: Poetry. 

I've really been enjoying the prompts in this book. Here's the one I picked for today from page 162:

"Think about a time you felt out of place socially. Do you think you felt

uncomfortable because of the way someone was treating you,

or was it just because you were self-conscious?

Write a poem about how it feels to be an outsider."

This poem doesn't particularly relate to my life in a specific way, but I did feel very out of place socially when I was younger, especially from grades 3-9. I did have a lot of social anxiety at school. I was so quiet. People always said that about me. Some days, I remember not talking the whole day, except at lunch to a few close friends, to ask to go to the bathroom, or if I was called on by my teacher. A few years were easier than others (like 5th and 6th grade) because I had some AMAZING teachers!! But overall, I was just a shy and anxious kid.

I wrote this poem just based on the feelings someone might have as an outsider in a social situation. 

I think this is so true about feeling like an outsider. There may be hundreds of people around, but you always feel alone. 

I used the fluer de lis in my poem. 

Here is my poem:

Wallflower

Long, magnificent strips of chartreuse fleurs de lis

vertically line the perimeter of the room.

Do you see with what delicacy the design was

stenciled onto the smooth, silky material?

How long it must have taken for someone to line them all up

and paste them just so?

Seamless.

Flawless.

How ironic that I am the one standing here

with my seams ripped wide open and my flaws pouring out for all to see.

Everyone knows I’m here,

but acknowledging my presence would be the end.

The death of their social hierarchy.

I am not one to make a scene,

but sometimes I wish I would.

Maybe I’ll scream at the top of my lungs,

“I’m here! I’m right here! I should be treated like royalty! I deserve to be. Look at me, please!”

But for now, I will stand here next to my beautiful Frenchwomen,

and think on it a bit.

Maybe tomorrow I’ll find my voice.

Thanks for reading!!

To read my other Five Minute Friday Writings click on the links below:

Zeugmas
Throwback
A Part of My Book
Sibling Bonding
Peacock Haikus
My Thor
Conversation with My OCD Brain

Let me know if you write a 5 Minute Poem!! I'd LOVE to read it!

Love and happiness <3 Holly

Five (maybe ten) Minute Friday!! It's Friday!!

For today's Five Minute Friday, I'm trying something new! I recently bought a new book to give myself some great inspiration for my writing. It's called The Daily Spark: Poetry Warm-up Activities. The Barnes and Noble Bookseller in Kenwood is closing on December 31st, and if you have not been there recently, I suggest you go! They have so much on clearance, including educational books, and they're all 50% off! I picked this lovely book up, and I am so excited to use it today to spark my creativity.

So today I chose a prompt from Day #14, and it's all about zeugmas! What's that you say? Zeugma, what? I asked myself the same question, so today I will try my best to do this prompt justice. We'll see what happens!!

Here's the prompt:

                       "In the third line of his poem 'What the Gypsies Told My 

                        Grandmother While She Was Still A Young Girl,' Charles 

                        Simic uses a zeugma:

                        You'll chop onions and pieces of your heart into the same 

                        hot skillet.

                       A zeugma is a device in which one word applies to two nouns 

                       in different ways. In Simic's poem, 'chop' describes an everyday 

                       activity and acts as a painful metaphor. Another example of zeugma 

                       is 'He stole my money and my soul'" (p 14).

Come up with a zeugma of your own and use it in a poem. 

Revelation

He had seen it coming.

She was done.

She didn't want this anymore.

She didn't want him anymore.

"I just can't live like this." 

Her explanation was less than stellar. 

It just pissed him off.

Three years, talk of marriage, sharing their home, and now--

She had cried no tears.

She was very matter of fact; 

just like her accountant voice he heard on the phone

when she answered her clients' calls.

Professional, calm, overly-attentive, fake.

She wanted no argument, no begging, nothing difficult.

But the hard truth was, she didn't want him.

She swallowed her wine and his hope along with it.

She would never stay.

It wasn't worth trying.

Nothing could be said.

He walked to the door and opened it wide.

She starred in amazement, as if he would have the nerve to do something so brazen.

She stomped out the door and on his pride.

Behind her, the door slammed. 

He couldn't stand the thought of her.

He drank the rest of the wine alone, swallowing each sip and his sorrow.

He was numb.

No thoughts in his head.

He sat drinking. 

He slept on the couch in his clothes with that bottle of wine.

In the morning, the sun roused him and his anger.

He began planning his next words to her--what he didn't get to say.

Everything he never got to say to her--three years of never-been-said.

Then the phone rang.

Out of habit, he picked it up and raised it to his ear.

"I don't know what got into me last night. I need to see you. I made a mistake. I'm sorry."

His blood boiled.

His mind raced.

His eyes filled with tears.

He threw the phone across the room.

His breath lightened and so did his heart.

No words needed.

I needed 10 minutes for this one!! Thus, the title change to Ten Minute Friday!!! Thanks for reading!! Happy weekend!!

Love and happiness <3 Holly