You Said ” What? “

Inspired by the Daily Prompt: How often do you say “no” to things that would interfere with your goals?

Still Life of Fish and Cat
Clara Peetersafter 1620

When you- or to put it bluntly- when I had a goal there was no shortage of people in my life to remind me to stay humble and reasonable and to not  BE be so ‘god damn selfish ‘ when anybody- and I do mean ANYBODY needed my undivided attention.

And let me tell you, I had so much help in the ‘becoming a better person in the being humble department’  that if you asked me for the last drop of blood in my veins I would give it to you because what have I DONE to deserve that last drop of blood in my veins when there are so many other people deserve it more then I?

In the end I became a bloodless corpse walking around with a gentle smile on my face but boy oh boy if you told me to jump or bark like a good girl I did.

But nothing good lasts forever.

Here’s the thing about putting your foot on somebody’s neck and pushing down on it when you want to remind them to not be ‘so selfish and to think of other people’-

they really start to believe they don’t matter and once they accept that the next step to believe is you don’t matter too and that well of darkness  that you helped people like me dig in their heads or their hearts  is bottomless and dark.

and you never know when you might fall into it one day.

Let me end this on a teensy up beat note.

When I cut away the deadwood in my life- and by that I mean people who brought NOTHING into my life except their wants, their desires and support for THEIR goals in life I found out I could write again. In fact I improved and this year I plan on taking it to the next level.

However, there are times though when I start to feel like I don’t need that lost drop  of blood in my veins and before I give it up, in my head me and that person who wants that tiny drop take a stroll through my head to where that bottomless well is and when we are done there I sit down and I start to write again.

“How a Braggart was Drowned in a Well”, Folio 33v from a Haft Paikar (Seven Portraits) of the Khamsa (Quintet) of Nizami of Ganja

The Leprechaun’s Daughter

Inspired by the prompt: Shamrocks and Leprechauns –and Dailyprompt: Who was your favorite teacher and why.

Photographer Unknown

When I was in the first  grade, and the holidays rolled around we made  Christmas Trees and Halloween decorations out of construction paper. We got to use clay to make decorations  and put on our smocks and painted pictures on easels, must like real artists.

When Saint Patrick’s Day rolled around we got to cut out shamrocks and to take home and some to decorate our desks with.

My Dad was red headed,  green eyed, he had freckles  and he wasn’t as tall as the other Dads and in my opinion he looked like a Leprechaun, especially when he got mad. So I got busy and  made him a bunch of shamrocks and I drew an angry little face with red hair in each one, just for him.

I was having a great time when Carla, who sat a few desks behind me stopped by my desk to the art table to see what I was doing.

All of the sudden she stomped her foot and then she started to pull my shamrocks  off of my desk and she started screaming for our teacher, ” Mrs Kerr! Mrs Kerr! Anita is making shamrocks! Mrs. Kerr come and see what Anita is doing!”

I thought I was going to get in trouble for making fun of my Dad. But when Mrs Kerr got to my desk she had to calm Carla down and my artwork wasn’t called into question. Yet.

Carla was in what he would call now a full blown meltdown. I didn’t mind. I figured as long as Carla was standing there and raging up a storm, I would be safe for a little bit and NOT getting into trouble for making fun of my Dad.

Who by the way did look like a leprechaun and had the temper to match.

Carla  tried to grab more of my cutouts off of my desk and then she reached for my scissors but Mrs. Kerr, probably thinking that Carla was going to jab them into my skull, rounded though they were and not likely to pierce my head,  pulled my chair away from my raging classmate.

Mrs Kerr liked me even though I used to get into loads of trouble with my best friends Bonnie and Linda. On the other hand, I was reading a grade up and I was already trying to write and illustrate my own little stories so she thought I was a promising if not spirited kid.

So Mrs. Kerr grabs Carla and tells her to calm down. Then she scolds her for,  her and I will always remember what she said to Carla, ” Your total lack of self control and good manners  young lady!”

Mrs. Kerr had this thing. She never called her students ‘ kids or children or young people and if the term ‘kiddos’ would have been in our vocabulary back then, Mrs Kerr would have pulled her tongue out before she said it. At 7 years old we were ” Young Ladies ” and ” Gentlemen ” in her classroom.

We were little kids but she treated us like big kids and I liked that.

” Yeah,  young lady, ” I said, ” you ruined my shamrocks and they’re for my Dad!”

I remember kicking myself for saying that.

Carla started to rip up my shamrocks. ” She has no right! She has NO right! She can’t make shamrocks. She can’t have Saint Patrick’s Day!”

By this point I was stressing over my decision to draw my Dad’s face- red and twisted in all of his Leprechaun glory.  I was sort of glad that at least a half dozen of them were destroyed when Carla, tears streaming down her face said to Mrs Kerr,

” She can’t have Saint Patrick’s Day- she’s- she’s BROWN. ”

Mrs. Kerr took Carla firmly by her arm and they left the classroom together.

Miss Longmuir came in a minute later and got us back on track.

She gave me some more green construction paper  to make more shamrocks and she even offered to help me cut some out, but I, the Mrs. Kerr’s shining example of a Young Lady, smiled and thanked her and said I could do it.

I sat there, smiling with my hands folded- which was what we were supposed to do when we weren’t working on our lessons. I waited for Miss Longmuir  to make  her way to the front of the room to help some of my other classmates then I unfolded my hands and I opened open my desk and took out my ‘ magic pen ‘ then I went back to Carla’s desk and wrote my name in each one of her little green shamrocks.

And then I drew a Leprechaun on her desk.

It ‘s little was face was smiling and it looked just like my Dad.

Artist Unknown

Happy Bees

Word of the Day Challenge: REGRET

Tartini’s Dream by James Marshall, 1868

I regret

the doors that I did not slam shut

the windows that I closed when it was raining

I regret

the kind words that buzzed from my lips like happy honey bees

sweetening the world for everyone who patted me on the head and said ‘hello’

I regret

the minutes and seconds I  gave away, threw away like confetti on New Years Eve

I regret I didn’t keep  a single moment, a little sweetness for myself.

The Brilliant Idea

RDP Wednesday: WINNER

Funeral Symphony. III from the cycle of 7 paintings.
Mikalojus Konstantinas Čiurlionis1903

Last night I had a dream about a funeral.

As far as funerals go, it was  boring  affair.

Everyone was dressed in black, the sun was shining , the light coming from it was pale and the air was cool. The coffin was a light gray and the  locks and handle were silver.

They weren’t fancy locks either. They were there to lock the coffin and not to look impressive.

I was sitting in the front row, to the left of the casket and my head was bowed, my hair was in my face and my hands were resting in my lap.

I heaved little sigh and bit the inside of my cheek in the hope I would wake up. It didn’t work. Drats.

A little side door to the right of podium opened and a figure ( dressed in black of, course ) walked into the Sanctuary.

The Minister was one of those clergymen that Funeral Directors call to officiate the ritual. You can rent a car and you can rent a Minister. It’s the way the world spins.

These kindly Ministers don’t know a single soul in the room so they sort of look above everyone’s heads- but not quite all the way to God and they smile gently- then they scan the room while still looking over everyone’s heads from left to right and this time they look all the way up to heaven.

When the Minister’s gaze hits the center of the room, they always nod.

That’s when Funeral Director whose job it is to close the doors when the service starts,  is also the one with the remote for the sound system, because as soon as the door swished shut the always  music a starts.

I was wondering when I was going to wake up when a fresh faced young man wearing a surgical mask with little blue and pink dots said to me- ” Who do I have to kill to get out of this dream? “

I reached over, put a warm motherly hand on the  back of his neck looked over at him and said, ” what a brilliant idea.”

And do you know what?

It was a winner of an idea and  it worked like a charm.

I woke up almost right away with a smile and a face mask with pink and blue dots on the night stand next to my bed.

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