In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “A Plot of Earth.”
I would build a home with a wrap-around porch, furnished with chairs and jugs of sparkling water with slices of lemon added (instead of lemonade).
I would sit on the porch and admire the scenery, and finish all my half read books. Because now that I blog, I ain’t never gonna finish any of them.
I have spent some time with my Year 4 teacher. Year 4 was my fourth year of school. It is the year I turned 10. My teacher is visiting Sydney with her best friend, who is the mother of a South African friend of mine. Her best friend is also a teacher, and taught my sister. I am reminded of how small this world is. It is surreal to spend time with someone from my life thirty years ago. And once one gets past the exterior change, the mannerisms of that person are still the same. The essence of one does not change.
I had a passing thought. Remember 1984? Oh. Yes, I remember sitting in the classroom. I remember my teacher reading us The Enchanted Wood. I had already read it a few times myself. I liked my teacher then. And I like her now.
And then I remember 1984. That was the year I wished to die. That was the year I experienced anger and wrath. And I felt fear. My life changed that year. And my fear would stay with me. It would influence my choice of husband. The way I live my life.
My daughter is nine today. It is her birthday. I do not believe she has ever felt fear. She is confident and passionate and sure of herself. I grew up hiding and scared and reserved. It is only through writing that I have found that I am as passionate as my daughter is. When I get past the fear and reserve that I carry as part of me, there is passion.
Reaching Meadow Lane is authored by a friend of mine in Johannesburg. Amazing the situations others go through without saying a word about it at the time. Fascinating reading, and I had no idea of her experiences when we were in close contact. (Apart from being too caught up in my own experiences at the time).
How it was ever possible? No matter which cinema in the whole of South Africa; no matter which movie was booked, the Mad Man would choose and book the only broken chair! How is that ever conceivable? Yet, as a honorable husband, he would deem it necessary that we swap chairs because you have to make your wife sit on a broken chair during the duration of a movie. To this day, I recall only one occasion in which the chair was genuinely broken. Just as we would move multiple times in a restaurant while having coffee, we too, would move multiple times in a cinema to find the best position on a functioning chair. Adding this complexity, the Mad Man would insist that the wind, coming from somewhere, would be traveling up his back and making him cold. Why is it then that I could never feel this wind?…
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At my graduation May 1996, a month after I lost my mother.
https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/daily-prompt-2/
I studied a Bachelor of Science degree with a specialization in Computer Science and Applied Math. I loved the Applied Math and could have continued with financial math and quantitative management after my initial degree. But decided not to do so.
A few years later I unearthed a document at home. I had been granted a bursary to study my honors degree in computer science (all expenses paid with spending money), but decided at the time not to accept. I had been offered a graduate position at IBM and decided to work instead.
My roles have all been in software development. The first few years I specialized in IVR (interactive voice response) technology and speech recognition. Also integration services around these applications. With the advent of mobile apps the speech and IVR applications are becoming less relevant. I started writing in C and then progressed to Java.
And now I write in poetry!
Majestic carpet
Laid out regally while I
Would dream, purple snow
Musical notes so
Lovingly played for the world –
Warming the cool air
Lazy afternoon
Greetings from Circular Quay,
Being entertained
Last night, or rather
This morning I went to bed
At two am and
Woke up now at six
Leaving me too tired to
Post a morning post
With a photograph
Or image that you may find
Quite Interesting
So this is all I
Can do, and that would be to
Count some syllables
Because you know me
I very much love to count
In five – seven – fives
Yesterday was Mel-
Bourne Cup day in Aussie land,
Big Celebrations
Even wore a fascinator
Because I could
So I did
Except I had one of my
Roller coaster days
So was in tears
For most of it
And I am still getting teary-eyed
Thinking about some words said to me
That I took personally
And have wounded me
I just wrote a book!
Well, I am editing my first
But now what do I have here?
Slipping through my fingers?
Flowing through my hands
In all of ten minutes
I have met Sweet Marigold
The hero of her very own tale
For little children so dear
For mum in question (that would be me)
Am always in trouble
For bedtime reading is not
My favorite thing to do
The words are too long
The sentences never end
Making me tired before I even start
That is no good!
For daughter already eight
And son nearly grown!
But babies are always being born
Growing into little children that
Would need stories to be read
And now we have Sweet Marigold!
She is so happy with bouncy curly hair
Seeing all the beauty around
All the flowers and petals and butterflies and bees
Gifts of nature keeping her company!
Coming soon!
After Passion Through Poetry!
It is written! We need drawings, they are in my head!
I, an artist, have never been
So will have to recruit one
To bring life to my Sweet Marigold!
We love Sweet Marigold!
Poems and Petals 