I love photography. Good photography. I wish I had the talent I see in so many others.
But I’ve been told by one of the best I know that it’s okay to post my amateur attempts, so here is mine for today.
Alex and I were out shoveling at dusk tonight when I took this picture of my house. There’s just something about the quiet of this particular time of day, when it’s snowing softly as it was. There was very little wind and the air, though cold, was pleasant. Snow insulates: noise is muffled, and the blue of the sky reflects off the snow and creates a feeling of enclosure, as though the sky is resting upon the shoulders of the world.
I’m my own worst enemy in a few different ways, but none more than the fact that I have a hard time asking for help. Actually, let me be a little more specific: I’m okay asking for small favours, but if I think I might put anyone else out of their way, I usually do whatever it is that needs to be done myself.
I think this is a common problem with many people. For some it’s because they wish to be independent, and there’s nothing wrong with that – unless it gets to the point where they are stretching themselves too thin. Then there are the jobs to be done that are so complicated that it takes longer to explain how to do them than to do it ourselves. That, too, is an understandable reason not to ask for help.
Then there are people who are already stretched too thin, like me. When I think about asking someone else to help me, I tend to put myself in their shoes, which makes me ask myself, what if they were asking me to do this task? Being over-worked and overwhelmed already, I might think it a burden to be asked to do more. Consequently, many times I don’t ask for help.
I’m learning though. Since the father of my kids moved away, I’ve had an average of only one weekend out of every three without the kids. I do, however, have a very good friend who constantly offers to help me out, and most of the time I say yes. Although he says he doesn’t feel taken for granted, I still feel bad for not doing more for him in return. Again, there’s the ‘stretched-too-thin’ thing pulling me mentally if not physically in every direction.
I’d like to say a very public ‘thank you’ here to him, for all that he does for me. Thank you, John. I truly don’t know what I’d do without you. I know you say I should feel free to ask when I need help … know that I’m doing my best. And next time I stomp down the stairs in a very bitchy mood, know it’s only my own shortcomings – it’s not you, it’s me.
Back to addressing the rest of the people reading this.
I’m sure there are other people out there with problems asking for help. Do you try to overcome it? Have you succeeded? If so, how? I’d love some feedback on this.
1. It’s never too late to join in, since the “Jot it” part of JusJoJan means that anything you jot down, anywhere (it doesn’t have to be a post) counts as a “Jot.” If it makes it to WordPress that day, great! If it waits a week to get from the sticky note to your screen, no problem!
2. If you write a JusJoJan post on your blog, you can ping it back to the above link to make sure everyone participating knows where to find it.
3. Write anything!
4. Have fun!
Have you ever heard a song on the radio that you haven’t heard in years, but that you once knew so well you could sing in your sleep? It’s fascinating to me the process in which a song like that comes back to me, note by note, lyric by lyric. I find myself singing along and remembering AS I SING. Whenever that happens, I can’t help but smile to myself at the sensation of knowing as I go.
The songs I remember from my childhood are the ones my parents listened to. I, at the time, was too young to discover anything for myself. This was before I had even been to a Disney movie, and it was long before home videos.
My mother and her best friend used to listen to Tom Jones and Engelbert Humperdinck (who I’ve actually seen in concert as an adult and discovered he has an absolutely amazing voice, much to my surprise), and my dad listened to Chet Atkins. He loved the guitar.
What are your earliest memories of music? Are they memories of your own favorites, or someone else’s?
1. It’s never too late to join in, since the “Jot it” part of JusJoJan means that anything you jot down, anywhere (it doesn’t have to be a post) counts as a “Jot.” If it makes it to WordPress that day, great! If it waits a week to get from the sticky note to your screen, no problem!
2. If you write a JusJoJan post on your blog, you can ping it back to the above link to make sure everyone participating knows where to find it.
3. Write anything!
4. Have fun!
Memories. They go back, if we’re lucky, to our early childhood. I remember waking up in the summer to hear my dad mowing the grass, or heading out to play golf. I remember playing with Barbies – I had this really cool miniature floor lamp that plugged in to a battery. I’d set up a living room in the 18″x18″x18″ cupboard in my parents’ coffee table for my dolls and turn on the light and close the door. Now that was exciting for about 30 seconds.
One of my earliest memories of television though, apart from the show “Laugh-In,” is a trailer for a movie, called What Do You Say To A Naked Lady? Thanks to Youtube, I can revisit that disturbing memory.
Allow me to share it with you:
What’s your earliest memory, disturbing or otherwise?
In winter, it’s rare that walking around the block on my paper route isn’t an adventure. Between the ice, the slush, the snow, the temperatures that freeze my nostrils shut on contact, and days like to today when we have a miniature snow storm, there’s always something to make me rather stay in my pyjamas.
It’s all part of being Canadian. Our weather is a source of national pride. It’s what we endure to live in a country as free as this one is; with all its faults, at least we’re able to say we weathered a storm or two and came out the other side with a smile. Most of the time, anyway.
And so it is with that same pride that I walk around the block, braving the elements to deliver the news.
As difficult as it can be, I do love this country.
1. It’s never too late to join in, since the “Jot it” part of JusJoJan means that anything you jot down, anywhere (it doesn’t have to be a post) counts as a “Jot.” If it makes it to WordPress that day, great! If it waits a week to get from the sticky note to your screen, no problem!
2. If you write a JusJoJan post on your blog, you can ping it back to the above link to make sure everyone participating knows where to find it.
3. Write anything!
4. Have fun!
Okay, so I had this dream just before I woke up this morning. It was dark outside (in my dream) and I was looking out my front door (which didn’t look at all like the scenery outside my real front door). Leaning up against a post about six feet beyond the door, was a dead, flattened squirrel. Two black cats came along and started fighting over it. They dragged it away. They were trying to eat it.
Then, on the front lawn, I saw two moose (mooses? meese?) chasing a dog. The dog stopped and looked at me only to be caught by a horse – the horse grabbed the dog (it was a collie with a collar) by the scruff of the neck. Somehow the dog got away but the horse and the moose (mooses? meese?) were chasing it so they could eat it.
Then I woke up.
Analysis anyone?
P.S. I had fish for dinner last night – not dog, and not roadkill.
1. It’s never too late to join in, since the “Jot it” part of JusJoJan means that anything you jot down, anywhere (it doesn’t have to be a post) counts as a “Jot.” If it makes it to WordPress that day, great! If it waits a week to get from the sticky note to your screen, no problem!
2. If you write a JusJoJan post on your blog, you can ping it back to the above link to make sure everyone participating knows where to find it.
3. Write anything!
4. Have fun!
Today, I’m a half a century old
Through the years, it’s true, I’ve been told
To take time with my nose
To oft’ sniff a rose
On this adage I’m most definitely sold.
Not quite a limerick, but it’s the thought that counts, right?
I think in the next half-century, (because that is surely how long I have left), I’m going to attempt not to fuss over things as much. Who needs perfectionism anyway? It is more important, after all, to take the time to appreciate the beauty that can be found in life’s imperfections. They are what makes things real and not manufactured.
Cheers to life, my friends. Live it to the fullest.
1. It’s never too late to join in, since the “Jot it” part of JusJoJan means that anything you jot down, anywhere (it doesn’t have to be a post) counts as a “Jot.” If it makes it to WordPress that day, great! If it waits a week to get from the sticky note to your screen, no problem!
2. If you write a JusJoJan post on your blog, you can ping it back to the above link to make sure everyone participating knows where to find it.
3. Write anything!
4. Have fun!
P.S. If you missed my JusJoJan 21 installment, you can find it here on my fiction blog.
“My GRLby John W. Howell is fast-paced thriller that shows how your life can be turned upside down in the blink of an eye. . . It is a well-written story that kept me glued, page after page.” Readers’ Favorite Five Stars – Reviewed by Faridah Nassozi. See the entire review HERE
Click cover to visit Amazon
Blurb:
John J. Cannon successful San Francisco lawyer takes a well-deserved leave of absence from the firm and buys a boat he names My GRL. He is unaware that his newly purchased boat had already been targeted by a terrorist group. John’s first inkling of a problem is when he wakes up in the hospital where he learns he was found unconscious next to the dead body of the attractive young woman who sold him the boat in the first place. John now stands between the terrorists and the success of their mission.
Author Bio:
Photo by Tim Burdick
John W. Howell’s main interests are reading and writing. He turned to writing as a full time occupation after an extensive career in business. John writes thriller fiction novels and short stories. He also has a three times weekly blog at Fiction Favorites .
John lives on Mustang Island in the Gulf of Mexico off the coast of south Texas with his wife and their spoiled rescue pets.
lindaghill.com 