Anyone who would like to try it out, feel free to use the “One-Liner Wednesday” title in your post, and if you do, you can ping back here to help your blog get more exposure. To execute a ping back, just copy the URL in the address bar on this post and paste it somewhere in the body of your post. Your link will show up in the comments below. Please ensure that the One-Liner Wednesday you’re pinging back to is this week’s! Otherwise, no one will likely see it but me.
As with Stream of Consciousness Saturday (SoCS), if you see a ping back from someone else in my comment section, click and have a read. It’s bound to be short and sweet.
Unlike SoCS, this is not a prompt so there’s no need to stick to the same “theme.”
The rules that I’ve made for myself (but don’t always follow) for “One-Liner Wednesday” are:
I have to wonder sometimes at its fairness – how some of us get to stay relatively healthy while we watch our loved-ones fall apart.
Some believe it’s all predestined: were those who are put into the role of caregiver always meant to be one? Were they somehow chosen? I’ve heard it said that people who have ended up caring for others may be challenged by a higher power… that they are, by divine intervention, simply the person for the job. Some are able to make their own choice to work in the service of those who are less fortunate, or who are sick, some have no choice other than the choice to run away.
I’m a great believer that everything happens for a reason, though not necessarily in a mystical sense. Good and bad must always have a balance. The weights tip back and forth but nothing is ever absolute. Therefore what weakens us or challenges us can also strengthen us. Positivity can be found in the worst imaginable scenario, if we look hard enough.
What I struggle with mostly is deciding whether being the healthy one is a blessing or a curse. At first glance you think those who are ill have it the worst – and they do. There is no questioning that. But. What of the caregiver, having to watch those he or she loves suffer so?
I suppose it all comes down to the old adage, life is what you make it. In the darkest times, light can be found. But for whom is it hardest to find?
So soon on the heels of the demise of the WordPress site “Mindful Digressions,” hosted by the amazing Doobster, comes the closure of HarsH ReaLiTy, brainchild of our beloved Opinionated Man, Jason Chandler Cushman.
I met Jason shortly after I started writing here on Life in Progress – I commented on one of his posts and was flabbergasted when he responded. From that day forward I knew what it took to gain a following, and quickly learned that there is a community at WordPress – one that is supportive, caring, and friendly. I thought about deleting my post “Save HarsH ReaLiTy,” but I think I’ll keep it open – it illustrates more than anything I’ve seen so far what a fantastic place we have here. You can view it here: https://lindaghill.com/2015/01/14/save-harsh-reality/ Most of all, read the comments. They are inspiring and heartwarming both.
Belinda at Idiot Writing – https://idiotwriting.wordpress.com/ – and I received an email:
If you have the chance please let people know that HarsH ReaLiTy is closed and is set to private until it can be deleted. I wish everyone the best and appreciate the connections I made over the past two years.
For all the lessons you taught us, for all the support you gave us with re-blogs, challenges, and posts to share our own sites, for all the lively and entertaining discussions, I wish to say thank you, Cush. It was a real pleasure to get to know you. Your footprints in the sand (or snow) of my memory will remain.
In the spirit of OM’s mission on WordPress, please feel free to leave your tribute to Jason in the comments, or a link to your own post about him and what he meant to you. And check out each other’s sites. Let’s make Jason proud of what he accomplished!
As we remember all the wonderful, humorous articles and lists, the amusing one-liners, the controversial opinion pieces, and the loving photos of his family, let us lift a glass to our friend.
Cheers, Jason! May you and your beautiful family live a long and prosperous life!
I have memories as a child of preparing breakfast, with my father’s help, to bring to my mother in bed on Mother’s Day. I knew as well as he did that it would be no surprise, but we pretended, he and I. I remember a few odd gifts I gave her over the years, but the one that stands out the most was a garbage bag full of well-fermented horse shit I brought home in my car from the ranch where I worked. Her roses loved it and yet she still rolls her eyes over it.
As a new mother myself, my very first Mother’s Day was a revelation. Being pampered by my son’s father was a dream come true. Those beginning years were special indeed – breakfast in bed was mine, although sometimes those breakfasts were inedible having been made with love by my young children. I grinned and did my best to eat them without gagging anyway.
Today I find the cycle has changed once again. I made the coffee last night so Alex, my youngest, could come downstairs ahead of me and push the button to start the coffeemaker. I’m in the not-so-unique position of being single, having my three sons at home, and soon I will be picking my own mother up to spend the day caring for her, though she’d never concede to the idea that it’s the other way around. She wants me to depend on her and I’m okay with that. It’s like a dance, graceful in its complexity with me agreeing to almost anything and her… I’m not sure if she still understands that I’m doing it or not, but the grand act of denial, if that’s what she does, is Oscar-worthy. And of course there are my own children. To an extent my eldest is taking care of me, helping me not to pull my hair out both with his physical aid in babysitting and housework and his awesome sense of humour.
So it goes. The child becomes the mother, the caregiver; the giver of life as she comes closer to the end of her own, becomes dependent once again.
I love being a mother, but in the end it can be likened to a bag of horse shit. For the amount of work it takes, the load of stress that accompanies it, and the headache-inducing number of eyerolls, I wouldn’t trade it for the world.
Anyone who would like to try it out, feel free to use the “One-Liner Wednesday” title in your post, and if you do, you can ping back here to help your blog get more exposure. To execute a ping back, just copy the URL in the address bar on this post and paste it somewhere in the body of your post. Your link will show up in the comments below. Please ensure that the One-Liner Wednesday you’re pinging back to is this week’s! Otherwise, no one will likely see it but me.
As with Stream of Consciousness Saturday (SoCS), if you see a ping back from someone else in my comment section, click and have a read. It’s bound to be short and sweet.
Unlike SoCS, this is not a prompt so there’s no need to stick to the same “theme.”
The rules that I’ve made for myself (but don’t always follow) for “One-Liner Wednesday” are:
To yield – to give under the weight of something. How relieving it is to yield. We live in a world where we feel we must harden ourselves to most things. Never give up, never give in is our motto most of the time. We fight the system, we advocate for our kids, we push and push ourselves to do better, get more done, find more time, improve ourselves and our way of living… the list is endless.
But how good is it to yield to sleep at night? I find myself wishing often not to give up, but to have a chance to give in, just a little and not fight quite as hard, yet giving just a bit feels like defeat.
“Notice that the stiffest tree is most easily cracked, while the bamboo or willow survives by bending with the wind.”
― Bruce Lee
Yielding is a way to survive. Thank you, Bruce Lee.
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On a completely different note, I can’t leave this post without mentioning what I found in my thesaurus. One synonym in particular jumps out at me. “Quaggy.” Yes, “quaggy.” I’d never heard this word before five minutes ago. So I’ll look it up. From dictionary.com:
quaggy
[kwag-ee, kwog-ee]
adjective, quaggier, quaggiest.
1. of the nature of or resembling a quagmire; marshy; boggy.
2. soft or flabby: quaggy flesh.
I’ll never view Family Guy quite the same again. Giggidy.
I’m already cheating once, by not using an actual “X” word and I refuse to cheat again by not using the second-last word on the left hand page that I turned to in my thesaurus as I stated I would at the beginning of this challenge. However. Both the second-last and the last words are the same – there are so many different synonyms for “execute” to mean decapitate, electrocute, and generally put to death, and “execute” meaning to carry out, implement, and generally put into effect, that they separated them. Guess which one is second to last? Yes, I get to talk about beheadings today. This is bound to get gruesome… Go me!
You have to wonder how much they must pay executioners. Can you imagine doing that for a living? I suppose there are some people out there who would enjoy the idea of putting people to death, but I wouldn’t imagine they actually hire those sorts of people. Anyone who relishes the idea of murder enough to actually carry out the act is probably on the other side of the bars anyway. So then who gets to do it? An individual who believes so faithfully in the justice system that he (or she–I’m going with “he” for the remainder of this post) can justify the task in his own conscience? Someone who’s being paid a fortune?
Still, I’m trying to picture the sleep patterns of a person who has enough money to buy anything he wants because of this high-paying “dream job” only the one thing he can’t buy out of is the image running through his mind as he lays his head upon the pillow each night.
How much would you demand to do the job? They couldn’t pay me enough.
I’ve heard the word “verity” before but it’s not one I was familiar with. But what a wonderful word it is! According to my thesaurus it’s a noun, synonymous with actuality, authenticity, truth, and truthfulness, among a few others. Here’s the link to the dictionary definition: http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/verity
Verity, as it turns out, is a huge factor in my life. I strive to live as authentically as I can. I’m not one who has ever seen the point in telling untruths – they serve no one from what I can see. Another of the synonyms is “validity.” How can one verify the validity of an untruth? Okay sure, the occasional white lie so as not to hurt someone is an exception, but things like telling people that I’ve done something in the past that I actually haven’t done; sure I’ve been bungee jumping! I’ve even jumped out of a plane! No. Just no. I have had enough adventures and experiences without making any up. (Just to clarify, I have never, nor will I ever jump off anything high enough to warrant safety equipment. Eighteen inches is plenty, thanks. And even then, I’m afraid of straining an ankle.)
Not that I’m judging people who do create their own adventures in their minds. I’m sure they have their reasons; I understand the desire to impress someone I’m meeting for the first time. I suppose for me part of it is the fear of being caught out in a lie. That’s an awful feeling, isn’t it? I remember, vaguely, the first and only time I lied to someone to impress them. I was a child at the time, maybe around eight years of age. I felt guilty immediately and vowed never to do it again.
There are many ways to live with verity apart from being truthful to others. Being true to one’s own nature is another. I found that having a friend–a manipulative, narcissistic friend–who once upon a time convinced me to do things and act in ways that were against my true nature was one of the darkest times in my life. I began to not trust myself–my own feelings and my authentic actions–and I did things that simply weren’t me. Thank goodness I’m away from such an influence now.
In the story that is our lives, verity is a great thing to have and to hold on to, not just for ourselves but for the people around us and especially our children. How do you strive for verity in your life?
It’s so much fun to be silly sometimes, isn’t it? Daft. I love the word, “daft.” It’s the third synonym of the list in my thesaurus. It conjures the image of Daffy Duck with his aweththome liththp and having his head blown upside down by a shotgun. It’s incomprehensible to me how they can sensor Bugs Bunny, and yet when I read it here it sorta makes sense.
But I didn’t grow up violent because I watched Loony Toons. The coyote never made me want to mail-order in a few sticks of TNT to blow up a bird. (I used to feel so sorry for the coyote. Especially when he put up that tiny umbrella just before a gigantic boulder landed on him.) I’m glad some of those old shows still exist though.
I often write absurd scenes, like the one on my fiction blog last night: click it. You know you want to. But I’m trying to think of the last time I actually did something silly when I was alone. Like skipping down the sidewalk instead of walking. Mostly I do these things with Alex. My neighbours must think I’m crazy sometimes, dancing in my kitchen or screaming back at him for fun. I know I get some strange looks when I make faces at him as we stroll through the mall. But these are my real pleasures in life. Being a kid again. Or at least acting like one. It’s very freeing.
Merciful is how I strive to live my life. When I consider the synonyms: Compassionate, forgiving, generous, kind and sympathetic among others, it just makes sense to me to try to be these things.
I’m not a Christian of any particular kind. I’m not even sure I believe in God, though I’m not adverse to the idea that there is more than we can see in the universe that is plain to our mortal senses. I don’t believe in the concept of karma as it relates to an eye for an eye. I believe in existence. I believe that it’s something we all have, whether we’re of this race or that, whether we’re human, animal, insect or herb. We are all equal in the fact that we live – we, all of us, affect one another in at least some small way. I also believe that we have choices in this life in how we exist. The sick can be happy – the healthy miserable. We can make the best of what we have to deal with, no matter what it is. Or we can dwell on that which is not ideal.
But what can we do for each other? If we all strove to ease one another’s existence, how wonderful would the world be? Yes, there would still be challenges; existence cannot be free of pain. Sometimes a smile, a helping hand, or a compassionate ear for someone who needs to talk things out can make all the difference.
I don’t need a God to tell me these things. I don’t need a proscribed belief system at all. I just need to be and to recognize that so does everyone else. Equally.
lindaghill.com 