I actually didn’t think we would have any view of the strip when we checked in. We were pleased with the view that we did have. It was relaxing to look out the window at Paris, Las Vegas, to see the dancing fountains of the Bellagio that are especially impressive at night from the top of the Eiffel Tower.

It was a great get-a-way. On our last day, walking back to our hotel through busy streets of people–some that had noticeably exceeded their alcohol limits–I felt ready to leave this bustling city.

Yet here I am, missing it already, planning our next trip in my mind.

**

Blinking lights and bustling streets,
this part of the city never sleeps. As the days run into weekend,
activity and people multiply before my eyes. Romantic lights
of the Bellagio tantalize. Lights and sound from every direction
rest upon my senses, pulling me in different directions. Nature far off in the background, still in sight, offering a reminder–a sense of grounding and perspective.

 

Advertisements

As I exit the library doors, outside
the majestic pines and quietness of the street wrap around me like a
warm embrace.

I have to stop and ask myself if the Universe is trying to send me a message. It’s an unexpected message…or do I even know what the message is?

It all started with an out of the blue exchange with a woman walking with her three children. I wasn’t even but a few feet away from her when she waved her hand toward me while saying something that I didn’t hear. I thought she was asking for directions and said, “excuse me?”

Waving her hand around my head area, she said, “you have a strong aura, my dear. Would you like a psychic reading?”  Then she waved her hand to where I had my fleece jacket tied around my waste. “You have a lot going on.” I looked down as if there would be something there, as though I would see all that she saw.

I told her that I was on my way to lunch and that I didn’t have time. I really just wanted to move on.

“No problem. Would you like one of my cards?”

My shoulders lifted into a shrug, about to say no; instead, I said, “sure, why not.”

She bent down to fetch her purse from the bottom of the stroller and pulled out a zippered pouch that seemed to contain a variety of different business cards. I thanked her and took the card.

As I edged my way between her daughters, one who had three woman entranced with her small bucket of pencils for sale, ooohing and ahhwing, I knew that I woudlnt’ be making the call to get my reading done.

Once at my lunch spot, I took the card out of my bag and looked at it wondering why she had chosen me at that moment in time to solicit her services.  I thought of the many times that I have had my tarot cards read, occasionally picking one out of the deck on my own for some guidance; I wondered if perhaps this was the Universe telling me that it was time to do some internal work. I don’t feel like it really, but maybe I’m not seeing clearly. Maybe something inside of my soul is leaking out clues that are being mirrored back to me in some way.

When I was done with lunch, I walked back in the opposite direction. When I came about half-way around the block, a teenage boy asked if he could borrow a quarter. He clearly needed it for the parking meter that he was next to when he asked.

“A quarter. Yes, I think I do have one.” I rummaged in my bad, handed him a quarter, and off I went.

Ok, fine. Two small moments of time that somehow seemed related to each other in my mind, but nothing to make a really big fuss about.

But then yesterday I received a phone call from an unknown number. When I listened to the voice message it was a pastor that was randomly calling–who knows how he found my number–I don’t actually go to church on a regular basis. His message said something along the lines that he was calling me to invite me to his congregation and that if I would like him to pray for me or someone I know, call or text him.

With these three coincidences within the week, I must admit, they’ve made me wonder…

The first time that I visited Las Vegas I was somewhere in my twenties. It was with a good friend, whose mom was nice enough to pay for all expenses. It was a family affair. The three of us shared a room at the Mirage. I remembered that hotel for it’s tropical feel; at least there was a bit of nature in this very built up, over-the-top destination.

My memory is fuzzy of how I actually felt, what my feelings were in response to all of the “noise” but my sense is that, at times, it was overwhelming. As a person who appreciates her solitude, it was the sort of place that went against my natural disposition. For years I convinced myself that Las Vegas was not for me and that I wouldn’t visit again.

I believe that I did end up there a second time with the same family in the same hotel and that this time, the flashy city did began to grow on me.

Fast-forward roughly twenty years and its one of the destinations that hubby and I would venture to for a short getaway.  He is an extrovert through and through and I think because of him I try to find places that he’ll be able to enjoy and that I’ll be able to explore and revisit. Because of him, the layers of my introvertedness are beginning to peel away to reveal more tolerance and more enjoyment of my extroverted side.

I still enjoy my quiet time, but I’m able to feed off of noise a lot better and am able to find the quiet within the chaos.

We’ll be visiting the Las Vegas Strip again soon to take in the glitz. I love walking through the gorgeous hotels, admiring the architecture, people watching, catching a few shows, and being right in the middle of all of the action.

One of my favorite parts is planning the trip, researching the different restaurants, and trying to get a feel ahead of time for potential places to eat and things to do.

I know that there’s more to Las Vegas than the Strip, but I have grown a great fondness for this piece of Las Vegas set against its beautiful desert landscape.

 

So far the one-word, five minute writing prompts are working for me. Sometimes I don’t have a lot to write in my notebook with this one word, but always it brings me somewhere-eventually; sometimes, I write past the five minute mark. I’ve always appreciated Julia Cameron’s insistence on writing “morning pages.” I can’t say that I’ve been diligent in following through, but I do realize their place and importance in keeping the writing hand and creative mind moving. I like to think of these one word daily prompts as an alternative. It’s a bite size that fits perfectly and is a nice way to get the day started if you need a gentle nudge. 

Magnetic poetry words have also been helpful and I keep keep them tucked away in case I’m in need of further nudging. 

I settled on using Google Docs to record my daily prompts. It’s great that I can login from anywhere and also use the App across my devices. Then I don’t have to worry about collecting yet another paper journal! And there’s consistency in knowing where to go and not trying to remember which journal had what. 

Before I know it, five minutes, turned to, ten; once it reached my journal blog, an hour has passed…a quick, enjoyable hour that really does feel like five minutes. 

Smudged: Today’s word is from the writing prompt book I mentioned in a previous post. Below is the direction that my fingers tapped it out.


She erased the drawing but in her haste, she left a giant smudge on the page. The more she looked at it, she thought she heard a faint voice coming from the page, from the smudge itself. She put her ear down toward the smudge; the voice was clearly talking to her.

“Why did it take you so long?”

She brought her head back up to see if the smudge had taken shape. She heard it. Or was she mad? Had she been sitting with her pencils and erasers far too long?

She decided to respond to the smudge but instead of talking aloud, she started to write words at the bottom of her drawing, and then she began drawing ferociously; she didn’t think about it any longer, she was becoming at one with the drawing before her.

As the drawing began to take shape, the smudge had become a beautiful table outside a cafe somewhere far away along cobblestoned streets, a day filled with sun and people zigging and zagging through the market admiring the handcrafted goods.

The artist sat with her sketchbook at the table, recording the happenings, soaking in the sights, happy to be alive.

When I first learned of this book a few years ago, I never would have expected what I found within its pages. I appreciate snails, but I never imagined that I would want to keep reading of the companionship that one humble snail would offer to its newfound keeper and continue learning more. The writing is beautiful in an understated way. The descriptions of the author’s country home and nature transport, and the details allow the reader into this intimate space.

I never feel Elisabeth Tova Bailey feels sorry for herself in a way that takes away from her story or journey. I feel a kinship with her and her snail who becomes the shining star in this memoir because of her strange, debilitating illness, that comes upon her suddenly when she’s on her way from her travels to home.

I love that each chapter is headed by a haiku or quote that ties in nicely to each chapter. It’s true, this small book does indeed feel like a “delicate meditation on the meaning of life.”

A gentle and beautiful read that I’m happy to have stumbled upon.

From time to time, I search the internet for writing prompts to help light a spark. I was browsing Amazon and came across this one. I read the few reviews and decided that for $2.99, why not. It provides three writing prompts for each day for the whole year. There’s a Five-minute prompt that consists of one word, a Midday prompt, and a dinner prompt. You can also view the prompts by genre if you have an idea of the direction you want to go. I’ve done the prompts for the first day and have peeked around at the other prompts.

I like how the Kindle book is laid out. Simple and clean. Just reading the prompts gets the juices going. I hope to continue on and get back to a daily writing schedule just to keep the sparks from completely burning out.

I haven’t decided if I’m going to respond to the prompts in a paper journal or a Word document or some other application. I love paper, but sometimes, it’s easier to keep organized using technology. Evernote is another option that I considered.

There’s something that I’ve always found exciting about grab bags or–now–these blind book dates, something about being surprised, not knowing, figuring it out, finding something you might not have.

So, I had my first ever blind date with a book two weeks ago. The local bookstore has been doing this through the month of July. Donate a small amount of money, and take a book on a date. I don’t make it to this particular bookstore all that often; who knows how many opportunities I missed.

An assortment of books vied for my attention, all wrapped in the same brown paper outfits with a single clue written upon them. The one I chose had this clue: Australia late 1940s–novel re: renewal & moving on. I couldn’t wait until I got home to carefully peel the wrapping off to see which book would be waiting. Upon unwrapping the mystery book, the title that looked back at me was, The Railywayman’s Wife by Ashley Hay. I had never heard of it. By now, it’s been a few weeks, and I’m happy to report that the date was a success. I only got through the first 25 pages, but I was interested in the family and wanted to learn what would happen next. With so many other books competing for my attention, I plan on returning to its pages soon.

Next, I was off to find a book of my choosing. I love reading about books and especially why certain books are important to other readers, so I couldn’t pass up, The Books that Changed my Life: Reflections by 100 Authors, Actors, Musicians, and other Remarkable People by Bethanne Patrick.  I am throughly enjoying it and am purposefully taking it slow, although, it reads quite fast. I want it to last a while longer than it might normally. Already, there are several more books that I want to read because of this book and others that it has reminded me of.

I’ve since been back to the store because I had a coupon to use. I saw a book that seemed like it would be funny. It was between it, the funny one: Dating Tips for the Unemployed or Keep Me Posted. I wish would have gone with Keep Me Posted. As I started reading more of the other one, once I owned it, there just wasn’t a connection. The book and I were definitely not a match, which I should have know, but I was really looking forward to something funny and different. I had flipped through it in the store, as I usually do, but somehow, I was hoodwinked. I like trying new things; this one just didn’t work out.

I went on two more blind book dates. One was a memoir and the other was science fiction, both new books to me. The memoir wasn’t to my liking and the science fiction book sounds interesting, but the first few pages didn’t pull me in as much as I would have liked. I may have to come back to that one when I’m in the right mood.

If I see other bookstores that offer blind dates with books, I will most definitely be participating! And the money goes to a good cause.

I sit here this morning against a backdrop of beautiful hills and a multitude of trees on the library grounds. Large art works, some familiar, having been here many years–permanent installations, others new to me.

The squeaking wheels of the mechanical pea cock titled the “Wheely, Whirly Peacock”, a crow clucks, small birds tweet in the distance. I sit here on the bench that faces the peacock, beauty all around, both natural and made by human hands.

As the sun warms my body, the breeze cools it down; lavender blossoms fill the air with their scent, carry in the wind and fill me with a sense of calm and of summertime.

It’s ironic that I’m reading more since I’ve been taking classes to complete the A.A. in accounting. Better late, than never. Now that our living situation is different, after work I go to the library almost everyday to study. Usually I only take one class per quarter because it’s all that I have the energy or focus for; however, I’m getting close and have decided that I will take two courses next quarter begins. Summer session is almost done and I finally get a small break before the Fall quarter. At this point, I feel like I’m doing this A.A. degree more for myself than anything. I’m viewing it as a small attempt to provide a cushion if I should find myself somewhere else, and it’s also a challenge that I can afford to take-and must take.

I remember blowing on dandelions when I was a kid; I don’t remember thinking of them as clocks. Today, my daily calendar has a close up photo of a bunch of dandelions with the caption, “Dandelion clocks await a child’s puff of breath.” Today this is really special to me because, amongst other books and audios, I’m listening to Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451 and Bradbury Stories: 100 of His Most Celebrated Tales. I’m also wanting to revisit The Illustrated Man.

When I see the dandelions this morning, I see Ray Bradbury. I see Clarisse holding the dandelion up to Montag’s chin. And I remember that when I was in a writer’s group for a very brief moment, one of the writers told me that I should read Dandelion Wine after having read one of my snippets.

I don’t have a strong tie to my own childhood and the dandelion, but after returning to Bradbury, and the dandelion that turns up in his other stories, I feel a real resonance and connection to him. So now when I see dandelions, I see him and I’m reminded of childhood-the childhood that I know he speaks about but haven’t yet read in Dandelion Wine. I think of what a remarkable person that I imagine he was, and of course, a great writer and storyteller. I appreciate how open he is about sharing where the seeds of his stories began.

I knew that if I didn’t come to the page, in this moment, that this moment would fly away just as the seeds of a dandelion, and that sometimes you just have to stop what you’re doing and GO. To be in the moment, lest it fly away, blow into the wind.