Tag Archives: Publishing

She

She looked down.  Not much reason to look up. 

Resigned to the fact nothing would change her circumstances, she only looked to the ground.  She did not expect to see victory in her despondent state. Dispirited and without much strength to try and change her circumstances, her eyes only stared at what was easy to look at in her moment of despair.  Ants.

They were carrying a load. Was it true ants could carry 20 times their own weight?  They had to be definitely female.  She also remembered the male ant’s primary job was mating and then it died off .  She chuckled. 

Looking back up, her mind was suddenly hit by the shocking truth yet again. This time with a smile on her face.  She was revitalized. Believing in herself with the ability like an ant, she gained the title of “strong woman.”  

Photos captured by Alesiablogs. Randomly selected. May not be related to writing, but intended to inspire. 
 
 

Advertisements

Story-tellers

Poor Fred. What's his story?

Poor Fred. What’s his story?

The river water was dirty.  To see the bottom would be impossible.  The enticing stone’s glistening blue hues was lost after  dropping it into the muddy water.  Those hues reminded me in some retrospective way to the eloquent characteristics we find in the people we surround ourselves with.  They are not the flaws, although they do exist.  Rather the parts in the human spirit we long for in someone we know dearly.  Some of our friends and family brighten up in ways that individually we can not attain. Maybe this is what attracts each of us to one another.

The water with all its mucky and slimy attributes can cover the bottom’s rich colors of what has been lost such as the brilliant blue stone.  The same  goes for life itself.   We find differing colors in others.  It is a good thing to separate the mucky waters from the jewels at times.  Such is the life of a story-teller.  Even the dirt can show humanity, but underneath this is a real human being.  We must sublimely tell the story.  Perhaps it is our own to tell,  of which the path can be dark, yet  slowly we can find our way.

Story tellers and their storytelling is a true art.  There are those that do it well.  My grandmother was such a person.  She took the good out of the bad situation and “forgot” the negative.   Is it correct to do so? Good question.  It depends.   The truth is not always pretty.   At times though,  if we tell the stories doesn’t it seem better to honor the good in someone than the bad? I am conflicted with this.  I then think perhaps my grandmother was onto something.  Maybe she was showing just a tiny glimpse by taking out the bad what awaits us in  heaven.  It is said there will be no more darkness like the murky river water, rather a Light will shine for our path.  That is the real story.

Dedicated to those who have died way too young. Go to my genealogy on the home page for topics about interesting story telling.

Romancing The Tulip

As I promised yesterday, I would bring to life the amazing tulip fields of Washington State. It is where the love birds come and I saw plenty of them! The tulips however even outnumbered them! Enjoy! These photos were taken with my Panasonic Lumix DMC-ZR1:

From My Blog To Yours

Occasionally I look at my stat page on Word Press and see what  I have written that has the most views (spoiler alert at end).  I wonder is it the writer that you come to visit or my subject matter?  Since I write a majority of the time about my experiences, I find that the writing and myself is one and the same.  You see it is in my words that I am finding myself.

I often question is it good to use my life as a subject matter on my blog.

I often question is it good to use my life as a subject matter on my blog.

When I Word Press my life story, I wonder out loud, “I hope this helps someone out there.” I figure what the heck. It is helping me to just write it. It also becomes apparent  that my world is colliding with someone else that it would never have had a chance to before.  Who would have ever thought I would have a conversation with another blogger who strips for a living. That was eye-opening!

How about the interaction I have had with Chris who amazes me everyday with his bike excursions around the globe.  He is raising money for cancer research.  I also have ran into the 15-year-old blogger who has more sense than half the grown ups I know!

Recently I read a blog from a lady right here in my home town Seattle.  She is a photographer and  inspires me.

I realize you are sitting at your own desk and recognize my blog because you have read me before.  You are the blogger  living in a small town in Canada, Australia, or perhaps somewhere in Japan.

We connect.

We inspire.

We found each other through invisible wires that absolutely make no sense to me, but here we are.

Today my stats were measured and this is what I learned.  Most of my views over the year were my archives.  I was amazed by this stat because it was close to 3500 views. It spoke to me because more than likely you went to my archives because you read something current I had written and you found me interesting enough to pull up my other stories. Thank you.

My second most popular stat showed you wanted to know who I am. You went to my “About Alesia” page  and viewed what I had to say.  I realized today that  I need to make it more current. I will get to working on that.

My third biggest stat views was from an adventure I took entitled, “The Haunting.”  Over a thousand views of that alone shocked me.  Gee.  All I did was go to one of the most haunted cemeteries in the United States and report about my findings!  I guess there are a lot of morbid people out in the blogosphere.

My fourth largest viewed page was titled “MEN!”  Oh my God, that was scary.  I know nothing about men except they have a penis and typically can’t seem to see too far past it. (Just a little joke. Do not get your panties in a wad fellas).

My fifth most popular post(s) deal with my son with autism. This makes sense.  My son inspires me more than words can tell.

Luke has autism, but it does not define him. He is pure joy!

Luke has autism, but it does not define him. He is pure joy!

Other posts that came in close sixth place were my photography and inspirational posts. That made me smile.So there you have it. Do I really know you? That is totally a loaded question.  I know you might be sitting in your home looking at your I pad and reading my post in India.  Or you might be looking at your I phone on a break from your job in England. Quite possibly you are hiding from your abusive parent dreaming about a different life  and come across my blog. Maybe you are a 40-year-old woman  in rural Kentucky laughing at something I wrote.  And just maybe you needed that laugh because you sure are not getting enough of it in your own home.

Who ever you are, I am glad you are around and I do look forward to having you come back. Stats are fun to look at, but your comments are much more entertaining because it is there that I really get to know you. Please leave a comment. I want to know you.

My Forrest Gump Moment

forrest gump

Today I did not want to blog. My ongoing efforts to write seemed futile.

I grabbed my coffee though and came to the computer and thought about one of my favorite films Forrest Gump! What would Forrest do? Laughing out Loud–I thought-he would continue with the race and run until he was done.

I realized I am not quite done with blogging. I am purpose-driven and working on a goal. I have picked up a few new bloggers that have engaged with me about their lives and I am touched. The blogging is worth the effort I thought. It is helping in a way I did not know it could.

Today is a new day.

Ten years ago most commentary we would read would be one-sided. Your favorite news paper or magazine would run an article perhaps on some political subject that left you fuming. I mean you were pissed off. Today they are dying by the dozens.

Since then a little thing called a blog took over. It popularity soared. Blogging has perhaps become the watchdog for when other forms of media seem to be getting it wrong or missing alternative solutions.

This is what attracted me to it. If you’ve never realized that blogging has an extensive network of helpful links, you would be mistaken. The visibility of what we have is an experience like no other.

It is a wonder that so many that blog are actually writing about the very subject of blogging. I like that because it helps with perspective. So I continue my quest and wait for my Forrest Gump MOMENT. How about you? Can you explain to me what keeps you going on with your blogging?

Wild Walls

Walls are a part of our lives in one way or another. There are the walls of your home and then there are the invisible walls people put up to close off the world. Both have the same distinction to protect a person from intruders.
When I was 14 years old, there was an enclosed tunnel made out of cement that I had to walk through everyday to get to school. The typical teenage writing was on it’s walls with some girl writing her undying love for some guy. It was a mystery to me that someone would want to be writing about love on a cold, damp wild wall. Yet here I was captured each day by its graffiti. There was no way to walk around it. It was the only way to school.
Reminded by my conscience that writing on a wall is destroying someone’s property, I never engaged in this activity. I did not want to wrangle with words that someone else would read anyway. It seemed pointless and leads to someone reading useless crap. Yet I wanted to write something, but not empty chatter as was the case with 90% of what was written on those stone walls.
One particular day I stopped as I was exiting the tunnel and said to the walls, “Give me 14 more years and I will show you something!” I then turned away from that tunnel to never walk through it again. It was my last day of junior high school.
As I have aged my childhood now holds some sacred truths. I learned that writing is good even if it is graffiti. Here I was a lonely girl holding on so long ago to those walls. They became a part of me without even understanding their impact. Every 14 years in fact I have taken stock of what I could show those walls.

20130321-091114.jpg
Local newspaper clipping from my teenage years playing softball. Childhood memories are so important to who we become later in life.

The Slow Reader

The art of slowing down reading and writing does not have to be a lost form.

The art of slowing down reading and writing does not have to be a lost form.

Do not let the title of this post deceive you. The slow reader is a good thing. It implys concentration, enjoyment, and contemplation to just name a few. When I was growing up in Alabama, I would read anything and everything. I just enjoyed reading in my youth. After college I literally stopped reading except for manuals and polices on the how to’s of my job. How utterly boring you might think. It was not at the time. Everything has a season.
In the mid 1970’s, my family lived across the street from a lovely lady named Vivian. Vivian was the quintessential southern homemaker and our established bible authority for our neighborhood. I adored her. She hired me as a teenager to clean, dust, and help her can preserves. Lord knows I did not really care for the work, but I loved listening to her converse. Later she introduced me to different authors as she had stacks of books she would be reading. She read everything she could get her hands on. She had a television, but I think it was only for watching Walter Cronkite for news.
After I grew up I began sharing books with her. She had a habit of keeping them forever. There was one particular book I wanted back so I went to her house to get it. I noticed a slip of paper about halfway through the book where she was taking meticulously detailed notes on what she was reading and I asked her, “Are you done with it?” She said, “No but it is ok if you want to take it. I have so many things I can read,” as she and I looked over at her rather large piles of books, newspapers, and magazines in the corner of the room. I took the book, but felt some reservation for taking it.
In later years when Vivian’s health was declining, I decided to go see her. We had a wonderful time. I admired her integrity and old-fashioned pleasures. She taught me how to read a book slow and savor every moment of it. To this day I can not forget what value she brought to my life.
I am aware that I am afforded the luxury of reading on Kindle and emails at my fingertips now, but Vivian showed me the way to study and allow time alone in a book to transform you. For that I forever grateful. There was no email between us after I moved away from Alabama. There was only the mail box. It could only be through letter writing we would keep in touch. The calming and beautiful way of orchestrating your life as she did will forever remind me of a vintage time. So when I get down on myself about how slow it is for me to read or write in my present time frame, I capture the memory in my mind sitting with Vivian on the veranda scoping through piles of books without a care in the world. I hear her whispering to me, “Let’s forget about the housework and go sit down a spell and have a cup of tea and read together.” Yes, Miss Vivian let us just go do that.