Stylish, I like the (ish) part……Style is a defining element of your personality. Even a homeless person can have style. But being stylish is very different. A person with what I consider style, always looks great, whether wearing a ball gown, or jeans and a t-shirt. Stylish is wearing the latest frock from the runway. Most men (in my day) didn’t have a clue about style. But now, men take an interest in what they wear, their hairstyle, and how they look in general, because it’s accepted. It’s wonderful to me, to see men coming into their own style.
Category: Bladder cancer
Response to the Daily Prompt: Silence
Sometimes the prompt is exactly what I am thinking at the moment I read it. Silence is new to me. I live alone, in a small city, and even as a downstairs apartment dweller, there is not much noise here during the day. I am used to the upstairs neighbor’s dog romping in their living room, playing ball; humming air conditioning or heating units, and the occasional delivery truck. I’m no longer in my very old house where I spent many years getting used to the complaints of the wood floor. The nearby train whistle at night is a sound I miss. Also, cows mooing for their calves, nightly cat fights, all the usual sounds of semi-country living in a small town. While these may be bothersome to others, it made me feel I was a part of something, surrounded by life. I belonged there. It was comforting, and familiar.
Response to the Daily Prompt: Passionate
Am I too passionate for my own good? I love most things, people, personalities, laughing, crying, colors, food, nature, words, conversations. The list is endless. My mother would call me Helpful Hannah because I wanted to be involved in everything. Learning, feeling, observing everything. Possibly too curious. I believe I may need these connections more than the average person. Never satisfied to hear their words without questioning, peering into their mind, or soul, passionate to discover who they really are. If this is passion, then I’m in.
Response to the Daily Prompt: Together
Can you be together if you’re separated by thousands of miles? In the years of WWII, a mother sends her four sons to war. No computers or cell phones available, no instant message to let her know they are safe. She prays night and day, and completes her daily chores. Her husband is gone from sunrise to sunset, working on the roads. Being together for support is not possible. The bond between mother and child is the only togetherness. Faith reassures her they will return unharmed. Relieved and grateful, they come home to be together once more.
Response to the Sometimes Stellar Six Word Story: Observation
Nesting eggs, open beaks, soaring wings
http://nicolaauckland.com/2016/09/17/sometimes-stellar-storyteller-six-word-story-challenge-49/
Response to The Daily Post Prompt: Perplexed
This is one of those words that sounds exactly like its definition. Often perplexed, I have a difficult time deciding certain things. Growing up in a strict New England atmosphere, we never spoke of anything out of the daily routine. My mother, like most in those days, was a “saint”. She cared for four daughters, two sets of grandparents, and cooked, sewed, and cleaned. We never made daily trips to the grocery or restaurants. We had a dairy; beef, pork, chicken, and a vegetable garden. She hung clothes out to “dry” in freezing weather. You get the picture….
The point is, you didn’t have time to sit down and comfortably talk about personal feelings, the latest hairstyle or movie star. Certainly no time to relax and talk about sex. It was taboo, probably similar to other households in the fifties. So anything I knew or came to learn was from friends, not the most reliable source. I married very young and inexperienced.
This is the perplexing part. How is an aging widow supposed to act? If you still want a companion, how does this fit in with that complicated (you want to, but you shouldn’t want to) idealism of your past – ingrained in your mind since you can remember? What would everyone think? Should I care what anyone thinks? Or am I (old) enough or brave enough to venture out on my own? See what I mean? Perplexed!
Determination
I have a grandson who was born with stubs for arms. He never wanted any attached devices to make life easier. He taught himself how to survive without help. He plays soccer, basketball, runs cross country track, acts, sings, dances, reads, writes, and is proficient in video and computer games. He is super intelligent, stubborn, thoughtful, kind, and determined to accomplish goals that others do not attempt. One of my earliest comical memories is him laying in front of the tv with the remote, tuning in with his toes. He has taught himself how to use utensils with his chin and shoulder. He has the best penmanship of his seven brothers and sisters. I have included a video of him that was published on YouTube. I am so proud of him. To me, he is the definition of determination.
Response to The Daily Post: Radical
When I think of this word, it makes me cringe. The first time I REALLY heard it, was not in the sixties when it was all around me. I was too busy with three babies. The second time was when it resonated with horror. I was in an oncologist’s office, who in a matter of fact attitude, told me I had uterine cancer and had to have a radical hysterectomy. I was sitting there in shock as she mumbled something about I might have breast cancer later on. The only other time cancer was relevant was my mother-in-law in her fifties, passing from it. I was petrified, incredulous, as the doctor kept talking, but my mind filled with my mother-in-law’s image. A radical, or complete hysterectomy is when everything that makes you a woman is taken, tested, and destroyed. All the surrounding lymph nodes included. Then the area is literally washed with chemicals so hopefully, no cancer cells remain. You are sent home to wait the pathology report. And then there’s radiation. This is what radical means to me.
Response to The Daily Post Prompt: Zing
I’ve felt it. That zing. In a lot of different ways, but the best, is that zing from your heart to your stomach. Turning it over, temporarily blinding you with emotion. Always surprising, and in the end, rewarding. You look again, see clearly the person who becomes the love of your life, and he’s looking back at you.
Response to:Sometimes Stellar Six Word Story – Legend
Breathing his last, the Viking smiled.
http://nicolaauckland.com/2016/09/10/sometimes-stellar-storyteller-six-word-story-challenge-48/
The Bag Lady 
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