Per Linda: Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “a repeated story.” Include in your post a story you’ve repeated again and again or a story you’ve heard again and again. Or write about the phenomenon itself. Have fun!
What did you do all day? Why are you so late to the blog?
Well, it’s the same ole story. Yesterday I found a mistake a few rows back and today I’ve been Tinking back. I still haven’t reached the boo-boo. And I find the number of stitches on each needle is so different I’m going to have to get creative to get the number to match. Or tink even farther. Ugh!
When I was a young adult, my grandmothers had Alzheimer’s. Yeah. Both maternal and paternal. So when you all wonder why I work so hard at languages and learning new things and puzzling things like Sudoku, that is a fight I’m on. I’ve not been diagnosed, but at 74 I’m being as vigilant as I can.
And yes, I do repeat stories. I have since I was a child. Most people do. Maybe they don’t realize it. Or maybe they are trying to work something out in this retelling. I remember my grandmothers would tell a story once again and folks would criticize them. But I listened and saw they changed the story a bit each retelling. Sometimes I learned something new about them or others. Sometimes it just was their story. A thing that made them. How I’d love to hear them repeat one of their old tales to me again.
Think about how kids love hearing a book read to them for the umpteenth time. They’re working the story out. The rhythms, the rhymes, how it all works.
I have learned to reread or rewatch things as each time I pick up just a bit more. Not only the story but about writing, directing, acting. Or maybe more about how people differ in their relationships.
Old stories are still packed with nuggets we can learn from. Whether we are telling them or an audience member.
This pair is nearly ready for a heel. Maybe an inch more of the arch ribbing.
My new recliner diamond painting is ready to set up. This guy is cool! I can hardly wait to get started.
My new project. Ponytail holders. The red band will probably not show once I crochet the lime green around it.
Info about the yarn.
I had made progress of about 4 rows but found an oops. Can you see the blue marker in the top of the sock on the right? Ugh. I felt watermelon would make me feel better these days. Oh, well.
No light shows progress on my sunset beach diamond painting.
With the back light on bright you can see my progress into the water. Me stepping in…
I’m finally getting my piano groove going again. I’m keeping sessions short and as successful as possible.
I finished all but the Dexter movie. Can’t seem to find it. But both series(es) done. I miss the music. Trying to find a good piano copy of the sheet music of the beginning theme and end theme.
My allergies kept me from the recorders. I don’t like playing them with a sore throat or sneezing.
I am finding progress on my Enya Ukulele. Even my B flat seems right every now and then.
Julia Whelan narrated this story with gusto. I didn’t use my headset for a part of it, and my husband enjoyed what he heard, so he ordered his own audible version to listen to. He was a Vietnam vet, so he recognized much of the history and geography.
As a teen in the sixties, I was aware of the attitudes and news in the U.S., and I became more aware as an adult in the seventies. So, I felt I was reliving my youth between the musical and trendy mentions and actual historical events. The anger and angst of being young and a woman and not feeling my feelings jumped to mind as the main character went through her own life. Kristin Hannah is good at that kind of fiction, taking the facts and making you feel it personally.
Regardless of your feelings about that war or those times, I highly recommend this book. Jump into someone else’s world and times and feel what you will as you go. It is a beautifully written book.
Scott Brick’s overacted narration kind of ruined this experience for me. BUT I could see this as a movie!
This is the kind of story you expect from Michael Crichton. The research on volcanoes was evident without being preachy or pedantic. As expected, the story kept me on edge, worried about the characters and the island.
May I say I hope this never happens to anyone. It is a scary concept. But it’s a super book and hopefully a great disaster movie.
I learned music as my second language. Not available on Duolingo. No longer used in most churches who gave up hymnals in favor of lyric slides. I learned to carry my part while Dad sang bass, my mother sang soprano, my dear aunt sang a beautiful alto. Another man in the congregation sang tenor (sometimes too low and awful an octive higher). I could sing with those females but felt sad my dad was alone with his booming deep gorgeous vocal line. I did learn second soprano. I am privileged to feel competent on those female lines thanks to hymnals.
Working on my series: Haven.
Doodler (zendoodle.com)
Music major: voice and piano
Mom of four great adults
Reiki II practitioner
I have been on disability/retired for 10 years now from depression, anxiety and fibromyalgia.
Books, games, music, and life — filtered through the mind of a writer, drummer, and philosopher who thinks too deeply about all of it. If it moves something in your chest, I'm interested.
Darswords 
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