I’m thankful for writing websites that keep me writing, if not every day (like I’m supposed to), then at least every day that I have the mental energy to write. Timothy Pike, host of Dream, Play, Write, has asked the question again of where I would like to write. This is my answer to that question.
I have been blessed to visit so many different places, each one with a different lure to my soul. When I got to take a [military] dependent’s tour of Paris, France, the opulence of flowers nearly drowned me in the visual sensations. Betty (my hotel roommate) and I took the metro to the downtown marketplace where we bought souvenirs that French people would buy, not the standard touristy stuff. I observed the French method of punishment for petty theft: public shame. The man had to sit in a chalk square on the sidewalk for the entire day. Inside the square was a written procamation describing his offense. He sat forlornly, head bowed over his bent knees. The responses of the passersby were many and varied.
The Eiffel Tower, when standing under it, looks like the bottom of the spaceship in the movie Close Encounters of the Third Kind.
The artists square was semi-dark at night, and full of life. I was so excited that my rate of speech was probably about fifty miles per minute. My travel mates were constantly asking me to repeat myself because they couldn’t understand supersonic speech. When at last my charcoal portrait was done, everyone said it was beautiful and looked just like me, except my eyes were big. (In reality, my eyes are small and narrow). But I loved it. No one in my family liked it. They said it didn’t look like me at all. I threw it away.
The Netherlands (Holland) was a land of stories and fables. We toured the famous Tulip Festival in March. See pictures below. Then we toured the Miniature City (called the Maduradam). It was a complete city with real-world architecture, including mechanical figures such as the changing of the guard at the palace, an airport, a canal with a boat that caught on fire, and a fire boat that came and put it out. Nothing was taller than two feet. How amazing that anyone could create something so small, yet so elaborate. I could stay in Holland and be happy (just not close to Amsterdam).
Or I could live in Germany, with its volksmarches, ornamental wood carvings, friendly people and food so palatable it would make Twiggy not care about her weight. (Okay, I’ve dated myself. How many of you readers/bloggers know who Twiggy is/was?) Germany: the land of castles, damsels in distress, knights in shining armor, mystical shadowed mountains that keep their white winter caps all year long.
Where would I like to live, or write? Maybe in the mountains, or maybe by the ocean. I’ll take any place that’s peaceful and serene, with lots of wildlife, color, and ambience.
I am thankful for the ability to string words together, and express my feelings in a way that touches other people. There are many writers out there more eloquent than I, and who use words with far more finesse, but I’m still learning. I’m only 62, and I’ve only recently discovered the tools that will help me become a better writer.