tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5444599588527265649.post6945292524628364489..comments2023-11-05T01:33:56.300-08:00Comments on The Well Fed Muse: Writing Prompt: 12/10/09Writing Padhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08457445478510415827noreply@blogger.comBlogger9125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5444599588527265649.post-80495409487062875142010-11-05T13:08:13.513-07:002010-11-05T13:08:13.513-07:00This comment has been removed by the author.Benny Blanchhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06743360088980214315noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5444599588527265649.post-62687998636937348002010-11-05T13:07:52.843-07:002010-11-05T13:07:52.843-07:00The Best:
When I was seven years old, my older s...The Best: <br /><br />When I was seven years old, my older step-sister of five years gave me the best gift I ever received as a young child. I had recently moved to a new town and didn't have too many friends at the time, which is why this particular gift is exceptionally memorable. <br /><br />On Christmas day, as my last gift, I unwrapped the largest box under the tree. I always left the biggest for last, with the perception that biggest is always best, but this is the only year that this actually held true. I shredded through the tacky decorated paper that we know as yule time wrap to find a box with a photo of a basketball hoop. She got me an indoor basketball hoop with a Chicago Bulls logo on the backboard. Perfect for me because I, much like all the other kids in the world, was a huge MJ & Pippen fan. Everyday I would come home from school and play on that hoop by myself, constantly reliving famous buzzer-beater basketball scenarios and orchestrating made up competitive roundball battles in my mind. I was the only one in that living room everyday from 3-5:30, but to me there were always 10 players on the floor, vying for the ball, to take the last shot, to dunk on the competition. <br /><br />My stepfather hated that hoop because it was always in his living room and it was impossible to get me away from it, as sometimes I would play until dinner time. In an attempt to discontinue my greatest pleasure and his worst annoyance, he told me that playing on a mini hoop was inevitably going to interfere with real basketball and the form of playing with a bigger ball and a taller basket. I never listened to him and continued to play and play, continuously for years and years. Once I did make friends we would split up our afternoons by playing one-on-one on the mini Bulls hoop and taking breaks by playing SEGA (another top childhood gift) and chugging soda until the parental came home. <br /><br />That hoop brought me so much joy for so many years, but like the majority of all things in childhood, I outgrew it, physically and emotionally. As soon as girls, friends and real activities became accessible, I spent less and less time in my magical, imaginative sports arena until eventually we dismantled the hoop and gave it to a younger cousin. I can only hope that he enjoyed it as much as me.Benny Blanchhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06743360088980214315noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5444599588527265649.post-46748829586057205902009-12-18T10:14:29.941-08:002009-12-18T10:14:29.941-08:00Amy and Chyna--I love your stories.
They feel real...Amy and Chyna--I love your stories.<br />They feel realistic and entertaining.<br /><br />Amy--I love "Yankee Swap," and the golden angel snowglobe. I love that it deceptively seemed like the best gift because it was in the biggest box. <br /><br />Chyna--I love the emotion and language in your piece. "DENIAL," the detailed list of inappropriate gifts, and the words, "bunch of shit."<br /><br />Fabulous writing, folks!Writing Padhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08457445478510415827noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5444599588527265649.post-24768117862699413842009-12-18T10:09:35.819-08:002009-12-18T10:09:35.819-08:00From Chyna T
The holidays can be tricky. What do ...From Chyna T<br /><br />The holidays can be tricky. What do you when you get a gift that you don't like?....Not only that you don't like per say, but something that is just impractical and useless. <br /><br />See, my mother likes to live in the past. I am now twenty years old and I have come to the conclusion that she refuses to believe this much time has passed her by. <br /><br />Though this can be pleasant way to think about things, it is also what is most commonly referred to as DENIAL. So because of this, she buys my sister and I things such as: jumbo sized pens, a bag of erasers, creepy mini porcelain dolls, a neon sign that says, and i quote "GIRLS RULE". <br /><br />I think I've made my point. Now, I know it is terribly sweet of her and that I am supposed to think "It's the thought that counts." But I don't believe there was much thought put into those gifts. <br /><br />If you think about it, if you add up the cost of the list above, I could've bought not only something I may have wanted, but something I needed. And not a bunch of shit that would immediately just become more junk to clutter my room with. And now I sound like the asshole.Writing Padhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08457445478510415827noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5444599588527265649.post-18054316516713472292009-12-16T16:56:02.839-08:002009-12-16T16:56:02.839-08:00The worst present I can remember was from a work Y...The worst present I can remember was from a work Yankee Swap. It was a huge snowglobe with a golden angel in the middle. The only reason I got it was because it was the biggest box on the gift table and I got greedy. I went first and nobody stole it from me. I believe it went directly to Goodwill.<br /><br />Billy totally made me jealous of the Christmas turd. That sounds like a great, fun, family traditionStinky Juniorhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08173159986488613794noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5444599588527265649.post-71726605701454562012009-12-16T10:27:48.053-08:002009-12-16T10:27:48.053-08:00Bill--I LOVE this piece! It is poignant and funny...Bill--I LOVE this piece! It is poignant and funny. I love how the mother had to hide the cheapest booze, how the narrator wanted a Doris Day record, and the whole story around the turd. I also love how the turd comes back again in the present time Xmas at the end.<br /><br />MarilynWriting Padhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08457445478510415827noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5444599588527265649.post-56485101396246727662009-12-16T09:21:47.168-08:002009-12-16T09:21:47.168-08:00Marilyn, et al:
True holiday story:
When I was thi...Marilyn, et al:<br />True holiday story:<br />When I was thirteen my Uncle Hal came for Christmas. My Uncle Hal -- Harold Hamilton Gibson III -- was a drunk -- a happy drunk, but a drunk nonetheless. When Hal visited, my mom would hide all but the cheapest booze. Hal asked me what I wanted for Christmas, and I told him anything by Doris Day. I really liked Doris Day. Christmas Eve my Uncle announced that Doris Day never recorded a song called Anything. I said, I meant anything by Doris Day…anything. He said he was sorry but the stores were closed ‘till after Christmas. <br />I was disappointed, though I hadn’t gotten him a gift. But that week in school I had bought from a friend for 50¢ a perfect plaster replica of a dog-turd. I carefully wrapped it in newspaper, placed it in a shoe box and wrapped that with a satiny-red paper and put a green bow on it. That I placed in a larger cardboard box, wrapped it in angel paper, placed it in an even larger box, and covered that with a nice red & green scotch-plaid wrapping paper. I wrote on the Christmas gift tag, “Dear Uncle Hal, don’t worry about the Doris Day record. Let this gift to you serve as a symbol of the love and admiration I have for you -- a thank-you for your holiday visit and for your love and loyalty. Signed with best wishes for a Happy New Year, your nephew, Billy.<br />Christmas morning Hal tossed back a couple of hi-test eggnogs and was teetering around the tree. My mom sat him down. I put a red ski hat on and said, “My turn to play Santa Claus. Uncle Hal, this one’s for you.”<br />“Well, gosh, Billy, how sweet of you to think of your old Uncle.” He took another swig of eggnog and unwrapped the large Christmas box. With a look of great anticipation he removed the second box and unwrapped it. “Gee, a lot of effort went into this, Billy.”<br />“All in the Christmas spirit, Uncle Hal, ho-ho-ho.”<br />He unwrapped the shoe box and untwisted the layers of red tissue paper. His hand slowly emerged holding the plaster dog-turd. He said, “I will treasure this forever.” Now, while I enjoyed the act of giving my new dog-turd to Uncle Hal, I also knew that I would miss it.<br />But the next Christmas I received a large festive gift-box from my uncle with a note, “My loving nephew, may all your Christmases look like this.” It was the dog-turd. <br />And every Christmas until my uncle Hal died he and I exchanged that dog-turd and others he picked up along the way — paper maché dog-turds, rubber dog-turds. And now at Christmas, to honor the memory of my Uncle Hal, when my daughters and I exchange gifts one of them is always a lovingly-wrapped, life-like brown dog-turd.Barthttps://www.blogger.com/profile/01998538740034440420noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5444599588527265649.post-76670711826464163242009-12-11T10:04:58.934-08:002009-12-11T10:04:58.934-08:00Halie--I am loving this recurring character of the...Halie--I am loving this recurring character of the grandmother! She is fabulous! I love the Jewl Secret Barbie who's dress turned into a purse. That is a terrific gift--even I'm excited (and I'm way too old to be excited about that). ;)<br /><br />MarilynWriting Padhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08457445478510415827noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5444599588527265649.post-60684269004309815542009-12-10T17:02:09.073-08:002009-12-10T17:02:09.073-08:00My mom fancied herself a feminist and thus would n...My mom fancied herself a feminist and thus would not buy me a Barbie when I was little. One year my grandmother thought enough was enough and snuck a Jewl Secret Barbie under the tree saying it was from Santa. It was the Barbie who's dress turned into a purse! I was over the moon in love. <br /><br />Little did my mom know by letting me keep this doll she was opening the Barbie portal. I would be stuck in the magical world of Malibu Dream houses for the next half a decade.Can I Be U?https://www.blogger.com/profile/12471654774844074706noreply@blogger.com