Isabella Bird Miscellany

I started to clean the house.  It's a weekly routine, dusting, vacuuming, the regular stuff, basically mundane. And I couldn't seem to focus, flitting from task to task like a moth searching for light. Cool, down-tempo music beat in the background.  You know, the kind of stuff you'd hear at a totally chill night club. That's where the pretty people go to sip pretty cocktails. And here I was in jeans with a hole in the knee and a baggie sweater. I sat down for a cup of Chai and picked up my notebook; abandoning the cleaning. I allowed myself to be transported by the acoustics to that vibing club. In my imagination, I walked in pulsing to the sounds. I wore a mod black slip dress, hair slightly messy with sun-kissed bare arms and legs. Several years ago I might have pulled this off. Now, as an old woman, I still have the down beat in my soul and the messy hair; my legs and arms are waiting for the sun to come kiss them. Inside, I'm a cool girl. H...

station 12, the grotto, pdx It’s funny, and not in a comical way, how the writing prompts from two different sites are polar opposites of each other – jealousy and hope. One is full of causalities and destruction, the other resonates with possibility. All gets weighed in the balance we call life. Our scales tip back and forth until they settle; balanced, landing on one side or the other. Desperation dissipates in Your presence. We go from utter hopelessness to the apex of joy. Things eat away at our well-being . Jealousy revels in discontentment, driving us to more and different, instead of finding satisfaction and enjoyment with enough. Hope, on the other hand bursts through the darkness that tries to engulf. Hope is possibility. Hope is being ok with the now. Hope knows a quietness of soul. Hope differs from a wish, it’s substantial. Hope has weight and substance and an innate security. Hope inspires love and trust, a belief that is solidly rooted in the thoug...

jealous:  onomatopoeia-like, it slithers off the tongue; rotting the soul, destroying all it touches, leaving debris in its path. When I was taking a particular creative writing class, Pat, our instructor would give us short, often one word prompts, to write about for a minute or so. It was just enough time to jot down a sentence or two, a paragraph if you were quick. This practice kept my mind thinking of ways to consider words or phrases. The commute to this class would be a little on the long side (I don’t live in PDX anymore), so I’ve taken to using a couple of sites for ideas. A few days ago the two words were so opposite of each other that it caught my attention: rainbow: hope, confidence, expectation jealous and hope It’s funny, and not in a comical way, how these words are so contradictory. One full of causality and destruction, the other resonates with possibility. All gets weighed in the balance we call life. Our scales tip back and forth unti...

revealing, skeleton-like edison bulb I wrote this piece a year and a half ago.  The prompt was "caught up in the image." Standing naked under a single bare light bulb, she was exposed.  There were no props, no masks to offer a shred of private dignity or security.  Her soul was stripped of facades.  What happened to the phony veneer of the window dressing she wore?  A pile of fabric lay crumpled at her unprotected feet. Unfolding vulnerability was not part of her being.  Was it really anyone’s?  Perfection was the desired portrait, unblemished and flawless; performing like a horse or pony in the circus, always jumping through hoops and carrying out tricks at another’s whim. Caught up in the image painted over her life, she struggled to fracture the confines of other’s applause.  Under the divulging fluorescent, statuesque stillness enveloped her in quietness.  The deafening silence screamed in her mind of fear and inab...

tick tick tick tick I receive daily writing prompts in my inbox.  I go through streaks of using them, when they intrigue me and dry spells when the ideas bore me. A recent one that pricked my writing reverie was “write a list of things that tick;” quite different from things that tick me off.  Honestly, there are days that list would be a catalog.  No, this one was simply things that tick.  I interpreted that as a sound - a clicking or rhythmic beat; and even took it a step further with a check mark indicating something is done.  I avoided the pesky blood-sucking insect that latches itself to you while hiking in the summer. A few of the words and phrases that I wrote on my list pocket watch     alarm clock    time bomb     my eye when I’m stressed     creepy working to clean the pool    a metronome     high heels on a concrete floor    D...