Skip to main content

tick tick tick

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    Dorothy’s ruby slippers   crosswalk signs    a card placed in bicycle spokes

All of items and actions denote a beat, a measure of time or an accomplishment.  How many ticks and checks do I need before I’m ticked off or calmed down?  Face it, some ticks drone on; annoying, while others are lovely repetitive reminders. 

Ticks create a cadence to our lives.  Just think about a quickly tapped pencil.  Sounds like impatience or frustration.  In contrast, the slow precision of a clock ticking sets a peaceful tone in the quiet of the night.

I have ticks that tick me off, occasionally ticks in my eye and fortunately no ticks on my body.  I see them all as a necessary part of my life tempo.  They keep me steady and set my pace.  When there’s a lot to do, my ticking is rapid.  (Can you hear my heels clickety clicking?)  Then comes those much anticipated moments when the pulse is slow, like a long weekend away at a cabin on a lake.  (That’s coming in a couple of weeks.)

If I had given you the prompt to write a list of ticks…what would you have written?

Missy


If you have been mildly amused, challenged or inspired by what you have read, please pass on my blog to a friend, colleague, family member or even random acquaintance






Comments

  1. Replies
    1. Thanks. It certainly challenges me to pay attention to the ticks, and to not let too many tick me off!

      Delete
  2. Good one, Missy. I have a laborious tick in my engine that needs attention. There is the ticking sound everytime a rock stuck in the tread of the tire hits the pavement or the ticking sound of water leaking from the faucet into the sink in the middle of the night. Since I no longer hear well, I rarely hear a watch ticking.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I like your "ticks." I hadn't thought of a rock stuck in the tire. My hubby and son just got back from being out in the woods, and son's tire had rocks that were driving him crazy. Maybe, there's a blessing to the hearing waning. Thanks for reading!

      Delete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

urban girl in the country

green in concrete For the last lot-of-years I’ve lived in urban areas.  I’ve become a city girl with hints of a flower child mixed with hipster nuances…translated I like to wear skinny jeans.  This is the total opposite of how I grew up, which was on a farm.  My paternal grandparents grew, raised, caught and hunted for everything they ate – radical organic, free-range stuff.  On my Mom’s side of the fam tree, there were green grocers and orchard growers.  Heck, I was in 4-H raising feeder calves and a small flock of wooly sheep.  Gardens, canning, freezing and preserving everything was the ordinary. I carried on the gardening-preserving, saving the spoils piece, until I found myself in fresh veggie-at-a-farmer’s-market heaven!  The foreign city I found myself in had a temperate climate where fruit and vegetables could be grown year ‘round, and … it was sold at a giant open air market every week.  Yippee!  I no longer needed to ...

road tripping: french glen and steens mountain

we took a stinkin' lot of dirt roads, but i wouldn't have it any other way The drive wasn’t long by west coast standards, a mere few of hours; which meant there was plenty of leisure (interpreted coffee time) before leaving on another road trip escapade.  I can’t begin to tell you how much fun it is to pack a bag, gas up the car and set out to see what can be seen. An interesting thing I’ve discovered on these exploits, is that having lived in Oregon for the majority of my life, I’ve missed “seeing” a lot of things. You know, I think we all get into the habit of going to the same places, which is a good thing, but we forget about the “other” places that are right in our own backyards. Case in point, yesterday afternoon, when my darling man and I went to Tumalo Falls. I’ve been to Skyliner Snow Park, but never gone the few more dirt road miles to see the falls. Holy cow! Is that lame, or what? a sweet little place, no frills, but plenty of yesteryear ...

wishing flower, vulnerable and beautiful

do you see a weed or a wish? Let’s just say, I’m not an early morning girl.  Those who know me appreciate this and quietly leave me alone until I’ve had a chance to emerge from my pre-coffee zombie state.  However, there is a bird glee club that begins at about 3:30, yes in the morning.  It’s lovely and melodic; leaving me no choice but to listen.  Translated, this means I’ve been up before my norm.  The youthful hours are warm, but fresh; they beg for a walk, and so does Isabella. Yesterday was a little cooler so our pace was speedy, at least for my little legs.  We passed cars and bushes and bugs zipping around … and the rejected weed. pulled up by its roots discarded wishing flower tossed aside left at the edge of the sidewalk the sun beat down life ebbing from the slender stalk, leaves drying, privately curling desperate to hold onto being funny , how I noticed the thrown-away on a morning walk my thought to stop and ...