Matt’s question of the day: Aliens have finally visited Earth and are ready to make contact with humans! There’s just one thing: the aliens unknowingly landed on Halloween. What happens next?
For Matt’s prompt: https://normalhappenings.com/2018/10/30/thirty-first-contact-daily-inkling/
Matt is turning Halloween on us, demanding that we imagine being turned into a vampire for the month of October for the rest of our lives. I just wrote a vampire poem for another prompt, Matt, but oh well, here I go again!!!
On the Wagon
(A Vampire’s Lament)
I’m facing a whole month of sober
now that it’s almost October.
Passing up my gin and tonic
for a drink more histrionic.
Need I say I merely ask
liquid refreshment from a flask?
All said and done, I much prefer
to drink from glass and not from her.
I find this other way of curbing
my addictive thirst disturbing.
All that blood that sucking draws
is neater when it’s done through straws.
Alas, I find this vampire curse
most distressing. Nothing worse
could be my fate except perhaps
karma so far kept under wraps.
An Easter curse would be the dregs—
to spend all April sucking eggs!
Ghostly Happenings at a 12th Century Scottish Abbey
After my father died, my mother and I went on several trips together, but the best one of all was a nine-week trip through Great Britain, where we rented a car and drove the back roads from Chester to Findhorn and Wales to Canterbury. Since my mother was an avid reader and I was a reformed English teacher, I made it a literary tour of Britain, taking extra care to go to the settings of favorite books as well as the homes of many of England’s most famous writers. I took the books of many of these writers along so if my mother had not read them, she could read them in preparation of our visits.
In addition to this literary research and preparation, I took special care to book us into a variety of different lodgings, from the best London hotels to rooms over pubs, inns set up in homes, castles, and even two lodgings alleged to be haunted. One was a hotel in the Cotswalds and the other an 12th century abbey near Hadrian’s Wall in Scotland. It is this second “haunted” place that I am going to tell you about.
The abbey, built in the early 1100’s, became a refuge for priests hiding out during the Jacobite uprising of the 1700’s. Later in its history, it became a hotel named the Lord Crewe Arms. One room, which overlooked the cemetery, still housed a “priest hole” that had hidden priests during the uprising and which was said to be haunted.
When my mother and I read about this room in a brochure we picked up in the hotel lobby as we checked in, we asked to sleep in this room, but alas, it had been procured for a bride and groom on their honeymoon. When we learned it was not booked for the next night, however, we decided to stay an extra night so we could sleep in it.
We spent the second day of our stay by returning to Hadrian’s Wall and then retired to the pub where various locals regaled us with tales and helped to stir our already vivid imaginations over a night’s stay in a haunted room by telling us of the sacking of the abbey, various sightings of the ghost and other local stories. About 10 p.m., we retired to our room.
Determined to see the ghost, my mother remained awake as long as she could, but then surrendered to sleep. I, on the other hand, could not sleep. I lay reading in bed, then switched off the lights and fine-tuned my ears to detect any movement, spectral or otherwise. At one point I opened my eyes to see a flash of light on the drapes next to the uncovered windows and moved to the window. The moon was fully up, reflecting off the gravestones down below.
I stood gazing at the unnatural plays of light that seemed to be emanating from behind some of the gravestones, and then I saw it—a flicker of white from behind one of the gravestones! Then another from a grave a few dozen feet away from the first. Then I saw a white figure dash out from behind one gravestone to duck behind another. Then another and another. Then, a few hoots and hollers that revealed to me the practical joke that some of our new friends from the pub had decided to play on the visiting Yanks. We had told them we were staying in the haunted room and obviously, they wanted to make our stay a success and up to our expectations.
I returned to the big double bed I was sharing with my mother, turned over and tried to sleep. Her soft breathing assured me she was already fast asleep, and yet I could feel something sit down at the foot of my bed. I turned on the light. Nothing. My imagination. I pulled out the sheets at the foot of the bed. It was a particular irritation to me to have anything pulling down on my toes, and the sheets had been tucked in tightly. Turning off the light once again, I got into bed and willed myself to sleep.
As I had just started to drift off when again, I felt a light pressure at the bottom of the bed, as though someone was tucking the sheet in. My imagination. I wiggled my feet and raised the sheets with my knees, trying to finagle some more space for my toes. Closed my eyes. Did I remain awake or was it in sleep that I continued to feel the tucking movement, the tightening of the blanket and sheet, a slight pressure as though someone was sitting at the foot of the bed?
The next morning, when we checked out, the clerk asked about our evening. My mother assured them we had felt no disturbance, but, curious, I had to ask why it was called a haunted room and what experiences others had had in the room. The clerk then told me the story of the priest hole used to hide priests, the sacking of the abbey, and what stories the maids in the hotel had told of making the beds and returning to find them pulled apart and the sheets in disarray or on the floor. Of guests who told of unseen presences sitting on the foot of the bed or tucking in the sheets.
Coincidence? Overactive imagination? Who ever knows with ghosts? But this is my story and I’m sticking to it.
Here is more of the story of the Lord Crewe Arms, the hotel that is now operating in part of the Abbey. A bit of history of the Blanchland Abbey from Wikipedia: https://www.spookyisles.com/beware-lord-crewe-arms-hotel-and-its-classic-ghostly-monk-haunting/
Blanchland Abbey at Blanchland, in the English county of Northumberland, was founded as a premonstratensian priory in 1165 by Walter de Bolbec II, and was a daughter house of Croxton Abbey in Leicestershire. It became an abbey in the late 13th century. The 16th century former Abbot’s house (now The Lord Crewe Arms Hotel) is a Grade II* listed building and the whole site is a Scheduled Ancient Monument.
The abbey granges were pillaged during the Anglo-Scots wars, in particular during 1327, but the abbey itself was apparently left unscathed. There is however a legend that during one raid in the area, the monks prayed that the abbey would be spared. Subsequently, a mist descended which shielded the valley and monastery from view and was overlooked by the Scottish raiders, who passed by. The foolish monks upon hearing this, proceeded to ring the abbey bells to signal to every one in the valley that it was safe, that the invaders had passed. During their celebration of bell ringing, the Scottish invaders heard the bells, turned around and ransacked the Monastery.
(Go to Wikipedia for more of its story.)
https://normalhappenings.com/2018/10/26/i-know-a-ghost-daily-inkling/
Matt wants us to tell him a personal ghost story, and since I have a few of them, this is going to be a bonanza. Two (including the one below) I’ve told before in years past, but the third and upcoming one will be new to this blog.
Spirits in Mexico
Yolanda claims Grimmer’s ghost was here the morning she died and that it rang the bell over the door and when she and Pasiano went to see who it was, there was no one there. Yolanda said her spirit rang the bell and walked out the door to go for a walk… That is what spirits do in Mexico.
Then I remembered 15 years ago when my neighbor Celia said she had seen my husband’s ghost walk up the steps to her house in a blue flame. Why didn’t she tell me at the time, I asked, and she replied that she hadn’t wanted to upset me.
I asked Yolanda if she remembered the time she stood with her arms out and wouldn’t let Grimmer go out the door until she let her press her very wrinkled shorts. We decided maybe this time Grimmer had escaped Yolanda’s exacting standards
Later on Monday, when I had spent hours looking for my credit card, Yolanda suggested I light a candle for the little triptych of San Antonio that I bought at the feria this year. (San Antonio is the finder of lost objects.) I did so and the candle burned away completely to nothing, yet I never found my credit card.
If not the spirits themselves, at least the thoughts of spirits have been with us this week.
https://normalhappenings.com/2018/10/26/i-know-a-ghost-daily-inkling/
Ghosts
It floated off to the side,
disappearing when I turned to face it head-on.
It hadn’t his features, really,
but I felt his presence a dozen times after—
something floating just off the corner of reality.
Then, weeks later, in the bedroom—a bat.
It flickered against the white curtain and then disappeared.
Moments later, there it was again.
I jerked my head quickly around, flipped the curtain out,
examined its other side.
Moments later, there it was again.
Then a circle floated across to join it.
A hair floated down from above and stuck, center-vision.
A few hours later, the fireworks started—
flashing corollas of light just to the right of me,
like subtle flashbulbs going off.
This was when I decided I needed to see a specialist.
Yes, a retinal detachment, he agreed,
but not yet perforated.
Now, my movements curtailed,
I await that new cloudy ghost
that will be a harbinger
of surgery.
Every tope, every cobblestone
brings a new flash of light—
a signal to still myself.
No jumping. No Zumba.
No jogging. No lifting.
I wait, inactive, watching floaters
move to the center of my vision
and off to the side again.
I practice various levels of exertion,
waiting for the flash that signals rest.
I wait for words to float
across my vision,
to rend my inactivity
and prompt me
to pin them to the page––
to stitch them together
into a clearer sight
of what is there, invisible,
inside me, waiting for the tear
to let it out.
They are the ghosts
of the future
and I am the one
who seeks to gather them,
to mend the tear
and anchor
these slippery ghosts.
As we sat in the waiting room waiting (of course) for my eyes to fully dilate so the dr could do his tests, Gloria asked what the red dot was on my blouse. I hadn’t noticed it, but the nurse said, “Oh we put that on her to show she’d been dilated!” Two hours later, I was still waiting for the dot to turn green so I’d know my eyes had returned to normal!!!!
Red Dot Syndrome
Artist’s rendering of my retinal disfunction.
Gloria, contemplating my fate.
Retina specialist humor.
An undashing pirate wench
My reward!!! Gloria got to share.
https://normalhappenings.com/2018/10/26/i-know-a-ghost-daily-inkling/
Matt at Daily Inkling wants to know the most original Halloween costume I ever wore and where I wore it.
Can you guess what I went as?
It’s the day after Halloween, and for some reason, I have re-donned my Halloween costume, which was the unlikely choice of a Cigarette Girl! Was this my mother’s idea? Mine? Seems a strange choice and I certainly hope the real Cigarette girls of this eras wore longer skirts or more interesting underwear. At any rate, I can’t remember whether my sister caught me in this pose or staged it. I think I was going for the caramels in the center of the table. Like spreading seed for birds.
Oh, wait! Now I can see that those were Halloween cookies in the shape of pumpkins that I was going after. My sister Patti, 4 years older than me, had a costume party in the basement the night before and I think I was dipping into leftover refreshments. Her costume, a harem girl, was even more inappropriate than mine. Scarf crisscrossed over her budding chest, a lace curtain wound around her hips, bare midriff, veil and dangle over her forehead. If I were home, I’d show you a photo.
For trick and treating, she changed into a cowboy.
And I seem to have traded in my cigarettes for a large haul of candy. Perhaps they were candy cigarettes in my tray?
https://normalhappenings.com/2018/10/25/costume-party-daily-inkling/
Emily
Picture a woman sleeping, words wrapped close around as sheets.
Syllables slipping to the floor, loosed from their midnight feats.
A whole new world evolving as she’s lost away in dream.
All those single actions spilling from the seam
of those reveries she’s wrapped in, meaning more than what they mean.
Click
Picture eyelids opening as light begins to dawn.
See the eyelids close again, her stretching and her yawn.
See the dreams she’s had all night pulled to consciousness–
all tightly wrapped, but wriggling themselves free from all the mess
of what they’ve been bound up in to become what she’ll confess.
Click
See the words all rising from the place where they’ve been sleeping.
See her brow remembering bits it struggles now at keeping.
See her form a paper sheet into a little sack
and use her pen to prod the words back into a pack,
sparring with belligerent phrases that fight back.
Click
See her herding each into its place with little nudges,
overlooking warring words that seek to live their grudges,
making words that don’t belong together somehow fit,
forcing the recalcitrant to want to do their bit
to turn their separate strands into a story finely knit.
Click
Now see the picture on the page where words have come to rest–
stretched out vowel to consonant, best standing next to best.
Brutal words relaxing, flaccid words now showing zest.
Brought recently into the world where they have met the test,
here they stand before you, shaken out and neatly pressed.
Click
Then see the floor around the bed–the words she’s thrown away.
The words that somehow just don’t say what she wants to convey.
See them rising in the air to hover up above.
Words of anger, sadness, envy, honor, lust and love.
They jump, they float, they kiss, they spar, they hug, they joust, they shove.
Click
Tomorrow night they’ll rain back down to form adventures new.
To form themselves into the curious plots that dream parts do.
Picture them assembling into order all their own
or forming groups informally, wherever they are blown.
Ready on the morrow to once more go where they’re sown.
Click.
Daily Inkling’s prompt is: You’re going about your everyday life when you happen upon the perfectly preserved head of a famous historical figure. Who is it, and why is it there?
Do you know a poet named Emily, long dead but never forgotten? If we could resurrect that head, perhaps the above would describe her.
https://normalhappenings.com/2018/10/24/a-head-of-its-time-daily-inkling/
Internet Infraction: Bogged Down in Blog
The only way I’d ever stop
is flagged down by a cyber cop
who says my blogging cannot last
if I continue to go so fast.
He’d give a lecture and a ticket
and then he’d actually stick it
across my screen with strict instruction
to cease this method of destruction.
If life had meant us to go on line
hour after hour––eight or nine
hours or more day after day,
with always one more thing to say,
why would it give us legs to go
and feet to walk on, heel to toe?
Day after day, it’s grown obscene––
my eyes plastered upon my screen,
my fingers stiff with my attention
over what I might next mention––
fingers drumming, tapping, bending
all the while sending sending––
typing out, first fast then slow
my life as a reality show.
Until I wonder if I log
its details daily on my blog
because I want to recall life––
its joys and sorrows, pleasures, strife––
or do I only move about
to give me something to write about???
My friends all say this can’t go on.
I’m growing flaccid, weak and wan.
I need some exercise and sun––
some movies, dancing or other fun
aside from snapping pictures of
each bougainvillea or mourning dove.
Life’s meant to live, not to record.
It should be shouted, screamed or roared––
not typed out softly on the keys
of a laptop spread out on my knees!
The truth of this I’ve clearly seen
now that this sticker obscures my screen.
“Do not remove” it clearly reads,
“Go live your life! Go do some deeds!”
I’ll put on sneakers and do some laps.
I’ll exercise ‘til I collapse,
then do more laps around the pool
‘til I’m an exercising fool.
I’ll call twelve friends up on the phone.
I’ll never ever be alone.
I’ll live my life until its end
without a single blogging friend!
My dedication will never lapse;
and yet, how temptingly it gaps–
that sticker, unstuck at its edge
so easy now to pick and wedge
my fingernail beneath and tug,
to drop its shreds upon the rug
and free my screen of its obstruction––
this taboo not of my construction.
To push the button, light up the screen––
to see its colors from red to green.
Black words on white, Cee’s daily flower––
no longer do I pine and cower.
I peck the keys, upload some pics––
once more getting my daily fix.
The truth of modern life leaks in.
To blog is not a major sin!
I’ll give up blogging, become a rover
precisely when Hell freezes over!!!
Daily Inkling’s prompt is:
Has technology affected your ability to communicate with other people? If so, to what extent, and are there any examples of when it affected you for better or worse? (I confess, I wrote this poem three years ago but it meets this prompt so well that I’m going to subject you to it again, if you’ve been around this blog for that long.)
Here’s the link: https://normalhappenings.com/2018/10/23/social-outage-daily-inkling/
Behind the unfurled sails of sailboats
In spaces between raindrops
In the arms of windmills
For Daily Inkling’s prompt: “The Wind and the Sail.”
https://normalhappenings.com/2018/10/22/the-wind-and-the-sail-daily-inkling/
Imitations of Immortality
Lend my consciousness to an android—every feeling, thought, ambition?
Can I commit this practice without suffering perdition?
Why not replace the faulty parts? We do it with our car,
and with this perishable body, I won’t get very far.
So why not buy a new one if I have the cash to do so?
I may even treat myself to invest in a few so
I can change my body like others change their clothes.
I’ll put me in a fresh one while the other bodies doze.
I’ll live a life that’s double. I won’t waste any hours.
Twenty-four hours of every day, I’ll exercise my powers.
Will I still be myself? Yes. It’s plain as it can be
that I won’t be my android. My android will be me.
The prompt: Welcome to the future. We now have the technology to upload your consciousness into an android body. The feelings, thoughts, and ambitions that make you unique remain after the transfer. Do you accept this new reality given the opportunity, and why?
https://normalhappenings.com/2018/10/21/getting-an-upgrade-daily-inkling/
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 