Partially Installed

 

“So it’s full of juice?”

Robin rolled her eyes. Her brother was too thick for his own good.

“No, Dufus. It is hollow. Or mostly.”

The boy’s eyes stared glassily.

“Don’t know what hollow means, do you?”

He shook his head and tugged on her hand pleadingly.

Robin sighed. Little brothers should come with language already fully installed.

“It means it has space inside. Like a balloon. Sort of. Only it won’t pop.”

Donnie glanced at the sphere and the concession stand at its bottom. “A juice balloon?”

Robin snorted. “Can you imagine?”

Donnie grinned.

Apparently, they both could.

 

 

 

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers

Photo: © Dale Rogerson

 

On Hands

cristian-newman-CeZypKDceQc-unsplash

Photo: Cristian Newman on Unsplash

 

To hug or to press

To hold and caress

To dismiss and impress,

To allow or forbid

To prevent or insist

To farewell and to greet,

To disrupt or respect

To allow or reject

To indulge or inspect,

To stop or invite

To instruct and ignite

To appease or incite,

To disarm and to heal

To pray and reveal:

Hands speak truth

Or conceal.

 

 

Inspired in part by Steve McMurry’s: Silent Language of Hands

 

Ode to Morphology

markus-spiske-OO89_95aUC0-unsplash

Photo: Markus Spiske on Unsplash

 

Ode to the needed application

Of distinctive word formation

And appropriate derivation

(With Speech Pathology implications

For morphological miscalculation).

Because without the permutations

Of root words in combination

And grammatical allocation,

There’d be much missed in

Communication.

 

 

 

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Morphology in 37 words

Note: As a Speech-Language Pathologist, this writing prompt would have been absolutely impossible to not take on! 🙂

 

The Fifth

Me-age10mos-story telling

Me, telling stories at 10 months

 

Fifth of seven, all girls, I was born

Telling tales.

Far enough to duck rules

For first, middle, or last,

I grabbed place

To be me

And held on

Talking fast.

 

As what shouldn’t be

Grew

And real life wove

Impossible,

Words remained

Nonetheless

In my soul

In my brain,

To be clasped

And sustain

Life and joy

Times again.

 

 

For Terri’s Sunday Stills Challenge: Fifth

 

It’s a Puzzle!

snake ef-e AmitaiAsif

Photo: Amitai Asif

 

“Can animals be naked?” he asked, his little forehead creased in perplexed concentration.

“Naked how?” I responded. “Animals don’t usually wear clothes. People may dress their dogs with coats or booties if its raining or snowing, but even that only sometimes.”

He waved me off. “I’m not talking about dogs, even.”

I smiled. The kindergartener’s contenance was a smaller version of adolescents’ exasperation at the ‘know-nothing-adults’ they are somehow expected to live with.

“Oh, okay.” I conceded, “I guess I misunderstood. What did you mean, then?”

“Other things. Like, um … snakes.”

“Snakes?!” I repeated.

“Yeah.” He moved his head up and down for emphasis. “Because I think maybe a snake took his clothes off and ran away and now he’s naked.”

Comprehension slithered in to lift my confusion. “Was this when you went to visit your grandma in Arizona?”

He nodded again. “It looked like a snake but it was only snake clothes.”

I grinned. “I think you saw a snake skin shed! How cool! But don’t worry, it still has skin on its body. You see, when a snake’s skin is too small for it, it grows new skin underneath and then it wriggles out of the old skin and sheds it inside out like a sock.”

The little boy narrowed his eyes and inspected my expression to see if I was perhaps pulling his leg. What he saw in my face must’ve reassured him.

“Good,” he said. “Because I didn’t want everyone to see his privates.”

 

 

For The Daily Post

It’s a Zoo!

its a zoo

Photo: Pinterest

 

“It’s a zoo over there!”

She exclaimed. Out of breath.

Cheeks still red from the stairs

And the cold evening air.

“It’s a zoo in the store.

It’s a zoo in the park.

It’s a zoo … at the zoo,”

Her smile grew.

She cracked up.

Couldn’t stop.

Her delight

Only matched

By the first time she ‘got’

“Slipped my mind” meant forgot.

 

 

 

For The Daily Post

What You Call a Thing

name

 

What you call a thing, may well become it.

What you name a person, may weave itself into their cells.

What you title, leads a story.

What you tag, may stick around.

Definitions matter. Meanings become truth implied, rehearsed, accepted; whether it is hidden from a awareness or intensely shown.

Words create reality and shape semantics.

What we say becomes a part of who we are and what we stand for. What we give or take away in voice is woven through the tapestry of those around us: how we see them, how they are intended to be seen by themselves and others.

How we label people, places, power, actions … What we tell to whom and how. All these not only make us, but format the very being of our children. Our labels inscribe children’s spirits and knit into the fibers of every connection made, be it bathed in kindness or in less than kind.

May we be aware, and tender what we mean and how we use it.

Words matters. Every time.

 

 

For The Daily Post

Literally

“My mommy is crazy!” the four-year-old announced as she walked into my office, loudly lisping her /z/s.
“She is?…” I lifted my eyebrows in some amusement. 
The mom alternated startled looks between her child and me but said nothing. She knew I was interested in understanding what this statement was about, before explaining the potentially hurtful use of adjective and offering alternatives. 
The little one nodded emphatically, corkscrew pigtails swinging, “Yea!” she said, undeterred. “She crazy! She tell Daddy not forget to fall on him back when it weekend!”

Picture: from Etsy.com

Picture: from Etsy.com

Trauma’s Memory Problems : A good article

child trauma

Trauma all too often brings up the detective in people, prods them to question, pin point, dissect accounts, weigh relative credibility. It is an odd thing, given the reality that trauma–by its very essence of overwhelm and shutting down of language centers, processing, and memory integration–affects how one may be able to remember, recount, and narrate it. Trauma is difficult to articulate and often too difficult to comprehend, even to know. And yet, it is often demanded to be phrased in exact details that go beyond every-day memory. As if trauma memory should be, somehow, more stellar, subject to higher standard, to bigger scrutiny.

Granted, there may be a motive in it: people would rather believe trauma is less frequent and not as severe. If there are holes in a story, maybe it is ‘proof’ that it did not take place, or not as badly, or not deliberately … At the same time, there is an inherent lack of understanding about how memory and overwhelm conflict and contradict each other. In some ways, a misremembered, disjointed, incoherent event fraught with numbness and confusion may well BE one of a trauma … rather than be proof of something not happening …

Trauma is a problematic thing for memory.

People remember trauma differently. Some remember constantly, vividly, intrusively. Some remember oddly. Some remember snippets, or sensations, or disjointed unease that seems disconnected from anything that seems to make sense. Some remember sometimes. Some remember not at all.

Children, especially, may find not remembering safer than to try and manage the overwhelming reality of what to let reality in may mean. They may have to keep things in the ‘not knowing’ folder to go on and push away reminders that make no sense, they recant, reverse, deny, ignore.

In the article below, the author explores memory and trauma, denial and dismissal, inaccuracies and interpretations, shame and judgment, burden and prejudice, reality and myth.

It is a worthy read for anyone who has been touched by or knows someone who has been touched by trauma (that should include the lot of us, really …). It is an even worthier read if one keeps in mind how it would be all the more difficult for children to conceptualize and remember trauma cohesively, when they have less tools with which to manage what they had endured, and are more vulnerable to misconceptions about what it says to them, about them, about those who hurt them, about the world, about who they may be or have become.

​I Was Sexually Assaulted As A Child. Here’s Why I Didn’t Remember For Years.

http://thinkprogress.org/health/2014/12/23/3606576/memory-and-sexual-trauma/