Eve Gaal's Blog, page 8

A Post of Memes

Thought I'd write a few inspirational memes. I took the photos too, and don't mind if you share these.









Hope you liked this post. I'd love to see your comments. Thank you!

Tricks or Treats?

Halloween is a fun time to celebrate life. Death should wait somewhere far away, out of town, on a hill, under a tree, behind a gate, in a cemetery. Sadly, not everyone agrees. Even walking by a few homes here in my neighborhood gives me the creeps. This is an old, actual, cemetery in Julian, California
 There are homes around here that could compete with this view.
Needless to say, that doesn’t mean we don't honor and remember those who have gone before us. Though our loved ones remain in our hearts and walk with God, it's a special blessing to have days on the calendar set aside for spiritual reflection.  I'm sure you probably know that faith-filled memorials follow all the trick-or-treat hoopla on Hallows' eve. 
November 1st is the day of the children and All the Saints.  All Soul’s Day or Day of the Dead is on November 2. 
My favorite part of a holiday celebration can best be defined as wicked. As in, sugary cupcakes, chocolates, nuts, cookies and maybe a pumpkin latte. We have a basket brimming with the (killer) snacks near the door. Though our decorations are minimal, we look forward to seeing the cute costumes at our door. When a five-year old Wonder Woman shouts, 'Trick or treat', it melts our hearts. Little soldiers, firemen and tiny ghouls add to the fun of the evening.  Happy Halloween!How about you? Do you use vats of chocolate syrup for fake blood? Do you like to decorate with bats and rats, carved pumpkins, spider webs and coffins on the lawn? Laughing skeletons and headstones? Glow in the dark witches? Ghosts flying from your trees? Signs that say 'Boo'? Yikes. It's scary out there! What's your favorite part of Halloween?

Retrograde Heart

There’s a character in my novel, Penniless Hearts who reads her horoscope each morning, to find out whether she’s going to have a good day. Though my characters are all fictional, I knew someone who did the same thing every day. If her horoscope sounded undesirable, this colleague would throw the newspaper to the side, in a quest for something better, and march off to find the competing newspapers. The rest of us would snicker in our cubicle waiting for her to return. We waited, hoping the stars aligned, and she’d be placated by finding something positive in her search for another horoscope. When things went well there’d be stealth thumbs up signs, notifying the oblivious or busier employees. Sometimes, we could hear a bit of slamming and sighing, if the search came up negative. Of course, all of this was before everyone had cell phones connected to the internet. Today, she can probably pull up ten different charts from various astrologists per day, and yet, I doubt the stars have anything to do with her happiness.
Sadly, I’ve had a punishing month filled with switchbacks and turns that took my heart into unexpected agony. Those who follow the stars call it a time of retrograde. But, and this is a big but, even through the toughest times I felt the unconditional love of God. There will always be bad days, confusing days and painful days. There will always be tears. The road of life isn’t easy for anyone and even in the darkest times, I’ve felt favored and blessed by the Almighty. I’m confident He has a plan. While I don't think my life has much to do with the planets, I wait for positive news. Prayers bring me comfort. Knowing He listens brings me assurance. 
Yesterday, I looked out the window and saw our garden hose. I pitied the poor ant who might think he would take an easy trip across the yard by traveling on a smooth, rubber pathway. I imagined him with his tiny knapsack setting out to see the world, only to end up right back where he started. I wondered about his determination and the reason he might try again and again, only to end up failing. Perhaps he’d never discover the delicious crumbs in my neighbor’s backyard. Most likely, he wasn’t  meant to discover them. If, by chance a big breeze comes along, it might lift him, carrying him away, and then he’d have to reassess his priorities. Either way, putting too much credence in something like that shiny garden hose might distract him from important things. Like appreciating and accepting the life he has, and the sunshine warming his way.
Today.

What do you think? Do you believe in misaligned stars? Do you agree God has a plan for us?

Transitioning into Fall

“And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.”
From: Ode to Autumn by John Keats


Many friends look forward to the end of summer and the cooler temperatures. Fall is a warning that it’s going to be cold. Winter is on the way. It’s like a yellow light telling us to prepare to stop.
Or shop…for Christmas, before the bad weather and crowds make it difficult. 
A time when I’m not sure I’ll need a sweater, but should take one anyway. The leaves change and most of them are blown down the street. Frightening Halloween decorations fill store shelves and spiced pumpkin lattes are the rage at the coffee house. Restaurant menus reflect the harvest with less salad and more soup.
It’s a time to let go of open-toed shoes and sleeveless tops. I hang up my beach towel and fold away swimsuits. It’s getting darker and the days end faster. Instead of evening rays of light, we turn on lamps. Instead of outdoor activities, we turn towards cooking, reading, crocheting, sewing, television and computer games. The sky is bluer than ever and yet the forecast is a calculated cornucopia of various predictions. The world does a quick-change backstage for the third act, exactly like a star!
Even the birds fly faster. They make their nests. I hear them communicating as if to say they are making progress. Maybe this year I will embrace this amber-hued transition with the same joy as the flock outside my window.  It’s not just about their nests. They are pulling me in, making sure I notice how hard they work. They entertain, spread their wings and chirp. I’m pretty sure they want me to love this season as much as they do. Shamed into the truth, I have no excuses.

Fiona Memoriam

Heal the intangible heart? Real tears,virtual tears, streams of salt water--flow over your soul. You gasp for airwatching gold flythrough the air.Small hairsland softly. Once a reason to grab a vacuumnow a twinkling memory.
Hide her toys,wash away her delightful smell?Stop looking at photos.Talk about the weather?She is there--forever in your heart.She licks from the inside.Kissing and playing—Jumping, running and wagging her tail.Again, you gasp.She will never leave.You might as well vacuum.

Intangible Grace

There are times the universe will ask you do something in return. Perhaps as payment for the sunny days, the healthy days, the perfect days.
Your resolve doesn’t waver during these times. You focus and follow through and accomplish what is needed with a flourish and a smile.
Later, as all of it comes together and rises to fruition, you wonder how the heck it happened. What made you do it? How in the world was all of it possible?
Your eyes pop open in the middle of the night and you realize this is beyond your doing. You are merely a stronger tool displaying as much grace as possible. A cog in a mighty wheel. A note in a song. A drop of rain in a bucket.

This Saturday, The Legends of Wildomar-Tall Tales will be acted out on stage at Le Grand Playhouse. I wrote one third of the play and two of the songs. I put together the program, had them printed, folded each one by hand with my husband and sister.  I also tried to encourage sponsorship's and inspired my family members to participate. I hung up posters in the park that blew away in the wind.  Since one actor dropped out, I’m double cast! The director wants me to be funnier. I’m expected to change into boots, chew on hay and know my lines. Huh?

The address is 16275 Grand Ave., Lake Elsinore. The play will be on September 7th and also on the 14th. Tickets are $10 and are available by going online to BRICK or at Facebook events at: https://www.facebook.com/events/2396311220655774/.All the ticket proceeds will be going to BRICK, which stands for Brain Research in Cancer Kids which is an affinity of Rady’s Children’s Hospital.
BRICK was started by a family with a toddler, named Les. His grandmother is a friend of mine. Les had a brain tumor that changed his life. He endured countless hours in the hospital, surgeries, radiation, chemotherapy and pain. Most of those things began over 16 years ago.
This Saturday, I am honored and humbled to hear that Les and his parents, will be taking tickets at the door. This is not a tall tale and I have no words.

Pinky and Fiona Update

I don’t have much to say except they are confused about outside and inside. No matter what happens it is either too cold or too hot outside for them. Inside is much nicer. In their eyes, it’s luxurious.  We can leave them outside for an hour and they will either head for the emergency puppy pads in the bathroom or, if they don’t feel like climbing stairs, they might leave little puddles near the door. On the unlikely chance that they make it to the pad, they put their front paws on the pad while their backside is hanging off anyway. I guess they get points for trying, but it’s not that cute. Or fun to clean up. Still, they are loved. Bunches.
Anyway, the weather will change but it won’t make a difference. These two want indoor plumbing for dogs. I can’t argue with that. Wish my engineer dad was around so I could ask him to build me some sort of canine flushing station. Or a doggy litter box with fake grass that tickles their bellies just enough to remind them where to go. There has to be a solution. After all, man has gone to the moon and my dad helped with that. Any ideas??

Summer Collaborations

The following poem is written by a famous poet who inspired me many years ago. To me, his poems are like snapshots. This one, a type of summer photo. While folks are at the beach, or visiting iconic landmarks, I am enjoying a seasonal harvest of fruitfulness. 
This Is Just To SayBY WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS
I have eaten
The plums in the photo came from my neighbor's yard.
They reminded me of this short, succinct poem by William Carlos Williams. 
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and whichyou were probablysavingfor breakfast
Forgive methey were deliciousso sweetand so cold

A week before, my generous neighbor gave us apricots, which I made into jars of delicious, jam. The plums were made into jam too, even dumplings. They were exquisite. Each, a fresh, but tart poem. A sort of collaboration--she grew them--I cooked them. 
Which leads me to a digression about the family play I'm co-writing with two local authors. First, we had several table readings to make sure everything flowed and sounded right, and then we had auditions! Talk about peachy!
We have a professional director and a wonderful cast. It's called The Legends of Wildomar-Tall Tales. Tickets are  available at our site, and all  proceeds go to a local children's hospital. The performances will be held September 7th and 14th at 7pm. (Before you know it, summer will be over, and I'll be back to writing and marketing my books. Still fruitful, but alone.)

Impatient Characters

Sometimes, the story is carried by dialogue, and at other times the story is breezing through required narrative. Then something happens. You are thinking about a certain way to phrase something and can’t come up with the exact way to describe it. What shade of blue? There are hundreds to choose from. Cobalt? Turquoise? Cornflower?  Are the trees the color of junipers or multi-colored like jasper? Is it a golden or yellow sunset?  Pink or peach flowers? Lavender or Lilac?
Sometimes, the details can be left to the reader’s imagination. Everyone knows that roses are red. But not your roses. These are special roses and you have to figure out how to describe each petal. The way they might glisten with morning dew. The way the sun has darkened the edges during a heatwave.
Simply greens and blues?
Lapis? Blueberry? Navy?
 Teal? Sage? Chartreuse? Maybe there’s a wretched phone call. It takes you away from your manuscript for several days. Possibly weeks. Even months.
By the time you return to the story, you feel different about everything. You like the plot, but your characters, the ones you invented, have turned into mush. You can’t relate to them, and you’re not even sure you like them anymore.
Yesterday, they woke you from a deep sleep, with all sorts of promises. They are willing to die for you, if only you’ll get back to writing. They become sort of dramatic at four in the morning.
So, you humor them, at least until the next time you get up from your desk and walk away. You write two hundred words, maybe more. Your characters are back with a vengeance. They are stronger, better looking and sexier. It’s like you needed to go away and return to make them better. Then it happens again. The message, the letter, the appointment that creates a hiatus.
It’s four in the morning and the fiends are hopping around again, looking for a way to drag you back to your writing chair. Day after day, you begin to hide under your pillow. Stronger now, they have strange, often scary ideas that make you mad. Tired of it, you mentally threaten to delete them from your hard drive. They gather at the edge of the mattress and sob. They don’t deserve you. Let them wait.

The Wise Grasshopper

Grasshopper, this bundled month, I made homemade apricot jam ratherthan spend time on edits.Editing my book is like a patriotic parade,with funereal slowness. A sad march.Characters are intimate friends. I’m sensitive to their needs.They want me to linger.
But I’m going swimming.Plug in the fan,turn on the air.I’m crocheting a blanket.Reading a book with dreary characters.Local play rehearsals are my new diversion.Town had a historic bell-ringing celebration. Glad I could make it.There’s the woman’s group,the city meeting at Elks,and of course,church.
Jittery dogs need a walk.Reruns on television.It doesn’t seem fair to repeat quiz shows, though my answers sound impressive.I’d rather be an ear to a friend. Their drama better than mine.I’m not complaining. But there’s something about this summer,That’s kept me praying.
A sudden shift in normal--perhaps just the alignment of the stars--in the warmed-up sky. One neighbor sailed away forever.Our home shook on the Fourth of July.You were here, as if to warn us,centered on the gate.
Anyway, labels.I need to make stickers for jam jars.
Go work on my manuscript?What is wrong with you?No wonder I took your photo.