improvarama

  Did you choose your pathway or did your pathway choose you? Have you ever jumped from one pathway to another? I became curiously aware of how pathways can be taken for granted or unusually challenging one day when Judi and I were walking in Deep Cut Gardens in New Jersey. We wanted to take advantage of beautiful weather and wander among many varieties of plants. It's a large garden. There is more than one way to navigate its many twists and turns. As it turns out, most of those pathways are challenging for someone with joint pain. As we grow older, the joints call attention to themselves. Those knees! Those hips! Those (yes even those) ankles! Fortunately, I am blessed with unusually great health and while my knees will mindfully remind me that pick-up basketball is a sport from my past, and now a current avocation, I do not feel restricted or limited much. I walk, and I walk, and I can walk about all day even with hills and narrow stones to walk on.  Judi, facing knee repla...

What bothers you can also make you more creative.  It's a push (and sometimes a shove)! It's a moment of inspiration! It's a call to do something...new. WRITING PROMPT: Think about something that you find utterly aggravating. Now, write for two minutes on what to do about that. -- doug smith  

  Writing prompt: write a story using alphabet soup. Alphabet Soup Story - collage by douglas brent smith

I have two sons. I love them both dearly. Both are full grown adults with lives of their own. One I see everyday, because we live together. The other, not so often. Given a choice, I'd see them both everyday. Life doesn't always consult us about our choices. Children will challenge you when you least expect it. Children will delight you without notice. Sometimes, they will forget your birthday, or your presence. It's all good. I can think of nothing better than being the parent I am. Not that I'm world class at it, I just like what life has given me in my family. Juan and I used to take long walks. Not so much anymore because he works so much. Chris and I used to talk baseball and hangout. Not so much anymore because he works so much. Where did they get their work ethic? Where did they learn to work nonstop? Is that my doing? Is that a great choice? Work is my passion. My children are my joy.  Life is good. Picture This:  1. Find a random picture 2. Wri...

It was loud enough to hear, but not so loud that you called the police. Unless you were overly sensitive. You're not overly-sensitive, are you? I was once. Well, maybe a bunch of times. Probably most of the time. But, I got over it. I'm working on getting over it. I've started to get over it. The conga drums are gone. I hardly ever played them. I did cart them from Warminster to Colorado and they did survive the fire and they did live for a time in William's basement, where we occasionally (but not often enough) used them. It wasn't a salsa band. We didn't play any salsa. We ate salsa at the Mexican restaurant where we played in Louisville. But we didn't bring the conga drums for that. Guess that was a miss, eh? I missed a lot. I'm missing a lot. I'm missing those drums. I'm missing Colorado. I'm missing William. I'm missing...old what's her name. I'll never forget old what's her name. She would not marry me. ...

You can't go wrong with flowers, right? Isn't that the universal way to show that you care, to show how sensitive you are, to rekindle the flames of love? Maybe. But I don't recommend sending flowers to more than one person at the same time. Not on Valentine's Day anyway. Imagine that? Yep, I've done it. I've said it before and I'll say it again (because I do think that it's true) the truth will always bubble to the top. If you send two people flowers, at least one of them is going to find out about it. Especially if you tell her. Why would I tell her? Because the truth always bubbles to the top. Why would I tell her? Maybe I've got a romantic squash wish. Set up the romance, and then find creative ways to squash it. Like sending flowers to more than one person on Valentine's Day. Not a good idea. The truth didn't come out at first. It took months. But when it did it was about as popular as a burp during meditation. A fart duri...

She stood staring in the mirror. How did she get here? What was that sound coming from inside the wall? And why were the paper towels under the paper towels? She moved the paper towels. She turned off the faucet. No make-up to fix and her hair was fine pulled up in a pony tale. Now, about that noise. Ever try to hear what noise is coming from the wall when someone in the room keeps flushing the toilet? She'd need to leave the room. She'd need to be on the other side of that wall. She left the room. The sound of her footsteps clicks down the hall. The toilet flushes again. From the other side of the wall she can hear a very tiny voice whisper, "The paper towels were not yours to move..." She does not hear the disturbing sound from inside the wall. She does hear the toilet flush. Again. "Enough of this," she sighs. "Time to get to work." -- doug smith Picture This: 1. Find a random image (truly random, do not select the picture...

She was easily mixed up. Working in the kitchen, she would sometimes misplace the ingredients. It riled her up, and yet it also gave her a kind of energy. "Have you seem my Thyme?" "We're all out of thyme." "Not true." "True." "Then, where is it?" "It's here, I've just misplaced it. And you're not helping." "Are you serious? I'm looking everywhere. Maybe if you'd alphabetize your spices and herbs." "Herbs and spices." "Huh?" "You're the one who wants them alphabetized." "Did you find your thyme yet?" Out of time. It was her biggest fear, and he pushed her over that edge. Or, did he? ------------------------- Picture This: 1. Find a random image (truly, close your eyes!) 2. Write for two minutes, inspired by that image. --------------------------

We wanted a Queen. Or, someone like a queen. Someone who knew what she was doing. Someone who was polite and followed protocol. Someone with fancy clothes. We got a frog. Well, not really a frog, but it might as well be a frog. We got someone who didn't even resemble a queen and there is no king. Only, noise in an unhealthy ratio. The noise to signal ratio is more than upside down, it's flippo beano. "You should write something more positive," she said. "No one wants a steady diet of negative." "How about a steady diet of pizza. I could use that..." "Sushi would be better, and healthier." I could see that she had a point. It reminded me of a cartoon with Harry Nilsson's voice. The Point. Another tenor gone too soon. She thought of a joke about a soprano but kept it to herself. It was just as well. We wanted a queen. A bright, brilliant woman in charge. Someone who cared about outcomes other than wealth. Instead, we got a...

I sat in the back of the church, in what was now her office but was once the crying room, the place where people could be in church with their crying babies but be behind a glass wall. It was her office now. Not much need for a crying room. The church didn't see many babies these days. Mostly the few people who attended had gray hair. Or no hair. They walked slowly. And if they cried, it was oh so quietly. They did cry. Quietly. The minister was soft spoken. A kind man. A decent enough speaker but the rare paster who was truly a minister to the people and not an ego driven speaker. But he wasn't here. It's Tuesday. A parade of hopeful teens were getting their voice lessons, hoping to be on American Idol or some other talent show. Hoping to get into the high school musical. Hoping to set the world on fire and be famous. They didn't know the odds were slim and...to their parent's delight the voice teacher had a rep. She had a track record. She was more than a mi...

She got up to the front of the stage, ready to start her monologue. The lights were brighter than usual with a random slide show slightly illuminating the audience. It was a small crowd, probably no more than fifteen people. They seemed attentive and not yet drunk enough to get loud. Maybe she could pull this off. What's up with the slides, though? She did not expect this. Maybe she should extemporaneously comment about the slides. What were they about. But no, it was time to start her monologue. She faced the audience, at least half of which was more focused on other things. She'd better take focus NOW. I will need two random words from the audience to begin. "Random words" "Dinosaur" "Elevator" "Global warming" "Picture window" "Dinosaur" "Sex" "Relationships" "Shopping" "Zero" She boldly selected: "Dinosaur Sex" she said. That will be the topic of ...

That wasn't what she said. He thought it was, but it was trickier than that. It was something so subtle she couldn't even tell that her plan to outsmart him was working. It was so easy. He was never smart when it came to her. Birds flew in his brain erratically ringing bells and rattling shutters as if a hurricane was headed his way. It was. Her hurricane. Her plan of raging menacing love, focused on getting everything in place. Honestly, he saw her as the most honest person he knew. Honestly, she mean to be completely honest. At all times. Even (especially) with him. But she lied. She lied about eternity. She lied about love. And she lied about the body buried in the basement. Who was that? How did he get there? What did she have to do with it? He'll never know. He had nothing to do with her for ten years or more and now, back in her life, he has nothing to say about what she did during that time. No reason to get upset about any of it. It was (as Adele ...