What is the worst thing that could be taken from you?
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mcullen Post author
Don’t Take This Away From Me by Muriel Ellis
What’s the worst thing you could take away from me?
Hands down—no contest, Take away my car, tell me I can no longer simply get behind the wheel and GO, do whatever I want whenever I choose—why not just take away my. . .ME.
Never mind the horrendous increase in gas prices. I’ll give up steaks for hot dogs. I’ll move to a smaller apartment. I’ll give all (well, maybe most) of my books. Anything—no more cokes or wine, just water. No more Jump or Quick starts. Now hold on thee, please, not NOT that. But maybe even that if I still can get in my car and hit the road.
I’m not alone in this. I realize that someone, some friend, will tell me, “I’ll be happy to take you. Any time, Just ask.”
Of course you won’t. Not just any time. That’s ridiculous. Besides, when I get off and running I may not always know just where or what I’m after.
Okay—I guess I do know exactly what I’m after. I’m hanging on to freedom, independence. I know that countless generations managed quite nicely to live full lives without instant mobility.
So what? Never had it. Never even dream it might be possible. Can’t miss the impossible, the undreamed of.
But I know what I’ve had. Just don’t even try to take it away.
Note from Marlene: Muriel recently turned ninety-years-old and still enjoys writing.
Ke11y
I couldn’t give up my keyboard! (At least not willingly!) by Kelly
Sometimes I’m clumsy, inarticulate with the spoken word but when my keyboard starts to dance my world comes alive. It offers me a chance to visit any place I want to be. I call it ‘the art of being lost’. I write because I cannot do anything else. I write because my heartbeat is amplified, because every scent, every taste, every beauty, every fear that starts in my mind will eventually work its way to my fingertips.
mcullen Post author
This is awesome, Kelly. You have eloquently and beautifully expressed what I also feel about writing. In fact, I think I’ll type your words and keep them nearby because reading them makes me smile and think of the joy of writing. Thanks for posting.
mcullen Post author
Pat Tyler’s response to Prompt #76
The worst thing that could be taken from me – at age eighty – is my orthopedic shoes.
Throughout my life I have loved shoes. As far back as grammar school, I didn’t want just school shoes, I wanted saddle oxfords. When I learned to ride a horse, I didn’t want plain, brown leather cowboy boots. I wanted spit-polished, Navajo Red cowboy boots like my snooty, rich cousin owned. And I wanted ‘em bad.
When I entered Junior High and prepped for the first school dance, I wore my first high heels, and if I do say so myself, I looked HOT. I didn’t feel hot, however, when leaving the women’s bathroom, losing my balance, and crashing into our chaperoning principal, leaving a splotch of Maybelline’s Pink Princess lip gloss on his lapel. I’ll never forget how he glared at me, right in front of God and every novice dancer in the auditorium.
In High School, saddle oxfords were in vogue again so I was forced to save up my own money to purchase a new pair, one size larger.
By the time I went to college – years later – I thanked God that Birkenstock sandals were the fashion rage. Casual was IN, and I loved attending classes in jeans, sweatshirts, and my ever-popular Birks.
I didn’t know then that, years later, I’d retire from the stodgy, suited, high-heeled workforce, back to the former casual college attire I’d always loved.
Today, however, if you peeked inside my closet, you wouldn’t find saddle oxfords, cowboy boots, three-inch heels, or Birkenstocks. Like their previous owner, they’ve lived good lives and retired. They’ve been replaced by my new, plain but prized orthopedic oxfords.
The great thing about these new beauties is COMFORT. These days, comfort trumps beauty, every day of the week, including Sunday.
My orthopedic oxfords don’t spend any time trying to impress anybody. They just carry on in humble silence, keeping me confident, not to mention upright, so please be warned:
When I bought them, I bought a pistol, too. I keep it under my mattress at night. No hostile, invading, Senior Citizen shoe thief, will ever steal these practical beauties. Not from me! Not ever!