{"id":8263,"date":"2019-06-26T01:00:08","date_gmt":"2019-06-26T08:00:08","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/thewritespot.us\/marlenecullenblog\/?p=8263"},"modified":"2019-06-24T13:23:39","modified_gmt":"2019-06-24T20:23:39","slug":"secret-anniversary-prompt-429","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/thewritespot.us\/marlenecullenblog\/secret-anniversary-prompt-429\/","title":{"rendered":"Secret Anniversary. . . Prompt #429"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

From Simple Abundance<\/em>, by Sarah Ban Breathnach<\/h4>\n\n\n\n

From the June 15 page: <\/p>\n\n\n\n

“The Secret Anniversaries of the Heart”<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

The holiest of all holidays are those<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Kept by ourselves in silence and apart,<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

The secret anniversaries of the heart  . .<\/em> <\/p>\n\n\n\n

 \u2014Henry Wadsworth Longfellow<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

This is the traditional month for\norange blossoms, lace, and rice, but wedding anniversaries aren\u2019t on my mind.\nToday I am thinking of singular rites of passage, the secret anniversaries of\nthe heart. These are the anniversaries we never talk about, kept in silence and\napart. You might remember a first kiss, while I can\u2019t forget the last time I\nheld my father\u2019s hand. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I was speaking to a good friend\nthis morning on the telephone. She was enjoying the preparation of a special\ndinner for a marvelous new man in her life. Last year her marriage of twenty\nyears ended and she says she\u2019s grateful her husband told her he was leaving in\nlate summer, when everything was withering on the vine. She says that she never\nwould have gotten over it if he had left during the holidays. I think I know\nwhat she means, but I pray I never find out for sure. As she reminds me, it\u2019s\nthe \u201cfeel\u201d of the year that can trigger a secret anniversary of the heart.\nAnother friend recalls the ritual of her mother braiding her hair whenever she\nwalks out into her backyard in the spring and the first lilacs are in bloom.\nThere was always a bouquet of lilacs on her mother\u2019s dressing table. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Secret anniversaries of the heart\nare not restricted by the passage of the years. \n. . . I need to share what I\u2019ve held in my hart for so many decades but\nhave never expressed. It took a secret anniversary of the heart to remind me\nthat there is always time enough to remember. But there is never time enough to\ncommemorate what we cherish, unless we pause to observe, when they occur, the\nholiest of all holidays.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Prompt: Write about a secret anniversary.\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

You\u00a0can\u00a0write\u00a0about\u00a0your\u00a0personal\u00a0experience,\u00a0someone\u00a0else’s<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0experience,\u00a0or\u00a0respond\u00a0as\u00a0your\u00a0fictional\u00a0character\u00a0would\u00a0respond.<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

From Simple Abundance, by Sarah Ban Breathnach From the June 15 page: “The Secret Anniversaries of the Heart” The holiest of all holidays are those Kept by ourselves in silence and apart, The secret anniversaries of the heart  . .  \u2014Henry Wadsworth Longfellow This is the traditional month for orange blossoms, lace, and rice, but […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"sfsi_plus_gutenberg_text_before_share":"","sfsi_plus_gutenberg_show_text_before_share":"","sfsi_plus_gutenberg_icon_type":"","sfsi_plus_gutenberg_icon_alignemt":"","sfsi_plus_gutenburg_max_per_row":"","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[4],"tags":[11],"class_list":["post-8263","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-prompts","tag-writing-prompts"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p43Dj8-29h","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thewritespot.us\/marlenecullenblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8263","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thewritespot.us\/marlenecullenblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thewritespot.us\/marlenecullenblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thewritespot.us\/marlenecullenblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thewritespot.us\/marlenecullenblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=8263"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/thewritespot.us\/marlenecullenblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8263\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":8269,"href":"https:\/\/thewritespot.us\/marlenecullenblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8263\/revisions\/8269"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thewritespot.us\/marlenecullenblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=8263"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thewritespot.us\/marlenecullenblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=8263"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thewritespot.us\/marlenecullenblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=8263"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}