Wait.What?

  • Wait.What?

    Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page.

    Wait. What?

    By Brenda Bellinger

    Mindlessly scrolling through Yahoo News (a time suck, I know), I came across a headline titled “Caroline Kennedy’s first grandchild’s name revealed.” It stopped me cold and aged me a lifetime all at once. I still picture Caroline as that sweet little girl at her father’s grave site in 1963, two days before her seventh birthday.

    A moment that precipitated that image is forever etched into my memory. I was sitting in my third-grade classroom at McKinley School in San Francisco. Our teacher, Mrs. Johnson, whom I recall being about the same age I am now, was in front of the class at the blackboard when we heard a soft knock at the classroom door.

    The door opened and our principal motioned for Mrs. Johnson to step out into the hallway. The room was quiet. Mrs. Johnson returned a few minutes later, just as a couple of the rambunctious kids were beginning to get restless.

    Clearly upset, she reached for a tissue on her desk. “Our president has been shot,” she said, her voice trembling.

    My memory of that day is so clear, still. How is that so many years could have passed since then?

    I’ve been thinking about the major events that have occurred during our lifetimes, particularly during our formative years and how they shaped our thoughts, our plans, our futures. We remember exactly where we were when those key events began to unfold.

    John F. Kennedy’s assassination was one of the historic events that defined the generation of Baby Boomers along with the moon landing and the Vietnam War. Remember the odd/even day gas rationing of the 1970s?

    Gen Xers will remember the Challenger space shuttle disaster and the Gulf War. Millennials will never forget the attacks of September 11. Neither will the rest of us.

    Our younger generations are marked by more than their share of impactful, ongoing events including the COVID-19 pandemic, climate crisis and the war on Ukraine.

    It’s not the passage of time I should be worried about. It’s the future.

    Brenda Bellinger’s writing has appeared in Small Farmer’s Journal, Mom Egg Review, Persimmon Tree, THEMA, the California Writers Club Literary Review and in various anthologies, including several of The Write Spot books.

    Her first novel, “Taking Root,” a young adult story of betrayal and courage, is available through most local bookstores and on Amazon.

    Brenda’s Blog is a wonderful compilation of her writing.

    Marlene C

    , ,

  • Reverberations

    Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page.

    Reverberations

    By Brenda Bellinger

    I suppose another title for this post could be “Echoes.” Some are gentle, quiet, reminiscent of the fading ring of a bell. Others are loud, persistent—drumbeats, almost—like the hourly news headlines of the brutal slaughters in Ukraine, occasionally punctuated by stories of defiance, strength and resilience.

    It’s Monday morning, the day before I’ll upload this post. I’m sitting at the dining room table in the family home that will soon be listed for sale, waiting for the painter and landscaper to arrive.

    Traffic noise is more noticeable now in the hollow silence of this near-empty space. All but a handful of the original furnishings are gone, replaced with artsy pieces and decor selected by our real estate agent to stage the home.

    Gone is the Tuscan-inspired color scheme that ran throughout the house, a carryover from my folks’ trip to Europe in 1993. It’s hidden under two coats of marketable cream with an occasional accent wall in a trendy shade of light sage.

    It’s odd, sitting here where I always sat during those evening card games with my father and his lady friend, a new modern light fixture above the table. Dad couldn’t stand silence and always had his television turned to the easy listening station on the music channel. “Elevator music,” my husband called it. Between hands, the music would be drowned out by the sound of the battery-operated card shuffler and the squeak of chairs on the hardwood floor as we got up to refill our coffee cups or pour a drink. Midway through the game we’d take a break for dessert.

    And then there was the clock that had been in our family for years. It hung on the dining room wall and chimed on the hour and the half, a sound that never bothered me but apparently drove my younger brothers crazy. All three of them adamantly refused to take the clock (one even threatened to burn it – he was just kidding. I think.) so it came home with me. Like the soundtrack to a favorite movie, the chimes play on, marking time and recreating memories.

    Originally posted as “Echoes” on Brenda’s Blog.

    Brenda Bellinger’s work has appeared in Small Farmer’s Journal, Mom Egg Review, Persimmon Tree, THEMA, the California Writers Club Literary Review and in various anthologies. Her first novel, “Taking Root,” a young adult story of betrayal and courage, is available through most local bookstores and on Amazon.

    Marlene C

    , ,

  • Inspiration

    Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page.

    Inspiration

    By Brenda Bellinger

    Toward the end of his life, my father, who used to enjoy painting, would often say he couldn’t “get in the mood” or “just lost interest.” His easel stood waiting, a blank canvas in place and a table of brushes and paints nearby.

    Sometimes, writing can feel that way, as though you’re engaged in a stare down with a blank screen. Which of you is going to win? You can wait to be inspired (it might be a while), you can use a writing prompt or you can just let your thoughts spill onto the page in a stream-of-consciousness fashion and see what shape they take.

    The thing about inspiration is that it’s bound to strike at an inopportune moment like when you’re in the shower or you’re driving or you’re in that liminal space between barely awake and soundly asleep. Just in case the stars align, and it happens to strike when I’m ready and waiting for it, I always carry a small notebook and pen with me.

    We recently joined our son and his family for a day at Angel Island in the middle of San Francisco Bay. The weather was perfect and the ride over on the ferry smooth. They had reserved a campground for the evening and loaded some of their camping gear on a two-seater bicycle. Our almost six-year-old granddaughter alternated between riding on the bike and walking alongside. We were walking together enjoying our view of the bay when she said something about a blade of grass “swishing” in the breeze. She froze in her tracks, bicycle helmet still on her head and said “Nana, I need to stop right here and write a poem.”

    I loved how we all moved over to the side of the path and allowed this to happen. She found a place in the grass and sat down next to her mom. I handed her my notebook and pen and for just a moment, the entire world seemed to pause as a small poem about a butterfly emerged from the pure chrysalis of a child’s mind.

    Brenda Bellinger’s work has appeared in Small Farmer’s Journal, Mom Egg Review, Persimmon Tree, THEMA, the California Writers Club Literary Review and in various anthologies, including The Write Spot: Reflections, and The Write Spot: Musings and Ravings From a Pandemic Year (available at your local bookseller and at Amazon).

    Her first novel, Taking Root, a young adult story of betrayal and courage, is available through most local bookstores and on Amazon.

    Note from Marlene: Brenda’s Blog is a collection of thoughtful and entertaining reflections on what matters.

    “Inspiration,” was originally posted as “Carpe Momentum” on Brenda’s Blog, February 22, 2022.

    #amwriting #justwrite #iamawriter

    Marlene C

    , ,

  • Dust to Dust

    Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page.

    Dust to Dust

    By Brenda Bellinger

    This post happens to fall on what would have been my mother’s 86th birthday if she were still with us. She passed away thirteen years ago, yet I often feel her presence. Recently, I was dusting a small antique genie lamp that belonged to her mother, my grandmother. Made of white china, its glaze bears the spiderwebbing of many tiny cracks. Miraculously, the hurricane glass and original brown paper shade, though faded, are both still intact. As I carefully pushed a corner of the dust cloth through the curled handle, I thought of all the times this had been done before. Both my mother and grandmother were fastidious housekeepers. Myself? Not so much.

    I wonder at what point this lamp will cease to hold its significance. A time will come when the sleeping genie will no longer be woken by the caress of a dust cloth and the lamp will find its way to the land of the unwanted and unneeded.

    In the 1950s, the Lane Company of East Providence, Rhode Island gave graduating students at the local Catholic school for girls, a miniature hope chest. Mom gave hers to me many years ago and I use it for odd bits of costume jewelry. Amazingly, the cedar scent is still present. As I mentioned in my last post, times have changed. The idea of a hope chest today, though quaint, seems so horse-and-buggy.

    When she and my father first married, they struggled financially for a while as many young couples do, trying to get their footing. One Christmas, he bought her a bottle of Joy perfume by Jean Patou. She so treasured this bottle that she rarely used it. I remember how it sat regally in the center of a mirrored tray on her dresser. I have it now. One more thing to dust. It’s still about two-thirds full, the perfume having aged a deep amber color. Writing this, I paused for a moment to go open it; something I’ve never done before. As you might have guessed, it turned a corner a very long time ago. I’m not sure why, but I’ll keep it a bit longer.

    Memories. Something else to be thankful for when we gather around the table.

    Brenda Bellinger

    Born in Rhode Island, I spent the first eight years of my life in New England. I can still remember the delight of summer thunderstorms and the fragrance of fall in the air as leaves crunched underfoot. My parents moved to San Francisco and eventually settled in the North Bay Area.

    In 1992, a friend asked me to sign up for a writing class with her. I agreed, never anticipating that class would open a new door for me. At that time, my husband and I were raising four boys and I was working as a courtroom clerk. Writing provided a creative outlet I didn’t know I needed..

    For the month of November 2009, I cleared my calendar of all commitments other than work and Thanksgiving Day to participate in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) – a challenge to write 50,000 words in thirty days. Fueled by good coffee and dark chocolate covered espresso beans, I zipped past the goal and completed the first (extremely rough) draft of what would eventually become my debut novel, “Taking Root.”

    My work has appeared in Small Farmer’s Journal, Mom Egg Review, Persimmon Tree, THEMA, the California Writers Club Literary Review, and in various anthologies, including The Write Spot: Reflections, and The Write Spot: Musings and Ravings From a Pandemic Year.

    Note from Marlene: Brenda’s Blog is a collection of thoughtful and entertaining reflections on what matters.

    “Dust to Dust” originally posted on Brenda’s Blog, November 16, 2021.

    Marlene C

    , , ,

  • Rinse Cycle

    Rinse Cycle

    By Brenda Bellinger

    Remember when we used to rely on weather forecasts that were broadcast with our nightly news? We’d get a good-enough sense of when to expect rain from the fuzzy satellite image.

    Many years ago, I used to ride the bus to work. At one of the stops along the way, a cheerful woman named Marilyn would board. She had Down Syndrome and would always greet everyone before settling herself into a seat toward the front. Occasionally, she would bring her umbrella. If Marilyn was carrying her umbrella on a bright sunny day, you could be assured it would rain, even if it hadn’t been predicted by the weatherman the night before.

    Who could have imagined that one day we’d have phones that would tell us precisely when rainfall would begin and end based on our location? Yes, it’s convenient and often very helpful but I miss the occasional surprise of being caught in unexpected weather.

    The rain that fell on Christmas Day was a welcome reminder that this is the season. (Or at least it’s supposed to be.) Listening to the soothing rhythm of raindrops falling outside my window brought some reassurance that things will be okay. New growth is stirring that will erase wildfire scars and winter gardens are being nourished. I love the way rain freshens the air and renews our spirits. It was fun to see a group of birds splashing in a newly formed puddle, not a care in the world. Hopefully, a period of sustained rainfall will follow soon and bring some relief from drought conditions.

    One of the things I enjoy most about rain is the quiet that it brings; the way the heaviness in the air settles over us. In Ireland, a heavy mist or light rain is often called “lovely soft weather” – a perfect description.

    I’m looking forward to more moody gray clouds and feeling cocooned inside during a downpour.

    For Brenda Bellinger, a rainy day is a welcome invitation to sit down and write. Her work has appeared in Small Farmer’s Journal, Mom Egg Review, Persimmon Tree, THEMA, the California Writers Club Literary Review, and in various anthologies. 

    Her first novel, Taking Root, a coming-of-age story of betrayal and courage, is available through most local bookstores and on Amazon. Brenda blogs at brendabellinger.com

    Note from Marlene: Brenda’s Blog is a collection of thoughtful and entertaining reflections on what matters.

    Marlene C

    , ,

  • Fertile Ground

    Guest Blogger Brenda Bellinger offers inspiration to write:

    In these quiet days of sheltering at home, I’m grateful to be able to sink my ungloved hands into the moist soil of our vegetable garden and ready it for planting. I welcome the dirt under my fingernails and even the resistance of the weeds. There is so much uncertainty right now about what will happen in the next few months when, I’m hoping, our vegetables will be ready to harvest.

    There is fertile ground here, too, for us as writers. We are the ones who will be compelled to document what is happening all around us right now in response to the Covid-19 virus and its global effects. Some of us will craft poems to capture the historical significance of this pandemic, its devastation and how it already has, and will likely forever, change some of our behaviors. Others may write about losing loved ones or coping with caring for family members who are ill, at-risk, or distant. So many stories are aching to be told — the stories behind the headlines and incessant tally of grief — mothers giving birth alone, cancer patients faced with deferring treatment, jobs lost, businesses shuttered, our elderly in isolation. Parents who are able to work from home are facing the exhausting challenge of simultaneously home-schooling their children. The points of view are endless: hospital workers, first responders, the unemployed or furloughed, teachers, children, the homeless, migrant workers. The list goes on.

    Our lives and daily routines upended, I’m reminded of the five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. We’ve had to move quickly through these as best we can in order to cope. We’ve adapted pretty well, in my opinion, to the new “social-distancing” model and limiting ourselves to only “essential” errands away from home. Strangers show kindness and courtesy to each other as we maintain six feet of distance and communicate with eyes that smile or roll above our masks in commiseration. Grandparents have learned to use technology to visit their grandchildren over video connections. Some businesses are retooling equipment to fabricate personal protection devices for medical personnel. A cottage industry of at-home crafters is turning out fabric face masks by the thousands. Comfort foods and homemade cookies have made a comeback. The sky over Delhi, India has turned blue and perhaps the planet is beginning to heal itself, just a teeny tiny bit.

    During this rare gift of time in place, I encourage you to step outdoors in the spring sunshine, enjoy the fresh air and listen to the sounds of the birds again. Then, pick up your pen and write your way through this, for yourself and for those who may look to your words for guidance or comfort in the years to come.

    Brenda Bellinger writes from an empty nest on an old chicken farm in Northern California. Her work has appeared in Small Farmer’s Journal, Mom Egg Review, Persimmon Tree, THEMA, the California Writers Club Literary Review, and in various anthologies, including The Write Spot: Reflections.

    Brenda has been honored with first place awards for non-fiction and flash fiction at the Mendocino Coast and Central Coast Writers Conferences, respectively.

    Taking Root is her first novel.

    Marlene C

    , , ,