Comfort Food . . . Prompt #653

  • Comfort Food . . . Prompt #653

    Comfort Food is a real thing.

    The idea of eating for comfort might be new to you.

    Or you may have experienced how food can bring relaxation and a sense of well-being since you were a child.

    Perhaps you are an “eat to live” person and became a “love to eat” person during shelter in place, when activities were limited and frustrations were high.

    Here’s what happened to me with comfort food during shelter in place, summer 2020.

    “Comfort food took on a new meaning. It was more than comfort food. It was about how to cope with feeling scared. When food filled my belly, there was more than a feeling of satiation. There was a feeling of we’re going to be okay. We can handle this. I tell myself this is just a moment in time. It’s temporary. But I know we are forever changed.” —“Things I Never Thought I Would Do,” excerpt from The Write Spot: Musings and Ravings From a Pandemic Year.

    What is your definition of comfort food?

    One idea is that when sugar, salt, and fat hit the pleasure center of the brain, we experience contentment.

    Perhaps an interesting concept to explore.

    Today’s writing prompt: Comfort Food.

    What does comfort food mean to you?

    What do you eat that offers a sense of well-being and security?

    What was your comfort food as a child?

    Note: When I was looking for an image to go with this writing prompt, my first thought was mac and cheese. But I didn’t like any of the images I found. Then I thought “popcorn.” Again, couldn’t find an image I liked.

    I decided to take a poll on Facebook. I was surprised at the range of responses to my question “What is your comfort food?”

    From the informal poll: Ice cream is the most popular comfort food, followed closely by potatoes (mashed and baked).

    Some of the answers were specific: Hazelnut gelato, rice cakes with strawberry jam, mushroom risotto, toast and peanut butter and bourbon whiskey, my wife’s mother’s grandmother’s spaghetti sauce, warm blackberry pie with ice cream, Belgian fries with mayonnaise.

    Also: Granola, hot dogs, jambalaya, lemon bars, meatloaf, pot roast, tapioca pudding, tuna melts, artichokes, and yams.

    A cousin in Grand Rapids responded with “Tamales from the Roosevelt Tamale Parlor!”

    And a couple of “whatever anyone wants to make for me.”

    Your turn: Write about comfort food.

    “Our obsession with sugar, salt and fat.” By Alexandra Sifferlin and TIME.com, March 1, 2013

    Marlene C

  • Worried . . . Prompt #652

    Prompt #1

    I’m worried about . . .

    Prompt #2

    50 years ago I worried about . . .

    Prompt #3

    When I was 17, I worried about . . .

    How To Write Without Adding Trauma

    Marlene C

  • Character deep within . . . Prompt #651

    Today’s writing prompt:

    There is a character deep within me . . .

    #justwrite #iamwriting #iamawriter

    Marlene C

  • Still struggling . . . Prompt #650

    What did adults tell you when you were a child that you still struggle with?

    #justwrite #iamwriting #iamawriter

    Marlene C

  • Back in the day . . . Prompt #649

    Back in the day, what did you, or your parents, or your grandparents do in the evenings?

    #imawriter #justwrite #iamwriting

    Marlene C

  • People are . . . Prompt #648

    “Mama Always Said Life Was Like a Box of Chocolates. You Never Know What You’re Gonna Get.”—Forrest Gump

    People are like that, too. You never know what people are going to do or say. Perhaps that was the inspiration for The 2022 Voices of Lincoln Poetry Contest.

    Choose a category and Just Write!

    People are . . .

    Funny    

    Amazing    

    Changers

    Unreasonable    

    Unpredictable

    World

    These are the categories for The 2022 Voices of Lincoln Poetry Contest.

    Write your story and submit your writing.

    Marlene C

  • Let me take this off your plate . . . Prompt #647

    Someone said this to me recently: “Let me take this off your plate.”

    Sounds like a good writing prompt . . . so here we are.

    Just Write!

    “Let me take this off your plate.”

    #iamwriting #iamawriter #justwrite

    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

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  • I wish I would have . . . Prompt #646

    I wish I would have . . .

    I wish I would not have . . .

    #justwrite #iamawriter #iamwriting

    Marlene C

  • I am not That Girl

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

    When I heard “I am not That Girl” by Ariel LaChelle, I knew I wanted it on the Sparks page of my blog.

    It’s longer that what is usually posted here.
    It’s so amazing, I could not resist.
    You can read it and watch Ariel perform “I am not That Girl” in her own strong and melodic voice.

    I am not That Girl
    By Ariel LaChelle

    Even though the term “That Girl”
    Was created by black girls,
    I don’t fit the requirements
    Automatically,
    Because I am a Fat Girl.
    And ‘cause I have tight curls
    That become more angry
    If I dip my scalp in the water,
    Then let my hair air dry
    And don’t try
    To keep it in order.

    No styling,
    No stretching,
    No products,
    No dye,
    But I feel like I might
    If this guy
    Continues to undermine
    My sensitivity.

    My femininity
    Because of my size.
    He’ll generalize me
    Asking “how tall are you,”
    And “how much do you weigh?”
    Before he ever asks me
    “How do you feel?”
    Using my looks as the barometer
    To measure my worth.

    He calls me low value
    He regards me lower than dirt,
    Because at least you can get flowers from dirt.
    I’m not a rose,
    I’m not so easy to pluck.
    I’m no longer so simple so
    I’m less easy to ____

    I get that from my grandma

    Her birthday is Earth day
    And she died in so much pain
    If I’m here and I’m healthy
    How can I complain
    With groundwater in my veins?
    I’m a tree
    Rooted deeply
    I’m big and sturdy
    And whole ecosystems
    Thrive off of me.

    They took the healing power
    Of my fruit for granted
    Just because it’s sour.
    They took forever to
    Make tonic and lemonade with it,
    Then took the credit
    Without realizing that
    Was my intention.
    To show them creativity.
    In the face of adversity
    And provide them with cleansing.

    That’s the smell of clean
    I’m sorry everyone can’t be
    The Giving Tree
    Yes I’m inspired but baby
    This ain’t Shel Silverstein.

    I stay in the background
    Black bodies swayed from my limbs
    And I remember that sound
    Of wind, swooshing around.

    When the picnic was not a good thing,
    And the sudden smell of burning flesh
    Could not be washed out
    By the storm
    And the rainbow was not enough
    To take our mind off of it
    ‘Cause it was the norm.

    The picnic was not a good thing,
    So we made the cookout.
    And we made enough bread
    Finally
    To build a tree house instead
    We saying: “We Made It!”
    But we live in our pain.
    It’s bittersweet,
    Like a house made of gingerbread
    That would lure me in
    Just so the owner could
    Devour me.

    Fattened up
    Like a gullible kid
    Who loves cake.
    I love the way
    That sugar feels in my heart
    And how savory delicacies
    Stimulate my palette
    And my mind,
    Like a painting of flavor
    I savor
    It like the wine
    That I’ve been known to decline.
    I guess we all have a vice.
    We all get drunk on something.

    I used to smoke and have sex
    To clear my head.
    I used to cut myself
    And release tears
    In the form of blood
    From the gashes.
    I used to burn myself
    In ways that wouldn’t
    Turn me to ashes,
    Only hurt myself
    Until I could forget
    What had happened.

    But I am no longer THAT girl.

    Now I just eat my feelings sometimes
    So yeah, I am a fat girl.
    But I can lose a few pounds,
    That’s an easy weight to drop.
    The one that’s harder and heavier
    Is what you carry around in your soul

    That compels you to
    Rip others apart,
    In hopes of looking inside of them
    And seeing something you’re missing.

    I hope you see
    This vulnerability
    As an invitation to do the same
    And find some chivalry
    Or at least some civility
    I hope you see the love of God in me
    Because I go to lions’ dens
    Trying to do some good
    And I come back feeling like Job
    Y’all ganging up on me!

    Because I don’t wear your colors,
    I wear all of them.
    Because I don’t act like others
    I be appalling them.
    But I don’t try to shut anyone up
    I listen to you
    And all I hear is anger and wounds.
    Yeah, I do

    Need to lose weight, but honey…
    So do you.

    Ariel LaChelle is an independent singer, songwriter, poet, composer, and arranger with an Associate’s Degree in Music Production from The Los Angeles Recording School.
    As a child, she started to write poetry and displayed a natural affinity for storytelling. This came in handy during her teenage years, which were riddled with trials, trauma, and triggers caused by abuse, homelessness, toxic relationships, depressive episodes, and panic attacks. Writing, singing, and praying became her outlets as she recovered from self-harm scars–both external and internal.
    Her goal is to write divinely-inspired pieces that explore the beauty and poetry in the nuances of life, love, pain, and interconnectedness as we know it today. She sees her poetry and music as a small contribution to the story and the soundtrack of life.

    Note from Marlene: I think Ariel has accomplished her goal of writing “divinely-inspired pieces.”

    I learned about Ariel at one of Kevin Powell’s writing workshops. A shout out to Kevin Powell for inspiring writers.

    Spring/Summer 2022: Kevin is offering Friday Night Writing, and Sunday Writer Events, info on Kevin’s Facebook Page.

    Marlene C

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