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9/3/10 9:51 P

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I'm feeling a little inadequate here but this is supposed to be 'fun' so here goes!
The object is a photo grouping of long gone family members and the word is hummingbird.

The history of my family fascinates me. Who were these people, staring at me from glazed eyes? Did they love? Were they happy? What kind of imprint did they leave on the world around them?

A few of them reach across the void to me with faint memories of the space they held. Others left more of themselves here. I recall the comfort of my grandmothers touch, the imposing figure my grandfather made as he towered above me, his countenance filling the sky.

Everything we touch holds our imprint. Sometimes forever, sometimes fleeting. Do I carry the imprint of these people? I think about them as I float through my day. Am I leaving my imprint anywhere, or moving in and out of lives like a hummingbird, leaving only the faint impression of having been here at all.

"Understand that there is NOT a magic bullet but, rather, the accumulation of small decisions and actions over a lifetime."
— Dariush Mozaffarian, M.D

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8/14/10 5:33 P

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The novel Moderato Cantabile is what I see and Hummingbird is the word.


Moderato Cantabile lies before me... ready to be read... again. I read it before and found it baffling. Then I read it again, and found it enthralling. Something clicked and I understood the pauses. What is not explicit is the whole point of the novel. For we invent and fill in those blanks. I think now at how my life has altered since I read that novel, studied it for my degree and found sympathy within it. The magnolias. They stood out, their aching scent filled the air as I read, the sea breeze whipped around my face and I was refreshed. I understood what it was to be trapped – yearning for freedom, for passion, for life, to feel something – anything! I felt the silences wrapping around my brain – as I too filled in the gaps – just as Madame Duras intended.

I had not wanted to read it – yawn. I didn’t fancy Wide Sargasso Sea either. A prequel to Jayne Eyre – another novel I had not wanted to read. Stupid romance with moody hero and timid woman, I thought. I read Sargasso. I studied it for my degree. The heavy scents of the Carribbean, the sensual scent, a throbbing, sexual theme... oh Mr Rochester you are a total lily livered bastard! Whilst in Jamaica he can indulge in those passions, the thrumming of the hummingbird had nothing on this Englishman and his sexual awakening... the sensuousness, the lush, fertile plant life, the wildlife – such a place was made for sex! The coldness of England, of duty and seemliness. And of the woman... the woman he wed and put in the attic for her madness...

A woman’s need for freedom, the need to feel all the sensations as deeply, richly, sexually... combined with nature, geography and crime passionel! Two novels I was forced to read for my degree... which also awakened new thoughts in me. I remember walking out into the garden, looking down the street and breathing in so deeply – my lavender in bloom, the night scented stock giving out all its power, the children indoors, the sounds of life of other people. I anchored that thought into my mind – I was just being, not doing, thinking or feeling, just being... before indulging in the scents and what thoughts they induced in my mind... what would Jean Rhys or Marguerite Duras have made of it?

That was a lifetime ago... things have changed. Yet the longing for freedom, those luscious scents and heavy perfume, overwhelming and yearning for something... more... something deeper... is that the universal theme of woman? Or just me?

Word count 432 (sorry!)

Edited by: ZURDTA- at: 8/14/2010 (17:37)
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8/11/10 1:11 P

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Look around the room that you're in right now and choose ONE object of interest.

Compose a 100-150 word short story about this object that uses the word "hummingbird."

The "short story" can be about anything, in any style. Have fun!


- Leader of the LITERARY WOMEN team
- Leader of the NOURSHING TRADITIONS team
- Co-Leader of the FEMINISM team

"Minds, like bodies, will often fall into a pimpled, ill-conditioned state from mere excess of comfort" (Dickens)

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