Why We Can’t Be Friends: Daily Prompt


From the moment Mom and Dad told me in no uncertain terms: ‘We are your Parents, NOT your friends’, that seemed to pave the way for how I looked at friendship for the rest of my life.

Oh, I know, I know, nowadays, parents want to be friends, wait, should I say, NEED to be friends with their kids, and their kids friends, while keeping their kids’ friends parents at arms length, because they, in so many ways are NOT your friends, or your kids friends friends either.

I’m glad my parents had the insight to make that distinction. It’s an important one. Over the years I had many ‘friends’ come and go, but my parents remained exactly where I left them, unwavering, totally reliable and willing to commit to something a bit more solid than just ‘being friends’.

I always liked reading and writing as a kid and could keep myself amused for hours and didn’t much care if I had ‘friends’ around me or not. I had my childhood dog to hang out with, my Nancy Drew books, the original ones I might add, I had my Parents, and I had one or two ‘friends’ whose parents were also their parents and NOT their friends.

Hey it’s okay, I learned early in life to go out and make my own friends because I certainly wasn’t going to find it among my sparse family. I had their support, their love, their total sense of responsibility, but never their friendship. I found other people were sometimes handy for being friends with and some remained friends longer than others.

I miss that about childhood. If you were wearing the same sweater, eating the same ice cream, liked the same shows on TV, you were instantly friends. No questions asked. But those friendships were fleeting and shallow and disappeared with the passing of time. Most of them…

I find the friends I do have left are some of the ones I have known since childhood, at least many of them. I have made new ones as I travel down that road, I make friends where I find them but they often have a different path to take and these friendships end as suddenly as they began.

I miss some of my friends that I haven’t seen in awhile and are not likely to see again anytime soon.

Everyone who passes through my life at any given time for what ever reason has something to offer. I can learn from all of them.

I like to think of all the friends I haven’t met yet, however fleeting our friendship may be.

Do I ever wish my parents had been my friends?


They were my parents, able to reach me on a level my friends could not.

I don’t know where a lot of my friends are but I know exactly where my parents are.

They are right where I left them.

Always have been, always will be. They aren’t going anywhere.




Where Does The Red Brick Road Go?


Perhaps my all-time favorite movie about returning home is The Wizard of Oz.

I loved it as a kid, and even more as an adult when I had a better understanding of all the movies’ subtleties and humour that I missed as a child.

It had a strong message about ‘home’ that was certainly not lost on me.

Dorothy understood the importance of family and friends and she never gave up hope despite the challenges she was presented.

Personally, the flying monkeys would have certainly done me in, I still have nightmares about those guys sometimes…

I’ve moved a bit, traveled some and left the city of my birth, only to return eighteen years later. and It was the last place I expected to be. I returned to my comfort zone, for sure, but soon began to realize that despite the familiarity of the ‘old neighborhood’, I was the only one here now.

Everyone else had moved on.

I felt like I was following the ‘red brick road’. The road ‘not taken’ and it certainly gave me a better understanding about why you can never really go home again.

I know why I returned. There was parts of me I wanted to recapture, re-connect with, understand better. And I did.

I came back to re-establish my sense of belonging. Of coming home.

Only it wasn’t ‘home’ anymore.

I doubt the house of my childhood has any memory of me at all.

Sometimes I bike past it and it looks so different and I know that is where I grew up, but it is not home to me now and I want to remember a time when it was…

I’ve decided ‘home’ is not so much a place, more like a journey.

For most people, home is where their family is, and my family isn’t here now. Only I am.

So my journey will continue and I will know when I’m finally home because it will have that familiar feeling of comfort, even if I’ve never lived there before.


Staring at Goats


For those of you who have ever wanted to stare at a goat, now’s your chance.

Go on then.

Give it a try.

Disclaimer: No goats were harmed in the making of this blog article.

That’s the good news.

Now…repeat 3 times FAST…


You know you want to…

If you can get the goat to say it with you…even better!

And that would certainly be incredible news and worth repeating…


Imitation: A Cheap Form Of Flattery


I’ve never really understood why imitation is what it is.

As a writer, I’ve always gone my own way, terrified of imitating anyone. That’s the reason I found Journalism so unappealing way back when. Too restrictive, exacting, factual, everything that I felt was going to stifle me as a writer.

Well, several years later, I  understand that a degree would have given me a career boost in some ways, yes, I know that, but even now I find myself too rebellious and undisciplined to plop myself down and flatter anyone through imitation. Seems rather fraudulent to me. And there’s always that fear that maybe, someone, somewhere, somehow did, had, will come up with the same brilliant sentences as I so gallantly struggle with.

HHHMMMPPPPPFFFFFFF! (Not a word, I am aware).

Paying homage however is something entirely different.

Awww, yesh, many great writers have started off as journalists, but I’m sure you have to be really awfully good as a writer to get into journalism school, the trick is to stand out.

I will only pay my homages in acknowledging their greatness. I cannot imitate. I cannot flatter. I cannot by any means, fraudulent or otherwise, pretend to be something, someone I am not.

Cannot, and will not.

But, I did mention that I admire the great works of others. My imitation of them, in any form would hardly do them any kind of justice I’m afraid. Only bastardize any attempt to flatter them and leave my readers shaking their heads in total dismay.

Too many to mention, there are tons of brilliant writers that have come and gone and I think about what made them so great and what still makes them great even now. It’s more than a way with words, their ideas or dreams.

Much more.

Its’ how they bring their characters to life, how they make you as a reader, part of the story, how they make you feel they wrote for you and you alone. That takes a certain kind of brilliance I am still working on. When I can write a story that ‘speaks’ to the individual reader, makes you want to know the characters, or at least feel like you do, or better still, feel like you may be one of them, then I will have attained the kind of writing ‘greatness’ that makes everyone else want to ‘imitate’ me.

Fingers crossed….

I’m writing as fast as I can but everybody knows:

‘all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy’…

Now, where is my……?


Service With a Smile? Not Likely…


Daily Prompt: Are you being served?

by michelle w. on September 19, 2013

What’s the most dreadful (or wonderful) experience you’ve ever had as a customer?

Photographers, artists, poets: show us SERVICE.

These daily prompts are starting to sound a lot like my blog….remember when I wroted this?


Consider This: there’s a reason your server is always down….

And Furthermore: