the simplicity of candy qnd childhood

 

If you are like me, some of your fondest childhood memories are related to candy and the candy store. The candy types I am thinking of are now referred to as nostalgic candy, because they were from a time period so long ago. For you, that time would probably be from the 60s on. Due to my age, I am thinking of the 30s and 40s. Although some of my childhood favorites are no longer made, surprisingly, many kinds are still available. but are very hard to find at the store. A lot of brands of nostalgic candy for kids are still available on line. I would certainly want to buy these candies for my kids.

My first candy memory is related to a traumatic event which happened when I was six. I climbed the side of the house..thinking I was Batman and let go of my bat rope..and  hit my head on the edge of our concrete patio, causing a small cut. I remember riding in the car with a washcloth held on my forehead to stop the bleeding. Being sixe I was crying quite vociferously during the whole procedure. After closing the wound with two stitches, our old family doctor gave me some Bit of Honey and a Pez Dispenser… You might think that since they were associated with a traumatic event, I might not have liked them later, but I have liked them ever since.

 

I miss the simplicity of youth..I miss the candies that are no longer good for me..but evoke wonderful childhood memories.

On the subject of escapism, the future and nostalgia

“Imagining the future is a kind of nostalgia. (…) You spend your whole life stuck in the labyrinth, thinking about how you’ll escape it one day, and how awesome it will be, and imagining that future keeps you going, but you never do it. You just use the future to escape the present.” 
— John Green (Looking for Alaska)

the road to laughter

 

“If you’re going to try, go all the way. Otherwise, don’t even start. This could mean losing girlfriends, wives, relatives and maybe even your mind. It could mean not eating for three or four days. It could mean freezing on a park bench. It could mean jail. It could mean derision. It could mean mockery–isolation. Isolation is the gift. All the others are a test of your endurance, of how much you really want to do it. And, you’ll do it, despite rejection and the worst odds. And it will be better than anything else you can imagine. If you’re going to try, go all the way. There is no other feeling like that. You will be alone with the gods, and the nights will flame with fire. You will ride life straight to perfect laughter. It’s the only good fight there is.” 
— Charles Bukowski (Factotum)

Perhaps once in your life…you meet the one who can completely turn your safe world around

 

“Only once in your life, I truly believe, you find someone who can completely turn your world around. You tell them things that you’ve never shared with another soul and they absorb everything you say and actually want to hear more. You share hopes for the future, dreams that will never come true, goals that were never achieved and the many disappointments life has thrown at you. When something wonderful happens, you can’t wait to tell them about it, knowing they will share in your excitement. They are not embarrassed to cry with you when you are hurting or laugh with you when you make a fool of yourself. Never do they hurt your feelings or make you feel like you are not good enough, but rather they build you up and show you the things about yourself that make you special and even beautiful. There is never any pressure, jealousy or competition but only a quiet calmness when they are around. You can be yourself and not worry about what they will think of you because they love you for who you are. The things that seem insignificant to most people such as a note, song or walk become invaluable treasures kept safe in your heart to cherish forever. Memories of your childhood come back and are so clear and vivid it’s like being young again. Colours seem brighter and more brilliant. Laughter seems part of daily life where before it was infrequent or didn’t exist at all. A phone call or two during the day helps to get you through a long day’s work and always brings a smile to your face. In their presence, there’s no need for continuous conversation, but you find you’re quite content in just having them nearby. Things that never interested you before become fascinating because you know they are important to this person who is so special to you. You think of this person on every occasion and in everything you do. Simple things bring them to mind like a pale blue sky, gentle wind or even a storm cloud on the horizon. You open your heart knowing that there’s a chance it may be broken one day and in opening your heart, you experience a love and joy that you never dreamed possible. You find that being vulnerable is the only way to allow your heart to feel true pleasure that’s so real it scares you. You find strength in knowing you have a true friend and possibly a soul mate who will remain loyal to the end. Life seems completely different, exciting and worthwhile. Your only hope and security is in knowing that they are a part of your life.” 
— Bob Marley

the top common themes in literature

Common Themes in Literature

It has been argued that there are anywhere between 3 and 40 main themes in literature that continue to be explored by each successive generation of writers.  No one knows for what the real number is–it depends on who you ask–but below is a list, not necessarily inclusive, of the most common ones.  There are many variations, and there are often overlaps as well.  So, right or wrong, in no particular order, here they are. 
 

The Great Journey

This follows a character or characters through a series of episodic adventures as they travel.  It may be a sad story or a happy story, or it may even be comedic.  Huckleberry Finn, Heart of Darkness, The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, and The Odyssey are good examples.  In film, this theme can be seen in Apocalypse Now and National Lampoon’s Vacation.

Loss of Innocence

Sometimes called the “coming of age story,” this most commonly introduces an “innocent” character to the evil or complexity of the real/adult world.  In literature, we might look at David Copperfied or most of the Nick Adams stories by Ernest Hemingway, like “Indian Camp” and “The End of Something.”  In film, we might look at Stand by Me.

The Noble Sacrifice

The sacrifice can be for any reason except self–a loved one, an enemy, a group of people, the whole of humanity, a dog–but the bottom line is that the protagonist sacrifices himself or herself in an effort to save others.  In literature, this is demonstrated in the story of Jesus in the New Testament and King Arthur in Mallory’s Morte d’Artur.  This theme is used is used in the films Glory, Armageddon, The Green Mile, and in just about any war movie where the hero dies gloriously.

The Great Battle

The Iliad and A Tale of Two Cities are classic examples of this theme.  It is about people or groups of people in conflict.  It is sometimes a good vs. evil story like 1984 by George Orwell, but not always. The film The War of the Roses, starring Kathleen Turner and Michael Douglas, is an example of a battle in which neither character is wholly good or evil.  In theatre, we see this theme at work in Westside Story and Les Miserables.  We often see this theme in horror or science fiction, like in Alien and Terminator,  where the antagonist–a monster/creature/human/alien/computer/etc.– is trying to kill the protagonist, who must fight to stay alive and/or defeat the antagonist.   Sub-categories would be person vs. person, person vs. nature, person vs. society, person vs. technology and etc. 
 

The Fall From Grace

This theme shows us people going where only God should go, doing what only God is meant to do, or attempting to do something that human beings should never do.  This is always followed by misfortune, whether it is the direct result of their action or an act of God.  We see this in the tales of Coyote’s theft of fire in the Native American tradition, or in the story of the Tower of Babel and the Garden of Eden in The Old Testament.  Other examples would be the Prometheus myth, Pandora’s Box, and the story of Icarus. Frankenstein by Mary Shelly is another work exploring this theme, and we have seen it at work in the films Jurassic Park and Westworld.

Love and Friendship

Romeo and Juliet is a classic love story, as is the story of Lancelot and Guenivere.  The films You’ve Got Mail and Message in a Bottle are also love stories.  The ending may be be happy, sad, or bittersweet, but the main them is romantic love.  Also included in this theme is platonic love–friendship–like in the movies Wrestling Ernest Hemingwayand Midnight Cowboy.  All Romance novels, whether straight or gay, fit into this category.   All “buddy films” like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid and Thelma and Louise fit into this category.

The Capriciousness of Fate

Greek tragedies fit this category.  Often, there is a major reversal of fortune.  It could be from good-to-bad or from bad-to-good.  Oedipus Rex is a classic work that explores the concept of fate and destiny, having an unhappy ending. Cinderella is also a reversal of fortune story, but has a happy ending.  In film, we have seen this theme at work in Pretty Woman.  The common element is that there is some force guiding the person’s life over which he or she has no control.

Revenge

The subject is obvious, but the outcome differs.  Sometimes the outcome is good, like in the movies Revenge of the Nerds or Animal House.  Sometimes the outcome is bad, as in Macbeth and Moby Dick.  Other movies based on this them are Revenge, staring Anthony Quinn and Kevin Costner, and Payback, starring Mel Gibson.

The Big Trick

In this one, someone or some group of people intentionally trick someone else.  Rumplestiltskin and Little Red Ridinghood are in this category.  Stone Soup is an old story in which several men trick the inhabitants of a village into providing them with food.  This theme was evident in Snatch, starring Brad Pitt, and The Sting, staring Robert Redford and Paul Newman.

The Big Mystery

Something unexplained happened and it is the protagonist’s job to find an explanation for it.  The story of Sherlock Holmes are good examples, as are the Hardy Boys andNancy Drew mysteries.  In film, we have seen it Silence of the Lambs and The Maltese Falcon, and it took a comedic turn in Clue and The Pink Panther. Almost all police and detective dramas work within this form, as do most espionage and spy thrillers.  Agatha Christy and Tom Clancy work within this form.

my pretend heart

Chad Simpson

a western wear catalogue arrives in the mail and i pretend for a little while that i’m the brunette woman on page seven in the turquoise zebra print long-sleeve shirt. my face is so fresh it’s impossible to imagine what i might look like tired, twisting the sheets into knots and punching my pillow because all i want is to fall back asleep. i have become the kind of woman who hangs clothes on the line to dry. the kind of woman who knows the guitar chords for several slightly sad yet mildly uplifting songs. my hips have acquired about ten years’ worth of curves, and my jeans fit perfectly. i am accessorizing with a triple-strand turquoise and tiger-eye necklace. matching earrings. a leather belt secured by a huge silver buckle emblazoned with an ornate cross.

i flip a few pages and find a guy who does not look like anyone i have ever seen in real life, the guy i imagine broke my pretend heart.

his dimpled chin is too small for his face, and his eyes are pretty but seem incapable of prolonged attention. his sideburns, immaculately shaped, are the kind of facial hair a person could seek for years and never find in the wild. he is wearing a denim jacket and a black cowboy hat, and has hooked a single, muscular-looking thumb through one of his belt loops. i remember how he once stuck the tip of that thumb between my teeth. and then a later time, when the fat pad of that thumb stroked my cheekbone. he had just told me, face-to-face, that he wouldn’t let me take him back even if i wanted to. it just wouldn’t feel right, allowing me to forgive him.

on the opposite page, past a couple of staples, there i am again, smiling through it all: same pair of jeans; a white ruffled short-sleeve shirt with a banded collar and pearl buttons; a belt printed with mossy oak camouflage and studded with rhinestones. i look impeccable, with the smile of a woman who stars in her own series of exercise videos, but they’ve had to airbrush the tired out of my face.

there are plenty of bad things to remember, but instead, i keep focusing on something that cowboy told me about from when he was a kid.

he was eight, maybe nine years old, and his favorite toy was a remote-controlled monster truck. navy blue, with tires as big around as pop cans, decorated with all these little decals and stickers.

he used to build obstacles out of sticks for the truck to crush. houses, rowboats, miniature uninhabited cities. he went through about fifteen sets of batteries before the truck somehow got lost and all he had was the controller. he searched everywhere for the truck—under beds, inside closets—and turned up only things he hadn’t minded losing in the first place.

eventually, he started walking around outside with just the controller in his hands. he would extend its antenna and work the two knobs with his thumbs, which then were not quite so muscular; they were bony and thin as a girl’s.

he pointed the controller at his neighbor’s garage door and tried opening it. he tried maneuvering bikes other kids were riding down the street. then, a little disappointed, he saw a bird flying overhead against a backdrop of sky the same impossible turquoise color of that shirt the pretend me was wearing a couple pages back. he moved the knob that slid left and right to the left, and the bird flew that way. a couple seconds later he flicked the knob to the right, and, like magic, the bird followed.

he couldn’t remember how many days he spent lying on his back with that controller in his hands, thinking that he was directing the birds, but he was pretty sure he kept it up at least until school started. it was like i was flying, i imagine him saying to me one night just before i fell asleep with my head pressed to his chest. it was like i was god.

_______________

the day you were said

 

The Day You Were Sad

Jennifer Levin

You find out someone loved you once. You find out that a long time ago someone loved you so much he might have died for you.

You run into an old college friend on an airplane. You get to drinking and talking, and he says, That guy once drank an entire bottle of tequila because he was sure you’d never love him. He had to go to the hospital to get his stomach pumped.

You remember he was awfully cute and that you were good friends for awhile—when was it? Sophomore year? He left and you forgot him for a long time. Looking back, you recognize all the signs, but because you’d never imagined you loved him, you never noticed.

You feel foolish because you miss him.

You remember the day you were sad and he invited you on a drive up the mountain, and you invited your friends to come along. You remember how sometimes he kissed you at parties and you just thought he was drunk and kissing people. How he woke you up early on Sundays by throwing rocks at your dorm-room window, even when he knew you weren’t alone. The way he came by with tea that whole week you had the flu. The way he sat in your desk chair for hours, making you laugh until your stomach hurt. How he never wanted you to sleep.

He was always dating some girl or another, so how were you supposed to know? He broke up with a girl once because she accused him of cheating on her with you. And once, when he was drunk at a party, he kissed you right in front of her. You remember that, at the time, you thought it was funny.

You remember the night he told you that you were beautiful—you were beautiful and you were good—but find you have no idea what else he said that night. It takes weeks to piece it together, to finally remember that you were in the dorms, in someone else’s room. He tackled you on the bed, kissed you all over your face, proclaiming over and over, I love this girl!

You are good, he said. You were very stoned, and he held you and talked in your ear; the music was loud and people were singing along. You forgot he was talking and hummed a little with the song. And I like you, he said.

And you said, What? I wasn’t listening.

And he looked crushed and refused to say anything else.

You attempt to look him up on the Internet, but he has a common name and you’re not sure where he lives. You don’t want to do anything creepy, such as hire a private detective, because that might cause your husband to wonder if there is something wrong with your marriage. But you wonder: If you saw him now? The one who loved you then? You wonder what you would do.

A partial moral inventory leads you to believe you wouldn’t do anything. Seeing him now isn’t the point. The point is what might have happened if you’d known then what you know now. Nevertheless, you imagine running into him. You imagine what he looks like with gray hair. He isn’t actually old enough to be silver-haired, but in your mind this meeting is in the future. You wonder if he’s fat now. You think you’d probably still find him attractive if he is.

You wonder again, out loud, why he never asked you out.

You get mad at him.

You remember he did the kinds of drugs that made you uncomfortable and that he kept this from you, that you found it all out later after he dropped out or transferred or disappeared. Every single one of these thoughts occurs to you while you are driving alone. You sing songs to him from the car radio. You wish there were a word for what he means to you.

You decide he must be married by now. You wonder if he got over his drug problem. You wonder, if he loved you so much, whether he would’ve gotten clean for you, if you’d known to ask. But you already know the answer.

You hope he changed for his wife. You hope he has a wife and that he’s been sober for years. You hope he has kids and a big house and that he takes his family on drives up the mountain. You wonder what he said to you, that night in someone else’s room, when you forgot to listen.

_______________

if you want to write…

 

If you want to write, don’t err by setting the bar too low. Maybe you want to write like Emily Dickinson. Maybe you want to write like Nabokov. Just be willing, at the end of the day, to look at your work and say, ‘That’s not as good as Nabokov, but boy, it’s as good as I could make it today.’ Fall in love with books and with modes of being. I just spent a pile of money I can’t afford on opera tickets to see Wagner’sGötterdämmerung. Think of all the cocaine I could have bought with that eight hundred dollars! Yet here I am blowing it to go sit in a room with a bunch of stiffs next Tuesday night. I’m in love, I can’t help it.

Mary Karr in My Ideal Bookshelf

what more can you ask of a companion?

uples

 

What more could one ask of a companion? To be forever new and yet forever steady. To be strange and familiar all at once, with enough change to quicken my mind, enough steadiness to give sanctuary to my heart. The books on my shelf never asked to come together, and they would not trust or want to listen to one another; but each is a piece of a stained-glass whole without which I couldn’t make sense to myself, or to the world outside.

Pico Iyer in My Ideal Bookshelf

Suffering and the Paradox of Living

 

 

 

That’s the paradox: the only time most people feel alive is when they’re suffering, when something overwhelms their ordinary, careful armour, and the naked child is flung out onto the world. That’s why the things that are worst to undergo are best to remember. But when that child gets buried away under their adaptive and protective shells—he becomes one of the walking dead, a monster. So when you realise you’ve gone a few weeks and haven’t felt that awful struggle of your childish self — struggling to lift itself out of its inadequacy and incompetence — you’ll know you’ve gone some weeks without meeting new challenge, and without growing, and that you’ve gone some weeks towards losing touch with yourself. The only calibration that counts is how much heart people invest, how much they ignore their fears of being hurt or caught out or humiliated. And the only thing people regret is that they did’t live boldly enough, that they didn’t invest enough heart, didn’t love enough. Nothing else really counts at all.

 

Ted Hughes in Letters of Ted Hughes