Esther Chilton

This week’s writing prompt is

TIME

What does time mean to you? It can be easy to feel that you don’t have any at this time of year, with so much to do. Does time mean clocks and watches? Do you think of it in terms of time-travel? Wouldn’t it be good to be able to delve into history and to see what really went on? Or to propel yourself into the future and to see what the world of tomorrow looks like? Does time signify what’s important in life? Family time, for example, or me-time? Can you imagine a world without time?

You don’t have to share your work, but I always enjoy seeing what you come up with if the prompt gives you inspiration. Here is the work you shared on last week’s prompt GIFTS.

Ladyleemanila:

I love travelling

Travelling is the best gift I can have
Walking in the lake and picture taking
This way and that way, all at once or halve

How are you? I am fine, thanks for asking
Are we there yet? Children eager to know
What can we do? Walking, basking, climbing

A show to watch and a boat to row
Somewhere to eat, places to see
Time for skiing in the snow

Every place has its own beauty
Lakes in Toronto or Munich
Rice fields, volcanoes in Bali

North or South Pole or the Arctic
Samoa, Lanai or Beijing
Breath-taking and Majestic

Peter Bouchier:

My favorite gift

for Sinterklaas:

a real Philosopher’s Stone

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Favourite holiday gift

definitely:

a true Philosopher’s Stone

Pensitivity101:

I have a natural gift for music, inherited from my dad.

My sister had piano lessons and I would tag along. It would take her weeks to master a new piece, whereas I would hear it once or twice and play it without music.

It was usually in the wrong key, but the melody was recognisable, and the left hand was my own interpretation most of the time.

I have another gift, this time inherited from my mum. Mum always made our friends welcome, was there to help anyone out with a problem, and was unflappable. I genuinely care about other people, hate to see anyone unhappy or in distress, and usually cope in a crisis.

Gifts don’t always come wrapped in pretty paper, ribbons and bows. Those are very nice to give or receive, but the gift of ourselves is the most precious.

John W. Howell:

Gifts are fabulous,

More blessed to give than get . . .

Wonder who said that?

The Bag Lady:

I need no fancy dress

No rose or white wine

I have gifts aplenty

But I could wait in line

At a gift shop or bazaar

Spying gifts from near and far

Or spend time in a quiet nook

Trying to find the perfect book

But like many songs proclaim

I can skip the shopping game

The greatest gifts I find

Are the family kind.

Roberta Writes:

The gifts (tanka prose)

When I was a little girl, my dad landscaped the garden of his aunt’s new house. It was a big job and he spent a few months working there. When he worked on a Saturday, he would take Cath and I with him and we would have to make the best of it and entertain ourselves as best we could in his aunt’s old fashioned and rambling house.

We were scared to go out of the house as the garden was in an uproar with huge machines moving great piles of earth to shape hillocks that would one day be covered with grass or flowers. There was also a small cottage across the cemented back yard. This slightly ramshackle cottage appeared creepy and mysterious to me. Cath and I used to watch the cottage from the back doorstep. It fascinated us. Sometimes we could see shadows moving about inside and always we could hear loud and strange music playing. The reason we were so interested in this cottage and its occupant was that Dad said that the young man who lived there was a drug addict and a disappointment to his mother.

Naturally, this made the cottage as interesting as the locked sweet cupboard to a curious and sheltered child like me who didn’t know what a drug addict was and would very much like to see one.

In between our watch from the back doorstep, Cath and I wondered about the large, empty house looking for amusements. We found them in the form of toilet roll holder dolls. We would remove them from their places atop the extra toilet rolls in the four bathrooms and take them into the kitchen where we could play with them and still watch the cottage. The dolls had crocheted dresses in green, pink, yellow, and orange. The dolls looked a lot like the first flimsy Barbie dolls, but they had long hair, and the skirts of the dresses were very full to facilitate their going over a toilet roll. To me, these dolls were beautiful, and I desperately wanted one.

One day, while we were deeply absorbed in our dolls game, a young man came into the kitchen. He didn’t come out of the cottage but rather from inside the house somewhere. He had long hair and a guitar, but other than that he seemed ordinary. He spoke to us girls and was very interested in our doll game.

The next time Dad took us with him to work, the domestic helper presented us with a doll each. Mine was green and Cath’s was pink. They were from Aunty Roz’s son.

I was delighted with this wonderful gift. So much so that I still have that green crocheted dress. It was a while before I realised the gift was from the drug addict. My delight at receiving the doll helped to mitigate my crushing disappointment in the drug addict who looked just like any other young man in his early 20s.

Magnificent gifts

Slender dolls in fine dresses

With wide, ruffled skirts

Providing entertainment

For two lonely little girls

baldacchinodiperla:

Giving is sharing a meaning

or to justify a excuse

to optimize the relation

Giving is to support

like a savior for someone who needs help

gifts are moments of sharing

that monetizes a store and not your fans

The Elephant’s Trunk:

My husband Bill and I have been in each other’s lives since we met in March 1968; that’s a long time … possibly longer than some of you have been alive … a mind-blowing concept!

Imagine how many gifts have been exchanged between us over the course of those 56 years …. not just Christmas gifts but birthdays, anniversaries, Valentine’s Day, the birth of a baby, etc.

Our sons are grown and flown, married with families of their own. How many gifts have we purchased for them, their wives and their kids over the years? The number is incalculable.

A few years ago Bill and I started a new Christmas tradition … splitting our time between our sons. On Christmas Eve we have dinner with David, his wife, daughter and his in-law’s at their house. Christmas Day dinner is at our other son Will’s house with him, his wife, their kids and his in-laws who come up from FL. Travel time for us is only 15 minutes per son with the bonus of no clean up for me!

Celebrating with our boys and their families is wonderful but nothing comes close to Christmas morning. That’s the time when Bill and I are home alone. We ease into the morning, then shuffle into the kitchen for coffee and bagels as Bill flips on the TV for the annual Yule Log. If you’re not familiar with the Yule Log, it’s a decades-long tradition consisting of an image on the TV screen of a blazing fireplace decorated for Christmas with carols and seasonal songs playing in the background, all commercial free. We also have our fireplace going and the music from the TV provides the perfect ambience …. cozy, peaceful and romantic.

Still in our PJs and coffee mugs in hand, we get comfy in the living room to exchange our gifts. These days we try to keep the number of gifts to a minimum; after all, there isn’t anything either of us really needs. We have it all … a loving family and a comfortable home, a brightly lit tree with beautiful decorations, Christmas carols and the Yule Log … and each other.

Who could ask for more than that?

Sexagenarian Scribbler:

The worst gift I ever received was from my dragon of a mother in law.

We got on at first, until a family feud between brother and sister divided the family. She supported her daughter, who as the baby of the family after two boys, was blatantly the favourite and spoilt rotten.

We were at a family gathering, and in front of mixed company , I was given my birthday present. It was the most hideous nightie I’ve ever seen, lime green, wynceyette , the sort your grandmother, or great grandmother wouldn’t be seen dead in. She would never have given it to her fashion conscious daughter.

Did mother-in-law really think I was that old-fashioned? No, she knew I wasn’t. I felt it was done deliberately to embarrass me in front of everybody. Or maybe I’m just paranoid. I’ll never know…

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