Your new writing prompt on this lovely Christmas Eve is
FAMILY
Many of us are lucky to be surrounded by family at Christmas. But what about those members sadly missing/no longer with us? Maybe family means more to you than blood relatives. What about friends? Pets? What does the prompt word mean to you?
Fact or fiction, prose or poetry, I would love to read your thoughts on this week’s prompt, but there’s no obligation to share your writing. Here is the work you shared on the last prompt GIVING.
Giving is thriving amongst the living,
driving the jiving, deriving
from wiving, not waving or drowning, arriving or frowning,
crowning glories, midnight stories,
owning a lot to the moaning of those
who pose;
grieving at the thieving,
believing that seeing is akin to being;
and freeing the beans,
which means, it’s all in your genes;
which oft causes scenes,
and leans against a wall,
tall and slim, Jim – him,
shall with vigour and with vim,
shine the outline, and colour within, bin the result, and assault your senses with various fences.
Sadly, he fared badly, and madly, felt truly, deeply, that all was steeply stacked against him – Jim.
I am living, that’s why I will be
someone giving back life given me.
There are more ways than one
to give life. See? The sun
keeps on giving and giving for free.
I was stunned to see that last December 16th, I didn’t write a post. I was almost sure I would have written a makebate response to something or other this close to Christmas. The temptation to succumb to a quirky poem seemed like it would be natural for me. Evidently, I shunned any ideas of doing this and never pictured that a year later I would be giving you this poem today.
To see the picture this relates to, click here.
I chose this photo because it is true of so many people. The saying “you’re one paycheck away” is also true. A personal story: I was a week late paying my rent last month, the first time in years, and four years in this residence. I received a nasty letter warning me of eviction, etc, with printed lie “because you have consistently failed and continue to fail”…this is a lie and my bank statements prove it. I went to the office, empty. Because I live in a federally subsidized building, “they” can oust me any time, especially with this lie or any complaint. So I can relate to this man, because here in this city, you cannot fight city hall. It is filled with stiff old men with no hope for any new ideas or changes. Even the library is threatened! So instead of ignoring or looking down on someone like this man, stop and ask if he is okay, maybe listen to his story. I imagine if you are reading or writing blogs, you are luckier than persons like this. Giving your time is worth a lot. I paid my rent with a hefty late charge, but threats this letter put on me was scary and disappointing, realizing how fragile my position is.
We’ve a hammock, left by Santa Claus
with a metal frame – ideal indoors.
But to my dismay
the rope’s giving way
and giving me bruises galore.
I have met a lot of people in my time, some with nothing, some with much.
Those in the latter group were mainly a sorry bunch of souls, the act of giving had a price tag, and the cost of receipt measured on a similar basis, or dismissed without thought.
You read about it, not just at Christmas, but wedding gift lists or birthdays, what is expected, and what is considered acceptable.
Not all of us are ‘loaded’ or in a position to spend the equivalent of a week or a month’s wages on a gift for someone who, the chances are, would not appreciate it or even say thank you. I’ve been there, done that, got the tee shirt, and cried alone from the hurt.
So I stopped bothering and let them make their own assumptions.
I was brought up to appreciate whatever I was given, and there were times I admit I was disappointed or didn’t like the gift, but I accepted it with a smile and wrote my thank you letters accordingly.
Hubby and I were broke when we first got together, and Christmas gifts in 1989 were bought from car boot sales or charity shops.
Everyone got something, price was pence, maybe a couple of pounds at most, but each gift was purchased with a specific person in mind and our choices went down very well.
Hubby had a cardboard box under the tree (a broken tip of a bigger one he got for £1 and brought home Christmas Eve) with half a dozen balloons attached from me.
Inside, wrapped with love, was a packet of peanuts, a bag of cheese and onion crisps, a chocolate Santa, a sherbet fountain, and a keyring with a short clip of Tom and Jerry fishing. We found it by chance a little while ago, replaced the battery and it still worked!
I had a small teddy bear holding a phial of perfume, a three pack of Ferrero Rocher and a tube of smarties.
It was the best Christmas I’d experienced in years.
Things are considerably better for us now, and we give as much as we can when we can.
This is not monetary, unless coppers put in a collection bucket at a charity event.
We give our time, we help our friends as they do us, we’re supportive in times of concern, offering tea and a listening ear if necessary, and we are there for them, 24/7.
A gift from us, whatever it is, is not conditional.
It is given honestly and freely with no hidden agenda.
And even better, those we receive are the same.
“Give me all your money.”
“It’s the holidays for Pete’s sake.”
“I know. A time for giving, so give.”
“Gee, I can’t get a break.”
” Sure you can. Here’s a fiver for coffee.”
Susan Batten:
You will discover
as you live,
from time to time
you have to give.
Admit, sometimes,
you’re in the wrong –
that gets you more
of life’s sweet song.
Believe me
when I say that “take”
turns out to be
a big mistake.
–
Giving – I think that’s the problem with my knicker elastic.
Awarding Herb
The little Rosemary herb that keeps giving
I bought it two years ago it came in a two inch square pot
About two years ago and was in the raised garden for a season.
I repotted it and overwintered it on the porch that first winter.
It survived and I repotted and placed it in one of my side gardens.
I had it in the porch for a bit this fall But the temps were really falling,
So now in a thirty inch diameter by about ten inch pot,
With the Rosemary which is about sixteen inches high is inside
Getting the morning sun near the bay window.
I’ve given cuttings to neighbors and to family members too.
I’ve used the herb in salad dressings, marinades and in soups.
The Rosemary herb keeps giving; today for the first time I made
Fresh Rosemary tea since I have a metal tea spoon that
Works like a locket that has holes to let boiled water through.
I let it steep and added honey, it was mild as I may have only
Used about a teaspoon. I might try a different infuser next time.
And here I was thinking I was running out of tea –
As I’d been drinking quite a bit to stay warm in December’s chill.
Rosemary;
in different ways
nature gives
Mother as the Giving Tree: Reflections on Conditional Acceptance
Hi everyone. Last Monday, I attended an online meeting for adults who spent time in the NICU as infants. It touched me on many levels. One thing that was mentioned was the fact that most NICU parents go through their own emotional process, which then is passed on somehow to their child in the NICU and beyond. For example, many parents back in my day and before didn’t know whether their baby would survive, so they didn’t attach to their babies as they normally would have.
I was also reminded of something I read in the book The Emotionally Absent Mother. In it, motherhood is compared to the giving tree in Shel Sinverstein’s writing. I don’t think I’ve ever read this piece, but its point is that the tree keeps on giving and giving and expects nothing in return.
I have been thinking about my parents’ attitude to me as a multiply-disabled person. When I suffered a brain bleed in the NICU, my father questioned my neonatologist about my quality of life and what they were doing to me. “We’re keeping her alive,” the doctor bluntly replied. My father has always been adamant to me that he wouldn’t have wanted me if I’d had an intellectual disability, because “you can’t talk with those”.
I have always felt the pressure of conditional acceptance. I’ve shared this before, but when I was in Kindergarten or first grade, it was already made clear to me that, at age eighteen, i’d leave the house and go to university. I tell myself every parent has expectations and dreams for their child. This may be so, but most parents don’t abandon their children when these children don’t meet their expectations and certainly not when it’s inability, not unwillingness, that drives these children not to fulfill their parents’ dreams. Then again, my parents say it’s indeed unwillingness on my part.
I still question myself on this. Am I really unable to live on my own and go to university? My wife says yes, I am unable. Sometimes though, I wish it were within my power to make my parents be on my side. Then again, the boy in Shel Silverstein’s writing didn’t have to do anything to make the tree support him either.
Christmas is the time for giving
Never mind the cost of living
With each new year comes forgiving
Reset every past misgiving
To every end there is beginning
Loss preceding every winning
I grow old. My hair is thinning
The world, eternal, just keeps spinning
So onward, onwards, just keep swimming
Even as the light is dimming
Abandon all ideas of slimming
Eat the main course. And the trimming
Bayanihan
how far should we give?
how much of ourselves
must we keep laying down?
they say giving is cultural,
shaped by tradition,
by where we come from.
from where i am,
hands are always open.
generous.
ready to lift, to carry,
to share the weight.
bayanihan—
the quiet strength of many shoulders,
the grace of helping
without counting the cost,
without asking for return.
but time has shifted its meaning.
what was once freely offered
has learned to demand.
what was kindness
has grown teeth.
now help is expected,
not received with gratitude.
bow refusal earns names—
selfish, greedy—
spoken by neighbors,
echoed by blood.
especially if your life
looks lighter,
your pockets fuller,
your days more stable.
giving is no longer a gift.
it is an obligation.
a debt you never agreed to owe.
so where do we draw the line?
at what point does generosity
become self-erasure?
when do we stop giving
until we are empty?
when do we stop sharing
what we can no longer spare?
and when—
without guilt, without shame—
do we finally choose
to keep something
for ourselves?
*bayanihan – a spirit of civic unity and cooperation among Filipinos.
Rall:
a kiss
lots of sweet hugs
a thought that counts present
are great gifts for christmas and the
new year
Giving Hope
Empty
shopping, season’s
commitments, make presents
into burdens for giver and
gifted
Hope’s scarce
this season, yet
costs only the effort
to search Pandora’s box;
dig deep
Loenbergers Giving Gifts to Pugs
Our Leonberger dog Bronco (his full name was Le Bronco von der Löwenhöhle) was an expert counter surfer, which is why we installed a pet gate to the entrance of our kitchen. Bronco knew how to open gates if they were not locked, so you had to make sure that you did not just close the gate but lock it. However, one December day I forgot to lock the gate. That was the day our daughter had made a gingerbread house and left it on the kitchen counter. Guess who ate half the gingerbread house? Guess who ate some of the other half? Bronco shared some with Daisy. He was always very generous.
For pictures and more of wonderful Broncho’s giving, click here.
In this life there are givers and takers. I’d like to think I was a giver; I would hope that’s what other people would think of me. Where’s the joy in taking?
And never more so when it comes to presents. I’m not bothered about getting any, but I love giving them.
This is something I wrote earlier, submitted to Daily Mail’s One Philosophers.
There’s plenty of give and take in our marriage; she gives the orders and I take no notice…
Reluctant Giver
When I was 9 years old, my dad ran a landscaping business in Cape Town. My dad always worked for himself and ran his own business. For many years his business revolved around landscaping. This was, and still is, a difficult area to make a living in South Africa as the economy has always drifted in and out of recessions for various reasons. Landscaping is a luxury product so the business would struggle during the economic downturns and we moved often as Dad chased work.
We moved to Cape Town after a mere six-week stint in the coast town of George during my grade 4 (standard 2) year. Dad had restarted his business in Cape Town and he was getting by as there was a lot of building taking place at the time. My parents bought a house in a cul-de-sac just before a major road. Across the road was a large shopping centre.
In the November of that year, a large new discount store opened in the shopping centre. The concept of a discount store that sold all sorts of products at competitive prices was new to me and the children in my school. As a result, it was a place of great interest and curiosity. We would go there in groups after school to look at all the products and prices.
With Christmas approaching, I decided to purchase my gifts from this store. I had saved up any money I’d received for birthdays and doing chores for months and I went to the store and bought Mom and Dad each a big, bright box of chocolates at discounted prices. I also bought Christmas paper, glitter, and ribbon to wrap and decorate my gifts. I spend an entire Sunday afternoon wrapping up those presents and they were very colourful and pretty with festoons of ribbon and glued-on glitter improving the wrapping paper.
The following Friday, my dad’s business closed for Christmas. I remember his foreman coming to our house. I assume it was to collect his wages. I heard Mom telling Dad that he should give the elderly man, who was a good foreman, a present. Dad didn’t have anything to give him. Next thing, Dad came and asked me if I would let him have one of my gifts for Solly. Of course, I had to let him take one of my beautiful presents. It took me a long time to get over having to give up one of those planned gifts. It is funny to think about it now. I was so heartbroken at the time and didn’t taken any pleasure in cheering up Solly’s Christmas. I did replace the gift but I didn’t have time to decorate it in the same way.
spirit of Christmas
lost on funny little girl
who mourned loss of gift
Giving-in And Giving-up
I am a little confused between giving-in and giving-up.
We have been taught to accept life as it comes. With acceptance we let go much that seem crucial. Acceptance entails giving-in as well as giving-up.
Giving-up on dreams and aspirations because they challenge reality is giving in to the easy path.
Being brave about giving up everything that we hold precious is pretension.
If giving-in makes one feel vulnerable does giving-up without any qualms makes one stronger?
If there is defeat in giving-in is there victory in giving-up?
We give-in to the Divine Will – an ultimate surrender.
We give up bad habits – a conscious endeavour.
We give-in to failure – a candid admission of defeat.
We give-up apathy and rise – an ode to perseverance.
Giving in has a ring of resignation to it while giving up implies lack of resistance.
At a juncture giving-in and giving-up both coincide.
There’s neither defeat nor victory.
Life is just walking on a long road without giving in or giving up or perhaps both giving in and giving up.
The Leaning Steeple
Rinda Mae Guthry had always said the Lord made her a teacher long before He ever made her a woman. Forty‑two years of being an unapologetic spinster at the business end of a piece of chalk was all the proof she needed to know the Lord had called that one right.
When she retired, she did so with grace, leaving behind her a legacy as the last of her breed- the kind of teacher who still believed a little Gospel belonged in every lesson plan.
Rinda Mae had long been an active member of First Glory Baptist. By God, she was the driving force behind the Children’s Reading Circle and the Adult Literacy Outreach becoming full‑blown ministries. And she’d practically written the entire Vacation Bible School curriculum herself- crafts, skits, memory verses, the whole shebang.
To her, First Glory was more than just a squat brick church with a steeple that leaned like it was trying to overhear the prayers inside. It had always been the visible presence of Christ on earth. And Pastor Dougie Ray wasn’t just their preacher- he was the match that kept First Glory on fire.
That is, until…
Pastor Dougie Ray started stepping up to the pulpit with a stack of papers that looked like he’d printed them off the internet instead of the Good Book. At first, Rinda thought maybe he’d found a new commentary or some fancy devotional. But then he started preaching things she’d never heard cross his lips before.
“We gotta talk ’bout what’s threatenin’ this nation,” he’d thunder. “What’s creepin’ in under the guise of woke. These folks pushin’ their sinful lifestyles- these gays and gender‑benders who wanna rewrite good Christian morality. And what about all these illegals pourin’ in- criminals, every one- with no respect for our laws? They’re the very factions our Foundin’ Fathers warned us about.”
Rinda’s stomach tightened like she’d swallowed a fist.
She’d taught plenty of children who grew up to be gay- sweet, gentle souls who still sent her Christmas cards. She’d tutored more than a few adults in her literacy class who’d come to this country with nothing but hope and a work ethic that’d put most folks to shame.
This wasn’t the church that had once wrapped its arms around the broken and the lost. The same church- known county wide- for its giving alms to widows and groceries to the poor.
This was something else. Something she no longer recognized. Something not of the Lord..
While it may have been true that the older she got, the less sure she was about somethings, the one thing she was absolutely certain of was this- the direction First Glory Baptist, the very church of her heart, had set itself upon was not the path that led to Christ.
Giving Gifts
Santa Claus giving gifts down the chimney he does come.
One year nothing did he bring and I cried feeling very dumb.
Then I turned sweet sixteen and knew where gifts came from.
Now I have my own Santa Claus and he is my best chum.
He gives me gifts every year and calls me his sugar plum.
I sing for him sweet sweet songs for he’s my yummy yum.
***
Image credit: Canva
Esther Chilton 
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