Images And Intuition

This is part of my point of view exercise, taking someone else’s story and telling it through first person point of view. Hope you enjoy! xx

One weekend in 1980, I went to the movies by myself. It was freeing just to get out of the house in this strange town to which I’d been moved not even a year ago. A new movie starring an actress I’d loved in the seventies was playing. Both the star and the show in which she’d acted, set in a television station, reminded me of the place I had left. I was still achingly homesick for my friends, and decided that the movie might take my focus off my loneliness for a couple of hours. My husband was working, as usual. My three-year-old daughter was spending the weekend with my parents. It was just me. How I craved the anonymity and freedom of going wherever I wished.

The downtown looked so empty when compared to the city, but it had a bit of charm which i discovered inside theater’s lobby. It was old and vintage, predating the ones I’d grown up with as a child.

I was engrossed in the film when I noticed one of the characters, a teenage girl, tall with dark hair and large eyes. I instantly thought of my little daughter and suddenly imagined her looking much like this teenager when she grew older. Then I smiled at the thought of what they were probably doing now, she and my parents. They were most likely either winding down a trip to the mall forty-five miles away or planning a new one. My little girl had inherited the shopping craze from my mother. In the city, it had been her favorite thing to do, although she had not yet been two years old when we still lived there.

When the movie was over, I continued to think about that image that came to mind earlier. My intuition was always practically flawless. Suddenly I felt a little less lonely with the future in my fantasies.

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Tuesday Trivia – Downton Abbey’s Lady Cora

The Downton Dame

Former X-Files star Gillian Anderson reportedly turned down the part of Lady Grantham, Lord Robert Crawley’s American heiress wife on Downton Abbey. The part ended up going to Elizabeth McGovern instead.  And we are so glad it all worked out.

10 things you didn't know about Downton Abbey

Cora Crawley (née Levinson), Countess of Grantham (b. July 18, 1868 in Cincinnati, Ohio) is the daughter of Martha Levinson and the late Isidore Levinson (a dry goods multi-millionaire, the sister of Harold Levinson, the wife of Robert Crawley, the daughter-in-law of the late 6th Earl of Grantham and Violet Crawley, the sister-in-law of Rosamund and the late Marmaduke Painswick, the mother of Mary Crawley, Edith Crawley, and the late Sybil Branson, the mother-in-law of Tom Branson and the late Matthew Crawley. She is grandmother of Miss Sybil Branson and Master George Crawley. She is American and married into British nobility.

As a young woman, she was brought to…

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Don’t Talk About Me

“The song says something about not talking about me when I’m gone,” she whispered in his ear. “But I think that’s utter nonsense. Do talk, please,” she entreated.

He kissed her gently on the lips. “And you think the same of me,” he said as he looked up at the sky. Thunder and lightning were flashing wildly, giving rise to morose and solemn topics. It was as if nature was lighting a bonfire around which to tell scary stories.

“The roses in spring, the way the snow looks when it falls for the first time and my favorite songs,” she continued. “Talk, oh, just talk.”

Confessions of A Immature Wife

AlwaysCharmaine

Its 1:05 am. My husband is asleep beside me. The words I heard the night before are still pounding my head. My relationship with God is full of love and passion, but it is also one where there is a heavy presence of conviction.

 

On Wednesday night, I was up in prayer. Right now I am a housewife with no children, so I spend my days cleaning or reading, working on some projects that I should have already accomplished, so I can afford to stay up late most nights if I want too. I’ve always been a night owl, but this particular night the clock was striking 3 am.  So as I was praying “Lord, please show me how to be a better wife to Michael, I know I am a mature woman…” and that’s when He busted my lil bubble.

 

He said

 

“You are a mature…

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Home

She tried to open her eyes. The sleep had been one of cement, dragging her down into an abyss of oblivion, and it took a few seconds before fully awakening to focus on what was dream and what was real. Her eyelids were uncooperative, heavy and felt like they had been sealed closed with marble. But when she felt the slight pressure of someone squeezing her left hand, she opened them to see a pair of gentle brown eyes looking down at her.

“What? Where…”

“Hey, sweetie,” the woman’s voice crooned. “You’re home.”

Home? She swept the room with her eyes, but nothing looked familiar. As she propped herself up on one elbow, she remembered her dear friend’s voice and her eyes began to fill with tears. Could it be? Was it really happening now, after all this waiting?

“Do you mean?” The question floated away from her lips.

“Yes,” she answered, “you are home. There’s no going back for you. None, I promise.” She turned toward the door. “They’re coming, the others.”

One by one, they filed in, congratulating her and echoing the promise that she was not leaving.

The brown-eyed friend continued. “It was a long journey, but we made it.”

“No going back for you!” A second voice, belonging to a blonde girl at her right, said. “You’re one of us. You always were, but this is your home now. No worries, no worries…”

The tears of gratitude were quickly spilling down her face, and the two sisters at her sides wiped them away. “You’re home…”