The Unlocking of the Locked Door Within

 WRITE: Why in heaven's name am I to undertake such a task? This question is somewhat psychoanalysis oriented. Why ask the question if I know the answer already? The reason why to compose sentences of fiction based on real life past experiences. The skeletal remains of memories past will cast a shadow upon these words, sentences and paragraphs. This specter of self expression will illustrate a picture painted with the finest colors and grays in the imaginary watercolor medium. Add too much water and the portrait drips like blood from a fresh wound. 

In the doctor's waiting room she sits staring at the large portrait of a country doctor making a house call to a poor farm family. The doctor is inside a room, sitting down and in deep thought. The patient is a young female child resting on bedding placed on two wooden chairs. The mother is sitting by the table and weeping while her head rests upon her two folded arms. Her husband consoles her by giving her a reasuring touch while focusing on the doctor. He is anxious to hear the doctor's opinion. The background is dark. Beneath this large painting is an old radio housed in a wooden frame. Inside this wooden frame are tubes that need to warm up when the radio is turned on. Its art deco exterior was resting on a wooden end table. 

There was no receptionist for this doctor. He was a portly aging man by the name of Dr. Flanigan. Dr. Flanigan had known the young lady's late maternal grandfather and her middle aged mother. This young lady, whose name is Linda, started coming to Dr. Flanigan when she was only seven years old. Her mother must have thought that she outgrew being the patient of a pediatrician. Two buses were needed to go see Dr. Flanigan, whose residence and home office were on the other side of town. On some occasions one bus was taken by Linda and then she walked the rest of the destination. 

As Linda began to mature, she did not consider herself as a beauty yet teenage boys would drive by her and honk the car horn. Dr. Flanigan had noticed that she was maturing, especially when both were alone in the exam room. As she lay clothed on the examining table according to his instructions, he groped her right arm starting from the wrist and stopped before he reached her elbow. Linda could sense what type of touch that was. 

Linda had informed her mother to start looking for another doctor, but her mother was determined to stay with Dr. Flanigan. When the time came for Dr. Flanigan to retire, sell his house and move to Florida with his wife, he recommended two young doctors for her mother to see. Linda felt a sigh of relief.

THE STORY SHALL UNFOLD

The story shall unfold: The process of molding a fictional story to be read by others originates from the imagination of the writer.  When writing fiction the writer will delve deep into the crevices of her/his mind. Flowers with thorns on their stems can surface below the depths and into the conscious. The writer then can tread upon the grey area of the past. 

A child, aged seven, goes to a friend's house so they can play together. The friend is four years old, named Zelda and resides with her mother and grandfather. They are renters in a three apartment house. When the seven year old girl whose name is Wendy found herself in the basement which, over the years, she and other children had explored. Wendy heard the friend's grandfather descending down the cement cellar steps. Since she knew the grandfather Wendy was not alarmed. The grandfather recognized Wendy and decided to pick her up. When he held her, his hand moved between her legs. Wendy felt uncomfortable and dirty about him inappropriately massaging her. Recently she had received her First Holy Communion and she did not know what to say to this man when he committed a crime against her.  Wendy's father was working in the front yard where she lived with her mother, brother and dad. This dirty secret she kept to herself and she did not know enough to speak to the police. 

A few hours passed and Wendy was with Zelda and Zelda's mom on the large front porch of the three family house where Zelda's family lived on the first floor. The grandfather was in the hallway where there were stairs leading to the second floor. The hallway also lead to the front porch. He stood there hidden and exposed himself to Wendy. What did he want her to do? She was the only one who witnessed his foul deed.  

Starstruck In the City

The breeze is a sensory soothing adventure.

Water under the bridge which flows downstream and into the sewer of the city makes a trickling noise as I peer down to take a peek at where its destination lies. It cleanses the curb sides of the cobblestone street as the train roars past on the elevated ground. The train's whistle echoes past my body encompassing a strong gust of wind which blows my graying hair about. I look up. Being aware of my existence on this earth is obvious to my rationale. I think therefore I am dominates my thought as I stand on the pedestrian busy street isolated and deep in meditative thought. A car horn blows and I instinctively move my two feet to the sidewalk. The city excites me. A feeling of being starstruck grows and develops from within me as I pace the concrete paths of this brick and mortar environment. Telephone poles sprout up as if they were trees in this concrete forest. Its branches grasp the long and straight wires; the ones where squirrels dance and fray its very fabric. Evening casts its grey shadow upon the pulse of the city, leaving with it shaded corners and dim street lights. The bus pulls into its stop and I get on. I fumble through my change to find the correct fare. The bus driver gives me an odd look as I walk with a wobbly gait to an aisle seat. The man seated by the bus window is listening to his iPod as I listen to the tinny sound this device makes when it is for only one party listening. My blue eyes scan the occupants riding on this worn down bus and I notice some are texting, while others are speaking loudly on their cell phones. An occasional rider is reading a newspaper while the rest are immersed in their own private thoughts. A half hour quickly rolls by. My focus is towards the front of the bus. I gaze through the large windshield and notice that my stop is coming up. Gradually I ascend to a standing position and walk to the front. My right hand grips the handrail. Immediately a cat darts in front of the bus and the driver jams on the brake pedal. My balance is lost and in a flash I fall to the floor hitting my head on the metal part of the seat. 

My unconscious body laid in the aisle blocking pedestrian traffic. My mind is descending into a dreamlike state. Here I am in a foreign state which I am trying to mentally analyze. The huge rock which I am sitting on appears real to my eyes. The mist is clouding the trees and other forest growth. The branches protrude the misty fog. This is the land of the unknown I surmised. Every inch of land holds a puzzling mystery. My right foot touches the earthy ground where brown earth meets green weedy growth. The land was not hard but rather slightly moist. Sliding down the grey hued rock I stood and cautiously stepped through the weeds on a quest to investigate. From a bustling city to the serene quietness of the woods where the songs of birds can be heard I tread on, surveying my natural surroundings. 

Peering up at the sky I saw sunlight piercing through the forestation, creating a divine appearance. How sacred this must be I thought as a felt a calming sensation surge throughout my body. The pretty colored birds swooped down and circled around the light. Moving closer until the stones forced me not to go any further, I gazed upward and felt even more hypnotized by its goddess like appearance. An internal instinct was drawing me to move into the light when suddenly I was awakened by paramedics. An oxygen mask was placed on my face and I was removed from the bus to be placed upon a stretcher. A crowd of onlookers watched as the paramedics placed me into the ambulance. 

The ride to the hospital was smooth with moments of bumps here and there. An inner feeling of being a stranger in a foreign town haunted me. My worried thoughts focused on when this ambulance trip will be over. The ambulance attendant inside the cabin was friendly and he noticed I was becoming restless. "Do you need an adjustment of your safety straps?" he inquired. "I am feeling pain from not moving", I replied. "We are nearing the medical center. I shall loosen this strap where you can change your position, then I will tighten it again". This was a tremendous relief for my body. 

As the ambulance pulled into the emergency section, my creative and inquisitive  eyes were fascinated by the red lights of this entering vehicle and authorized personnel directing us to the proper stop. The ambulance driver parked and left the driver seat to open the back doors of the ambulance I rode in. The other ambulance attendant sprung into action to assist my stretcher to leave this emergency vehicle and descend to the asphalt. As the emergency doors automatically opened, I was wheeled in. The staff person behind the desk to ask me the routine questions concerning health insurance. Feeling dazed still, I searched my handbag and pulled out my picture driver's license and healthcare information. When my healthcare cards and driver's license were returned to me, I was taken to a waiting area where I was placed in a bed. The curtains were drawn around each occupied bed. Time had moved on and during my long wait, I could hear commotion by the waiting desk and near my curtain. An outraged woman who was anonymous to my knowledge was brought to this medical center. Her issue was that she was always sent to a different hospital and that if the staff were to contact her policeman husband, he would confirm her case. Her rant went on and on. Then it was my turn to be examined by a technician. It was late in the evening as I lay there on a stretcher awaiting what they call a CAT SCAN. The CAT SCAN technician opened communication with me in regards to what I shall experience when going through the scan. I lay there on a flat wheeled structure and my mind absorbed his overall words of instruction. 

Nosferatu (1922) [Silent Movie] An Artistic Masterpiece

Nosferatu is quite a masterpiece of horror which has transcended time. From the silent era up until the present day, Nosferatu relies upon artistic creativity to speak of its theme. As an unknown writer with an artistic outlook, I write to bring out the film's artistic side, filmed with hand cranked cameras. Since all the scenes had to be filmed with daylight still lingering, natural woven cloths had to be used to diffuse the sunlight. Without the use of sound, actors had to be skilled in facial and body expressions to convey the story. Makeup accentuated the personality of the character. Those hideous hands communicate utter horror for those watching. Filters played an important role for black and white films. In this movie we see sepia, pink and blue in changing scenes. Those with an artistic perspective are in awe when viewing this creatively pieced together movie. 

A Family of Feline Friends

Samantha photographed by J.R. Frieman 

Shadow photograped by J.R. Frieman 

A simple video of a cat named Samantha premiers right here on on Janie's online journal. 

The simple truth of the matter illustrates how simple photographs are combined to make a lasting memory of Janie's cat. Janie freely shares photographs of her cats, including the two cats owned by her daughter. When Janie is fatigued, she relaxes on her bed and writes blogs. There are times during the writing process when the felines, either individually or as a twosome, threesome and even a foursome join her just to keep company. On these occasions sometimes they hint to be fed. 

Lucy photographed by J.R. Frieman 

Sadie photographed by J.R. Frieman

Sadie and Lucy, pictured here in this article, are Janie's grand_kitties. Two grey colored cats sometimes referring their fur color as blue, pose for these two shots. They have been living with Janie for more than two years now. Sadie is the active one while Lucy is more reserved. These two sister cats from the same litter are fond of Janie as Janie is fond of them. These kitties have found a home living with her. 

Shadow and Samantha are pictured above, have lived longer with Janie. They enjoy social interaction with Janie as much as the other two do. A memory of shadow when he spent his first night here went like this: Shadow was in the dining room window meowing quite loudly. Janie came to him and spoke softly to him. Her voice was very comforting. The rest of the night was pleasant to him. 

Samantha moved in a month later. She needed to settle in. As she was in the process, Shadow gently extended his paw to her. In time she was able to come out of the cage. 

These cats are for certain, a family. 

As an update both Samantha and Shadow have passed on. 

Influence and Inspiration in Writing

A View from the Past, that is my own thoughts of the past, reveal history in a personalized outlook. As a child in elementary school, my generation was witness not only to the traumatic shooting of President John Fitzgerald Kennedy, we also witnessed the televised shooting of the accused assassin of  him. Live coverage, in black and white, filled the weekend television screen back in the days when there were only seven channels to select from. Now with the digital access of the internet, many more portals have opened and provided paths to explore. Witnesses who viewed the presidential parade claimed that the shots were fired from a different direction which differed considerably from the official report. The mystery still needs to be resolved fifty five years later.
Learning of this public murder in the spring of my years was an unsettling experience. To have a leader killed steals the security from a child. As I approached the door of my home on that dreadful day, my mother opened it and asked if I had heard the news. I replied with a yes to her question. Then both of us shed our tears for this fallen hero.

Memory can be compared to a Book; however it depends which chapter the reader selects. In my memory I can choose thoughts and experiences, be thee good or be thee bad, from a "rolodex" of past experiences. Their images are frozen on "film", so to speak, which I can access through thought,  including their preserved audio.  How vivid these memories can be!
A writer has the sense to pick and choose what content will appear in a story of any particular genre of choice. Any author will employ past experiences as an influence or backdrop to fiction. Other authors will not rule out research or discussion with others to enhance their short stories or novels.

Continue to Write and readers shall delight in your words typed and shared on the internet or on hardcopy.

Therapeutic and Creative Activty

Insight is golden. It is a precious find in the lives of humans. I, for one, am a seeker of this "Holy Grail". Insight leads one onto the path of discovery which includes discovering what led to the "building blocks" of inaccurate reasoning. When the individual enters psychotherapy she/he is confronted with these building blocks or might I refer to them as "stumbling blocks".

Seated Woman, J.R. Frieman

The determination to change one's outlook is not always easy since overcoming obstacles toward a more positive life requires determination. Many times change can be experienced as an ongoing process in the person's life. To overcome difficulties towards a more positive life is a wise choice. Step by step insight and analysis helps when the individual experiences setbacks. Along the path to better well being these setbacks can include negative people or a series of negative experiences which fused the stumbling blocks of negative perception; whether it be low self esteem or other misperceptions.

Reclining Woman, J.R. Frieman

One way to ease this dilemma between therapy sessions is to participate in creative activities. What has been gaining in popularity is coloring. Adult coloring books are available in some retail and online outlets. Another creative outlet is "journaling". Writing one's thoughts and feelings in a notebook or diary provides an outlet for pouring out emotions. Last but not least is exercise. Even a simple walk can ease tensions and raise those serotonin and dopamine levels. Meditation, Yoga and Ty Chi share in the relaxation process also.