The Second Letter to Tennyson #loveguru

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( I in no way own the above image I found it on the internet~ Alfred, Lord Tennyson, lithograph published in The Modern Portrait Gallery, 1890.)

Dear Mr. Tennyson:

I must admit I am quiet astonished by your reply to my last letter, first of all because you are long dead, but secondly because you do not agree that this was an adequate example of loosing love. Is not lacking love the same as loosing it? You say that it is ‘self-love therefore the only one really loosing out was the gymnast’ and on this point I must agree with you. If you feel that the first story was lacking then please afford me the favor by reading my next anecdote and tell me what you think of this ill-used persons plight.

Case the second:

The Story of the Pig (or The of the Programmer):

This relatively short anecdote was relayed to me, by my friend, Jackie when she too was lured into the world of online dating. Jackie is fairly level-headed and a black and white type of person unlike Emily who I previously told you about, but Jackie too was suckered into a potentially, shall we say compromising situation. One evening after a particularly exhausting day of swiping left or right on men’s pictures Jackie finally found one that she thought looked “safe”. He was tall with floppy black hair and big glasses, sweater, scarf and computer equipment. So she swiped right, and the programmer instantly responded with a customary hello. Jackie who was well acquainted with how this app works responded. They exchanged the usually pleasantry’s before he responded with “Let’s talk about what you are looking to get out of this app” “Ok” she replied “ Well I guess I am looking or someone who wants something real that is looking in the same direction as I am. And what about you?” It took the programmer a minute to respond and when he did this was the response she received “I guess I am looking for someone to laugh with, but mostly I am looking for someone to sleep with and if you aren’t any good you can always make it up to me by doing other things for me” #metoo. Jackie was so flabbergasted that she did not respond, but instead she deleted him immediately and blocked him. Thankfully she has more self-worth then to scum to the whims of a pig.

Tell me then Sir what advise would you give to a person seeking love but only has a pig like the programmer to contend with? I continue to await your response.

Sincerely,

Cheyenne

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Dear Readers Two New Blogs

My Dear Readers:

Much has happened and much time has passed since the last time I wrote you. My next two blogs will be experimental. I have chosen to touch on a subject that most of us have been through. The subject is love and online dating. I have taken stories that I have heard and compiled them in a way that I hope you will find entertaining. Now in these stories I focus on the horror of online dating, this is not to say however that I am against it if it works for you. I have known many that have met their soul mates through the use of an app. If you find them entertaining and wish to hear more please leave me comments below.

 

Thank you.

 

As always I remain respectfully,

 

Cheyenne E. Mitchell

John Keats

Unknown (I in no way own the above image I found it on the internet nor have I written the Poem portion of this blog below that belongs to John Keats.)

When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain,
Before high-pilèd books, in charactery,
Hold like rich garners the full ripened grain;
When I behold, upon the night’s starred face,
Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And think that I may never live to trace
Their shadows with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,
That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the faery power
Of unreflecting love—then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think
Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.”- John Keats

When I read words such as these, my mind cannot help but wonder at the joy and the pain that Keats must have known in his relatively short life upon this earth.  I unfortunately know all to well the quiet still hand of death that touches the lives of many of us.  Who takes away lives too soon, or just when that person’s soul needs to be released?  Death never is an easy thing to understand and oftentimes feels as though there is no way to recover from the pain to those that it leaves behind.  However I can take some comfort, as small of comfort as it may be, in poetry such as this, for I know that I am not alone.  Here centuries later the fear of death, unrequited love, never fulfilling your own expectations, was felt as truly then as it is today.  And though this is often thought of as a taboo subject and one that is not necessarily a thing you associate with poetry. It is a comfort to think that it doesn’t have to represent the end of everything, but a beginning of a new chapter.  Here, of course, I do not necessarily refer to a physical death but of closure in life.  Here Keats I feel try to explain to us in almost a romantic way (for that was the genre/era in which he wrote) that it is “ok” to explore the idea of ones own mortality… He is not trying to conjure the idea of suicide but more of where does he fit in to in comparison to the world as he understood it. Perhaps he wants us to explore the idea of what would happen if he did or did not take some chances before his mortal life ended?  Perhaps I digress. Perhaps, I read too much into this poem?

Until next time when I return to more literary talk, I remain respectfully,

~Cheyenne E. Mitchell

‘On Christmas Day in the Morning’

 

little-girl-holding-doll-photograph-early-1900-s-pleated-dress-white-hair-bow-52d46dfdd38004983f0db5e3c4573cfb(I in no way own the above image I found it on the internet)

I once knew a little girl; we shall call her, Lizzy. Lizzy was an ordinary child with ordinary friends and a fairly normal ordinary childhood. Lizzy loved to play games with her friends, draw, dance and just have fun. She did however have one thing that was not so ordinary. She did not celebrate most holidays, well that is to say not in the same way that most children her age did. She did not like Halloween, as she was very timid and found it to be too scary for her. When October 31st would come around her little friends would ask her all sorts of questions as to why she would not partake in trick-or – treating. “ Do your parents tell you that you can’t go?” or are you just a baby and are afraid?” Not wanting to admit she was indeed afraid she would just pretend like she didn’t hear the questions and went about her business.

Once Halloween was over and Thanksgiving approached Lizzy would clap her hands in excitement she loved everything about, Thanksgiving. She loved giving thanks to God, being with her family, making paper Turkeys and eating as much pie and stuffing as her little tummy could hold. Thanksgiving was the only holiday that Lizzy ever spoke of. It wasn’t a surprise therefore, neither to myself nor to our other classmates when we discovered that Lizzy did not celebrate Christmas either. She didn’t have a tree or receive any presents. Lizzy would go to Church services and then she would serve with her family at a local soup kitchen.

We were too old to believe in Santa but not old enough not to enjoy receiving gifts. One day as the school bell rang I gathered my books quickly and followed Lizzy home. I was determined to find out what Lizzy’s mystery was. Why she didn’t celebrate Christmas. I was becoming good at being a sleuth she didn’t even notice me as she climbed the stairs to her home.  It was a modest looking home, it had a whitewashed fence around it and gray trim ran over the eaves of the house. I saw her shut the door to her home as I tipped toed up the stairs to the front porch and crawling on my hands and knees I peered into the window to get a better look. There I saw the sorriest sight I ever saw. It was a large empty room with just a few chairs and an antique table. Lizzy’s Grandmother rocked in her rocking chair frantically knitting as her mother sat on the phone with an antique dealer trying to get him to buy her table. I would later find out that Lizzy’s father was ill and lost his job and the family was selling everything to try to get him to a hospital to receive treatment. Tears began to well in my eyes as I looked at the scene before me. Despite everything the family was happy; happy to be together, happy to be helping someone who they loved with all their hearts. Hearing someone coming I ran home, ran home to find my own mother and tell her everything I saw.

My mother is one of those rare doers in the world who helps all that she can in any way she can without anyone ever knowing that she was the one to do it. My family never had much, either, but like Lizzy’s family whatever we did have, we gave to those who needed it more. And this wasn’t any different. My mother rallied into action, gathering our neighbors and supplies, we waited until Lizzy and her family left for Church Services Christmas Eve and sneaking into the house we decorated it. Filling it with toys and furniture, and every good thing to eat. We left a little anonymous note on the antique table in the center of the room with a check paying for the impending hospital bills. Quickly everyone left the house and made their way back to their homes; all except me. I stayed behind anxiously waiting for everyone to return home. I left a special gift just for Lizzy, a china doll. I overheard her telling tales about her china doll she would dress in its finest clothes. However the day that I followed her home I realized her China Doll named Molly was an imaginary doll. My heart broke when I realized this so I gave her my favorite doll with her prettiest dress and I couldn’t wait to see Lizzy’s face. The family came home went inside and were in shock at the sight before them. Lizzy’s reaction did not disappoint me she was so happy, it made me feel as if I were the one receiving the gift.

My mind often returns to that day when I look around at people receiving gifts, none look so happy as that little girl who despite giving everything, had nothing but was still always filled with joy.

I hope your days are filled with as much joy as that little girl who had nothing, but yet had everything.

Until next time when I return with more stories, I remain as always respectfully,

Cheyenne E. Mitchell

Happy Christmas Quote

“Happy, happy Christmas, that can win us back to the delusions of our childhood days, recall to the old man the pleasures of his youth, and transport the traveler back to his own fireside and quiet home!” ~Charles Dickens

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays everyone!  I look forward to bringing you new stories in the New Year.

Very truly yours,

Cheyenne E. Mitchell

Storyteller