Tag Archives: creative writing

A Case for Merlin ~ By Emma

This is Merlin

This is Merlin

Nothing vanishes without questioning Merlin’s participation in the disappearance.  He never admits to wrong-doing, but instead greets the attention with purrs.  Even dog lovers fall under Merlin’s spell, charming the most biased minds to rethink what they had assumed true of all cats.

Merlin is unusual because he plays fetch and follows his favorite humans around with devotion.  If you don’t like cats it is because you have not yet met our Merlin.

But if you ever lose something, don’t blame Merlin.  He had nothing to do with it.

Merlin approved this post.  🐾

Where's Merlin?

Where’s Merlin?

Merlin among the cookie jars.

Merlin among the cookie jars

“Outside Looking In” ~ By Emma

Outside looking in on a world with a  different reality.

There is room for all.

Benign feelings contradict human thoughts about survival.

We treat others with care and feel the joy that comes with that.  We treat others harshly and then pain is felt by both.

Problems arise when people take pleasure in other’s pain.  Words cause joy, but also can cause pain.

Better to sing and dance!

This is what Emma wrote this morning in answer to my question, “What do you want to blog about this morning?”

We have been studying gene mutation, evolution, Darwin and how species adapt to their environment.  We have also just finished reading Romeo and Juliet.  I see the influence of all of these topics as well as Emma’s own unique and exquisitely compassionate take on this world and life.

Emma's Bowl made in ceramics

Emma’s Bowl made in ceramics with cookie cutters and then painted.

“No More School” and Other Important Topics

Emma (and I) will be presenting at the TASH Conference in Washington DC December 3-5.  We haven’t been given the exact date for our presentation yet, but once I know I will inform all of you.  I will be co-presenting with Emma, but the title, Rethinking Your Beliefs About Autism, and topic are Emma’s idea and I will be following her lead (as always.) 

On the “no more school” front, we are busy.  So busy I am having difficulty finding time to write anything for this blog.  I keep thinking once we get into the swing of things that will change.  I keep thinking if I just plan better, each day will move along easily and we will (miraculously) get the list of all the things we will do and cover, that I so painstakingly made upon getting up in the morning, done.  I even bought a Daily Planner, one of those things everyone used to use before we had smart phones, so that I could record all the subjects we are covering and the length of time spent on each…  Before you fall off your chairs laughing, I DIDN’T give in to my impulse to use a color coding system, so there’s at least that.  (Not that using a color coding system isn’t a great idea and if you tell me in the comments that’s EXACTLY what you do and how fabulous it works for you I promise to be impressed and probably quite envious as well.)

Here’s the thing about all of this.  So much of the problem I’m having is less with our daily adventures and more with the ideas I have about what we SHOULD or SHOULD NOT be doing.  It’s reminding me of the presentation Emma and I gave earlier this summer here in New York City.  I wanted to write everything I was going to say out onto little index cards, which I then planned to read out loud, pausing now and then for Emma to type whatever she wanted to add.  Emma, though, had very different thoughts about how we should do our presentation.  And in the end, as it was Emma’s presentation, we did as she wanted.  We winged it.  (What the hell is the past tense of “to wing it?”)  Winging it is pretty much what we are doing now, only instead of doing this for one presentation, we are doing this every single day and I know, I really, really know there’s got to be freedom in that once I stop hyperventilating.  

Meanwhile, just as she did during our presentation this past July, Emma is having a great time amidst learning about the cosmos, Hubble’s Law, light years, our ancestors, one of whom was a Colonel in the garrison of the King of France in the battle of Seneffe, where he died, against William III of Orange (who knew?) learning German, discussing current events, creative writing, AND planning a dinner party Emma intends to have, along with making up the guest list and meal I am to prepare.

There are several more exciting things in the works writing-wise, but more about all of that another time. 

It’s time for bed, though Emma may well stay up far longer than me.  She has a number of things she wants to do before going to sleep…

The Duke of Enghien saving his father, the Grand Condé at the battle of Seneffe: painting from 1786 by Bénigne Gagneraux

The Duke of Enghien saving his father, the Grand Condé at the battle of Seneffe: painting from 1786 by Bénigne Gagneraux

“What We Attach Ourselves to When We are Most Afraid”

Emma typed that she wanted to write – “How about a story about what we attach ourselves to when we are most afraid.” 

“In no particular place that anyone has ever heard of, there lived a girl who was friendly and loved to laugh.  She had a body like any other girl her age, but it moved in ways that were unusual.  This caused people to stare and even made some think that she wanted their mean looks and comments.

“Do you know anyone who likes to be the focus of such hurtful and nasty attention?

“No.  I do not think anyone enjoys being made fun of.

“The fun is a question I do not have an answer to.  Laughter is pure when it hurts no one.”

By Emma Zurcher-Long

August, 2014

August, 2014

My Imaginary Ancestor

Preface:  My mother has been tracing our family’s history for many years now.  Many of our ancestors on her side of the family were German and wrote in German script.  She has been painstakingly translating the letters they wrote and kept.  During our recent vacation my mother told us about some of our ancestors and the lives they led.  All of it was fascinating.

This morning I asked Emma what she wanted to write about.  Emma typed, “I want to write about recent stories heard.”  I said, “Okay.  What do you mean by that?  What recent stories are you referring to?”  Emma then typed the following story.

 “I will write about an ancestor who is imaginary.

“Long ago in another era there lived a writer who did not think in words.  She was fiercely independent in an age when this was not viewed favorably.  She was believed to be peculiar and could not say what she thought as words escaped her, fleeing to dark, secret places out of reach.  The only way to capture the words was by writing them down, restraining them to the confines of a piece of paper.  This made her sad for the words that wanted nothing more than to run wild and free.  So she spoke and the words rushed out, but other people did not understand and thought she needed to be controlled.  She was my ancestor.”

 

Our Ancestors - Emma, Anina, Antonie and Marie

Our Ancestors – Top and going clockwise – Emma, Anina, Antonie and Marie

The Three Boxes ~ A Story

Emma’s story, which she edited slightly from the original:

There were three boxes that were left on three different doorsteps.  They appeared to be identical in physicality.  The size, shape, and color made them far from unique.  The way they each arrived is still unknown.  Assuming they are identical on the inside would be ignorant.

When the people opened their doors and saw the boxes left, their reactions varied.  One questioned why there were no markings on the box.  The other tripped over the box when leaving, but did not pay it more attention right then.  The third opened it immediately since she loved getting mail.

Inside the boxes were lives – a kitten, a puppy, and a baby.  We will never know who abandoned these precious lives.  The focus is on how these lives adapt to new environments.  The easy answer is not that easy.  The longer version is that once the boxes were opened – the kitten quickly scampered out, easily scaling the box’s cardboard sides, the puppy tried to get out, but the box was too deep and he was too little, so he looked around for help, and the baby lay there, too young to even roll over and simply cried.

Luckily the enthusiastic mail-lover became the baby’s new mother.

That is food for thought.

The End

The box with the kitten

The box with the kitten

Today’s Post Brought to You By Emma

Written by Emma Zurcher-Long

“Today I will tell a short story about a girl who wanted to speak to the wind.  She listened with ears attuned to wind’s song, and desired to speak with its power and beauty.  But the wind was not used to listening, and the sounds she made were ignored.  People heard her and told her to be less noisy.  The wind was loud, yet no one attempted to quiet it.  The girl understood the wind’s voice and eventually it heard her.  Neither one spoke with words.

“The End”

Emma Chose this image from a google search "Girl in the wind"

Emma chose this image from a google search “Girl in the wind”

Emma’s “Folk Tale”

*Emma worked on this story for a week and it took many 45 minute sessions to complete.

“Once upon a time there was a duck and she bought a gorgeous pair of shoes.  She could not force her webbed feet into the lovely shoes, so she fell into a terrible depression.

“Oh what is the matter with me?” she cried.

“Her once beautiful feet now disgusted her.  The new shoes languished in her closet.  Golden hopes for her acting debut were dashed.  Without her new shoes she believed she would not be as highly regarded as she would be while wearing them.  Delightful she once was, but now no longer.

“Dawn arose like a spring crocus and she decided matters could only improve if only her feet were dainty.  Seeking the advice of an aged, old, spotted owl, she wondered if her feet could be changed.

“The ancient bird asked, “Have you always hated your feet this way?”

“No,” she said, “I have always enjoyed my wonderfully webbed feet.”

“Then, ” asked the sage, “why do you dislike them so, now?”

“Because,” she replied, “my new shoes do not fit and they are so pretty.  Could they be changed so I may wear them?”

“Yes.” Owl smiled.

Relieved to be in the company of one so wise, Duck had seen the failure of her ways.  It was not her feet needing amendment, it was her perception.

Duck's Lovely Webbed Feet

Duck’s Lovely Webbed Feet

Today is Emma’s birthday.  She turns 12.  Happy Birthday to my beautiful girl!!