Thursday, January 12, 2012
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Write about a wound
I had only pushed the chair up to help mommy stir the spaghetti. I was being helpful.
Then my shirt was on fire. It was really on fire. Like in the barbeque. I tried to blow it out. I tried to hit it with my hands. It stayed on fire. Then I ran. I jumped off the chair and I ran around and around the kitchen screaming. Pieces of my shirt fell on the carpet and make a burn mark. Mommy was going to be mad at me for that.
When she came out of the bathroom I ran to her and she pulled off my shirt and stamped on it. She put the fire out. But there was a terrible smell. It kind of made my tummy feel sick. Mommy picked me up and put me on the counter and called Doctor Feltch. I just looked down at my tummy. It was all black and gross looking. One of my long hairs was stuck in the black part. I tried to pull it out but it wouldn't come and it hurt when I tugged on it.
"Come on baby, let's get in the car."
she laid me down in the back of the station wagon while she drove. She had all the windows open to blow cool air on me. I was feeling very sleepy. And a little sick. I don't like to ride in the back seat. It makes me sick.
We got to the hospital. The same one where my sister was born. I had never been to this busy room before. It was very white and bright. And it smelled clean.
The next thing I remember was being in a crib even though I was 5 and could sleep in a big girl bed. The nurses were offering me popsicles and hot dogs. I took the popsicles. A lot of them.
Then my shirt was on fire. It was really on fire. Like in the barbeque. I tried to blow it out. I tried to hit it with my hands. It stayed on fire. Then I ran. I jumped off the chair and I ran around and around the kitchen screaming. Pieces of my shirt fell on the carpet and make a burn mark. Mommy was going to be mad at me for that.
When she came out of the bathroom I ran to her and she pulled off my shirt and stamped on it. She put the fire out. But there was a terrible smell. It kind of made my tummy feel sick. Mommy picked me up and put me on the counter and called Doctor Feltch. I just looked down at my tummy. It was all black and gross looking. One of my long hairs was stuck in the black part. I tried to pull it out but it wouldn't come and it hurt when I tugged on it.
"Come on baby, let's get in the car."
she laid me down in the back of the station wagon while she drove. She had all the windows open to blow cool air on me. I was feeling very sleepy. And a little sick. I don't like to ride in the back seat. It makes me sick.
We got to the hospital. The same one where my sister was born. I had never been to this busy room before. It was very white and bright. And it smelled clean.
The next thing I remember was being in a crib even though I was 5 and could sleep in a big girl bed. The nurses were offering me popsicles and hot dogs. I took the popsicles. A lot of them.
Monday, January 9, 2012
Write about a ceremony
I can't remember her name now. I'm sure I have it written somewhere. She was a key player in an enormous part of my life. And this is her funeral.
I had never been to a funeral in my life until I went to hers. She had been on of the first people I met when I moved to Florida. I didn't actually move to Florida. I was kicked out of my house and that's where I wound up.
Anyway, this beautiful 21 year old woman was smart, and funny and kind and spiritual. She was the kind of person I wanted to be. She was also the only member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, just like me. Her family was not pleased with her decision to join the Church. My family had no idea I had joined. I was scared to death to tell them. Her strength of character was inspirational.
She was driving down the road late one night when she was hit head on by a drunk driver. She died en route to the hospital. In an instant a careless person's act snuffed out the life of an incredible woman. She was recently engaged to be married and was very exicted. She had only one more semester of school and then she would graduate and she would get married. A fairly tale really. But now she was gone.
I don't remember who told me or any of that drama. I remember worrying about what to wear to the funeral. I didn't own anything black. But my roomate said that wearing black wasn't necessary. Mormon funerals were more about celebrating the eternal perspective of family and friends rather than the finality of life and relationships.
The chapel was crowded. Which shocked me. I knew a lot of people loved her, but I didn't think that many people knew her. I was sure that not that many people would have been to my funeral. But what really got me was her mother. Her mother was draped over the casket wailing and crying. It was horrible to watch. My heart just broke for her. She was so distraught. She had no concept that even though this beautiful life was gone, it was not gone forever. There was an eternity to spend together growing and laughing. There was so much than just this moment and my friends mother had no clue.
It struck me at that moment that should I die suddenly in a car crash, my parents would find out from other people that the most important thing to me was my recent membership in the Church. My parents, whom I loved and respected would find out cruicial information about me from strangers. I could not let that happen.
I went home and wrote them a letter and told them about my recent baptism into the Mormon faith. I told them what it meant to me and I told them that I wanted them to know that their righteous upbringing is what sent me searching and helped me recognize when I found my place. My letter was three pages long.
The funeral of a friend freed me from a lie. I have since lived me life in a way that makes other people question where I get my faith and my strength. Yes, a lot of it comes from my membership in my church. But the rest comes from my honest, loyal relationship with my parents.
Thanks, Terry (I remembered her name!), for all the things you taught me in life and through your death.
I had never been to a funeral in my life until I went to hers. She had been on of the first people I met when I moved to Florida. I didn't actually move to Florida. I was kicked out of my house and that's where I wound up.
Anyway, this beautiful 21 year old woman was smart, and funny and kind and spiritual. She was the kind of person I wanted to be. She was also the only member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, just like me. Her family was not pleased with her decision to join the Church. My family had no idea I had joined. I was scared to death to tell them. Her strength of character was inspirational.
She was driving down the road late one night when she was hit head on by a drunk driver. She died en route to the hospital. In an instant a careless person's act snuffed out the life of an incredible woman. She was recently engaged to be married and was very exicted. She had only one more semester of school and then she would graduate and she would get married. A fairly tale really. But now she was gone.
I don't remember who told me or any of that drama. I remember worrying about what to wear to the funeral. I didn't own anything black. But my roomate said that wearing black wasn't necessary. Mormon funerals were more about celebrating the eternal perspective of family and friends rather than the finality of life and relationships.
The chapel was crowded. Which shocked me. I knew a lot of people loved her, but I didn't think that many people knew her. I was sure that not that many people would have been to my funeral. But what really got me was her mother. Her mother was draped over the casket wailing and crying. It was horrible to watch. My heart just broke for her. She was so distraught. She had no concept that even though this beautiful life was gone, it was not gone forever. There was an eternity to spend together growing and laughing. There was so much than just this moment and my friends mother had no clue.
It struck me at that moment that should I die suddenly in a car crash, my parents would find out from other people that the most important thing to me was my recent membership in the Church. My parents, whom I loved and respected would find out cruicial information about me from strangers. I could not let that happen.
I went home and wrote them a letter and told them about my recent baptism into the Mormon faith. I told them what it meant to me and I told them that I wanted them to know that their righteous upbringing is what sent me searching and helped me recognize when I found my place. My letter was three pages long.
The funeral of a friend freed me from a lie. I have since lived me life in a way that makes other people question where I get my faith and my strength. Yes, a lot of it comes from my membership in my church. But the rest comes from my honest, loyal relationship with my parents.
Thanks, Terry (I remembered her name!), for all the things you taught me in life and through your death.
Friday, January 6, 2012
Write about bathing
I am going out on a date with my husband tonight. He called me and asked me if I wanted to go out to the movies with him. I love it when he takes the initiative to ask me out. Of course, I still have to feed and bathe everyone and get the kids lined up with a babysitter and pick the movie, but it still makes me feel special when he calls and asks. It reminds me of our first date.
We had been hanging out as friends (with benefits) for a while but never officially went out. One day he sent me an email and officially asked me out on a date for Friday April 19th. I said sure and then thought for 5 days of what I would wear.
I had lost a bunch of weight and had this awesome pair of suede-like black pants that I would wear with a neatly pressed white button up shirt. I ironed everything and laid it out nicely. Picked out some black trouser socks with a little design and my favorite black clogs. I hopped in the shower.
I shaved my legs, twice and my underarms once. It was just barely spring in Utah and so it wasn't shorts weather yet which meant that I hadn't been shaving regularly. I was pretty slick now. I used my favorite body soap called Happy. It matched my favorite perfume by the same name. Washed my hair and got out.
At this time my hair was cut to about 2 inches above my scalp and I wore it with a lot of gel all spiked up. I was pretty tough looking. Then I dressed. Of course I wore clean lacy underwear with a matching lacy bra. I never wear those things because they itch. If a woman is wearing lacy under things its because she likes you, not because they are comfortable. I put on my neat clothes and checked in the mirror. Looking good, but not great.
I proceeded to do my make-up. Another thing I don't usually do. It's not that I don't' like make-up, its that I hate to take it off. and then I always forget I am wearing it and I rub my eyes and smear everything all over my face. But this was special so I did my self up nice.
I heard Doug pull up and he was playing ball with the kids in the yard. The weather was nice enough to not have to wear a coat and snow was melted so it was a good day to be outside. My daughter KD came down to get me. I couldn't just be ready on the couch waiting. No woman waits for a man. The man always has to wait for the lady.
I stepped outside and Doug turned to look at me. "That's not fair!" he said.
"What's not fair?"
"You look like that and I look like this? Everyone will wonder why you went slumming."
I was thrilled with the response. Hopefully I will get it tonight too.
We had been hanging out as friends (with benefits) for a while but never officially went out. One day he sent me an email and officially asked me out on a date for Friday April 19th. I said sure and then thought for 5 days of what I would wear.
I had lost a bunch of weight and had this awesome pair of suede-like black pants that I would wear with a neatly pressed white button up shirt. I ironed everything and laid it out nicely. Picked out some black trouser socks with a little design and my favorite black clogs. I hopped in the shower.
I shaved my legs, twice and my underarms once. It was just barely spring in Utah and so it wasn't shorts weather yet which meant that I hadn't been shaving regularly. I was pretty slick now. I used my favorite body soap called Happy. It matched my favorite perfume by the same name. Washed my hair and got out.
At this time my hair was cut to about 2 inches above my scalp and I wore it with a lot of gel all spiked up. I was pretty tough looking. Then I dressed. Of course I wore clean lacy underwear with a matching lacy bra. I never wear those things because they itch. If a woman is wearing lacy under things its because she likes you, not because they are comfortable. I put on my neat clothes and checked in the mirror. Looking good, but not great.
I proceeded to do my make-up. Another thing I don't usually do. It's not that I don't' like make-up, its that I hate to take it off. and then I always forget I am wearing it and I rub my eyes and smear everything all over my face. But this was special so I did my self up nice.
I heard Doug pull up and he was playing ball with the kids in the yard. The weather was nice enough to not have to wear a coat and snow was melted so it was a good day to be outside. My daughter KD came down to get me. I couldn't just be ready on the couch waiting. No woman waits for a man. The man always has to wait for the lady.
I stepped outside and Doug turned to look at me. "That's not fair!" he said.
"What's not fair?"
"You look like that and I look like this? Everyone will wonder why you went slumming."
I was thrilled with the response. Hopefully I will get it tonight too.
Thursday, January 5, 2012
Write about a day moon
We were on Popi's boat. Popi is my father. When my children were born we came up with that name for him. It suits him well.
Anyway, we were on Popi's boat on a beautiful day in December. South Carolina for New Year's Eve and we were on a boat. No snow. No wind. Nothing but sunshine and salt water. Awesome does not even begin to describe the day.
As we were speeding along toward Dufuskie Island on our way to a lovely outdoor bar and grill for some shrimp and hotdogs, the three little girls were watching the wake off the back of the boat. By three little girls, I mean my two daughters and my niece. Lina and Maggie are mine and they are 6 and 8 with brown hair, brown eyes and brown skin. Olivia is my brother's daughter. She is 5 with white blond hair, blue eyes and fair skin. My dad like to stand them next to each other with Olivia in the middle and call them his Oreo cookie.
So, they are watching the wake and Lina looks up and yells, "Look at the moon!" I glance behind me and see a lovely grayish white quarter moon neatly pressed into the clear blue sky. I don't give a lot of thought to daylight moons because I took astronomy and understand that it's a reflection. But these little girls were fascinated. Maggie exclaims in wonder, "We are going so fast we are in the night and the day doesn't even know it!" Olivia looks at her confused but then nods her head because she didn't have a better idea.
It made me think about how when we get older we lose our little person. We get so much knowledge that we cloud our imagination. Since I knew why I could see the moon I didn't stop to think of a great story about the moon. Sometimes my mind gets so clogged with useless information that I get a backlog of imagination. Like in your sink when there is too much hair or grease in there. The water pools and has no place to go. My imagination pools and has no place to go and becomes stagnant. How very sad that is.
That's why I have decided to start writing again. This writing exercise is like the draino to my clogged imagination. But 30 minutes with a clogged imagination can be a long time.
Anyway, we were on Popi's boat on a beautiful day in December. South Carolina for New Year's Eve and we were on a boat. No snow. No wind. Nothing but sunshine and salt water. Awesome does not even begin to describe the day.
As we were speeding along toward Dufuskie Island on our way to a lovely outdoor bar and grill for some shrimp and hotdogs, the three little girls were watching the wake off the back of the boat. By three little girls, I mean my two daughters and my niece. Lina and Maggie are mine and they are 6 and 8 with brown hair, brown eyes and brown skin. Olivia is my brother's daughter. She is 5 with white blond hair, blue eyes and fair skin. My dad like to stand them next to each other with Olivia in the middle and call them his Oreo cookie.
So, they are watching the wake and Lina looks up and yells, "Look at the moon!" I glance behind me and see a lovely grayish white quarter moon neatly pressed into the clear blue sky. I don't give a lot of thought to daylight moons because I took astronomy and understand that it's a reflection. But these little girls were fascinated. Maggie exclaims in wonder, "We are going so fast we are in the night and the day doesn't even know it!" Olivia looks at her confused but then nods her head because she didn't have a better idea.
It made me think about how when we get older we lose our little person. We get so much knowledge that we cloud our imagination. Since I knew why I could see the moon I didn't stop to think of a great story about the moon. Sometimes my mind gets so clogged with useless information that I get a backlog of imagination. Like in your sink when there is too much hair or grease in there. The water pools and has no place to go. My imagination pools and has no place to go and becomes stagnant. How very sad that is.
That's why I have decided to start writing again. This writing exercise is like the draino to my clogged imagination. But 30 minutes with a clogged imagination can be a long time.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
"A Year After Your Death..."
I can't clean out your side of the closet. I could really use the space. But I need to see your things hanging there more than I need the space. Your shoes are still in a nice neat row while mine are strewn everywhere. They're dusty. I hate that they are dusty. It proves that you aren't wearing them. That you will never where them again.
I went to Church on Sunday, but I just sat in the parking lot. I was all dressed up in that orange skirt with the orange button up shirt. But I couldn't get out of the car. I just can't go where everyone knew you. I can't go to places where you are supposed to be but aren't. Besides that, everyone is so nice. They all look at me funny. With sympathy or pity or relief that they aren't in my shoes.
I keep thinking that I'll get over it, but part of me doesn't want to. I don't want to get over "it." I don't want to get over you.
I guess I could start by cleaning out the closet. You never wore most of those clothes anyway. Jeans and a t-shirt is all you wore. Dressier stuff for Sunday, but not your most comfortable outfit and you always looked uncomfortable in your suit.
Yeah, I'll start with all shirts you never wore. I'll take them off their white hangers and put them in a big black garbage bag and donate them to the Homeless shelter. Then I will go for your pants that always have a crease from the white hanger because you never took them off the hanger. They will go in the garbage bag too. It's very dark in there. I will leave the top of it open while I find more stuff to put inside.
Not the ties. I loved your ties. They all meant something to you. The one that you wore when we got married. JB's tie matched. Then there is the Tasmanian devil one and the baseball and football ones and the Christmas one too. I will hang on to those for a bit longer.
Then I will move on to the two suits. Some barrel chested short guy will look like a king in your suits. I'll even give away the Hugo Boss my father accidentally gave you. I won't tell if you don't tell. And all the jackets. You have so many jackets that you never wore because you never got cold. Of course, I will keep the ugly Raiders one because you loved it so.
Now there are a bunch of white hangers and a lot of empty space in my closet. But not really because I still can't clean it out. I can only imagine how empty your side of the closet would be because your side of my heart is completely vacant.
I went to Church on Sunday, but I just sat in the parking lot. I was all dressed up in that orange skirt with the orange button up shirt. But I couldn't get out of the car. I just can't go where everyone knew you. I can't go to places where you are supposed to be but aren't. Besides that, everyone is so nice. They all look at me funny. With sympathy or pity or relief that they aren't in my shoes.
I keep thinking that I'll get over it, but part of me doesn't want to. I don't want to get over "it." I don't want to get over you.
I guess I could start by cleaning out the closet. You never wore most of those clothes anyway. Jeans and a t-shirt is all you wore. Dressier stuff for Sunday, but not your most comfortable outfit and you always looked uncomfortable in your suit.
Yeah, I'll start with all shirts you never wore. I'll take them off their white hangers and put them in a big black garbage bag and donate them to the Homeless shelter. Then I will go for your pants that always have a crease from the white hanger because you never took them off the hanger. They will go in the garbage bag too. It's very dark in there. I will leave the top of it open while I find more stuff to put inside.
Not the ties. I loved your ties. They all meant something to you. The one that you wore when we got married. JB's tie matched. Then there is the Tasmanian devil one and the baseball and football ones and the Christmas one too. I will hang on to those for a bit longer.
Then I will move on to the two suits. Some barrel chested short guy will look like a king in your suits. I'll even give away the Hugo Boss my father accidentally gave you. I won't tell if you don't tell. And all the jackets. You have so many jackets that you never wore because you never got cold. Of course, I will keep the ugly Raiders one because you loved it so.
Now there are a bunch of white hangers and a lot of empty space in my closet. But not really because I still can't clean it out. I can only imagine how empty your side of the closet would be because your side of my heart is completely vacant.
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
You're Standing in a Doorway
"The damn key won't work."
"What do you mean, it won't work?"
"It won't work! It doesn't turn! And I'm freezing!"
Beth and Dave were finally home from a long trip to see her grandparents. They were an older couple living just a few hours away, but the weather had been rainy and they were both tired and eager to get home to sleep in their own bed.
"Here, give it to me. Let me try."
She handed the key to him and said,
"You are so big and strong and capable. I'm so glad you are here to take care of little ol' me" she said with a bite in her voice.
The deadbold clicked into place and the door swung open. She would be eating her words tonight.
Beth and Dave had been married for almost five years and most of it had been blistfull and sweet. There were fights that were rooted in money, but ended in either a compromise or hot sex. Either way, with the passage of time, each fight ended and their marriage became stronger. Although, lately, Beth was bored and Dave was complacent.
They entered their home but something wasn't right. There was a smell in the air that didn't belong in their home. Smoke. It smelled smokey. But not like something was on fire. Something neither of them could put their finger on, but it made them move cautiously.
"What is that?" she whispered.
"Beats me. Smells like a campfire."
After a few steps into their cozy home they realized that someone had been in there. It wasn't that things were in disaray or were missing. They could feel someone else's presence in the home. A chill ran up Beth's spine.
"Who's there?!" Shouted Dave as he reached for the nearest weapon he could find. A broken umbrella.
"Come out now!" but no one came out.
They strided from room to room. Dave first with Beth close to his left side. Not directly next to him, but not behind him either. The umbrella like a baseball bat on his right shoulder. Beth flicked on every light as they passed each switch. Soon the house was lit up like a Christmas tree. They checked every room, every closet, every cupboard. By they time they had canvased the entire house, every door was open like wide mouths waiting to say something profound.
They found nothing. No one.
"What do you mean, it won't work?"
"It won't work! It doesn't turn! And I'm freezing!"
Beth and Dave were finally home from a long trip to see her grandparents. They were an older couple living just a few hours away, but the weather had been rainy and they were both tired and eager to get home to sleep in their own bed.
"Here, give it to me. Let me try."
She handed the key to him and said,
"You are so big and strong and capable. I'm so glad you are here to take care of little ol' me" she said with a bite in her voice.
The deadbold clicked into place and the door swung open. She would be eating her words tonight.
Beth and Dave had been married for almost five years and most of it had been blistfull and sweet. There were fights that were rooted in money, but ended in either a compromise or hot sex. Either way, with the passage of time, each fight ended and their marriage became stronger. Although, lately, Beth was bored and Dave was complacent.
They entered their home but something wasn't right. There was a smell in the air that didn't belong in their home. Smoke. It smelled smokey. But not like something was on fire. Something neither of them could put their finger on, but it made them move cautiously.
"What is that?" she whispered.
"Beats me. Smells like a campfire."
After a few steps into their cozy home they realized that someone had been in there. It wasn't that things were in disaray or were missing. They could feel someone else's presence in the home. A chill ran up Beth's spine.
"Who's there?!" Shouted Dave as he reached for the nearest weapon he could find. A broken umbrella.
"Come out now!" but no one came out.
They strided from room to room. Dave first with Beth close to his left side. Not directly next to him, but not behind him either. The umbrella like a baseball bat on his right shoulder. Beth flicked on every light as they passed each switch. Soon the house was lit up like a Christmas tree. They checked every room, every closet, every cupboard. By they time they had canvased the entire house, every door was open like wide mouths waiting to say something profound.
They found nothing. No one.
A Writer's Book of Days
One of my New Year's Resolutions this year is to get back into writing. So, I have retrieved my favorite book from my college days called, A Writer's Book of Days by Judy Reeves. In it are 365 prompts to get me to write about something every day.
So, I will write everyday. I will write around 7 pm every night when everyone has been fed, girls bathed and watching TV. I plan on writing for 30 minutes every sitting. Each heading will have the prompt for that day and my unedited writing.
Please feel free to read. Critique. Give me constructive criticism. Please remember that telling me that I suck is not constructive. After you tell my I suck, then tell me why I suck and how I can improve on my suckiness.
OK, here we go!
So, I will write everyday. I will write around 7 pm every night when everyone has been fed, girls bathed and watching TV. I plan on writing for 30 minutes every sitting. Each heading will have the prompt for that day and my unedited writing.
Please feel free to read. Critique. Give me constructive criticism. Please remember that telling me that I suck is not constructive. After you tell my I suck, then tell me why I suck and how I can improve on my suckiness.
OK, here we go!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)