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Thank you and here is your assignment! - Page 2

post #21 of 36

The day I died it was raining...

The day I died it was raining. I had waited for so long for rain to come to the desert and now that it was here I couldn't enjoy it, since I was hovering somewhere bodyless over the wetness watching the pieces of my discarded flesh being loaded into the trunk of a car.

I knew my boyfriend wasn't the one who had done this, but I had questions. How could this have happened without my noticing? How did he get my body and how long has it been like that? Is he really planning on using that shovel to bury it?

How sad, I cried into the space around me, what a pity for my precious body, those strong legs that carried me faithfully to my classes, my hands that have created, sketched, molded and loved. Now it is broken into black and yellowish rotting chunks when yesterday it served me so well. I could feel my heart breaking as it was further torn from my physical self.

I was overcome with grief and so I followed the lonely car in the late afternoon growing darkness on winding roads through the tree-lined canyons as the rain slashed down. My body, I want my body back. Why does he have it, and where is he taking it?

I watched the tiny car creep along the road down there, turn a corner and disappear from my sight, then whispered goodbye. I knew I had no choice, so I let my attachment to my physical presence just melt away... Goodbye hair and eyes, goodbye fingers, ankles... And I wondered what would come next.

Sorry if it grosses anyone out! In case you're wondering, it's from a dream I had in college.
post #22 of 36

the last time i had seen him

The last time i had seen him..... i really cant recollect. Did my eyes meet his or did they just look on as he talked with my mother or watched television? Did he know this would be the last time that he would ever see me? Did it matter?

I was a baby. I have been told that he came home late, missed my first birthday. Well that was just a precursor to all the other firsts he would miss. Somewhere in the deep tissues of my brain there lies that image of him from those many years ago. i just cannot bring it into the present day. Too many other images and memories fill my brain and have pushed those back from my earliest days. He was my father but that cannot be the right word? There should be a word that can define a man that only provides the sperm in the creating and raising of his child. I have struggled to find this word and am still looking.....

post #23 of 36

For some, Spring is their time of renewal. They do their Spring Cleaning, freshen up their homes, plant their gardens; they diet to renew their bodies and start exercising as the weather warms up.

Here I am in snowbound New Englnad, dong all of those things out-of-sync with my neighbors. For me, being stuck in the house makes me notice the gathering of cobwebs in the corners, the algae growing in the fish tank, the mold on the bathroom walls. I have time now. It will be much harder to find time to clean come Spring.

I start some of my seedlings now; parsley, lettuce, brocolli, spinach popping up on my windowsill. I repot my houseplants in preparation of their new Spring growth.

We'll paint the upstairs hall one weekend, stack all the books on shelves, and put down a rug. DD's room will get a makeover, curtains, platform bed, paint and tile floor.

Each New Year, I begin an exercise regime. I vow to eat healthy,, to walk, to use the exercise bike and the weights. I usually last a few months.

As others begin their renewal, I stretch my slightly more lithe body, plant my half-grown greens and start my final seedlings; tomatoes and peppers. My house is clean; cobwebs banished, old or unused items hauled to the recycling center.

This means that in the Spring I am free to spend many hours planting peaas and turning over a new bed for asparagus. I'll have time to watch over our piglets and to cook them oatmeal on cold mornings, to hook up a system of hoses so we'll have running water down there.

Sorry, now that I have an assignment, I'm having trouble making a point. Just went no where.

To all our newbies, WELCOME. If you're unsure how this all works, go here: http://www.mothering.com/discussions...d.php?t=204593 The rules are listed and things are explained.

Now to get something cohesive written!
post #24 of 36


Yesterday it all seemed so bleak and gray. I felt tired, fat, and overworked and underappreciated. I haven't been practicing writing or yoga. All i have been doing is cleaning, feeding, clothing, diapering, and being a good mama. And that's okay. Peggy O'mara's A quiet place editorial for this month made me appreciate myself more. She made me realize that I am doing a good thing for society by raising my kids myself in my home.That, this, in and of itself, is Activism. What a thought! I felt like I was kind of "off the hook,"--like, okay this is all I need to do, and do it well...but not really, because it's not all I can do. When I don't write I feel miserable. When i don't do yoga my life isn't quite in balance. It is so frustrating when it doesn't all fit in, but sometimes it just doesn't. Today, I have caught up with my "self." In the midst of the mothering, I am mothering myself with a bit of writing, a bit of venting, and hopefully a bit of stretching. Sometimes the urge to escape is so strong. Then the reality sets in: the only way out is in.
post #25 of 36

So glad to find you all!

Hi there!

First, Tonya, I'm so glad you're here! I just found you all today and am so glad that you didn't leave before I even started!

Second, I'm not sure how much I'll be able to contribute, but I love that this forum exists. (Uh oh... there's my little one... even in the sling she doesn't like me doing anything but HER... LOL) I'll write more later...
post #26 of 36
Ok, just fiction, don't worry.

My child looked up at me with pleading eyes. She cowered in the corner, hunched down like a hunted animal, terror clearly written across her face. Her cries reach my ears but not my heart.

I have told that stupid kid at least a hundred times notto leave her dirty dishes in the living room. If she'd brought them to the kitchen, the damn bowl of left over pasta and sauce wouldn't have been knocked all over the couch and rug! She's always leaving messes that Ihave to clean. And it's going to take forever to get it all out!

Rage fills me, overwhelms me. I feel it boil up in me, rising like a cloud of steam, pressure building. Sure, she's crying now. She's sorry, now. Sorry because she knows she's going to get it, not sorry that she didn't put her dishes in the sink.

She cowers there, hands covering her head, saying, "No, Mummy, pleeeease! I'm sorry. I'm sorry! I'll clean it, Mummy! I'll clean it up!" Ha! LIke she'd really get that mess out of the rug! She'd just make it worse.

Well, this is the last time this damn kid does as she pleases and get away with it! I'm done being ignored!

Slap! Slap! A few good exclamation points to my telling her what a slob she is, how stupid! Leaving the bowl balanced like that! Smack! How many times, slap, have I told you! Smack!

She covers her head. Smacking her arms won't do any good! I smack at her back, ribs, but she's wedged in that damn corner. I'll drag her out! I grab her arm, pull, slap, smack. She tries to pull away, tugs at the arm I grip, crys. I look again at the bowl overturned on the rug.

I can feel my control slipping. If she'd just stssand still and take the beating she deserves! All this tuging and struggling! I'll be on my knees forever scrubbing that stain out. And she knows she's not supposed to leave her dishes in here!

I swing her around and get a few smacks in. Her lip is bleeding, she must have bumped it trying to get away. Ungrateful, stupid, kid. I let her go; she runs to her room.

The bowl was actually pretty empty. There is only a bit to clean off the rug, most of it comes up easily. I use a cold, soapy rag and it's gone.

I make a cup of tea. The house is quiet. Too quiet. No sounds from the tv, no blaring radio. I turn on the one beside me. Somehow, it's still too quiet.

I sip my tea, do the dishes, feed the cats. I wonder if her lip is okay where she bumped it. I'll take a bag of ice in to her. Maybe see what she'd like for dinner.
post #27 of 36
There is nothing like a Snow Day. Not a snowy day, but a Snow Day. A day with so much snow, the school's closed and your parents have to stay home.

As a kid the inconvenience of such a storm never concerned me. Adults were left to shovel out their driveways and stairs and walks. And I suppose it was my mother who mopped up melted snow and dried soggy mittens.

A Snow Day, for a child, is different than for an adult. Snow Day means freedom. Freedom from school, routine, chores, boundaries, even the usual menu. Everything blurs. That the day off from school would be tacked on in June wasn't worth worrying about in January. Besides, kids rarely believe in the future. Here and Now are all that matter. Sledding, ice skating, building forts and digging out snow drifts, cocoa and grilled cheese sandwiches, even the chance to make some money if you didn't mind working made the possibility of another day in June worth the risk.

So, here I am, long since an adult, responsible for digging out and keeping the family warm. Is it wrong that I secretly delight in a Snow Day?

That tiny bits of frozen water can amass in such amounts as to close down your section of the world for a day, is magic. Magic made by Mother Nature.

Feedback welcome on both pieces.
post #28 of 36
renewal, light...

I am hoping for a renewell and I am thinking that I do see the light at the end of this long and dark tunnel that death has taken me on.
I have been with death before, grandparents, bosses, friends, aunts and uncles, but never have I been with death like this.
My life caught in a holding pattern of doing everything but doing nothing.
I would listen to my children but I did not hear them,
I would watch my children, but I did not see them,
I even held my children lots, but did not feel them.
Now I sit here 9 months gone by and I begin to feel the need for an ending.
Time to say goodbye and let go of the father I no longer have,
however hard it may be.
post #29 of 36
Hi ladies!
I'm new too!! I think this forum is sooo great! What a wonderful way for us to express ourselves.. and take me time to do it!
I'm really excited to start writing and sharing with everyone..
so here goes...

the last time I had seen him....

A year ago last Sunday to be exact. I remember driving in my car taking us all to the bar, we were listening to Old Time Radio. I think it was snowing.
Theres so many things about that night I wish I could remember, what did you play on the jukebox?? I wish I could recall every last word that night, I may have if I had know they would be the last I would hear. What was the last thing I said to you? Or you to me? A year ago last Sunday.
Did I at least give you a hug? If I had known, maybe I could remember.
I know we had fun, we spoke in German; which we often did. It had turned into our secret language.
We played darts and drank beer. (Trinken trinken trinken!) I bet you won at darts, you always did. I loved how you would throw them, gently yet so precise. You were probably wearing your grey hat, the one you wore all the time and would sometimes even let me wear. I wish I remembered more than a hat.
A year ago last Sunday we played pool. Sitting by the fire exit drinking our pitcher out of silly little glasses. We were a team and together we won the table back for all of us to play. I'm glad we were a team, I wish that hadn't been the last time. I know we had a good time, we laughed alot; but then again we always did. If only I could remember what made us laugh that night, so I had something more to hold on to.
We went back to my house, probably listened to a record or two. I wish I remember which ones. Where did you sit, which chair did you choose? I wonder if you were sitting next to me. It seemed like an average Sunday night, I never thought it would be the last time I would see you. If I had known, I would have brought a camera, a video camera even. So I could remember even the small things. When you left my house that night how did you leave? What kind of good bye was said? I'd like to believe that I hugged you. If I had known, I wouldn't have let go!
Just a year ago last Sunday.

Wow! Thanks that was really theraputic to write!
post #30 of 36

Not sure I posted in right place

This looks like the closest thing to a feedback thread, or at least one where we can talk rather than write...talk about writing. Several weeks ago I wrote to say I had to step back from the writers group because of a big work project looming.

Well I had my big deadline, and the night before I had to do my final preparation, my computer would not start. I guess the final version of my project really was the final one! No last minute changes!!

It has taken a month to get back on my e-feet. I'm not sure when I'll feel settled enough to write. I'm very lucky because all my data was salvaged (thousands of pictures of Dd, much of my recent creative writing, no to mention work). My computer started one more time after I got it back from the genie who got my data off. Then it froze and has not behaved ever again.

Much of my time has been spent setting up my new system.

I'm glad to see the workshop is still here, and seems that it will be able to accomodate my drifting back in when things are more settled.

Tanya, thanks for your flexibility and willingness to continue to share your talents!
post #31 of 36


Has fate, with it's double edged sword, brought me back to reason?
Have I lain in wait to long to be thought of anything but treason?

My mother's milk lay dormant, I have nothing left to give.
Oh how I ache, and crave and humbly hope that she will see that I exist.

Cold my hands have become without her nestled there.
Heart throbbing, lap empty as I caress her teddy bear.

I do remember a time, when time was all we had
And for what I have been given I can only be but glad.

Days of soft splender through rows of corn we ran,
Dipping our feet in the sea while sitting in the wet, cold sand.

Memories come crashing back, like waves of days gone by.
I clearly see her as she waves her hand goodbye.

I try to stop the tears, to stop the ache I feel,
But nothing that I have or hold can ever I keep concealed.

My thoughts are all 'if onlys' my mind cannot replace,
As I sit and rock this empty lap, I am full of mere disgrace.

Lost in a world I cannot hide from, but dying to escape,
I feel a cold dark nothing creep across my nape.

Then, as if suddenly, like a blast from a quick spring air,
I see a slight resemblance, perhaps it's in her hair.

A smile I see, and then I know, she has come to take me home.
My love, my life has found me in my dark and dismal hole.

She touches my hair, caresses my cheek, and takes me by the hand.
A whisper is all I need to here and I am on my feet at last.

I lift my eyes and yes it's true she does know I exist.
My daughter has returned to me and in this I feel bliss.
post #32 of 36

The Last time I had seen him...

Was the day I left for North Carolina from Oregon. I was in May, warm and sunny. He looked sad, perhaps disappointed, that his flighty, freespirited daughter was on the move again. Before I got in my car for the last time in Oregon, I looked up to see his tear-filled eyes, and my heart broke.

Six years later I had still not returned home, as money had been tight. I went from living with a man I thought I loved, and who I thought loved me in return, to living with a friend and making internet romance again. Then to moving in with my future husband, and making a baby. It was only months later that we wed. I was sorry that he could not come.

Three years earlier he became ill. His chest and legs began to hurt, and then his hands. He had arthritis, and a muscle-deteriorating disease, that took him bit by bit. Talking about the last time I saw him isn't what hurts, what rips at my insides, what crushes me and makes it unbearable to take a breath, no, that is not what hurts. It's our last phone call, a month before his death that keeps the wound fresh.

He called and asked that i come home for Thanksgiving. I can't say that his voice held any urgency, or that there was a need for me to return quickly. Thanksgiving afterall, was a month away. I said I would try, he said, good. We talked about the weather, about our car(he was a mechanic) and about my daughter, his granddaughter. We talked about my husband and how he thought I could probably kick his butt(he always wanted me to be the tough one, like him), and we talked about being sick. He fell into a little dementia and argued with my mother about a car he had for me, that she said was sold already. Because he had not been out of his bed in a year, he did not believe it. He KNEW the car was in the garage in the backyard. I could hear that he was genuinely upset with her for lying to him,and it then that he cried and begged me to come home and take care of him. Oh, how I longed for our missed relationship, the one we never had, or the one I wanted and thought we never had. Perhaps if I had not been wanting such a perfect thing I may have enjoyed the one thing we had, that now I cannot recall.

He sobbered up and we talked of lighter things, the car again forgotten. He tired easily then and so we began to say our goodbyes. I said, "I love you dad" and he said, "I love you too babe" and I said goodbye and hung up the phone.

I can happily say, I have no regrets about my fathers death as we parted on a high note. My father said he loved me, and that is worth a lifetime of happiness.
post #33 of 36

Looking forward to this exchange!


Thank yo so much for this opportunity to share my love for, and desire to learn , writing! This is my first time here, and my firtst assignment, so I hope I am doing this correctly! I will, indeed, complete this by week's end!

Thank You so much
post #34 of 36

Yesterday seemed so...

Yesterday seemd so blissful. The text books lay on the yellowish peeling desk and the soccer cleats settled in the corner of the closet, knowing this was not a hibernation, but a permanent burial. The first 100 miles headed west were perfect. Road signs were the cheerleaders of my adult life. The reflective green and white uniforms with mileage numbers glistening like pom-poms. We had a map and no plan. Homemaking was finding a flat surface for our Coleman stove and responsibility only came when the gas tank was empty. I left small bits of my childhood at each state we passed. The Pacific brought sun and love and music and freedom and also loss and hunger and broken hearts. The vultures above must have missed the crumbs I'd left, because the trail remained strong for many years until it lead me home again, until the blissful years of yesterdays seemed too tiresome and heavy. It's funny how memories sometimes can only wear smiles, the future can always wear hope and the present gets lost in between.

I wrote this as a free write and it didn't make sense (well still doesn't) but I liked it a lot so it has been a base for a more substantial writing. Thanks for the assignment! I'll try to post what it turns into later and maybe get some feedback!
post #35 of 36

New here!

I'm new - wrote a piece above.

spacedog - beautiful and emotional , loved it!

Question of where to post questions?

In case here is a good spot:
I'm leading a small journal writing class at my daughter's school (for adults) Anybody done that or have any tips for me - I've never lead or taught ANYTHING! :
post #36 of 36
I'm new here and soooo happy that there is a forum for us craazy writers~~~~~~~Too tired to post anything now, i hope i will be able to soon.

Thank you whoever started this

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