She Built Her House for the Next Five Decades - Maya

She walked into the new room and breathed in deeply. Ah, the good smell of freshly cut wood.

- Yes - she thought - I like this. It has a good feeling. Now I can stop. This will satisfy the demand.

She ordered furniture, chose a deep blue for the paint, and decided which of the new Oriental rugs would look best on the hardwood floor. This was something she could do. She liked being busy.

But at night, when the workmen were gone and the servants had all gone to sleep, she was left with her solitude. And that unsettled feeling began creeping back in.

Lying in her big canopy bed, alone, in the bedroom more than large enough to accomodate two, she was keenly aware of the vacancy on the other side of the mattress. Even on summer nights she often felt chilled in her clean sheets. And in the quiet she heard it call to her - it cried,it whispered in her brain. The house. It wanted more. It wanted to grow. If only her daughter had lived.... maybe a child would have satisfied it - a bright, happy, living thing filling all the empty space. But there was no child, and the house grew restless, bitter.

Every time she got fooled. She would truly believe that if she just gave it one more room or added one more wing it would retreat into silent contentment, it would snuggle down onto its foundations with an almost audible sigh of relief. Every time. But no sooner had she given in to its demands when it started again.

"Stop torturing me," she whispered. "You must be satisfied, Enough is enough."

- Never enough - she heard the reply. - Never. I must grow. Grow! Grow! -

She turned over and pulled the pillow over her head. It didn't help. She knew it wouldn't. This was not new and would not be any different from the other times. How could she be so naive as to think it would let her go. She would never be free.

Tears leaked out of her eyes, soaking into the bedding. If only she could sell the house, move away. To a cottage by the ocean or in the mountains - where the clean wind would scour her troubled mind clear of its burdens. But she couldn't. It was the house where she'd borne her child, that her husband had built for her, just for her. She couldn't abandon it.

So she did what she always did. Gave up and gave in. Sent for the contractor. Planned another addition. So the house could grow, like a living thing. Like the real,lving thing it wanted to be, drove her to make it be.

prompt from 1/19/08 (exact wording of prompt not recorded, but about Sarah Winchester)

Besides the Heat - dixie

Besides the heat, it's the dirt, the noise, and the inscrutable foreign words flapping around me like too many parakeets in the cage at the pet shop. I am certain of nothing. I am in control of nothing, except my own silence and the fake expression of calm on my face. Luckily, they go for el senor, who speaks at least some of the language. La senora gets to hide behind the suitcases and clutch her purse.

The taxi feels like a steam room, smells like a, well I don't know what. I am sweating, something I don't do. I lean against the door as we bump through the streets, sliding and honking. I wish for huge arms around me and a nice cup of tea, but his arms are busy grappling with the itinerary that he and the driver are going on about. And this doesn't seem like a cup of tea sort of country.


Prompt: besides the heat
1/25/08

Hate/Love - Greg

Prompt 12/30/2006: Think of a person you don't like and describe what you don't like and what you might say if you had to share an elevator ride.


I hated him and he hated me, and when I stepped into the elevator we looked at each other and knew what had to be, even before the doors thumped closed.

I stood to one side and he the other, but we could feel the animosity rising like noxious air in a small container. He whispered under his breath, and I turned threw a wild punch that skidded off the top of his head. He rolled with the punch then countered with his own punch which hit me on the side of the face. Then I hit him in the mouth, and I could feel with satisfaction the splash of something warm on my fist. But then he hit me in the nose and my eyes watered and the metallic taste of blood flooded my mouth.

We grabbed each other’s shirts, but it was unnecessary because neither would run away even if we could, and so we traded punch after punch like two hockey players in the middle of the rink. Now his nose was bleeding and now his mouth. I was bleeding over the left eye and both nostrils. Still we kept pounding.

The elevator stopped and the door opened. Two well-dressed old ladies stood at the door and froze, their mouths ajar and silent. We continued whaling on each other ad the door closed.

After a while the velocity of our punches slowed, our arms tiring. Blood splattered over the walls, but we did not stop. It was glorious! Soon we stopped punching, but I grabbed him and threw him against the wall, then he me. We danced about the elevator in a violent bloody dance macabre. The elevator door opened again and we fell to the floor in front of the two ladies who stepped back. The door repeatedly closed and opened on our two writhing bodies until we rolled back in.

It closed once more and in a moment we stopped and held each other in our grips breathing in each other breath, lost in exhaustion. “I hate you,” he said, but with not much conviction. “And I hate you,” I said, but realized, right then, right now, that I may have also loved him.

Another Woman - Maya

Another woman
would keep her mouth shut,
not spout her fervent beliefs
like a speaker on a soapbox.

Another woman
would have chosen
equity over experience,
settling down, and
just plain settling.

Another woman
would have stayed the course,
refused distraction and
the pangs of the heart
that lead to upheaval.

Another woman
would not vacillate hearing
the voices that preach security and
the voices that harp on ideals.

Another woman
would not succumb to worry,
knowing that it never helps
and only constricts.

Another woman
would revel in her children’s independence
instead of mourning
their day-to-day absence in her life.

Another woman
would live in gratitude every moment
for her sojourn on this gorgeous planet
and not slip into the mundane
routine of forgetting.

But I am not
another woman.
I am this woman,
led by my heart and
pulled by the conflicting voices,
a woman who
worries,
mourns,
forgets.

I am this woman,
this aging, outspoken, heart-stirred,
frightened and sometimes grateful woman,
This woman,
with this particular life
and not
another.



Prompt: Another Woman, 12/27/07

Bikini / October 21, 2007 Melinda Jean

You never know. It's been said before, of course, about kisses, sex maybe even roller skating. Lasting in memory the bikini I wore and looked good...1981 I believe and a small miracle because my baby had been born a year earlier. I had a job where I could wear a bikini half the day. I was a nanny escorted by my daughter, everyday we'd show up at the professor's home and her husband, an eye surgeon. I cooked, cleaned and took care of all our children, they had a big yard which in the summer we spent much time in with projects, painting and water play all in my perfect bikini. Not to say I don't wear a bikini, I will, do, but it takes a certain forgiveness or allowance for what naturally occurs, like the bubbly yeasty content in bread before it rises, just hanging out in cotton ball softness. It helps to know that the soft fat of a women is given to her so she can easily assimilate food for her babies. It softens my heart. And there is a certain comfort expressed in a woman's body that fills in the curves with swishes and soulful sways. Yes the last time the bikini was perfect may have been 1981, but the way I fill in the denim of my jeans is a new one for the memory book.

glass all around

prompt: glass all around, oct. 13 2007

bright eyes (if you steal her sunshine)

Links back to my blog because it was 7 pages long in word perfect and I didn't want to clog up this blog.

Bird Flu

“You don’t look too good”, my buddy says to me as he flies past. We are circling the park yet again. Now the leader is changing directions. We turn and go the other way. Moving together- rising, gliding, flapping harder to lift higher into the air. It was true. I did feel a little under the weather. But that was just it, this crazy weather kept changing. One day it was hot and the next could be so cold that I felt like my tail feathers would freeze right off! But what choice did I have? There is no such thing as calling in sick for a bird. So here I am with the rest of the flock.

The sun had recently made its way above the horizon, slowly spreading its light to the awakening world. The soft colors tinted the morning clouds. We flew together as one- one body, one accord. Then we landed in the uppermost branches of the tall redwoods that were on the perimeter of the park. What a vantage point this was! What a view! We could watch the slumbering neighborhood come to life. Of course the joggers were always out early, and those with not quite so much energy were doing their walking laps. And there is the Chinese exercise group- what's that called again? Oh yeah, Tai Chi. Here comes the whole parade of dog walkers with those crazy mutts pulling at their leashes, watching for squirrels to chase. Has any dog ever caught one? The kids are coming too, with their heavy book laden backpacks weighing them down on their way to another day of education. Most of them don’t look too enthusiastic, though. Poor teachers, what a job they have! Oh look, there’s even a couple on their way to the tennis courts for an early game. How can they play next to the distracting sound of the crossing guard’s whistle blowing every few seconds?

I usually enjoy watching this scene unfold before me every day. But today I feel a little off. Sitting way up here I actually begin to feel slightly dizzy. What an odd sensation! What could be the matter with me? Hope I didn’t eat a bad worm or something. Uh oh, the leader is looking to take flight again. I want to follow. My whole being longs to soar through the air and be a part of this flock. But my body is resisting. I just can’t do it.

“Hey”, I say to my friend. “I’m heading home. I think I have the flu.”

Prompt: Bird Flu 10/6/07