Wk13 Theme ~ Vignettes

We make our drive down the winding dirt road to my aunt’s house; it is a familiar drive around the holidays, though this year I make the trip without. The driveway is already full of cars, long lost relatives you see once or twice a year. White lights glow from the porch outside; the smokers are cast out into the cold for their fits of nicotine along with begging dogs. Inside the place is a buzz, coats pilled high on top of the washing machine, muddy boots and shoes littering the welcome mat under my feet. Side conversations are everywhere along with running children. Most everyone momentarily looks up when someone new arrives, hollering out a greeting of sorts. There are wondrous aromas filling the air from the cooking food, all the different dishes prepared by everyone. The women are of course gathered around the kitchen while little kids weave in and out and others grab hors d'oeuvres. The men are confined mostly to the living room and bar, drinking and carrying on, just in from hunting and telling tall tales. Peeking into the dining room I glimpse the large oak table all decked out with the Thanksgiving trimmings, the good china, cloth napkins, wine glasses and a harvest center piece. I love the red and gold table cloth that accents the gold china. Everything is so beautiful and proper; it’s funny of how it’s going to look after dinner.

Wk12 Take Two

She picks up her worn and tattered, green gardening coat off the hanger along with her gloves before heading outside into the garden. A familiar friend, been through many seasons of growing and dying together. She fingers the hole in the sleeve remembering the sheers that made the break of fabric, a burn mark on the back piece from a blow torch. Some parts of the coat just permanently dirty, no amount of scrubbing and washing would soak in; she didn’t mind though. The smell is distinctly her, mixed with soil and sweat from her labors of love. Recalling when she ordered it five years ago from the catalog, untouched and completely void of any individuality or memories.
She rests her fibers on the wooden hanger waiting for the start of the day, in anticipation of that old familiar hand reaching for her. It comes expectantly, the warm body fills her insides, settling in the usual grooves and shrugging before comfortable. Stepping outside and feeling the wind, sun or rain hitting her full on. It was liberating. Getting in the dirt and feeling the foliage brush up against her, relaxing and welcomed. It’s not all roses, the blow torch for instance, missing fabric too but still she thinks that’s what makes her unique, being apart of something, being apart of someone.

Wk12 Theme & Prompt

1.) Sitting there on the wooden stool in her worn gardening coat, intently focused on the work at hand, she dutifully removes the wanting roots of weeds that have hopes of slowly devouring her children. She is this way with all of her family, caring, understanding and protective. Instilling her nurturing wisdom and her passion for agriculture in anyone who will take the time to listen. She is getting older in age but definitely not spirit, behind the wrinkles and laugh lines there are young eyes full of heart. At times she forgets where she puts things or the names of people. We are patient with her and tell her not to worry; it gets the best of us. Though we all know she’s slipping away from us little piece by little piece.

2.)It was a Sunday afternoon on the winding back roads in Searsmont. Two boys are diving way too fast toward a sharp corner, liquid courage fills there chest. A wide eyed dog sits faithfully by their sides, unaware of the danger. The driver, the one she worries the most about, takes his glazed eyes off the road watching the boy beside him. At that instant tires screech, metal hits wood, bone shatters and blood pours. The dog limps out of the wreckage, matted fur and panicked eyes; she pulls the driver out, the one she fears the most for.
How can someone be so selfish? Your problems may be your own but they affect everyone around you, from your sister to even your dog. You would think the third time is a charm, and a moment of clarity will finally be reached. She wondered if it would take him somewhere, if he would find the line again. She wondered if all the brothers were leaving and there would only be sisters left to occupy empty rooms and comfort sorrowful dogs.

Week 11 Theme ~ Alienation

It is dark now, it gets dark early this time of year. I am rowing back to shore at this instance, from the east side of the lake and it is hard to see. My eyes are focused on the lights of my house burning bright in the distance. The water is like thick black pools beneath the gliding canoe, I thought I saw a glimmer of something slithering beneath the surface but when I look back there is nothing there save the reflection of the night sky. It was probably nothing. My paddle makes contact with the flow of the lake, much to my amazement; the water is thick and seems to be pulling the paddle along with myself down with it. I let go immediately and the lively water subsides. I sit there, in the middle of the canoe, without means to get back to shore, freaked out and alone with only my imagination to get the best of me. My biggest fear has always been the possibility of sea monsters, great fiends that live beneath dark waters, waiting to pull unexpected swimmers and boaters down beneath the depths. At the moment of my phobia recall the canoe started swaying from side to side and it wasn’t me rocking it. Then I started to hear thuds on the bottom followed by a great churning of waters. I was standing up now in the middle of the canoe, grabbing the life preserver beside me, like that’s going to save me from the waiting beast. I am all over the place, teetering from side to side in the lurching boat. The water is splashing inside and a vertex seems like it is forming off the edge of the vessel. I shut my eyes, oh god what is going on? There is a large and slimy feeler emerging from the swirling vortex; pink, fleshy, slimy with scratches, scars and other mutilation covering the scaly tissue and it’s coming for me. This isn’t how I go is it? Such a mediocre death to be someone else’s lunch, tore apart and devoured by such inconceivable creatures.
And then I woke up, traveling in the back seat of my friend’s car, my ears adjusting to the sounds of conversation. “HEY GUYS WE”RE HERE!” Amanda’s voice is raised above everyone else’s. I peak out the window from my position in the back, glancing out of the window at the looming quarry of granite in front of us. Amanda parks the car and everyone bounds out, eager to jump into the water. They’re horsing around and joking as they march off down the beaten path to where you can leap from the rocks, no one noticing that I am slowly getting out and hanging back by the car. “Watch out for the quarry monsters they’ll pull you down into their caves,” Chris yells to the group before swinging off the rope swing, some 80 feet above the water. “Ha ha very funny,” yells Jen just now reaching the top. Amanda finally realizes I’m not with the group, “Where’s Kristen?” glancing back to towards the car, I wave to her from a distance. “Hey are you coming!” The two girls yell in unison. “I think I’ve had enough for one day, I’ll just watch you guys!” “What are you talking about, come on this is going to be awesome,” Jen yells before grabbing the rope and swinging off. Her body slips silently into the water, miles below. Flashes of tentacles and swirling water go though my head, I try to remind myself, it was only a dream. But still, I won’t be frequenting any bodies of water anytime soon.

Week 10 Theme ~ Irony

I walk in the front door and before I can even get my coat off the inquisition starts. “Why are you late,” the nagging mother speaks as she stares at me with “the look.” “Oh, I had to take Justin somewhere,” I say trying to prepare myself for the inevitable inquiry and advice that’s about to come my way. “Why hasn’t he got his car fixed anyways? You must be sick of driving him around all the time, right?” “I don’t know mom, we’re trying to find one, but no I don’t mind driving him as much as you apparently mind that I do.” “Well does he still have his job?” “Yes mom, though it’s none of your business he still does.” “Well you never know he never keeps one for very long.” “Alright, that’s enough, I don’t want to get into it with you I just came to drop off these eggs from Nana, here,” I shove the carton in front of her and head towards the door; I have to get out of here. “I don’t know why you have such bad taste in men, you and your grandmother are the same way, and you definitely don’t take after me in that department. You two like to be controlled.” “What is that suppose to mean, what are you even talking about, you seriously just like to start shit with me don’t you?”
The front door opens and shuts again; I can here my stepfather kicking his heavy boots off, careless of the mud he’s dripping onto the floor. Nearly stumbling through the kitchen, I can smell the booze on his breath before he even rounds the corner. “Where the hell is my dinner? I’ve worked all day and I want a hot meal!” “Oh hunny, I have it right here, it’s almost done, why don’t you go sit in your chair and watch a little TV and I’ll bring it right in for you, ok?” “Hurry it up!” He yells at her as he swaggers off.
She diligently makes the Neanderthal his plate as if he was a child; steak, potatoes, and string beans with half and half and lots of butter. It’s pretty much the same meal I have been eating in this house since childhood because of him, always afraid to try something new. She carries the food into the living room and sets it on the TV tray beside his chair, being careful not to disturb him while he’s watching the game; she’s as quiet as a mouse.
“Hey, I need you to go to the store and buy me a thirty rack darling,” he shouts out the order never thanking her for the meal. “Alright hunny, I have to run some errands anyways.” “No, just get the beer and bring it back, otherwise you’ll be gone all night, always running your mouth to people. And this steak is over cooked!” “Oh I’m sorry I thought I watched it pretty good, I didn’t think it was burnt.” “Well it is, just go get the beer.” “Ok I’ll be right back.” Who is this woman?

Week 9 ~ Meaning beyond words

ENLIGHTENMENT

I’m in the dark I hear noises in the night

Sleep is not possible, I am restless and afraid

There is a small flicker of light off in the distance

I stumble through the nothingness, hoping to find radiance once more

Needing to end this madness

To find clarity

As I get closer there are shadows that begin to play tricks on me

I see images of my family, a happier time

I glimpse myself, much younger and more naive

Observing my own monsters and demons running beside me

The glow is burning brighter

They begin to hurry now, grabbing at me as they pass

I struggle to keep up, straining my eyes to see

No longer shadows, the fiends are chasing and racing

Can’t let them win

I think about everything that’s worth living for

I sprint past them, keeping my sights on the now, burning light in front of me

The monsters dissolve back into the darkness

Now they are the ones afraid

I am the light now, it envelops me

I find myself just on the other side

I was waiting to catch up to myself all along.

Week 8 Theme ~ Small to large

I am surfing through the Internet when I encounter an article that pops up on Yahoo news that catches my attention, “Follow in 385,000 yr old human footsteps.” Footpaths believed to be left 385,000 years ago in Naples, Italy were recently opened to the public; you can actually walk in the footsteps of the first humans, how incredible is that? There are six trails at the edge of a volcano and also a primitive hand print in southern Italy that tourists are able to see. I lean back in my chair and begin to drift off….

The first primitive humans that thousands of years ago roamed the earth, I know that they existed but to actually see the evidence is kind of astonishing. The picture on the computer is small but you are still able to see perfectly the footprints on the hard volcanic rock, a cast of our ancestors’ feet. I try to imagine myself walking barefoot along the base of a volcano, pushing myself on despite pain or exhaustion, just trying to survive. I can’t imagine it, I get winded hiking Mount Battie and I have sneakers on. It is a completely different world now, none of us would know how to survive then and vice versa.It seems like a fairy tale or a myth, a time long, long ago.

I wonder if there will still be an Earth thousands of years from now, will there be anyone left to remember our race? How much more will we evolve, how much more will the world change? Judging by what is currently happening, from global warming, pollution, the raping of our natural resources, to the constant looming threat of nuclear, chemical or biological war this planet doesn’t have long. Either we are going to blow ourselves up or destroy the Earth by taking everything and leaving nothing. I feel sorry for future generations, if something is not done now about these threats there will be nothing left. And you would think that the politicians would come to their senses and put there effort and money into a solution instead of perpetuating the problem.

And all of this makes me wish that myself and the ones I love are long gone before the inevitable happens. This is why I have no plans on bringing any children into this decaying world; it is not fair or safe. I feel devastated for those that will see the end and I sincerely hope that it does not happen.

Week 7 ~ Character

Lohman Gardiner. A big bear of a man with a thick beard and at first glance he has a rigid demeanor that doesn’t melt away when you first meet him either. When we first met I definitely thought his family name was strange, and being a little critical I thought he reflected this name; a little odd and maybe eccentric. And definitely I thought he looked like a mean old lumberjack. However, I was pleasantly surprised after having one conversation with him and I couldn’t have been more wrong. Sure he was unusual but that is what I love about him, he is a man I respect, admire and have a lot of fun with. And his name is a name of value that conjures up images of integrity and selflessness.

Lohman lives in the woods behind my grandmother’s house in an attempt to escape the decaying world outside. He is a solitary person who believes in the Earth and her gifts. He doesn’t have running water or electricity because he chooses not to support big conglomerates that damage the Earth. He provides for himself and makes a living from his hands. Every year, giving so much care and attention to this garden, for this is what will nourish him. He is also a beekeeper, having over 300 hives he takes to pollination every year. Not having much of an education doesn’t stop him from do what he wants to do. He knows a lot about farming, beekeeping, dogs, real estate, small business and just life. He’s always trying to teach others and learn also. “Life is one long lesson,” he always says. He doesn’t need much to survive, he has little to no material things that he needs to feel at ease or happy with like most people I know. His house is round and small, unusually beautiful, made from wood that he milled from his land. A wood stove is in the center of the room leading up a pipe and out through a circle in the roof, he always keeps it rather cool in there but adds a little extra wood on the fire when I’m over because I hate being cold. There’s not much else in the room, a small table with two chairs, a cot, bookshelf and desk, everything is handmade by himself. He hangs things from the ceiling, planes and origami; there are also dried herbs, flowers and garlic. The house smells of rosemary, lavender, the wood stove, garlic and honeycomb. Lohman smells of this too, it’s comforting in some way, it never makes you uneasy and I think this is why the bees don’t sting him when he’s tending to a hive. Even the bees like him.

He tells me stories of what it was like when he was a kid. His father died when he was young and his mother was a useless drunk, being the oldest and trying to take care of his sister and brother he would sometimes have to steal just not to starve. She soon abandoned the kids, and then they were worked on a farm by their foster parents. Lohman learned to grow up quick, fending for himself and his siblings along with hard manual labor at a young age. The funny thing is he holds no bitterness about his foster parents, he feels that they helped make him who he is, a hard worker. And his mother, well, I can sense the tension in his voice when he talks about her but he says that she helped shove him towards a beginning that got him to this point in his life. “Everything happens for a reason and we all should work with what we got and never feel sorry for ourselves”.

As soon as he was old enough he took off running from the farm, not knowing where he was heading, just knowing that it was time to go. He hitch hiked across the United States, picking crops to earn money, apples, corn, oranges, sometimes even marijuana. He says it was a lot easier, safer and cheaper to be a hitcher back then, these days it is way too dangerous. He tells me never to try and hitch hike, “There’s too many weirdo’s these days, it’s not like back then when you could actually trust a person.” This has always been a big concern with Lohman, the changes in the world not being for the better and the lack of trust.

When I first met him, like I do with everyone I meet, I shook his hand and kept eye contact when we were speaking. I’m not sure if it is because of his experiences with people being deceitful or the fact that people instinctively try to hide the truth but he has a thing about people being able to look him in the eye when talking to him. He feels that it is ill mannered and typically means your hiding something. He always makes an impression of you when you first meet, but I guess most people do that also. He’s very hesitant to open the door to new people and there are very few that he trusts and lets into his life. But once he does you are really able to see what a unique spirit he is. I am glad that I had the opportunity to meet him; he is the one of the most interesting persons I have met thus far in my life.

Week 6 Theme ~ Setting

I put my electronic key card into the slot and swipe, the device blinks green, inviting me inside. I enter into a familiar room, a home away from home for weary travelers. I haven’t been here before but the rooms are always the same, save a few misplaced discrepancies but always with the constant, familiar creature habits and comforts from home. Cable TV, queen size bed, bathroom, hairdryer; everything is clean, crisp and served for you. Although you don’t talk about it, you can sense the countless others before you that have stayed here.

I evaluate the quarters before fully stepping in. There is a small window at the far end of the room; the curtains are pulled wide, allowing the guest to get a quick peak of the bustling city outside. A small table with two chairs is in front of the window, an ashtray with a book of matches advertising the hotels name is on the front. The carpet is blue, and plush, a few inquiring stains are visible on the rug, thoughts cross my mind as to what actually marked the carpet but still I move on. The faded wooden frame of the large bed is in the center of the room, I can see a few scratches on the headboard, bumps and dings. The bedspread is slightly worn with a slightly faded gold and red jacquard print. At first glance the bed looks inviting, calling to your weary body and exhausted mind. I let myself fall back, my head hitting the pillows. As I lay there I begin to think of all the people that have rested, slept, dreamt, made love, gone crazy, were sick and alone in this bed I am on. I am a little disturbed at my own thoughts; I quickly get up, trying to shake the images in my head.

I stand in the middle of the room turning slowly around, once again surveying the quarters. A few odd pictures seem to blend into the walls. A seemingly old image of still fruits and a watering can, embossed in a faux gold frame, another of a black urn positioned on a table top also with the gold fame. The last is a large ship at sea, this particular picture was dark and ominous, I felt the waves could topple out of the photo and crash on top of me. I felt like being consumed standing there, looking at these curiously threatening photos.

I step into the bathroom, the white tiles on the floor have noticeably just been cleaned, and the toilet paper has been freshly folded into a point, creating a sense of examination or ritual. The trial size shampoos and little soaps are at your disposal. There are fresh white towels hanging on the rack beside the tub. But how fresh are they really? If they were brand new I can see calling them that, however, these are soiled towels. Sure their visible stains have been washed away but hundreds of people have used them for one thing or another. Collected by maids’ minutes, hours, or days later to be bleached, washed and dried then redistributed to new customers for another “fresh” commodity offered by the hotel. It’s amazing how the hotel works so hard to make sure there is not a single indication that others were here before you, but you know, upon close scrutiny that you are not alone.

I guess I am like a dog, sniffing out my territory before I fully commit to laying down and feeling secure here. I inspect my surroundings to see how truly clean or disgusting the establishment is, theorizing as to what the others were doing here, what marks were left. I am never fully satisfied, but no one is more comfortable than in there own home anyways. Knowing I will have an uneasy sleep tonight, I try to find a clean edge of the bed to sleep on until morning. I turn on the TV to help me fall asleep, that never changes anywhere I go.