#Writing 101: (Playing A Bit of Catch Up)

Day Nine

From POV of the Man:

I don’t know what’s the matter with me.  I’ve always been taught a man doesn’t cry…  At least not in public where others can see.   Tears, if they cme at all, are meant to be behind closed doors, muffled into a pillow so others aren’t aware.   I just never expected the loss to hit me so hard, and seeing that little red sweater that the old lady was knitting….  Red,  Little Tommy’s favorite color.  Like the color of a firetruck.  He loved fire trucks.   Why?  Why did he have to be taken from us so young???

From the POV of the Lady:

I never knew….  I never knew Jim took the loss of our child so hard.  He never seemed to shed a tear, at least not one that I ever saw.  Always standing so strong, so tall…  And yet, as we found ourselves stopping to watch the old lady sitting on the bench knitting a little red sweater, he suddenly burst into tears….   I never knew….  I never knew that he had taken the loss so hard.   I thought I was alone in my grief.

From the POV of the Old Woman:

My heart goes out to the couple standing before me.  I don’t know what their story is, but I can see their grief.  It is obvious the man never cries as he wipes furiously at the tears that are falling from his eyes.  The lady too begins to cry.   Both staring at the red sweater that I’m knitting for my great grandson.  The last one I’ll ever get to knit.  The doctor says I don’t have much longer on this earth.  But that’s okay,  I’ve lived a long full life.  I want to reach out to the couple in front of me.  It’s obvious that the sweater has some how opened up something painful and sad for the both of them.  I want to help lessen there pain.


Day Ten:

I’m not sure what my “voice” is…  Never really thought about it, and even if I did, I don’t think I would know.  Instead of a meal, I think I’ll (instead) write about 2 dishes that I have the fondest memories of.

Simple Fruit Salad…  I don’t remember now what exactly went in to this fruit salad, but I remember my step-mom making it each year around holiday time.  I remember it having bananas in it and little oranges (?) and apples….  I recall she didn’t use whipping cream, but rather defrosted orange juice concentrate.  There may have also been tiny marshmallows in there (I don’t recall).

Who would have thought that a simple dish of vanilla ice cream topped with chocolate chips would be such a memorable dish…  Yet this is one of my favorites, one that brings back fond memories of my grandmother.  It was she that turned me on to this simple dish.  I remember sitting at her kitchen table with a dish of plain vanilla ice cream and lots of chocolate chips covering it.

Sorry to say I didn’t follow the rules exactly on this one

Day Eleven

My memories of this time are somewhat vague.  At least the details are.  We lived in a typical 2 story house, in a typical middle-class neighborhood, in a typical suburban city.  Outside the front door grew a fragrant flower that you could smell a ways a way.  At least that’s my memory of it.  My dad grew double delights out front, which I remember him tending regularly.  In the warmer months kids could be seen playing outside.  We even played in the streets, with the older kids and adults keeping a close watch for any cars coming through.  Calling out a warning when one approached.  Older kids helping make sure younger ones got safely to one side or another….

I spent most all my childhood there.  It is there that I lived when I went to my first year of college.


Day Twelve:

I’m at a loss here…. Writer’s Block has set in with a vengence.  If I could just get something started, perhaps a story will flow from it…  Yet nothing…..  Perhaps something will come to me later —  For now, a break from this “assignment”


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