What Writing - 90 seconds. I should have done this earlier in the day when I wasn't so tired.
Screwdriver
Phillips head or flat
Wide or thin
Yellow handles that hurt if you hold them too tight.
I prefer the rounded handles
Easier to hold
Easier to tighten the screw.
Repair, build, pry a battery container open.
"What Writing" - day two
Dentist
There's always an issue,
That's what happens when you have dry mouth.
Thank you sjogrens syndrome.
Dry, dry, dry.
Can barely gather enough saliva to spit.
Bacterial paradise,
That's my mouth.
How did I discover the issue?
Went to the dentist and discovered
most of the enamel was gone.
Poof. In around six or so months between dental check ups
my dry mouth started and flared.
I guess I also knew something was wrong when I went for my birthday bike ride
Around 90 degrees out, and 50 miles.
I drank so much water
I got sick.
Worst bike ride ever,
including the one where I rode to the top of the Black Canyon of Gunnison
and it started snowing as I rode down,
and I thought I would die.
I was nearly crying when the sag truck pulled up.
And I wasn't the only one who almost froze.
Of course, several hours later it was sunny.
And, to clarify, it was nice on the ride up.
The storm started soon after I started down.
Back to the subject at hand, dentist.
I've liked most of them.
Hated my childhood dentist,
whose office was in his house.
Mainly I hated his son.
who laughed when I rode by on my bike
and their dog chased me.
He probably sicced him on me
and he didn't call him.
It was a busy road so I was on the sidewalk.
We did that back then,
rode our bikes on the sidewalk.
There weren't bike lanes.
And some roads you just knew better than to ride your bike on.
Anyway, once again I digressed from the dentist.
The sound of the drill,
The smells of antiseptic and peppermint,
The feel as the drill vibrated in my numb mouth,
The taste of the stuff they buffed my teeth with,
Minty but dull and pasty.
My lips getting sore the longer I had to keep my mouth open.
I didn't mind the dentist when I didn't have dry mouth problems.
It was even okay when I got a wisdom tooth pulled
at the young age of thirty.
That's right, thirty.
New York CIty.
Someone recommended a dentist to me.
She was amazed my wisdom tooth was erupting.
The other three were all still impacted and not a problem,
She was tiny, smaller than me.
She braced herself, one foot on a stool
And tugged.
And tugged.
Stubborn tooth had broken through but then decided it wasn't sure it wanted to come out.
She eventually got it.
Which relieved her and me.
That's all I remember of that.
[Timer went off. The rest was written after the ten minutes]
The dentist who didn't know I liked my front tooth that was missing a little piece
from when I was a kid
bouncing a super ball, one of those hard small ones,
in the street,
A car was coming
so I ran to the side of the road
and the ball came up into my chin.
I felt a crunch
and spit out a small chip from my front tooth.
And didn't tell my friend or her mom.
I just said I needed to go home.
Agony.
Went to the house-office dentist and he all he did was buff it.
It wasn't until forty years later that a dentist
unwittingly fixed it, thinking he was doing me a favor.
I loved having a chipped front tooth.
It was different.
It was me.
What writing - day one. Five minutes. Unedited except for punctuation.
Bathroom Mirror
I walk in, look at the mirror and see my face,
The lines look so deep.
I apply my night cream
but know
in the morning
the lines will still be there.
Depending on how well i sleep
they may look deeper.
I hear the heat whoosh on,
pick up my toothbrush,
apply toothpaste,
and enjoy the minty taste
as I scrub my tongue and teeth.
Spit, rinse, mouthwash, look up.
Look into the mirror and see myself
run my fingers through my hair,
so thin.
A curl falls into the sink.
The mirror doesn't lie,
It shows me several times a day
what others see.
Dark circles under my eyes
even though I get 8 hours of sleep nearly every night.
They're in my DNA.
My mother had them.
Her mother had them.
It's a Schnitzer/Merer/Ostroff thing.
I wonder how far it goes back.
To Russia or eastern Europe?
Before there were mirrors,
Before there were creams to hide under?
Sometimes the mirror is my friend,
reassuring me that I look good,
maybe even hot,
for my age.
Object Writing - Day three
Lily Pad - 90 seconds
I don't see lily pads very often. Green. Slimy to the touch. Not sure what they smell like. Dew? Decay? Dirt? I don't plan on tasting one but if I did I guess it would be chewy. Pieces or threads might stick in my teeth or make me cough. They move with the flow of the water. Yp down. Side to side. Rising. Falling. Floating.
Let's try it again without making it about me.
Lily pad - 90 seconds
Slimy to the touch. They appear to ooze. Floating in the water. Are they anchored where my eye can't see? The water talks as it pushes the lily pad side to side, up and down. The smell of dirt disappears into the water. The taste of dirt and leaves are imagined. But, for real, who would eat one?
Day Two - 10 minutes - Crash
Crash
I don't think about it very often. No nightmares. Just a memory that sometimes surfaces. The Ford station wagon. My mom driving. I was in the passenger seat on the right. Not sure which brother was next to me. Pennsylvania Turnpike. Watching the white wooden guard rail. Trees. A curving road. It seemed to twist and turn forever. Looking at the map we could see that Pennsylvania was a wide state. I got bored and decided to play my guitar. I can't remember if I was holding it or playing. I remember hearing the turn signal. Instinctively turning my head to check the left lane. A habit. Something I still do. It's instinctive. Does it come from that day? No car in sight. Mom started to switch lanes. A flash. A whoosh. A crash. Soaring through the air. The car somersaulting once. Twice. Me yelling to everyone to bend over and cover their head. Somersault three ending with a crash. Landing upside down. I don't remember which door worked. I think mine was stuck. We crawled out. There was blood on my head. From my guitar.
We survived. Everything in the car survived. We were dazed. Random people watched from the highway. Rescue workers came down and got us. Police, EMT's, I don't know. An ambulance, siren screeching. A hospital. Police interviewing my mother. A hotel room. The next day my grandfather arrived in his car. And made my mother drive us the rest of the way to New York. She screamed at him. He yelled at her. It went on and on until she climbed into the car and silently drove us. Trembling.
EDITED (not timed).I only edited the one thing I got wrong and added some detail I didn't have time for in ten minutes.
Crash
I don't think about it very often. No nightmares. Just a memory that sometimes surfaces. The Ford station wagon. My mom driving. I was in the passenger seat on the right. Not sure which brother was next to me. Pennsylvania Turnpike. Watching the white wooden guard rail. Trees. A curving road. It seemed to twist and turn forever. Looking at the map we could see that Pennsylvania was a wide state. I got bored and decided to play my guitar. I can't remember if I was holding it or playing. I remember hearing the turn signal. Instinctively turning my head to check the left lane. A habit. Something I still do. It's instinctive. Does it come from that day?
No car in sight. Mom started to switch lanes. A flash. Feeling the pull of the brakes. Being jerked against my seatbelt. A whoosh. Soaring through the air. The car somersaulting , sideways, once. Twice. Me yelling to everyone to bend over and cover their head. Somersault three ending in the air with a crash. The car falling to the ground. Landing upside down. I don't remember which door worked. I think mine was stuck. We crawled out. There was blood on my head. From my guitar.
We survived. Everything in the car survived. We were dazed. Random people watched from the highway as rescue workers came down and walked us up the hill. Police, EMT's, I don't know. Witnesses saying the other car came out of nowhere. Didn't stop. An ambulance, siren screeching. A hospital. Stitches above my eye. Police interviewing my mother. A hotel room. The next day my grandfather arrived in his car. And made my mother drive us the rest of the way to New York. She screamed at him. He yelled at her. It went on and on until she climbed into the car and silently drove us. Trembling.
Later, we saw the small newspaper article in the local paper, declaring my mother's negligence. Adding insult to injury. Circa 1968, a mother driving her children alone cross country. Who do you think they would blame?
Object writing
Day one.
Here goes.
Sky - five minutes
White clouds floatabove the mountains.
Unmoving,
both the mountains and the clouds.
There must not be much wind today.
Yesterday the clouds left the mountains behind,
Today they are blotches on a blue sky.
Specks of snow on the mountain
amid the trees.
Pine, my nose itches as I remember
the smell.
How I wish I could still climb that high,
to where the snow doesn't melt until summer.
My feet slippng on the ice,
thighs burning from the climb,
worrying about how to get down
safely.
Listening to the wind,
It sounds different up there,
Sharper on my face.
Louder, a dull roar through my wool hat
stretched over my ears.
Like many people I get reflective and sometimes feel overwhelmed during December. Usually I write something long and laborious about religion, commercialization of holidays, being alone, and other negative stuff. This time I decided to be less negative and write about how it feels celebrating holidays when you miss someone.
I think this is becoming my annual tradition, writing about the Merry Christmas barrage I face each December.
Christmas Cheer
Merry Christmas if that's your holiday.
I don't presume to know
what holidays you celebrate,
if you care about religion.
Not everyone celebrates Christmas
Not everyone is Christian, Catholic,
Protestant, Methodist, Baptist.
Not everyone worships Jesus as their savior.
Celebrate your holidays,
say your prayers and blessings,
read from your holy scripture
if that's what you want to do.
Go down on your knees,
Stand up, sit down.
Cross yourself,
Bow your head,
Cover your head,
Chant, sing, murmur,
Silently pray.
Maybe even try to follow
the commandments
you have been given.
Cards and cheer
smother us
for one month of the year.
It's hard to escape the season,
no matter what you believe in.
You're told Merry Christmas,
a generic saying.
And asked if you're ready.
a rhetorical question.
I wrote this the night before heading home from a recent trip.
Whistling Vivaldi,
a phrase I heard
while waiting for
your footsteps
to come to
the door.
It's almost time to say goodbye
again.
Lying in bed,
shoulder to shoulder,
I listen to you
breathe.
I'll miss your nighttime warmth,
the tug to reclaim the blanket,
the knowing that someone
I love
is so close.
It's almost time
to say goodbye
again.
Trains and planes will
put miles between
our voices on the phone,
our lives.
Yet, somehow our hearts
always remain close
enough
that I swear
I can
feel yours
beating
wherever
we both
are.
Not an endorsement of Twitter, just an attempt at 280 character flash fiction, aka Twitterature.
On and off
She has a hidden switch,
On for the smiling, outgoing, talk and laugh personality,
Off for the cut you off at the knees with a flick of her eyes personality.
On is heaven,
Off is hell,
For you.
Here's wishing you another year of true love.
Here's hoping it really is true.
Toggle and see.
Ah, New York.
New York City bathrooms are so fun
Toilet placement for contortionists,
Designer sink fixtures.
Thank goodness for the rattling fan
or window that actually stays in place.
There might be a part two. This is from mid-day.
I feel like I've entered an alternate universe.
Sitting on a pink couch
in my daughter's third floor walk up apartment,
Listening to a Roche's record from 1982.
Next up is "Natalie…Live" from 1978.
Looking at my daughter's stovetop
I can see remnants of what she cooks,
pasta, rice, some kind of green vegetable.
In the crisper of her refrigerator
are plastic bags of peppers,
yellow, orange, red.
That makes me smile.
I reach for a sponge and begin
to clean.
