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Isolation December 26, 2009

Posted by Anna in Exercises.
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Writing prompt: “Write about what you didn’t say.”


They arrived a few days before Christmas.

“Oh! You people are so good to me!” she exclaimed, hugging them all closely. “To drive all this way!”

They smiled and made cups of tea and opened the biscuits they’d brought. They put up a small tree that had fibre optic lights on the ends of the branches, and which sparkled and shone as soon as they plugged it in. They got a list of errands she wanted to run, and asked about her expectations of Christmas Day, and then they went off to their lodgings.

They came again the next morning, and flitted in and out and around about during the day, running her errands, taking her places, and generally making everything ready for Christmas. They brought food and they chatted with her, and she drank in all she could from the adults. The children stayed quiet for the most part, and when they did speak she ignored them. This wasn’t about them.

They went again of course, to their lodgings overnight. They wouldn’t have all fitted in her tiny space, all stretched out to sleep. She felt an emptiness when they left, but it would only be a few short hours until they returned again.

She went shopping the next day. They had asked which shops she wanted to go to, but she did not say which shops she wanted to go to. Instead, she said what she wanted to buy, so they took her to the best places to buy those things. Those shops were not where she wanted to shop, however, but she did not say that. Instead, she politely explained why the shops they’d taken her to would not do. When they finally figured out her preference, she brightened visibly. “Yes, that will do,” she said, and they took her to her favourite shops.

Christmas Day dawned, and when they came, everybody was on their best behaviour. They brought all the food with them and got busy creating a festive Christmas lunch. Everyone wore tinsel in their hair, they played carols and other Christmassy tunes on the CD player, and at first there was a lot of laughter and noise.

They gave her a glass of wine, and they all sat around together opening presents and ooh-ing and ahh-ing over each other’s treasures. Her pile was the biggest, and she was well pleased with that. They handed around bowls of nuts and cherries, and she stockpiled her chocolates and books and clothes and perfumes and photos and gadgetry. It all felt very Christmassy and she felt very special. Someone even tied some tinsel in her freshly-dyed platinum hair.

While they ate the Christmas feast, tightly seated around her small table on an assortment of borrowed garden chairs, she regaled them with stories of her neighbour’s childhood in a concentration camp in Germany, another friend’s bowel cancer, and her own incontinence. The trays of honey-glazed ham, stuffed and roasted turkey, and mountains of baked vegetables, jugs of gravy and dishes of cranberry sauce steadily diminished as she talked, but when the children could take no more doom and gloom, and one of them showed her their cartilage piercing, she was affronted.

She could not have said exactly what it was she was affronted about, but clearly they were not enthralled with her stories, as indeed they should have been. Mavis’s horror stories were fascinating, as was the saga of Wanda’s rapidly progressing cancer. And they should all know what dramas they might face regarding incontinence in their old age!

She feigned an interest in a mobile phone function, but by the time the explanation was complete, she was tired and very miffed that the attention had not remained on her.

She did not say that she was tired and would like a rest. Instead, resuming her place at head of the table while dessert was being prepared, she said loudly so everyone would hear, “Right! As soon as we’ve eaten, you people can go! I’ll do the tidying up. You people have done enough.”

Calmly they explained that they had brought dishes from their lodgings, which they would need to clean and take with them. They assured her that they would clean up swiftly and be gone as soon as they could. She was not pleased at their disobedience, however, and repeated her edict.

Her son, her precious, perfect son spoke sharply to her then, rephrasing the reply she had already been given. She did not soften, saying that she was just tired, but understood the requirement for them to return their borrowed dishes. Instead she snapped, “All right! I heard you the first time!”

Between themselves, they restored the affable atmosphere that had been destroyed, somehow sweeping her along and into it again. The dessert, a frozen ice cream pudding covered in chocolate, was delicious, and that probably helped her to resume a pleasant countenance. Soon after dessert was consumed, they were indeed gone, and she was left to finger over her gifts and ponder the lovingness behind each gift choice. “Ah, how they love me,” she sighed into the quiet. “They did all this for me.”

They took her out to a restaurant for dinner, on the last night of their stay.  She was not pleased with the choice of restaurant. She said several times that she liked this place or that place, but she did not say outright which place she did want to go to, and there were dietary considerations beyond her own needs, and so the choice was made.

“Oh, I don’t much like the range on this menu,” she said. “The place down the road has a lovely lazonya.” The children tried to correct her pronunciation of ‘lasagne,’ but she just smiled at them patronisingly and added. “Or the Club has a lovely schnitzel. The Chinese place does a lovely sweet and sour. Or there’s that seafood place down by the river. I hear that’s lovely!”

The didn’t get the hint, however, and stayed where they were. She finally made a selection, and worked hard to keep the conversation centred around Mavis’s horror childhood in the concentration camp in Germany, Wanda’s aggressive bowel cancer, and her own inconvenient incontinence. Rudely, the children kept popping up with other topics, and it became increasingly difficult for her to tell them again about poor Mavis’s horrors, Wanda’s suffering, or her own bladder issues. This time, even the parents didn’t help.

The food arrived, and clearly it was below par. “Oh, I don’t go much on this!” she exclaimed. “Look at the pink in that steak!” she charged her son, poking her knife towards his plate. “You should send that back!” When he refused, she solicited agreement from everyone else around the table that their meal was not the best they’d ever eaten, either. “Even that meal on Christmas Day was better than this!”

Perhaps she had meant to elevate the Christmas Day fare over restaurant quality food, and she missed entirely that her words did not sound like that.

“Mum’s a very good cook,” a child said quietly.

“Oh, there’s no better cook than your mother!” she said, offended that they thought she might say otherwise. She was focused, however, on making it clear that their choice of restaurant was at fault on this particular occasion. “We had a meal once, at Circular Quay, do you remember?” she aimed at her son. “The schnitzel at that place was just beautiful!” She said it loudly, inferring that the chef should hear and understand that he really had some work to do to get his efforts anywhere near that superb standard.

She would have liked dessert, but nobody else seemed keen. Not wanting to appear greedy, she declined too. “Oh, you’re probably right,” she said to them. “It wouldn’t be worth the money to have dessert in this place. You’ve wasted enough of your money already!” She rather hoped the staff might hear that comment too, and improve their service and menu in future.

“Will we go for ice cream?” she asked brightly as they headed back to the mini-van.

“No, we have to be out of here early in the morning,” they replied. “It’s a long drive home.”

They took her back to her place. They hugged her. Her son walked her to her door and saw her safely inside. When the door closed, she felt strangely alone.

They had not said how much they would miss her. They had not said what a beloved grandmother she was. She had said how much she would  miss them, and how wonderful they were for coming all this way just for her. No matter how hard she tried, they just did not adore her in the way she longed for.

They did not say to her that the joy of a meal shared, whether in a restaurant or at home, is enjoying the people you share it with. Perhaps, as someone older and supposedly wiser, they expected it was something she would already know.

They did not tell her that she had behaved like a self-centred, ungrateful brat. Good manners did not permit speaking to your elders in such a way.

In the car, on the way back to their lodgings, one of the children did say, “Dad, can we go for a drive?”

Usually, he would have just said no. Instead, he asked, “How come?”

“I feel like I need to detoxify!” the child replied passionately.

They all agreed. They knew the prettiest sights around the place and drove to those, purging their souls of the unavoidable nastiness they had endured all evening.

They bought gelato from a late-night roadside stall and enjoyed licking icy sweetness from the cones, all huddled together at the end of a pier.

“It’s good to be us,” someone ventured.

They all agreed, and hugged each other close.

“Dad, how come Grandma isn’t part of us?” the youngest child asked.

“I don’t know, mate,” he replied. “We’ve tried every way we know how to include her. And be a part of her life. It’s just that it’s always got to be about her, and she gets upset the minute that it’s not.”

“I know that Christmas is about others,” a teenager put forward. “But next year does it have to be about Grandma? She sucks all the joy out of it.”

“Selfishness does that,” another child responded with downcast insight.

They all held each other close, and the adults smiled over the children’s heads at each other. Whatever they did next Christmas, they would not bow to anyone’s selfishness.

Selfishness is isolating. This Christmas, make a vow to yourself that you will not be selfish, and you will not allow your life to be one of isolation. Love others.

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Sally Sparrow December 14, 2009

Posted by Anna in Exercises, Poetry.
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Writing prompt: ‘s’ … and alliteration with at least 2 other letters. (ie write your story with as many words beginning with ‘s’ as possible.)

This was an interesting writing prompt, and I didn’t find it really lent itself to the flow of a more ‘normal’ story, so I went with just playing with the alliteration. I’m not sure I’m happy with how it ended, but the last six lines took 4 hours because of all the interruptions, and writing never flows without concentrated efforts. It’ll have to do for now, though. All up, it was fun to play with – thanks Jane!


Sally Sparrow sipped a tiny teaspoon’s worth of wonderful water from the beautiful birdbath in Billy Baxter’s backyard.

Sunshine skimmed through towering trees and wondrous, wavering notes thrilled from the throats of three thrushes nearby.

Such a sensational, seasonally-perfect summer’s day in Sally Sparrow’s psyche.

Just as Sal jumped from jacaranda to japonica, the thrilling thrush sounds sensationalised into shrilling shrieks.

Sally squeaked a sharp screech and hid herself hastily, making the most of the mass plantings providing particularly perfect protection.

What wicked wandering wildcat would intrude, illicit and invasive, to haul havoc into this heavenliness?

Sally studied the scenery, sighting a dutiful dog dozing devoid of all dignity, brazen on its back beside the back door.

A child chortled cheerfully, chucking fistfuls of flowers forth at its friends, for their amusement, approval and abundance.

Giving the garden a God-fearing glare, Sally swooped skywards to tremble in the treetops with her troops.

Three thorough thrushes nestled nervously nearby, too terrified to tell over the odious occurrence which had wasted their winsome warbling.

As amity again affected the garden, garrulous gossiping grew gradually, but Sally stayed sensitive to surrounding sights and sounds.

At last she located the exact evacuation evocation explanation: a horrible hawk high on his eagle-eyed aerie.

“The babies! The babies! The babies!” she cried, calling a cacophony credible and clear, babbling boldly from bird to bird.

The message made meaning to apt avians: alert to protect their precious progeny, they waged wild winged warfare, furiously fighting their foe.

Sally Sparrow, too small to significantly succeed at the scene, cheered the challenging champions, her chums.

Their assault was astonishing, amazing, audacious! Horrified hawk heaved his haughtiness high, away and aloft to another, less attentive assault.

Sensationally sabotaging sly slaughterer’s strategy, returned regiment rested, watered well and weighted by whopping-great worms.

Blessed bounty of Billy Baxter’s backyard settled subsequently still, soothed in societal singsong started by Sally the Sparrow.

Lime Green and Tongue Tied December 14, 2009

Posted by Anna in Exercises.
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Writing prompt was:
Choose one of the following and go for it: the drums led her on; fly on the wall; why is he dressed up; I couldn’t wait.

To be honest, I’ve been a bit bored with writing exercises lately, but haven’t the time to really sink my teeth into a longer story, so I set myself the task of incorporating all the prompts into one story.


“Oh, you’ve got no idea!” Megan exclaimed to Hillary, laughing as she lifted Caleb down off the change table in the corner and set him down to toddle outside and play in the sandpit with the others. “I couldn’t believe the colour of those bridesmaids’ dresses! I mean, lime green, of all things! What on earth was Poppy thinking? And with those deep pink bouquets, too! She really wasn’t thinking of the base tones of those girls’ skin, let me tell you!”

Hillary, who was scrolling through the wedding photos on Megan’s laptop, was shaking her head in consternation, but chuckling at the incongruity of it all, too. “Don’t you wish you’d been a fly on the wall when Poppy told Isabelle she’d be wearing lime green?” she cackled.

Megan started filling up sippy cups with water. “With her bright red hair? Isabelle must’ve had a fit!”

“Oh, and I didn’t realise she had Ellie in the bridal party too!” Hillary froze in front of the laptop screen, her jaw dropped and eyes wide at the sight of Ellie with her stark white skin and bleached blonde hair, dressed in such a vivid shade of lime green!

Setting the sippy cups in a row along the end of the bench, Megan reached for a hand of bananas, leaning to gawp over Hillary’s shoulder for just a moment. “All through the wedding, I kept telling Rob that I just couldn’t wait to get home and upload the photos so I could show you. The whole thing was like a circus! Wait till you get to the photos of the reception, and you see Poppy’s brother.”

They gossiped on, while Megan prepared morning tea for the little ones, and Hillary scrolled through photo after endless photo of Rob’s brother’s wedding. The five children, ranging in age from eighteen months up to ‘five an’ a quarter an a leetle bit,’ as Joanna insisted was her current age, were all standing around the little table by the window when Hillary let out a shriek: “Oh for crying out loud! Why is he dressed up like that?”

Megan peeked, to make sure that Hillary was looking at the photo she’d been expecting such reaction to, then set about mopping up the mess created by the older children (who had taken the lids of their sippy cups) in reaction to Hillary’s shriek. “He was the Master of Ceremonies,” she explained over her shoulder. “Felix reckoned, that with Poppy being such an out there sort of girl, he could hardly just dress in a normal suit to get the party started.”

“So he dressed up like the ringmaster from a circus?” Hillary was outraged. “Poor David must have just died.” Her tone expressed so much more than her words could have done, and her oldest friend, knowing her as she did, understood all the full impart of them, too.

Hillary had had quite a thing for Dave ever since they’d been partnered up at Rob and Megan’s wedding.

Dave was married at the time, though, and he and Tessa had Joanna already. Maxie came along about nine months after Rob and Megan’s wedding, but Dave’s marriage was in tatters by the time Sara was born. Megan and Rob already had Letitia by then, and Caleb was born to them just months after Dave and Tessa’s divorce.

The tightly spaced cousins had always played together, so when Tessa refused to have the children while Dave was on his honeymoon with Poppy, of course Megan and Rob had them. Hillary had looked after all five cousins while the wedding took place, and the pathos of that situation hadn’t escaped Megan. In some ways, she felt like poking fun at Poppy was the only comfort she could provide for poor Hillary, whose heart was broken again.

Hillary and Dave did have one date, soon after his divorce from Tessa was final, but Dave told Rob afterwards that he felt no chemistry at all. He met Poppy the following week, and a year later, they were married.

“He’s kind of cute, do you think?” Hillary ventured, not having moved beyond that photo of Felix dressed as a flamboyant ringmaster. As she spoke, she realised that in all the photos she’d seen so far, Dave had clearly enjoyed all the flamboyance of his and Poppy’s wedding celebrations, just as he loved the extravagance of Poppy’s personality. It was good for him, and Hillary felt sorry that she’d been so self absorbed that she hadn’t been a supportive friend to him through any of it.

Megan laughed. “Oh, you can decide that for yourself, later. Felix is moving some of his gear into our garage, while he’s renovating the unit he’s just bought. Rob said that he and Dave and Felix are going to pull together a garage sale of all their old stuff, in the next month or so.” She caught herself thinking, ‘Maybe Rob’s right,’ and reached for her mobile phone.

Hillary tried to remember what she’d heard about Felix. It wasn’t much. He’d been working for an aid organisation overseas somewhere, but had decided to come home in time for the wedding. He was a doctor, she thought, older than Poppy, quite wild in his youth, but seemed to have turned out alright.

In the middle of the afternoon, Joanna and Max were having some quiet time in front of Playschool on the television, and the younger three were all asleep.

“I’ll just pop out to the shops, if that’s okay,” Megan suggested to Hillary as they finished a cuppa. “You can stay for dinner if you like. When’s your next shift?”

Hillary stifled a yawn. “Oh, I’ve got graveyard tonight. I should probably have a nap.”

Megan had no qualms leaving her friend to keep half an eye on the children and enjoy a doze in Rob’s favourite chair while she went to grab some extra food for dinner. She wouldn’t be long, anyway.

Hillary hadn’t been dozing for very long at all when the sound of drums woke her – not too loud, but loud enough to be intrusive. “What’s that?” she vocalised, annoyed, struggling to regain her too-recently-abandoned lucidity.

“Unca Felix is puttin’ his fings in da gawage,” Max told her, not shifting his eyes from the television.

“I gave him the key,” Joanna informed her absently.

Annoyed, Hillary stormed out the back door. The drums led her on, and would have done even if she’d been blindfolded and hadn’t made the trek through the shrubbery and all the way down to the back corner of the huge block a thousand times in the past. Annoyingly, whoever was playing clearly had some skill.

As Hillary flung open the side door of the fibro garage in her anger, she was in no way prepared for the entire centre of the cracked cement floor to have been cleared, and to see drummer and drum-kit right in the centre of the cleared space, bathed in the light of Rob’s single fluorescent tube. It looked like they, man and drum kit, were on centre stage in some huge auditorium. The drummer’s eyes were closed, as if he was just feeling the rhythm he was creating.

Hillary moved around in front of him. Jamming her hands on her hips, she yelled at the top of her voice, “For crying out loud! There are sleeping babies in the house!” She wasn’t at all sure that he even could hear her, but she must have had her best nurse-with-difficult-patient shrill in high gear, because the drumming ceased immediately.

Felix’s eyes flew open, and he stared at her. “Oh my God!” he exclaimed, getting hastily to his feet, but still taking the time to lay his drumsticks down carefully on the top of one of the drums. “I forgot! Joey said that Aunt Hillary was asleep too. I’m so sorry!”

Hillary, quite unprepared for the blueness of his eyes, the dimple in his right cheek, or the cute way his hair curled against his neck and cheeks because of the sweat from his drumming, allowed him to shake her hand.

Then she snapped out of it. “I’m not in the least worried about myself!” she retorted, hauling her recalcitrant hand back into the safety of her own personal space. “Babies are asleep!” And so saying, she turned on her heel and stalked back through the unkempt greenery towards the house to make sure that babies really did stay asleep. She felt flushed and like her heart was racing. Far less composed than in all her distant schoolgirl years!

For his part, Felix turned to grin at his drum kit. “Yeah, okay,” he chuckled aloud. “Time to abandon the teenage fantasies. You were fun while you lasted, but it’s garage sale time for you.” As he pulled his mobile phone out of his jeans pocket, he told the empty doorway, “Rob’s right. Playing doctors and nurses looks like it’ll be way more satisfying.” And before he made his way up to the house in Hillary’s wake, he send Megan a text message: Would love to stay for dinner. 6 months max. No lime green. Bright red! 🙂