Friday, January 19, 2007

Ten Minutes

There was a moment in December when I made the decision to take the plunge. This week, the plunge was taken for the first time: Anna-mouse is a nursery virgin no longer. Her mother braved the waves of guilt and, how 'bout that, survived.

The Writing Class felt good. Different and good. We were given an exercise to follow every day of the week until we next meet: Write for 10 minutes about the present moment. Time yourself. When the time is up, stop.

Yesterday, this is what I wrote:

The timer has begun. The countdown timer. The present moment. Take it as your starting point. Now.

The flickering fire. My mother yawns. I hear her through the kitchen door. The day spent looking after my child, now she looks after hers. The pots on the stove, I see them, full of water; the mushroom sliced on the side. A jar of red pesto sitting DON'T INTERRUPT ME! Do you want to keep these, Liv, the cold potato and peas? Only a mother. A mother. The theme of the day, the week, the hour. My mother. Extraordinaire. Her pebbles ranged on the bathroom windowsill, the joy they give me. The sense of all things right in the world even though we know they might not be. The scan tomorrow then not. A doubt. I don't know how she stays so - what? What do I want to say? Herself. These things do push you to other places. Other parts of yourself. That's what they say and they're right whoever they are.

The fire I can hear the fire. The present moment. This seems so poignant, to be asked to write about the present moment - the rustling of a packet of peas - at this time that I can feel again the push of tears behind the eyes. I've felt it alot this week since we knew. The good thing is the extraordinarily good thing is that the lines of communication - these are clear. Clear, taut, open, waiting for the pellets of news. The bulletins. The information we need the information. The scan can give us this but the scan was supposed to be tomorrow and now is not.

I'm on a 'Countdown Timer' according to my mobile phone; aren't we all? Never knew you could pack so much into ten minutes - a lesson for life? Precious life. My child sleeps next door. Some things are right with the world. An inspiration! my brother called my mother. Such pleasure, such comfort, such a privilege to spend a night and a day and another night in her company, at her house.

The page turns quick! quick! this should be how we live life, cramming it in - the alarm beep beep beep. Stop.


Anonymous said...

No, don't stop. Great writing, even when you're just discussing peas. Honest, natural, rhythmic, warm. Keep writing.

Livvy U. said...

Dear JK
You have no idea how encouraging your comments are to me - especially this one. Thank you