Thursday December 23rd, 2010

The exercise:

Let us write about: traditions.

Quiet day inside. Stormy as heck outside. Ventured out into the wind and rain a couple times and managed to get this picture:


I grew up playing a lot of board games with my family. I don't remember exactly when I started playing Scrabble with my mom, but it quickly became my favorite game to play.

So now whenever I'm home I make sure to play at least once with her, as I don't get to play it much otherwise. Kat's more into Trivia Pursuit and when we play games with our friends it's usually more along the lines of Carcassonne and stuff like that.

Anyway, we played our traditional game tonight and it got me in a sentimental mood I suppose. So I thought I'd write a little about it and see what sort of traditions you guys would like to share.

Also: I won. (Sorry mom, had to say it)


Greg said...

Fantastic ocean picture! It reminds me a little bit of the beach at Brighton on the south coast of England; I lived there for eight years and winter storms over the ocean are great :)
Oooh, Carcassonne! I love those kinds of games. I like Scrabble too, but I have trouble finding opponents (I know too many two-letter words for most people).

"It's a tradition," said Bad Kitty, mewling softly. She stroked her face with one hand, seemingly an unconscious gesture.
The Assassin, still uncomprehending, looked at her.
"It's Dr. Septopus," he said again, hoping both that Bad Kitty didn't look too closely at the supposed Doctor's corpse and that she'd start making sense. He sniffed tentatively, wondering if she'd been at the catnip.
"Yes, and I want him mounted on the top of the tree!" Bad Kitty hissed to punctuate her sentence.
"But... he's dead."
"Then he won't object, will he?"
"I think he may be too hea--"
"Just do it!" She yowled and turned away from him. "It's Christmas, and it's traditional to decorate the tree."
"Will the corpses of your enemies?" whispered the Assassin, thinking he was talking to himself.
"Yes." Bad Kitty had extraordinarily good hearing.
The Assassin looked at the mangled squid with some scrap metal welded here and there for authenticity and decided to tie its tentacles together and to the top of the tree and hope for the best.

summerfield said...

brighton, england, indeed comes to mind in that picture, greg. that's a really fantastic shot, marc. and somehow, greg, i could picture pestilence and famine in the middle of the shot!

can we play scrabble? i can't find anyone who would play scrabble with me who does not have to resort to the dictionary all the time. hmmm. maybe i'll challenge that monica manning, she seems pretty together with her vocabulary!

but, let's go back to traditions. and while mine is a tad long - i will someday learn how to write a really short narrative, but until then, my attempt at this prompt can be found in my blog

long, but it's a very simple read, i promise.

Marc said...

Greg - my mom has that two letter problem as well. But not with me :)

I love that he welded scrap metal to the squid :D

Summerfield - I shall read yours momentarily, and I`m not sure I`d be a more appreciated Scrabble opponent. I`m rather fond of the dictionary myself :P

Heather said...

I love Scrabble as well. I think it is a writer's thing!

Greg... two letter words, in my Scrabble world, are generally not allowed.

As a child, one of Shirlene's Christmas traditions was to sit in the window on Christmas Eve while the sun set. She and her sisters didn't care about the colors of the sun as they reflected off the snow. Rather, they looked for the headlights of their father's old beat up truck bouncing down the gravel road. Anticipation made the four of them silent. The cool air in the room chilled their fingers and noses as they sat still. None would bother to stoke the fire for warmth.

An hour, or maybe two, later they would see the headlights and jump from the couch to restart the fire. In another half an hour they would be sitting on the floor, their excitement growing, as their father handed out the gift they had made for each other. The few gifts under the tree would be unwrapped in a frenzy. Thank yous would be exchanged in little shrieks of joy and laughter. A quick meal of sandwiches would follow and then Shirlene would climb between the cold sheets of the small bed she shared with Mary Beth. The two would whisper their Christmas morning desires late into the night.

Shirlene had planned on celebrating Christmas Eve in the same fashion. She'd talked with Joe, the love of her life, about bundling up and staying warm with hot chocolate on that one cold winter's night each year, about watching the sun set and opening just family gifts Santa's expected arrival, about whispered wishes and the comfort of loved ones snuggled close. He'd thought she was insane, but agreed to try it. Over the next years, he grew to like the peacefulness of her Christmas Eve's.

Shirlene walked toward the table carefully balancing the Indiana Jones cake in her hands. There was no sunset or gift exchange tonight. Not exactly anyway. The room was lit by the glow of six candles, one to mark each passing year of a new Christmas Eve tradition. Setting the cake down carefully, she kissed her growing son's head before taking a deep breath and belting out the first notes of "Happy Birthday".

Marc said...

Heather - lovely, as always.

Zhongming said...


I walk through countless miles
Only to find myself unreal,
I thank my only accompany
But can I really call it a tradition?

Marc said...

Zhongming - mmm, I like that.