Wednesday December 29th, 2010

The exercise:

With 2011 fast approaching, today we write about: moving on.

Another light fixture went up tonight, some painting got done this afternoon, and a few more baseboards were put in tonight. If the frickin' nail gun hadn't died this morning, a whole lot more baseboards would be in right now. Ah well, tomorrow will hopefully see the remainder finished.


All our bags had been crammed into the taxi which was waiting at the curb out front. The house was empty, not a single sign of our presence remained. Twenty years erased in the space of a few days.

I stared around the living room, feeling nothing at all. I wondered if, now that all signs of life had been eradicated from between its four walls, it should now be called the dead room.

You placed an arm around my shoulders but said nothing. I was grateful for that. In the silence I could hear Kevin running across the floorboards upstairs, and Ginny washing dishes in the kitchen. It was almost like they were still with us.

"Well," I said after a final look around, "I guess it's past time we should be moving on."

Without another word, we exited the house and climbed into the cab. We left the door unlocked, as there didn't feel like there was any point in securing it. We had left nothing behind.


Greg said...

Wow, another year starting, and I don't think I'm done with the old one yet! I need another month or so to sort it all out still....
It sounds like the cabin's all but done then. That would be great, having it all ready for the new year! I hope the nail gun got a decent burial ;-)
That's a very poignant piece today, nicely reflective and captures the prompt beautifully. I suspect estate agents (realtors in Canadian?) would have a hard time selling empty houses with "dead rooms" though!

Moving On
A hot wind, dry and dusty,
Stirs the air. Phlebas lifts his head
And tastes it: it is acrid,
With the stink of metal.
Lumbering to his feet, remembering
That his knees have yet to heal,
He draws his ownings close
And moves on with moving on.

Water drips behind him, every footstep
A wet reminder of where he's been.
He shudders once, memories of his life
Leaving him again like the memories of a dream.

The open road is calling, mountains
Stand as a gateway to beyond,
The sea is far behind him now,
He's been moving on.

Consider Phlebas as he flees his past,
Watch him drift through dying towns,
Wonder for a moment if what drives him on
Is the driving force that brings decay
To thriving hives of industry.
From me to you,
Who are moving on and looking windward,
Consider Phlebas, who was once handsome and tall as you.

Zhongming said...

Moving on (Continuation from the snowy woods)

Memo of day four, 12:08pm Sunday, 23rd Jan 2000.

Luckily we found the source of water. Strange enough the lake was presented with ultra clear and fresh water. We absolutely have no slightest hint about where it came from. It's almost magical. The thing is... I feel extremely calm and ready to move on after a mouthful of that water. I feel rejuvenate! It feels like I'm completely healed, mentally and physically.

I stare at the reflections from the lake and found myself getting older with all that long beard and mustache. My eyes puffed up from all that tears last night where I dream of I got rescued by the air unit. Which actually further motivates me to carry on surviving until I got rescued. 

I missed the hot soup that I had at home everyday. Over here I'm living on just biscuits and thankfully power bars that Jennifer had in her backpack. However with its limited supplies, it should be able to last for a couple of days before we set out hunting for food.

As I'm contemplating on all the trivial issues, Sam calls out to me as it's time to continue our journey again...

Watermark said...

Moving on

We often find ourselves wallowing,
or faltering in pools of doubt.
We try and mend inadequate pieces,
or creases that need to be straightened out.
In the midst of a raging storm,
or more often a peaceful calm,
that we call our life - it continues to roll,
with or without time - it's in our hands,
to make or to squander,
an invitation to ponder,
about what it means to be moving on.
It is all about optimism,
and new beginnings,
for me - from now on.

Vicki said...

It happened early this morning. I had an epiphany: This is my life. It’s a simple realization, but it changed everything. It gave me the confidence to free myself from your psychological grip. This is not your life to live for me. This is my life to do as I will with it. Each day, I will wake up and think, “What do I want to do today?” and I will do it. I won’t worry about what you would’ve wanted me to do. I won’t even worry about what you will think of me when I tell you. I will just worry about making the most of each day of my life.

Today, I am going to be me.

summerfield said...

i am in the company of two young impressive boys, one who loves to read, and the other who loves to make up stories. and i have to make some dishes for tomorrow's new year dinner table. aaaargh!


moving on

The Christmas card arrived two days early, just as it had been in the last twenty-some years. With the same wishes, that he hoped I have found happiness. As usual, he signed it "I love you. I wish we're still together. Lee"

This year, I sent him a reply card and in it I wrote: "Lee, as I said a number of times, you should be moving on, because I have. Yes, I am very happy. Alone, but happy."

Marc said...

Greg - that's a fantastic poem. Loved it.

Zhongming - you're really doing a fantastic job with that story, I'm definitely hooked!

Watermark - really enjoyed that, the first four lines in particular had a wonderful flow to them.

Vicki - that's really great, I could feel the optimism of the narrator like it was jumping off the page at me.

I do believe that makes two days in a row for you - you're on a roll! :)

Marc said...

Summerfield - oops, we were posting at the same time!

Loved the reply. It said what was needed to be said and nothing more :)

Sean said...

Brain Droppings quickly passed from the morning mind.

To move on one must have been somewhere.
But where is this magical somewhere?
Today I moved myself from there to here which now might be my new someplace
Is someplace actually somewhere?
Or is somewhere really anyplace?
Place is a relative term...I can be here physically but not here in my mind
If I keep asking questions will it lead to answers or to more questions?
Moving beyond the questions we come to the next point
The point....
The point...
The point turns into the next question
Now I move on from these mind mumblings to the next cup of coffee

gada said...

Moving On.

Golden leaves fell from oak trees as he walked away from the house he grew up in. His shoes dragged slightly on the sidewalk as he looked at the neighborhood that was once his playground, the swings that he didn't fit in anymore, the treehouse he had made one summer, the kind and wrinkled faces of Mr and Mrs Kowalski sitting on their front porch as usual, catching the last of the afternoon sun. Thats when he slowly realized that the neighborhood would be the same forever, other children would swing and play in the treehouse, and would be given lemonade and cookies by Mrs Kowalski in summer. He had grown up, and now it was his time to make his mark on the world. With a quickening of his steps, he strode to the corner and with one last look back, strode off to meet the future.

Marc said...

Sean - loved it. Particularly: "The point turns into the next question."

Gada - you painted a really lovely picture there, very nicely done.