Again, write 200 words (yes, I've doubled it. I think 100 might be too few for many) in the format of fiction, poetry or memoir and post it as a comment. One weekly piece will be selected to highlight. You may include a link to your website, blog, or book for sale. Please read qualifiers and intent in the post "Writing Prompts to Build a Community".
The Prompt: You're staring at a completely set Thanksgiving table loaded with the most amazing feast in a room that's decked out in fine celebration style, but you are the only one there.
The Prompt: You're staring at a completely set Thanksgiving table loaded with the most amazing feast in a room that's decked out in fine celebration style, but you are the only one there.
There is something about a family holiday that calls us to remembrance. Sitting at my sister's table long ago spooning the homemade zucchini relish golden with corn and sun onto egg-topped waffles. Being told that she and her husband make zucchini relish every year. Not that they canned for 10 days, not that they put up hundreds of preserves, but that they simply make zucchini relish together. I was not there when they did it but I could imagine the murmur of voices, the boiling of jars and measuring of vinegars and cutting the corn off the cobs and dicing the garden-heavy zucchini and how that all wove them into one being, a couple. How many jars of zucchini relish stood on the shelf afterwards was not the point. Really, when someone says to me "My grandmother used to fill up our cellar with homemade preserves!" all I feel is that it's some other world and certainly I could never do that. But this, one project, one "product", one family story that lasts down the years long after the last jar of the last zucchini relish has been consumed, this is marriage, this is family. That zucchini relish was meant to be eaten together, sitting around a table, talking and laughing... no cell phones, no television, no newspapers... beloved faces and voices woven into forever. Thank you to my sister Hannah and her family for always making me welcome.
ReplyDeleteYou express the emotion, joy, the work involved in making the relish and the couple's love you experienced very well. It truly makes you want to not only try some, but to be within that ambience as well.
DeleteI was running late, but couldn't help it. There were so many things I needed to do, and it had to be in such an out-of-the-way place! I am not looking forward to getting there and seeing all those eyes silently yet suspiciously asking me, "Late again? What's your excuse now?"
ReplyDeleteBefore I open the door, I smell the wonderful variety of food and hear soft music. I try not to feel guilty for not having brought anything. Slowly, I open the door, not wanting to hit anyone, and to hopefully not be noticed. I stare in awe. The room was decked out in the most stylish Thanksgiving Day décor. The food looked perfect, making my stomach growl and echo throughout the room. Because, although the music is on, it was very low, and there was no one there.
Oh the feel of being the always late one. I like the echo of the stomach growl in the empty space. And trying to not be noticed, good luck there.
DeleteAn elaborate practical joke, with a hint revenge, on the tardy party, or a twilight zonish purgatory for the perpetually late?
I didn't have a feeling for the ending. I usually like a twist, so it would've been something TZish.
DeleteThe centerpiece had been designed with care and an eye to autumn hues. Each place setting perfectly assembled,
ReplyDeleteThe turkey nestled on the gold rimmed platter, crisped skin shining with the remains of basting. Bowls of potatoes, mashed white and candied sweet, waited patiently with the cranberry sauce.
Fresh from the oven pies filled the space with cinnamon and ginger, and a hint of chocolate.
She peeked through the curtain again, checking the drive way for their arrival.
Slowly the feast cooled, the gravy congealed.
She sat silently at the empty table, waiting. As she had waited every Thankgiving for the last five years.
This is very impressive. It brings me to tears. And my family say I don't have a heart! Very good piece. I can so very see every detail and almost smell it all. And again, very sad.
Delete