Lately...

I haven't written much of anything lately, except papers for school.

I had 3 creative writing assignments for my Narratives of The Self class. They were awesome. Well, I really liked writing them, as they were fiction. They are based on passages from the book Housekeeping by Marilyn Robinson. The first one I had to write a fictional story from my families history. It had to take place before I was born and be about someone else. I wrote mine about my great granny. Remember, this is fiction.

~~~~~~~~~~~
A Guilty Mind
~~~~~~~~~~~

I am standing in the kitchen watching my husband by his truck; the truck with it’s beautiful painted side: “Bamond’s Deli Traditional Italian Meats and Goods”. The boys are in the yard with their friends. Little men, they think they are, bossing each other around, pretending they’re like their daddy’s, tall, strong, and commanding. I look at the dishes still filling the sink; I haven’t made it very far. Kathy and Joy are playing in the living room and they know they’re supposed to be cleaning the den. The grandfather clock in the living room chimes that it is six-thirty. These dishes won’t wash themselves so I plunge my hands into the frothy water that has gone warm, and pick up my sponge. The remnants of our dinner, pasta again, are washed down the drain and the plates are stacked in the metal drying wrack on the side of the sink. My thoughts are wandering tonight, I think. They can’t seem to stay on one thing for very long. Why are those girls not cleaning the den? Judy came over yesterday, while John was at the Deli working. She won’t come when he’s home, still very bitter. It saddens me that she will only visit for the sake of seeing her nieces. The children are still young enough that they don’t see the displeasure in their Aunt’s eyes when she visits us. She didn’t stay long, just long enough to hug them, see their new toys, give the boys each a dollar, and leave. They don’t see their daddy’s eyes when her name is mentioned, when they told him of her visit. No one but I know the pain Judy suffers and the guilt John feels. I should feel guilty too, and I often berate myself for not always feeling guilty. It’s not my fault who John loves is it? Judy shouldn’t blame me. It’s been nearly ten years. I mean, it’s not like they were married! Or even engaged! A letter sweater means nothing, a ring is something. I had a ring, and all she had was a sweater. Ten years later and I still doubt myself. But aren’t we happy? I should have loved my sister more. Why didn’t I love my sister more? All these years, though, and we’ve been happy. John doesn’t know how much Judy loved him. He never had a chance. I have to put her feelings aside. The kids can’t find out, that would be awful. What would they think of me, their mother, stealing away the one man her sister ever loved. The cold water on my hands brings my thoughts back to my task. With a grumble I let the water out, refilling the sink with hot sudsy water. I yell for the girls to quiet down, hadn’t I told them to clean something? I forget. As I bring my porous pad to the next bowl, plate, cup, saucer, fork, spoon, my hand stops at the knife. Sharp, serrated. That’s how I am, like the knife. I cut into Judy’s life and messily took what I felt was mine. No use being guilty now, what’s done is done.

I got an A.

Anyway, I'll post the second assignment soon. Is anyone reading this?