I peep out from behind the heavy velvet curtain in the window alcove. The noise is so loud. Grandfather is shouting above everyone else. I put my fingers in my ears. When I remove my fingers, I hear Granny grumbling about her dinner being spoiled because the men stayed too long at the pub. But she is bringing in the roast and soon we are all sitting at the table. Granny is such a good cook, and she has made roast beef and Yorkshire puddings. There is cauliflower with white sauce, crunchy roast potatoes, green beans, and it all looks so good. I am worried there might not be enough for me. The men get served first and they take such big helpings. But I do get my plate filled and just tuck in, trying to make myself as small as possible. The best part of Christmas dinner is the Christmas pudding, with the holly stuck in the top, and burning blue from the brandy that has been lit over it.
When we have all emptied our plates, someone always yells: "Bring the flaming pudding in!" and, always, someone replies: "Bring the flaming pudding in yourself." But soon Granny comes in with it, just as I imagined it, with a jug of custard to go on it. Sometimes, instead of custard, there is brandy sauce, which is yummy, too. And, after Christmas, if there is any Christmas pudding left over, Mum fries it in butter, and we eat it that way. But, the best time, is when you eat it carefully the first time. You have to be careful, because Granny always puts little silver things in it and I don't want to break a tooth. Sometimes it is a charm, sometimes a silver sixpence. It is lucky if you get one of these.
After dinner, Grandad is Father Christmas. The gifts are all tied to the tree with ribbons, so they are not very big. But they are fun to do. I bought one cigar for Dad, and wrapped it myself. I know he will like that. Pretty hankies for Mum. I get a ball, and my sister a horse on a stand. You push on the bottom of the stand and the horse folds up all kinds of ways. One of my brothers opens his: a yo-yo, and there is a book for the other one. I am so full from dinner that it makes me tired. I go back behind the curtain, and my sister hides behind the big chair in the corner. You can just see the top of her head and her big eyes staring out. My brothers are not scared. They sit and talk with the grown-ups. My Mum and Grandad play cribbage, and I drift off to sleep with the words, "fifteen two, fifteen four, fifteen six, two's eight and......"

Well, no surprise to this procrastinator, I did not get all the exercises done by the end of the Noughties. Press on regardless.

I hope that my followers had a wonderful holiday season, and will have a word-full New Year. The next exercise in the Fiction Class is writing about a holiday season. Wait a minute! I think I did that. I will look for it and post it next.

The exercise after that is:

Write about a place that was important to you growing up, but don't put people in it. Just describe it as though you were painting the picture with words.

This looks as though it might be easy. Good luck!

I did not like this exercise. It's been done too often! However, I had promised to produce something by Monday and here it is, slapdash as it may be. The next exercise is:

Think about a family gathering, a holiday, a birthday, a funeral. Write about that gathering in the first person from the point of view of a child.

The ceaseless movement of the dinghy had stopped bothering her. In fact, the rhythmic rocking had soothed her. Marguerite no longer held out any hope that they would be rescued. The eternal darkness that she was in because of her blindness lessened somewhat when it was daylight and she realized another day had arrived. Her fingers felt the notches in the wooden slat that made up part of a short ladder. They had been adrift for thirty days. Marguerite picked up her nail file, and sawed back and forth until a new dent noted another day. It was only then that she thought of her companion.
Robert had grown increasingly quiet over the last few days, and she said, tentatively,
"Robert?"
"What?" he growled.
Shocked, she realized he was very close to her--too close. She put out her arm. When her hand found him, he jerked away from her and the boat rocked more quickly.
"What were you doing?" she asked, her voice quavering.
"Nothing," he said. "I was watching you mark the wood. What's the point of marking how long we have been here? There's hardly any food left and you know we are both going to die."
"We don't know that. We might still be found. It happens."
"We haven't seen any sign of a ship for at least two weeks. We have probably drifted out of the common sea lanes."
Marguerite did not answer. She was remembering the events of a month ago. They had been on a four-master, on a birthday cruise for her friend, Shirley. Shirley had invited five of her very best friends and their significant others. Marguerite was a kind of tagalong. They felt sorry for her because of her blindess and Shirley had tacked her on at the very last minute. How she wished she had not come.
Shirley had brought along the latest boys' band combo. They were on the verge of becoming the next overnight sensation, and she had been able to get them in a lull between gigs. They obviously thought they were going to have a free vacation, but it was their damn drug taking that got them in this mess. They were freebasing in the hold, using the cook's torch to warm the spoon. Someone had dropped it and their music books had caught fire. Instead of staying to put out the fire, Robert and the others had panicked and run for the gangway. The fire got too much of a hold and they had all abandoned ship.
Marguerite, unable to see, had been swept up by someone in the general confusion, and put into this dinghy. She had counted the thuds as eleven others had landed on the thick rubbery bottom of the boat, and then listened to the confused shouting, smelling the acrid smoke, and holding tightly to the ropes on the side. She kept very still in all the madness, trying to make herself as small and out of the way as she could.
The members of the band had all managed to get into this one dinghy. She was the only woman and the others were passengers. One of them had been badly burned and soon had succumbed to his injuries. A band member, deprived of his drugs, had slipped into dementia and thrown himself overboard about the third day, quickly followed by another trying to save him. They were quickly separated from the boat, and their cries grown fainter and fainter. There was no attempt to organize their supplies, and soon it was everyone for himself. One man, thirstier than the rest scooped a tin mug of sea water and drank it. She heard him raving, and then suddenly the dinghy rocked wildly, his screaming was cut off by a gulp, and she heard him not more. A fight had broken out, and Robert, with a hatchet in his hand, had covered her body with his own. She crouched down in the bottom of the boat, with her fingers in her ears, while the dinghy lurched and rocked from the melee within it. She must have lost consciousness. When she was aware again, she and Robert were the only ones left. From the nature of his silence when she asked what had happened, she decided to say no more.
That was some time ago, and she knew there was no more food left. They had been able to rig up a canvas to collect rain water, but that was running out. Robert had stopped talking to her a few days ago, and the incident this morning had made her scared of him. She felt the boat respond to a sudden movement. Instinctively, the slat in her hand, she raised her arms above her and ducked to one side. There was a swish of air and she realized that Robert had rushed past her. The slat was pulled out of her hand. She heard a splash, and then the boat rocking. Stretching her along side of the boat, she found the slat, and then the connecting chain. Robert's booted foot was entangled in the ladder, and he was hanging upside down over the edge of the dinghy. He was struggling to get his head out of the water and get back into the boat. Instead of helping him, she drew as far away from him as she could, and waited until the sounds died away and all was calm again.

Ready to go

I just got back from the UK, and Dover, NH, where I enjoyed meeting up with former colleagues. Had a great time, but still have not completed my third assignment from Susan Green's book. I have given myself a deadline of next Monday.

Welcome to new followers. Great to have you here.

Welcome to two new followers: Barbara and Kristi. I realise that I don't post as often as I should. The truth is, I am trying to write the next assignment about the two people left in the boat and decide who is to die. Very difficult for me to conceive it. I keep starting and trashing what I have written. Then, life gets busy.

What am I saying? Life is busy for everyone. In fact, I think back to my mother's life and remember how she was able to relax and just be in the moment. I have got too many irons in the fire and love to read too much. Just got Kathleen Norris's latest book, Acedie and Me. It's giving me lots to think about. That laziness I am afflicted with, is it really acedemie?

Thanks to all you followers.

Welcome to four wonderful followers to my blog! Jenny, Teresa, KiwiPoet, and Frenchy! I am still learning the diameters of blogging. I found out that I cannot cut and paste a document from Word into my blog. If there is any way to do this I would appreciate learning it.

I know that Jenny is taking part in the writing exercises from The Fiction Class by Susan Green. We are on the third exercise right now. I hope the others will too. I am open for feedback.

How many of you have blogs? I would love to start following you, too.