Drawn by a light she knew should not be there, Grand returned to the kitchen. She could have sworn she had secured her nook, yet, casting a glow candle soft, the oven light. "Zeke, did you turn the oven light on?"
"I did." His tone, Tao smooth she called it, implied query asked and query answered. Nothing more needed, nothing more forthcoming.
"Kinda late to be cooking."
"Wasn't planning on cooking."
"And the light?"
Zeke put his book down and looked over his glasses, his tawny face glowing warmly in lamp light like a lion facing twilight. "Feels like home when the light is on, that's all."
23 comments:
Comfort. It can so often be found in the little things.
I think that I could put a couple of dirty socks in the floor. Put a "chapter book" laying face down on a table. A piece of paper with smiley faces, flowers, and a young girl's name written all over it. Painful to step on matchbox cars. A discarded ribbon from a pony tail. And a blanket wadded up on the couch.
Home.
Jen, I love your comment, (always do), sounds utterly lovely, homely. :-)
The heart, the spirit, of The Story here, definitive and resonant. Truth and beauty, of love, of life, you show it to us, remind us of it, like the 'Curves' of a woman, in your writing, always, throughout, the parts we forget, the parts we do not notice, the parts we do not pay attention to, you reintroduce us, remind us, show us, like the child that looks with wonder, and I do apologize if unintentionally I quote words you have spoken, sees the magic, unencumbered, the truth, the beauty. Your story is literature at it's best, it is, it is the best of us, compassion, love, understanding, with no half measures, and why we lost Cait. Deep, sensitive, a poet's soul, this is what you do, the tears that fall with joy, with despair, with love, rain down upon us, permeate our souls, saturate, fill the reservoir within, our drops with your drops making still more drops as you capture, impel and propel emotion, imagination, causing it to overspill, flood, and is there anything more beautiful, than how one person can touch another. It's all one thing, and I am to my eternal regret unequipped though I try and keep trying to express the beauty of touch, ever-lasting, limitless, infinite, your writing touches constantly, there is a 'world onto' in this story as a whole, and it is here, it exists, it has been written, it is there to be read, it has been read, it has touched, it has the potential to touch each of us, everyone, everlastingly, limitlessly, infinitely, and who am I, who are any of us that come here if not strangers first, one part read and we could not be called so any more, not completely, not from our side, I felt your heart, I saw beauty, yours, mine, sigh, how to word it, you showed and I saw it too. Strangers, loved ones, the difference we need the page to know, and we respond on the page, need the page to show, it is captured in words, and then there is the hand. To sum that up, I guess is to say that you touch the hearts of guests, mine amongst, leave impressions that won't fade, that alter and augment and therein one can see the beauty of your heart, the extent, for it glows through the words and all the way over here and the truth and beauty of the world as I look out upon it shimmers still more because I saw more of it through your writing. And I smile to think of you as you walk around being you, seeing as you do, open, sensitive, appreciate, responsive, respectful of your surroundings, each time something touches you, the child on the zebra crossing, the father who asked for a loan, the chapel, endless others, those we have seen in some form, those we haven't, those remembered and those still to come and I think, was doing quite well at not being too repetitive so it is definitely time to be so, :), what a blessing you are, onto the world, your soul shines so bright, reflecting, everyone that you come into contact with, spoken or unspoken, must recognize that shimmer, on some level, and that is so special, makes me (sorry to use the story again as I did with Von and Ceru the other day, but you say it wordlessly in ways I cannot) feel like Grand as she stood in the kitchen watching Kyra run out to Papa, hoping you understand that as I mean it, hoping all the above can be interpreted in the way that I mean it. You are beautiful. And it shines clearly in your writing, it is defined and touchable, white on black, every colour on black and not just the art either, as it must in everything that you do, to everyone that you meet, shine, we are what we are whether we are asking for a loaf of bread at the store or having a heartfelt conversation, or walking past in the park, souls speak I want to write, and with that I have lost my train as I wonder at that statement, plus the girls have woken, but I wanted to say, to repeat, something about expression, about how not only do you simply see, but you simply express, all those words to be used in conjunction, truth, simplicity, clear, complete, show not tell, is not imagined, is not with added parts which aren't additions but retractions, gold is gold and as though seen for the first time, or seen rather for the the best time, seen for everything, that is how you hold it up to the light and each time that you do, it is as wondrous as when we saw it for the very first time. The light from the oven shining upon the love, the heart. And one last repeat, I do so wish, again, that I could express myself with the beauty and simplicity that you do, so that I could tell you of that beauty and simplicity. Home. Heart.
Will have to come back, end part a, final comment, perfect chapter.
Not the curves of a woman as such but the curves chapter as it is written, your writing is curves.
Tears of joy etc, the ones that are shed within, by the characters, are what is meant by 'yours' and the ones that we shed reading, 'ours', as the words are lived, are the ones which rain, filling from within and without.
'I saw beauty, yours, mine, sigh, how to word it, you showed and I saw it too'. Yours, mine, as in the all-inclusive, collective ours, those best parts of us, and for our ability to see what you show.
Jen, you and I are two peas in the same pod. Although I like clean, I find I happily gravitate toward the socks on the floor (my dogs love my socks on the floor), books stacked on my nightstand, blankets unfolded, a glass and a fork in the sink (or more) and I could go on and on. One thing that does drive me crazy is all kinds of papers loosely magneted to the front of the fridge that flutter with every opening like laundry in the breeze. Now that's just going too far. :-D
Sunshine, yesterday I was home by myself. I had set up shop (computer and books and lamp) on the small kitchen table in the breakfast nook of our kitchen, which overlooks my numerous bird feeders (aka squirrel haven and spa) and trees in my backyard. I cooked dinner (baked chicken, seasoned whole grain rice and light kidney beans--right on track by the way). I ate the beans while the rice was cooling and the chicken was still baking. Then I ate the rice, sharing with my dogs who seem to love (besides everything) the salty flavoring such to start spontaneous snorting while eating--the pleasures of a dog. I was throughly enjoying my quiet, treasured aloneness when the chicken timer rang. I took the chicken out, measured 112 grams of pure white meat on my digital scale, picked up my plate and turned the oven and oven light off. When the light in the oven went dark, I felt something inside go dark too, very subtle, but abso-f*-lutely clear, as if I had some distant memory-a very happy memory-that an oven light on was home, was happiness, was Grand cooking dinner (she was a the best cook I ever knew and where I grew up), of anticipation, of activity, things to do, life, as I like to say, being lived. And I also knew, once dinner was done, and the kitchen cleaned, the the lights dimmed, we would move to the living room and watch network TV on one of the three channels available. That would be a good time too, but different, the denouement to the day.
So, before I could walk the ten feet from oven to table, I knew this chapter from the inside out and only needed to out what was inside. And there you have it. :-D
Your comment, by the way, is beyond delicious. :-)
Amazing how just a few simple words can convey so much feeling ... home ...
Bless your sweet heart. Thank you for telling of where precisely this chapter came, it makes them all the warmer, all the more special, all the more. :-)
I love your art and writing so much. Both have nuances that touch my soul to the core. I feel that with every excerpt I read and piece I view that an explanation of who I am, how I think, how I feel, is presented. There are so many dynamics in your writing and in the nuances of the relationships you write about that I not only do I depict a window of my nuances, but I gain understanding of how the chemistry of others is formed, tended to, and expanded. Thank you so much for sharing your story and art. I am delighted and engaged every day.
Annie, thanks for the very, very kind words and for commenting--I do love comments. I think they are kinda like hugs, the kind you get at a university church welcoming a new member. :-)
I work hard to try and create nuances in the characters and always feel as if I come up short, very short. Your feedback is very nice to see and, if you have the time and inclination, I would love to hear of the nuances you see and pick up on. I may very well be writing things into The Story that I'm not even aware are there.
Thanks again for visiting and commenting. Always, always, deeply appreciated. Have a wonderful Sunday Annie C. :-)
Dana, sometimes I think I'm too cut and dry, too blunt, too impatient to let something build and so I kinda cut to the chase and get right to the heart of what I'm trying to say. As such, you get a chapter like this, built around a single and simple idea, turning and leaving the oven light on turns the kitchen from utilitarian to home. As always, thanks for the kind, sweet words. I think you know very well how a few kind words and make a heaven of hell or a hell of heaven.
Sunshine, you are more than welcome. I do love pulling the curtain back on the creative process. I wish more authors would do the same. I have many fears but revealing my own creative process apparently is not one of them. :-D
Have you been peeking in my fridge?
:)
home. Thats such a powerful word. Its all emcompassing.
Tree,
it made me shiver, until I read your post and then I saw it on all warm and homey... Thanks for explaining it in your comment :)
indeed.. it does feel like home when the lights are on...wonder why that is so...
Ohhh I so identify with this. I'll turn on a light just to feel "home". And I leave a worn pair of panties on the floor at times... just as smelly as socks, but naughtier ;)
JRM, you are naughty indeed, wickedly naughty. :-)
Mona, I'm not sure why. Perhaps we are all drawn toward the light and away from darkness.
Annie, no problem. Sometimes the comments are better than the post. :-D
Meleah, I couldn't agree more. :-)
Jen, just making an educated guess. :-D
You know I will have squatters rights in the comments section of this chapter before long!!
Wanted to say good morning. Your one word comment made me grin!
And the fact that I am trying to be 'good' and sneaking time on the computer to tell you that SHOULD make you grin too.
Another innocent corrupted. Ha!
This evening I plan to take time to get caught up with your recent chapters. Something to look forward to!
Be blessed and I hope you have a lovely day.
Jen
Oh! And thank you Ms. Storm for your wonderful compliment. What I lack in writing ability I make up for with sincererity. I have NEVER lacked heart. Just sense! :)
Jen, your Tide looked golden Saturday night. Saban may be a jackasary, but he does know how to build a college program. I expect you guys to have great success under his tenure.
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