Practicing in Public

September 8, 2018

TODAY’S PROMPT: Keywords: recruitmotorcycleoceansunriseroad

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One year of pain and surgeries and pain killers and hospitals. One year of rehabilitation. Mitch opened the sliding glass door that led to the deck. He breathed in the salt air. Pushing the rolling walker out onto the deck, the sound of the ocean waves wrapped around him.

The young nurse stared at her charge and then followed him onto the deck. “I can see why you fought the doctors so hard to finish your rehab here. It’s lovely.”

Mitch sat down on the walker’s seat.

The sound of the front door creaking open broke the silence. “Mitch? Mitch, when did you get here? I wasn’t expecting you back till tomorrow.” The svelt woman set a bag of groceries on the counter and hurried to Mitch’s side. “I invited a bunch of people over for a surprise welcome home party for you.”

Mitch looked at the woman and back toward the ocean. “I missed the waves. I missed the smell. I missed the sunrise and the sunset. I didn’t miss your intervening in my life. By the way, Karen, meet Abby. Abby – Karen. Abby is my at home guard and nurse; Karen is my meddling, OCD, older sister.”

Mitch rose and maneuvered his walker to go back into the house. “I do appreciate, dear sister, that you watched the place for me, but I’m home now. Besides, you have your own apartment downtown that probably needs your attention.”

Karen hurried to his side. “I can walk by myself. I’ve been back on my feet for the past four months.”

“I’ll get the groceries put away and then we can talk about living arrangements.”

“What living arrangements? I’m back so you don’t have to come out here and take care of things anymore.”

“That’s just it. I don’t have anywhere to go.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Mitch opened the soda his sister had placed in front of him.

“Since I work from home and it is so beautiful here and we didn’t know exactly how long you were going to be laid up, I kinda let my downtown apartment go, put my stuff in storage, and moved in here.”

“You moved in here? Without asking?”

Karen folded the last bag. “Sorry.”

“There is no sorry. You need to get your own place. Why on earth would I want you living here?”

“It saved me time and now I can help with the things you can’t do,” she looked at her brother and added, “yet.”

“It makes sense, Mr. Anderson,” said Abby.

“She doesn’t need your encouragement.”

“You wouldn’t have to recruit anyone as your housekeeper. From the looks of it, she has been doing a great job. In fact, I was worried that you would come home to a dusty, grungy disaster.”

“Ok, as long as you don’t try to tell me what I can and can’t do. But before I completely agree, I need to show you my newest prize.” Mitch walked toward the door that led to the garage. Parking the walker by the door, he struggled to use the railing and stairs to the floor of the garage. “This is my newest prize. It’s a road worthy early Harley Davidson motorcycle. And it still runs.”

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With the beginning of September 2018, I re-committed to writing my “prompt pages” every day.

 Why?

 

Maybe using the first 10 minutes of the class period with my high school creative writing students has stuck with me. I find that if I don’t start with these, I feel lost, but when I do, everything else to my writing day seems to flow. My “prompt pages” are written and posted without any editing. It is simply “showing up, butt in the chair, fingers on the keyboard writing.

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