Saturday, September 8, 2012

Razor's Edge : Water Movement

Water is important; we all know that. But this week water has been a particularly commanding presence in my life. It started with the discovery of a soaked bathroom rug in the middle of the night, which led to shutting off water to the entire house, and calling a plumber.

All this on the day the Literary Kitchen started another round of Wayward Writers. And we had a date with the youngest member of our family to go to the Pirate Festival. Oh! And Pirates = water. Yet another connection.

The plumber came and went last Saturday and we had a new cold water connection, a new sink drain, and were told we needed to call our insurance. Which we did. And we waited.

For returned calls.

Which came. With anxiety producing predictions of the process. With threats that the potential damage may not be covered. With trying to schedule visits from a disaster recovery contractor and an insurance adjuster and then another visit from the contractor's office. With more promised appointments and visits to be made, with the potential of another team of workers if the samples taken today turn out to contain asbestos or lead paint (our house is over 100 years old; the chances are good).

All this while trying to work. To write a story. To prepare to interpret a wedding on Saturday. To rearrange the interpreter line-up for PCS because one person had to back out for the season.

This momentum, this movement in a new direction while holding our own in the stream of our lives, started with a burst water pipe under the sink and behind a drawer.

Stepping on a soaking wet mat on the way to the toilet in the middle of the night.

Water. Important. And powerful.

So, for you, today's prompt is water related.

This is a relaxing and attractive video of a river. Turn it up so you can hear the water. When you feel yourself letting go a little, feel the edge of tautness slipping away, read the prompt and write.

Or, read the prompt first and then turn on the video. It's 10 minutes in length; the amount of time I'd like you to write.


I looked into her eyes and knew ....