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• Drowing in Kids
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• Mrs. Flinger
• No Pasa Nada
• Not Calm (Dot Com)
• Oh, The Joys
• radioactive girl
• SoCal Mom
• Something Baby Blue
• sweetney

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Round on the ends, high in the middle

The city that never sleeps

The king of beers

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Uncategorized

Who me?

Youthful indiscretions

2009

2008

2007

2006

2005

I see a girl

I see a girl, head bent over a chapter book. She sits on a white vinyl beanbag chair, hair falling over her face. Her brow is furrowed with concentration. She finishes the last page and closes the book reverently. She finished her first chapter book. She is seven years old.

I see a girl, sitting at the breakfast table. She has braces and her hair is cut in a blunt bob, thick and straight. She is wearing a sweater with puffed sleeves and hearts knitted into the fabric. This is her favorite sweater – it is picture day. She won’t want to smile. She gnaws on a whole bagel sprinkled with sea salt. She is reading a huge hardcover book. The title is “Gone With The Wind.” She is 12 years old.

I see a girl, sitting at a desk in front of a window. She gazes at the view below, Primrose Hill gently rising in the distance. The street lamps are on. She bends her head over a piece of lined paper. She is doing her homework. The task is a three-paragraph essay about “A Clockwork Orange.” She struggles to organize her thoughts about the mighty novel. The violence upsets her. The language intrigues her. Her pen scratches against the paper on the desk, halting frequently. She is 16 years old.

I see a young woman, cross-legged on the gleaming oak floor of a studio apartment on Beacon Street. Her cheeks are flushed. Her hair is long and straight, falling to her waist. She is wearing blue jeans and a skinny black top. She dresses with an offhand carefulness. She is awkward. Sitting nearby are another young woman and two young men. They lean their heads together over an outline on the floor. They are designing the first issue of an underground campus magazine. There is beer and homemade guacamole. She wrote the cover story. She has a crush on the boy who edited her work. She is 20 years old.

I see a young woman, steno pad clutched in her hand. She shifts nervously in the hard metal chair. She is at a school board meeting. She tries to focus on the six men and one woman in the front of the room. They are talking about line items in a budget. Her pen moves on the paper, noting every word spoken. She has been at work since 8 a.m., and the clock just struck 11 p.m. She is thinking about the long drive home. She is hungry; she did not have time to eat dinner. Her first day as a reporter was long and frightening. She is 23 years old.

I see a woman, nearing middle age. She sits at a round wooden table. She kicks her foot against the table leg. A baby monitor carries the sound of her daughter’s voice to her ears. She is looking at a computer screen. The cursor blinks. It blinks again. Her hands are poised over the keys, hesitant. Her hair is dark, with a stripe of white in the front. She is defiant – she will not cover the white with dye. She likes it. Her fingers linger over the keyboard. They caress the letters. The cursor blinks. She is 35 years old.

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Originally published at Chicken And Cheese by the lovely Mrs. Chicken – a freelance writer (who is always looking for work – hint, hint), wife, and mother to The Poo.  An East Coast girl, she is learning to cope with life on the prairie while her husband pursues a doctorate at a Huge Midwestern University.  She blogs with dreadful regularity at Chicken And Cheese, and is totally psyched to be hanging out at Julie’s place today.

This post is part of the monthly blog exchange sponsored by Motherhood Uncensored. Please visit Mrs. Chicken’s blog today to see which oldie but goodie I dredged up for her to re-publish.

Published by mothergoosemouse on April 1st, 2007 tagged Bloggy-linky-meme-y, Dirtying up other corners of the web