href=”https://sorrygnat.files.wordpress.com/2013/01/imagescaoqm66v.jpg”>
The toast, more than slightly burned and twisted, rose with her pale limpid hand, as Emily, a follower of Ron Paul, Edward Dash, Holley Holes and other limpid like creatures, spoke with as much force as she could emanate, all the while reclining in an odd twisted way on the mint green julep chaise lounge, redecorated since it birthed into the world of her grandmother Nenny, who never had a wrinkle in her life, and Emily thought, as her head with its faint gossamer curls of faded L’Oreal Red Fire Engine Red, and Nenny who never had a thought in her life, pondered, her Wet N’Wild Lipstick number 2002, the color that ran in Russian department stores for so long, cracked and a bit of dryness seeped into her part glossy, but dry and cracked upper lip, and she went on, pushed into the stale breeze of conversation about New Year’s Resolutions, and tilted her toast to the left and then to the right like a politician of years gone by, too ineffective to make a difference, as if difference mattered in these days of political slime and split, but still, the stillness in the air, the pallid air, stilled even more, to a microscopic silence and she said, “Out with the old and in with the new,” and her boyfriend Henry, all new as a boyfriend of 2 ½ days, caught the sailing crisps of bread parts in the air with both hands, and he said in an adoring voice that rose to a falsetto, or sounding like Alfred Deller in a Vivaldi piece, Ode to Joy or something like that, he quivered, “Out with the old and in with the new,” repeating his new love’s most spontaneous act, a second one indeed, if he could count, and he would love to count it, her slight ack moan slipping from her rouged and ruined mouth from their 7 minutes of passion the night before, consummated so quickly, so eloquently, so quietly, and then the crowd, looking more like Edward Gorey characters who just stepped off their one dimensional cover of the new Edward Gorey 2012 Calendar made up of twitches and twatches of woebegone Victorian figures, some full, and burley in sweaters and pondering thought with pen in right hand, left hand wanly holding a small blank square of paper, some in bold black, green and white chequered plaid, with the usual maiden with darkened Kohl eyes nearby, and a lady who looked very much like our beloved Emily, may we by now, the avid, sturdy, stalwart reader who has reached the end of this essay of small black marks, may we call her Em, and may we finish this piece as we hear all the voices Gorey and others, writers and wishes everywhere say, “My only resolution is to write more!”
I feel as if I just ran an emotional marathon, all 26 miles rattling around in my chest and gut. I was starting to think poor Em and Henry only got 7 minutes, but now I’m wondering if one of them might not have collapsed with an eighth minute! Wonderful.
Amazing! I’m breathless. What fun, Esther!
thanks Gerry; it’s good to be back blogging again; hope you are well!
YEAH! Here’s to writing more!
wow! do you maybe think my pen could write that way, say, in 20 years, huh? 😉 this piece rocks, ms. esther – yahoo!!! thanks for coming over, all the best wishes for 2013… 🙂
sweet one, i just read your latest post about your mom, well said; my mom died when i was 17-read Motherless Daughters by Hope Edelman; it is a classic, nonfiction; wonderful
All I can say, Esther, is thank God for commas, or you surely would have found my poor, wasted body, purple from a dearth of air and with lungs collapsed as like unto two shriveled balloons, laying (or is it lying?) expired, ever stoically, upon the floor, not a drop of oxygen left to whisper in dulcet tones the ever questioning, “why, gentle, Esther, why-why-why?”, and yet content that I’d at least enjoyed that splendiferous pleasure of reading, before these two brown, brown eyes of mine closed forever, a post that bequeathed me one final chortle before casting off this mortal coil.
Are you bragg’in about your mortal coil? Again? Was that a positive review? I dears’t not ask. I made a mistake and used the photographer’s picture. Fortunately he contacted me, so I took it off. Good lesson. thanks for your comments Steve. Pulley.
What images you created Esther!! So happy to have you back 🙂 And here’s to more writing!
That is a long sentence. Much more impressive stamina on display in its creation than during the the seven minutes of passion.
I used a method of showing movement from Madame Bovary; read book; or partly read book Dreaming, or something like that; lit critic from iowa; used in my writing classes too; it was great fun; just rolled out; Lord knows how many characters lurk in our subbasements! best to you
where have you been; miss you
Reblogged this on Mel's Madness.
Reblogged this on Sorrygnat, World Citizen and commented:
I am repeating this blog post for a friend’s view and writing students. I was emphasizing movement, and the reference was how Emma Bovary moved; I tried the technique and out came Toasting Resolutions