The Violin

Thursday means another Indie Ink Challenge. I challenged Amy to write about what makes her madly deliriously happy and she has responded here. Go read it.

Here is my entry.

Angela placed the pearls round her neck and looked at herself in the mirror. She grimaced and took it off and replaced it with a simple diamond necklace that showed off the plunging neckline of her Versace gown better. Still, the face that looked back at her was not a happy face. Yes, Angela Van Hofsten was not a happy woman. Not as happy as someone who just inherited millions should be.

Angela was the only child of the wealthy Mr and Mrs Van Hosften. She grew up with the best of everything and wanted nothing. Her trust fund kicked in when she was 18, and she was one of the most popular girls at college. Tragedy struck when she was in her senior year and her parents' car met with a fatal accident. She was inconsolable for days afterwards and couldn't bear the thought of life without her only family. Then life dealt her second blow, when she realized there was another relative she didn't know about. She had heard stories about crazy Uncle Matt, but had never met him. Her parents had not been on speaking terms with him throughout her life. But since the wealth was mostly from family investments, as per her great grandfather's will, he got almost everything. She had her trust fund, but it hit hard since she had grown up assuming she would be in millions in her adulthood.

She never got along with Uncle Matt. He looked just like dad and many times she would want to visit him just to see his face. But she soon realized that he was nothing like her dad. For one thing, he didn't believe in any rules. She once got a collection call about turning off electricity at his house. When she asked him about that, he said that he didn't think electricity should cost so much. He drove her insane with his eccentric ways. On the anniversary of her parents' death, she organized a small service at their church for friends and family. He turned up an hour late, in red overalls and drunk to the gills. He refused to donate anything to a charity she founded and said that he would rather throw money on the streets of a poor neighborhood. She gave up all pretense of loving him and after awhile gave up on trying to be in his life too.

One day, her lawyer called her saying he had some bad news. Uncle Matt had gone on an expedition to Africa and had contracted a tropical virus. By the time he was airlifted to a hospital in a city, it was too late. Angela was shocked to hear that. She had her differences with him, but she had never wished him any ill, at least not intentionally. She felt guilty when a corner of her mind burst into jubilation at getting the money back. She brushed those thoughts away and some surprise tears came streaming down her cheeks.

When the dust settled down, it felt good to move back into the house she grew up in. It took a cleaning crew to get the house resemble a home to live in. The grand dining set was broken into pieces and was used to make campfires in the middle of the lawn. The first room that Angela entered the house into was what she had dubbed the "music" room when she was a kid. Her parents loved music and preferred to collect musical instruments instead of art. She loved to go into the room and imagine an orchestra was playing with those old instruments. Her favorite was the 300 year old Stradivarius that her cost her parents more than a million dollars. She had been taking violin lessons since she was six and her parents had promised her the violin after her first performance. Sadly that never came to be. She had been looking forward to playing that violin ever since she got the news.

But try as she may, she couldn't find the violin. All the other instruments were intact, but this one eluded everyone who searched for it. She figured it might have been stolen or maybe Uncle Matt had tried to sell it to buy himself a sandwich. She contacted the police and many art dealers, but no-one had any record of it. She felt like the violin was Uncle Matt's final joke on her. She was sure that he must have known she loved that violin and must have burnt it out of spite.

Her boyfriend Tim walked in while she was putting the last of her makeup on.

"Geez Angie, I told you we are going to a comedy club. Why did you get so dressed up? A jean and a tee would be more appropriate."

Angela stared at him with disguised anger. Yes, Tim would have to go. She knew she was breaking rank by dating him but now the difference seemed more stark than ever. She wanted to be a distinguished socialite and did not care to be seen at such pedestrian places. But she couldn't break up with right away, that would seem too snobbish. She decided two months would be an appropriate time and resolved to send him packing in August.

The comedy club was packed to the gills. The first comedian who came on seemed to go and on in a Seinfeldish way.

"What is the deal with swimming? Don't we have enough bridges to get across water? Flapping your hands and lakes, bobbing up and down for air, that's a poor excuse for fun!"

The proverbial bell rang in Angela's mind. Of course the lake! Their house stood on a lake and the there was a small island in the middle of the lake with a gazebo. She knew that Uncle Matt loved to swim upto the gazebo and stay there for hours just looking at the water. Could he have hidden the violin there?

She left the club rather abruptly and rushed to the gazebo. To her delight, she found the violin case lying on the floor ajar. She hugged it in delight and looked around for the violin. She would have the whole lake dredged if she had to. She could hear the sweet sounds of the violin in her mind. She was going to find it!

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The sounds of violin filled the air near the lake in central Mexico. Matt played the violin with abandon, the lessons of his youth came rushing back to him. All the money never agreed with him. He liked to run the way the wind took him and all those lawyers were always behind him. He figured Angela liked doing all those things anyway. He took a few things that he wanted that he knew that no-one would miss - like his favorite saucepan from the kitchen, money to tide him over for the next 10 years and an old violin he found in one of the rooms.

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My challenge this week was from The Womanist - Make a story around these three - a 300 year old violin, a comedian, a lake. It's not a strong story, but thanks for pushing me into fiction. Hope you like this :)

Father of the Year

I am back to the Indie Ink Writing Challenge after a two week break - to celebrate the husband's birthday, a visit to New York and to recover from all the celebrations. It feels good to flex my writing muscles again.

I challenged Dafeenah to write about a confrontation at work with her boss. I think she really did a great job with such a boring prompt. Go read it here.

Here is my response. The challenge is at the bottom as always.

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She came home from school and announced that to the household by banging the front door close. She immediately regretted doing that because her mother was probably resting. She threw her bag in her room and came to the kitchen to get herself a snack. And then she saw him. He had the audacity to look her in the eye and ask if she wanted a grilled cheese sandwich. Typical! If he had taken any pain to get to know her, he would know that melted cheese made her feel icky and she would never ever eat that, except on pizza. Didn’t he know about her sweet tooth? Her mom usually made a jelly sandwich or a pop tart after school. She poured herself a glass of milk and settled on the table with cookies and a comic. But someone couldn’t take a hint. He followed her and started asking about her day. She wanted to throw the milk on his face and scream. Yes, he was her father. But does he even know what grade she was in? Or her teacher’s name? He had never displayed interest in her in the eight years of her life. He hadn’t even been present. He would always be on the road and the only father she knew was the one who would be sprawled on the couch, clasping a beer with his calloused hands, sleeping the day off. Even when he was awake he never spoke full sentences to her. Never wanted to play catch with her.

She didn’t always feel this angry towards him. She had made her peace with not having a fulltime father and was glad to see him when he was home. But the past few weeks, it was different. For one thing, he was home all the time. There was a lot of yelling and her mother was crying all day. She felt sorry for her mother. And now he thinks he can just waltz back into her life and start playing her father?

He sighed when he saw her read the comic, ignoring his questions. The feeling of sadness in his heart was peppered with flashes of anger at her mother. Yes, he had been absent for a large part of her life. But that was not because he loved her any less. He was a trucker, he had to be on the road most of the time. When he did land back home after driving through ten states, all he wanted to do was eat and sleep. For a few months after she was born, he had stopped driving trucks and had taken up a job stocking shelves at the Piggly Wiggly. But he soon found that his wife preferred an absent husband who made the big bucks to one making minimum wage in town. She liked buying things and wanted everyone to call her pretty. He remembered the night she came to his room crying, with the letter from the credit card company. He was back behind the wheel the next day.

And there was this whole other thing too. Growing up with six brothers, he had been delighted when she told him they were having a daughter. He called all his family and told them the news. Then his buddy called him aside and told him about some rumors that were flying around. That night, they had the biggest fight ever and she swore she was his. And he stayed, because he couldn’t bear the thought of his daughter being raised by someone else and being neglected. And when she came into the world with her black hair and brown eyes, he knew he would love her for the rest of his life. He wished now that he had been different with her. Loving someone and telling someone you love them are independent and separate actions, where one does not imply the other. He took after his father and always had difficulty with words. Many times, he would want to gather her into his arms and just hug her tight. But held back, because in his mind fathers were stern creatures who did not give butterfly kisses to their daughters, preferring to express emotion with grunts.

They had had many fights before, but he didn’t know if they could stay together any longer. A wife is not something you share with a neighbor. For a minute, he wondered if he could just tell his daughter everything. Judging by the dirty looks she was throwing at him, there was no way she would leave her momma and come with him, no matter what he said. Also the only thing he knew in life was driving trucks and what kind of life was that for a little girl? Maybe it was better that she thinks he is the ultimate villain.

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My challenge this week was from Laura and it was "the ultimate villain". It feel very Bollywoodish to end my writing with the prompt :) This was a great prompt, thanks Laura.

PS. Please forgive the terrible font/style, blogger has been very bad and does not let me edit the font.

The Ring

This my entry to this week's Indie Ink Writing Challenge. I am taking a break next week, because I will be partying it up in New York this weekend. Woo hoo!

This week I challenged Blackbird to write about a mind adventure and she has the most beautiful and powerful response here. Go read it.

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Madan was on his knees on the stairs with the ring on his hand. But he was not proposing to Sue, like he wanted to. He was searching for the stone on the ring that had to be somewhere on the stairs.

It had all started a few months ago. He loved Sue and she loved him back and he like Beyonce said, he wanted to put a ring on her. And he knew just the ring to propose with, his grandmother's antique ring, with a diamond as big as a rock. She came to this country fifty years ago and even when they were struggling to make ends meet in the new country, Grandpa wouldn't let her sell or pawn the ring. The ring had been promised to the first grandson who got engaged. Since his brother just broke with his longtime girlfriend and his cousin was a frat boy who couldn't commit to a woman for a week, leave alone for life, he figured the ring was rightfully his. It had been hard convincing his mother though. He figured it was because Sue had lost a wallet and a watch recently and she must be worried that she would absently misplace the ring.

He picked the date to propose, and decided he would do it at their favorite restaurant and place the ring in a glass of champagne. But the night before while flipping through channels, Sue came across a documentary about blood diamonds which ended with her swearing off diamonds for life. Madan couldn't believe his luck, he should have watched the Sex and City rerun like she wanted to. It was back to the drawing board. He turned to his trusted friend Google and searched for other options for engagement rings. He decided that blue sapphire would be a good alternative, considering blue was her favorite color. But now there was the question of the ring. Should he buy a new ring for her? Or should he keep his grandmother's ring and replace the stone? Since he went to so much trouble to get the ring from his mother, he was loathe to give it back. He ordered a blue sapphire to match the diamond on the ring and went to a jeweler to get the diamond off. When Fedex finally delivered the sapphire, he placed it on the ring and was just thinking it looked perfect, when Sue came home and was on her way up the stairs to hug him hello. He did the what at that moment seemed to be the sensible thing to do and just dropped the ring and the stone on the stairs, hoping that the shag carpeting on the stairs would hide them.

When Sue left in a few minutes to have coffee with her best friend Karen, he rushed back to the stairs, but found that the stone was missing.

At the coffee shop, Sue was nervously stirring her latte though she had forgotten to add sugar.

"What do you mean, Madan is going to propose? Are you going to say yes? This is so exciting! Think you will have a summer wedding?"

"Karen, did you hear the other things I am telling you? He was going to use his grandmother's ring. That thing is huge, I am telling you I could blind an entire village with that thing."

"And he is not using that ring now?"

"No, he took the diamond off and is planning to replace it with a blue sapphire"

"What??"

"Yes, it's because I saw this documentary about blood diamonds on TV and I might have cried a bit and told him I am never to wear diamonds again"

"Aww that's sweet of him. You got yourself a listener. Congrats, they are a rare breed."

"Kare, it is his grandmother's ring! His mother will never let me live it down. She hates me enough already, Madan is oblivious to it though. I don't want to be the woman who broke the family heirloom. I will be mocked at all family gatherings."

"So ask him get you another ring. Don't tell me you want that diamond."

"Well, actually I do. I mean what I said about not buying diamonds, but this one is already mined. And it is a beautiful stone and the setting that accentuates the beauty. I like that Madan finagled it from his Mom to give it to me. And that's why I took the sapphire with me when Madan was not looking"

"Are you nuts Sue? Madan loves you and you love him. Go home and fix this!"

When Sue came home, Madan was still on the stairs. When she walked up to him, he got down on his knee and held out a ring from a cereal box. Tears started streaming down her eyes and she gesticulated a resounding yes. Yes, rocks don't matter as much the people do.

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My challenge was from Lazidaisical

a story that takes place in a stairwell.

My first attempt was about this little boy who pushed his mother down the stairs who dies. But that was very sad and dark and I couldn't take it further after a while. This one was more last minute thing and I just had fun with it. Hope you don't mind that the whole story does not take place on the stairs and the stairs aren't even a focal point of the story. Some day I will complete the other piece too.

A Letter From Me To You

Another week, another Indie Ink Writing Challenge. I challenged Amy to write about a different kind of courage and she has done an awesome job, go read it now.

Here is my response, the challenge I received is at the bottom of the post

Dearest husband,

Remember when we were kids, we would run and play on the streets all through summer? Remember the day I threw the ball into the crazy lady's house? I was shaking with fear when I saw her come out, red in the face, with my ball in her hand. I started crying, the way little girls do when they know someone was going to yell at them. You pushed me aside and told her that you threw the ball. You held your own for awhile, but soon realized that the only way to get my ball back was if you apologized. You did that and when you gave the ball back to me, you told me you would never let anyone make me cry.

I still remember our wedding like it happened yesterday. All the planning had come to a close, all the flowers were set up, the venue decorated and we felt like there was nothing left to do but get married. Then my cousin walked up to me, the bride, and made a rude remark about my weight. I barged into the groom quarters, with tears in my eyes. You wanted to beat up my cousin. I can still feel your palm in the small of my back and your other hand brushing my tears away. You told me that you would never let anyone make me cry.

In our first year of marriage, your parents visited us. I know your mother never liked me and I was determined to win her affection. I served a dinner that I slaved over for hours in the kitchen. Your father loved it, as did you. That night when I came to the kitchen to get a drink of water, I saw you sitting on the kitchen table, thumbing through a magazine while your mother talked about how you could have done so much better. You nodded absently, breaking my heart into a million pieces in the process. I forgot the water I had come down for and ran into our bedroom. You found me sobbing into the pillow an hour later and you were aghast. You thought you had forgotten an anniversary of some sort. When I told you why I was crying, your first instinct was to laugh at me. You spent the next hour explaining that your mother was just a crazy lady who didn't know the way to her son's heart. You said you never listened to most of what she said. You offered to make your parents leave our house that night but I refused to let you do that. You hugged me close that night and told me that you would never let anyone make me cry.

Two years back, you were out drinking with your buddies. You promised you would be back by ten. The clock struck two and you weren't home or picking up calls. I was worried sick and imagined you lying in a ditch somewhere. I thought maybe you didn't have a ride home and so I came searching for you in your favorite bar. You were fine - drunk to the gills and waiting on another drink. You yelled at me in front of everyone when I asked you to come home with me. Tears were streaming down my face when I drove back home, listening to the classic rock station on the radio. The next morning you brought me breakfast in bed, with a single red rose and said you loved me. I believed you. You told me that you would never let anyone make me cry.

The last two years have not been fun. We both seem to be growing in different directions. You have embraced your inner teenager and you think life is just one big party. Sure, I found your fun loving side an attractive quality when we were dating in college, but real life can can only take so much of that. When I asked you to pay attention to our bank accounts, you blew me a raspberry. When I insisted, you called me nag. That seems to be your favorite word for me, because you know I hate to be called one. I talked you into taking dance lessons with me, but you didn't turn up for even the first class. I have tried to do your thing, tried to come with you on your Friday night pub crawls. That's when I noticed you take off your wedding ring during these events. Seeing your naked finger was very hard for me. You took me aside and told me you loved me. I believe you.

Unfortunately love is not enough to keep a marriage alive. I think we need to separate, at least for sometime. By the time you find this letter, I will be at my parents' place. You will probably be shocked at this point, but honestly didn't you see it coming? You swatted me away whenever I wanted us to talk about our relationship and said counseling is for losers. What was I to do? I struggled with this decision, I really did. I made a promise to you, with God as my witness, to be with you for the rest of my life. But I realized that I had been crying myself to sleep, everyday for the last year. And you have broken your promise to me too. All my life you had been telling me that you would never let anyone make me cry. Don't you count as a person who makes me cry? Never is a promise and you can't afford to lie.

Love,

Me

PS. In case anyone is wondering and for the family who reads my blog - this is a fictional piece.

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This week's challenge comes from Seesaw. The challenge was:

Never is a promise and you can't afford to lie

I didn't know this was a song by Fiona Apple. The song is beautiful and I am listening to it on a loop now. Thanks for the challenge.

My Grandfather

This is my fourth week of participating in the Indie Ink Writing Challenge. I challenged Christina to imagine she was a horse on a carousal and she has done a great job answering it. Go read it here, I am sure you will love it.

This week's challenge is really delightful and comes from Amy who writes at Transplanted Thoughts. The challenge is:
Compare yourself to your grandparents. How are you alike? different? Tell us a special memory you have of your grandparents.

I am very close to all my grandparents. I started writing about all of them, but it became very long and anecdotal. So I am just going to talk about my grandfather. Many thanks to Stef who helped me with this prompt when I was stuck and gave my entry a once-over and made it spiffier.
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My father's parents lived with us when we were growing up. I have just a few memories of my paternal grandfather, like the way his eyes would light up when he talked about his children's accomplishments and the way he would argue with my grandmother about some seemingly trivial things. He died when I was about seven years old. When you lose a grandparent at that age, you have to treasure and safe guard memories of them so that they stay with you for the rest of your life.

I was about three, when my parents enrolled me in this awful pre-school because that was the closest to our home. I used to cry and throw a tantrum because I was a snob (even) then and I didn't want to go a dinky school. I think after a few weeks my parents were sick of my drama and let me quit. Years later, my mother told me that it was my grandfather who didn't let my parents put me in a nicer school that was farther away, because he didn't want his precious granddaughter to go further than a few steps away from home. He loved to gamble and belonged to a club of some sort where he went to play cards. He won a small sum of money once in a lottery (say something around $20) and asked my sister and I what we wanted. I don't remember what I said, but my sister said that she wanted a new car! (I am sure I wasn't half as ambitious and most likely asked for a candy bar). He was half annoyed and half amused and told her he would get her a toy car instead. I have a lot of memories of my father yelling at him, I don't remember why. My father tells me that my grandfather was an honest upright Public Works Department officer who didn't have an enemy in the world. I have seen an old picture of him looking very handsome in his evening jacket and I can imagine how dashing he must have been, driving a jeep to dams and other rocky areas for work. Dad told me that he was very strict and would not bend the rules for anyone. I like to believe that I am a stickler for rules just like him, a pod and we're the peas right? He was an extremely friendly person and would invite a lot of people home for dinner without so much as letting my grandmother know in advance. I wish I had inherited his gregarious nature too. I am gun shy when it comes to talking to people and I have just a few friends whom I hold close to my heart. My father is still in touch with people who gush about what a great person my grandfather was.

A day or two before cancer took my grandfather's life for good, he called me and my sister to his room. I don't remember his exact words, but I do remember him patting us on our head and kissing us. I am ashamed to say that I was in a hurry to get out because his room always smelled funny and I did not hug him or say something personal. This is something I regret to this day. Would it have killed me to have said a few words to him? I can still see his smiling face and his hands reaching to stroke my hair. Why didn't I hug him back?

It Had To Be You

This is my entry to this week's Indie Ink Writing Challenge. The challenge I received is at the bottom of the post.

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She walked out of the class with a heavy step. It was not that this was a particularly boring class. It had been one of her favorite classes until a few months ago. She loved the professor who taught this class, in fact he had been the one who had nudged her into picking her major. But lately nothing seemed interesting or worthy of her enthusiasm. "Hey do you want to come to the party at Mike's place next weekend?", it was her best friend who had caught up with her. She sighed and nodded her head in the affirmative. She didn't feel like going, but she had to. Mike was her ex-boyfriend and if she didn't go it would seem as if she was still not over him. She was the one who had dumped him a few months ago, the victor of the breakup if you will. Which meant that he got all the sympathy and she had to keep being normal and act like it wasn't a big deal.

But it wasn't the breakup that was bringing her down. Something was missing from her life and the worst part was she didn't know what it was. She tried music, partying, self help books but they just made her more weary. It seemed like nothing got her excited anymore. She missed being deliriously happy. She even tried skydiving, hoping that would crank up the systole of her heart and maybe the thrill would shock her back into good cheer. Sadly she was the only nonchalant skydiver that the instructor had ever seen.

That evening, she packed her car to go home for the weekend. Her parents lived four hours away and insisted that she visit them once a month. Considering that they were paying for her tuition, dorm and her car, she figured it was a small price to pay.

It was past dinner time when she pulled into their driveway. Her mother was waiting at the door and smothered her with kisses, while asking about the drive at the same time. She walked in and there she saw it! It was this huge record player, smack in the middle of the living room, looking anachronistic amidst the big screen LED TV and the Bose surround sound system. Her father stood by it proudly, preening like he had invented the gramophone. He said that he had found this at a garage sale two streets down. Her father had been a salesman till he retired, and there was nothing he loved more than a good deal. The guy who was selling this didn't know it's value and had thought that he was foisting it on her dad for $50. Her dad had played along, expressing some reluctance initially, until the guy threw in a bunch of Sinatra vinyl records to seal the deal.

She still felt that her father had got the wrong end of the bargain. She shook her head, part in amusement and mostly "I can't believe you actually bought that". But her father would have none of it. Soon Sinatra's mellifluous voice filled the air of the house singing "It had to be you". Her father took her hand and they started swaying to Sinatra. Her mother cut in for the next dance and before they knew it, they had danced the night away. She went to her room, exhausted and still humming a tune. A smile that had been in hiding the last couple of months, found its way into her mouth and eyes. Sometimes you need Sinatra and a deal crazy Dad to put things into perpective.

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My challenge was from lifenbits. It was:

Write a story using these words: anachronic, foist, systole.

At first I thought it was a toughie and I had to look up two of the words for meanings. But once I found the main thread, it just kept going. Thank you for the challenge. I enjoyed writing this.

I challenged Michael Webb with "He ran on the beach, with the waves lapping at his aching legs. What is he running from?" and he responded here beautifully. Please do go and read it, I think he has done a great job.

Rainbows in Real Life

This is my entry to this week's Indie Ink Writing Challenge. The challenge I received is at the bottom of the post.

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I walked into the building with a skip and a jump. Today I was going to see where my Mommy worked. Our playschool was closed today because it was take your children to work day. She hadn't wanted me to come to work with her, but our babysitter said she couldn't watch me this morning. Also I cried and cried till she caved. I was so excited that I was going to see what Mommy did everyday after she dropped me at the daycare. I imagined that it must be something magical, with rainbows on the walls.

But something seemed amiss. The walls really needed a coat of paint. And the stench of something unpleasant teased my tender senses when I walked through the corridors. "Mommy, what happens when we walk all the way to the end" I asked, filled with curiosity that all five year olds have. "To the rooms", she said and started talking to a woman using some big words I couldn't understand. I spent that time hopping on one leg and trying to guess what those rooms were for.

Soon we reached my mother's office. Like the rest of the building, the room had a dark aura about it. I was glad to see my mother had hung the pictures I had drawn on the wall. I made a mental note to draw her a rainbow soon. I sat on a chair that was too big for me and started working on the lollipop that my mother had given in exchange for good behavior.

The woman who had accosted my mother in the hallway came in with another woman and a boy. The woman looked pale and haggard with some ugly welts on her face. The boy looked about my age, but he didn't respond to my friendly wave. He looked scared and his clothes were too big for him. He hid behind his mother and looked at everyone with his big brown eyes. My mother talked to them and pressed some random keys on her computer. She asked her colleague to lead them to the dining hall and assured them they were safe here.

"Mommy, can I play with that boy later? Please? What's his name? Does he go to play school too?"

My mother turned to me and smiled sadly. "He can't play with you today. He is not well. He hasn't had a meal in two days. After he eats, he is going to visit the doctor."

I felt bad that I hadn't offered him my lollipop. That's why he didn't wave back at me. Maybe his Mommy had made broccoli for dinner the last two days. I really hated broccoli.

"Sweetie, do you realize these people and everyone who is in those rooms are not well. They don't come from happy homes. Most of them don't even have homes. Some of them don't have enough to eat. Sometimes there are parents who don't love each other, nor their children. This is what we do, we try to help them, give them a place to stay, food to eat in the hopes that they get better soon."

Tears welled up in my eyes and I forgot to swallow the bits of the lollipop in my mouth. I couldn't believe that there were children without a home, a Mommy to bake cakes, a Daddy to throw you up in the air and catch you and ice cream every Friday at dinner.

"Mommy, can we empty my piggy bank at home and buy all the kids candy?"

My mother hugged me with tears in her eyes. Many years later, she told me that she had never been more happy and sad at the same time than at that moment.

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This challenge was very difficult for me. At first, I wanted to write a funny piece about a child who doesn't understand what her parent did at work everyday and the parent struggling to explain it in a way that the child can understand. But it didn't go anywhere, I think pathos is easier than comedy. :) It's been a while since I was a kid and I don't have any children, and so writing about parent-child relationships was hard (my challenge last week was also about the same relationship) But I think this is the beauty of the challenge, it forces you to go outside your comfort zone and actually write.

My challenge was:

4/28 is take your daughter to work day. Imagine this is your first time going to see your mother or father's place of work. What does s/he do? What do you see? Who do you meet?

Thank you Melissa for the challenge. I hope you like what I did with it.

I challenged Wendryn to write about rain and she has a beautiful post up on the topic.