This assignment and my thoughts after ten days of Writing 101 have converged. I’ve concluded that after nine days of writing, all my posts come from similar points of view. They unmistakably belong in the same family. I’ve marveled at other writers’ looking at the assignments and writing stories I would not have imagined. I’ve read language so beautiful it makes me cry. I’ve noticed remarkable twists and surprise endings, and perceived a world view, or at least a life stage, different from mine yet understandable to me. This morning I breathed a sigh of relief. I understand that I write the way I write because that is who I am. After being around for almost eight decades I have lived countless stories. I am a Southerner therefore it is natural for me to recall my own stories and write about them. I’m an English major and love words for themselves. I’ve been reading books from a very early age. Today I woke up thinking I know that I can write. I have thoughts and stories that will engage other readers’ interest. I often write from the point of view of an observer. I have a distinct voice. I will keep on writing and see where it leads me.
Today’s assignment is to write about a favorite childhood meal. I’m writing from the point of view of the favorite meal of the tired mother of two rambunctious little boys seeking a time-out for herself.
Every Friday Mary Elena came for a few hours to clean our small apartment. Every Friday I took my two-year old son with me to grocery shop while my baby son took his morning nap. Mary Elena loved my boys and was glad to mind them as long as they were asleep. In the afternoon while both children were napping, I treated myself to the joy of my week – lunch alone in a restaurant. It was heaven to be where no one would ask me questions, other than a waitress taking my order. No one spilled milk, spread baby food over his face, or just plain fussed. Nothing at all was expected of me. Instead, while I enjoyed my lunch (I have no idea what I ate. That wasn’t the point.) I listened to the conversations of ladies at nearby tables. Most of them were older than me. I listened as they exchanged details of health issues I wouldn’t face for years. They talked about grown children and their concerns over money and jobs. They delighted in giving accounts of travels they had just returned from or would soon embark on. I could only dream of such things. I took the last sip of coffee, put my cloth napkin on the table, paid my bill and returned refreshed to my momentarily clean apartment and the hugs of my waiting little boys. As much as I loved my Mom’s Day Out, I always came home grateful for my own life and challenges as the mother of young children. I would not have traded lives with the ladies who lunched for anything.
poetrybyheart.me 
Yes, exactly, your own voice! Own it 🙂 I’ve enjoyed hearing it! And what a great idea, Mom’s lunch out. I’ve only done that once, taken myself off for lunch, but I still have fond memories of it 🙂
Thanks always for cheering me on. I’m glad you enjoyed your Mom’s lunch out. I still have lunch on my own sometimes. It’s a good time to people watch.
Beautiful post. I like the personal feeling of the protagonist (you in younger days?) sitting at the table and people watching. You’ve captured so much with just a few words. And I love the part about not being interrupted by questions,kids, and messes, as well as listening to the older women and their travels!
Thanks. I would give you a smiley face but I don’t know where to find it in blogland.
Its the simple things, like a quite meal, once you become a mother you appreciate them so much more. Thank you for your blog. i look forward to more of your voice