And two for this week:

unknot

“Do you still love her?”

“Did I ever? I don’t know.”

“Does it matter to you if you ever did?”

“It used to matter. But now?”

“You left her.”

“Yes. I chose.”

“And she’s angry.”

“She was always angry. You remember.”

“I remember. I remember she was angry at me.”

“At you? You never did anything to her.”

“Didn’t I?”

“Did you?”

“I’ll change the subject. What are you going to do now?”

“I’m going to make my life.”

“And what about me?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you love me?”

Her stomach twists as she waits for his reply.

---

And inspired by...

"Well, Henry," said the county attorney facetiously, "at least we found out that she was not going to quilt it. She was going to--what is it you call it, ladies?"

Mrs. Hale's hand was against the pocket of her coat.

"We call it--knot it, Mr. Henderson."

- A Jury of Her Peers Susan Glaspell

---

We call it--knot it.

Did you sing in the choir, Minnie Foster?
Did you wear blue ribbons on your gown?
Did you open up your throat and let it out?

Did you marry young and lovely, Minnie Foster?
Did your candle flicker and go dim?
Did you finally close your eyes on him?

Did your caged bird sing, Minnie Foster?
Did it bring you through another winter storm?
Did you weep over its still and twisted form?

Did you quilt or knot it, Minnie Foster?
Did you slip the rope around his neck in sleep?
Did your stillness bring the stillness of the deep?

Deb-backflung, and off to bed for me. Late night last night.

Liese, you're so creative tonight! My brain is swimming in words. I like the guitar one especially. I played violin/viola more than 15 years, and I never had long nails. Music over beauty. It was an obvious choice for me too.

Liese, you're so creative tonight!

Heh. Thanks, but actually just catching up posting here too, and also having the Day of Work Avoidance. Got a good bit done, despite it.

Sorry I wasn't here, Deb, I was Gilmore Girlsing. I'm free to beta when you get back.

Deb, I can look at in the morning.

My knot drabble. I think I may edit it some tomorrow, since there are a few sentences I don't totally like, especially the last few, but I'm in a post-it-now mood.

“Ow!”

“If you’d just sit still it wouldn’t hurt!”

Liar. Combing my hair always hurt. Squirming gives me a bit of a break while she tries to focus my attention on the TV. I’d watch if it were cartoons, but tonight, mom chose the program, and there’s no way I’m going to sit there and watch China Beach while she tears all my hair out.

An hour later, it’s done. I go off to let the fire on my scalp die down, at least until morning, when it will be pulled again in a vain attempt to create neat pigtails.

"Knots" has a different connotation for me than it does for most people, so I can't resist:

----------

A gentle surge upwards confirms the beeps from the glider's instrument panel, and a bank to the left starts the climb. Two knots up, slow beeps -- adjust the circle, tighten again. Five knots up, faster beeps -- that's better.

Ten minutes and twenty turns later, almost five thousand feet higher, ready to press on. Level out on course, drop the nose, push to cruising speed. The beeps change to the harsh clicks of sinking air. Push the nose down, drive through the sink. Ninety knots forward and ten down. Cover some distance.

Three more thermals like that will get me home.

----------

edited for nit-picks and word count

Nice, dcp. I like that. I like the focus and the technicality, but how the last line brings it into the realm of the personal.

Oh, I love the different take on "knots", dcp. Very nice.

I really enjoy all the places these drabbles come from, the widely differing POVs. And then we get some weeks where we all seem to be on a similar wavelength. Mine hasn't hit the surface yet, but it's bubbling.

Deb, send clowns, please. I'll read and respond in the morning.

Ooo, "Jury of her Peers," what a kick-ass story.

An attempt at knots...

The men in my life keep trying to teach me knots. When I was six years old, Mark Tuttle finally taught me how to tie my shoes.

My father, maybe seeing in my eager interest the son he never had, taught me about tools and car engines and the uses of half-hitches and the proper way to tie a square knot.

Joe, as part of his tales of life in the Navy, grabbed some twine that was next to the bed and showed off knots I don't remember the names of.

Hubby has shown me the same knots over and over. He forgets and I never remember how to do them. When he's hurting I ask him to tell me stories of the Forest Service, and he remembers knots and when he was strong.