Dedicated and Stray Neurons

Elizabeth Milligan
Writing Assignment, 21 October 2007
Detached Autobiography with the optional prompt of food

Every evening before joining his family at the dinner table, the father descended into the cellar for a bottle of his self-prescribed barley beverage. Then - he, the mother, and the two children took their seats at the dinner table.

Both children looked at their plates. One ate most of the food, the other mostly played with it. The father nursed his barley beverage with great relish, ate a piece of the steak and half of a baby red potato. As usual, he did not touch the fresh vegetables and salad. The mother looked at all three of them, and picked at her food.

She visualized coloring in the spaces of the moment. She imagined their shapes to be dynamic, pulsating electric reds, oranges, greens, and yellows. She wondered: Wouldn’t it be cool to visualize moments like these through electron spectroscopy.

The only sounds in the room were: overplayed jazz from the 1960s and 70s on the CD player, the intermittent hum of the baseboard heater, and her questions and comments. Invariably, any of her words would hang over the dinner table as if in suspension - before falling with a thud. Sometimes, the father would talk – IF she asked him about himself. Then, he would tell her about his work at the office. At this dinner, he responded to her query about his day with:

Pretty much what I’ve been working on these past few weeks. You know, OCV and OCR, mostly in a 32-bit environment, some in a 64-bit environment. I was working on manually updating the edge-width parameter control which was unique amongst all the controls within this tool edit control in that it was not a property-provider-based parameter. And so this meant that I had to implement electric mode by hand as well as subject-delegate queuing. Just so.

The fact that she knew what he was talking about made her laugh – a genuine and kind laugh - and prompted him to smile. This time the tight thin lips turned up slightly at the corners. For just a nanosecond – a shimmering of lime green space, the four of them breathed together.

Where I Am From

Elizabeth Milligan
Writing Assignment for October 13, 2007
Where I Am From

Where I Am From

I am from clouds and from my family
From hydrogen and oxygen, evaporation and condensation
From a tapestry of stories.

I am from my adult-size playhouse perched on the hill in the backyard
(gleaming windows without curtains set in wood painted red.)
The Green Room for my theatrical productions

I am from Verbeena and Lilac bushes, Bleeding Hearts, and purple Baptisia
I am from the mesquite bush
Tumbling freely with the wind

I am from black tea and white coffee
From Tracey and Proulx
From the big house and a constant stream of parties
From loud dinner tables
and always doing-and-going.
From extra chairs at the table and open arms.

I’m from Glory be to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Ghost
until the Waldorf Bakery closed.
From searching in earnest for Gloria Patri,
Always on Sunday’s program, Never to be seen.

I am from Athena, Monty Python, and Oscar Wilde.
From prosciutto, escargot, and the driest Chateau Steiner.
I am from my uncle’s murmuring heart and flat feet
From one grandfather’s rocking chair, silver hair, and pocket watch - always ready to gift his grandchildren with a coin hidden in his pocket.
From another grandfather’s country house, furrowed fields, beloved dog, duplex in the city, and aromatic pipe tobacco.

Shoeboxes crammed with personal correspondence hidden in my sock drawer and closet.
First, letters and birthday cards from camp friends and from relatives.
Later, also from fellow students, teachers, and beaux.
Sometimes, I re-read them
To remember and imagine
Me and Them
Past, Present, and Future.