Written Photograph

On the floor next to the fireplace sits a peace lily plant in a red pot. Matt and I bought it after we decided to add some REAL plant life in our home. At the nursery, we learned that the peace lily also naturally cleans the air. We were sold! The bottom leaves are mottled brown and drooping due to the times I've forgotten to water it or forgot to open the window to let in light. New blooms are starting to sprout in the middle; it looks like I haven't forgotten the key ingredients to successful plant life in a while.

The electric heater oscillates on high near my feet. Our house has a terrible heat layout. Upstairs is dreadfully warm and downstairs feels more like an icebox. With the current temperature nearing 30 degrees, I am cozy under ther bear blanket (sometimes I call it the honey blanket just because Matt calls it the bear blanket).

The mantel is empty excpet for a mirror, one candle, and two hurricane lamps (We received these from Mr. and Mrs. Lewis for a wedding gift.). We took down all the Christmas decorations in the beginning of January, and I still have yet to dig out of the closet the rest of the decorations that are normally on display.

In a wicker basket near my recliner, I have a pad of paper for writing; however, lately, I've just been using the blog. I also have three books: Pen on Fire, The Dream Manager, and The Rhythm of Life. With the Writer's Guild on Strike, Matt has also been reading more. On the coffeetable near the coach where he lounges sits the book he is currently reading Total Access: Inside the NFL Network by Rich Eisen.

My Scholastic bag sits on the floor near the dining room table full of the papers I've put off grading. I brought them home with the hopes of tackling some of them because grades are due on Monday at 3:00 p.m. However, as soon as I finish writing, I am going to bed because I have a pounding headache. Tonight was not a productive grading night.

NOTE: The above writing prompt was from Pen on Fire. When you look at a photograph, you will only see the objects, but not the sounds or stories behind them. If I looked at picture of my living room, I'd just see a dying plant, instead of one recovering. I'd see an empty mantel, scattered books, and multiple blankets and the heater. The written photograph tells the story a picture just can't tell.