Healthy words

I love the context of these words for a be active advertising campaign.

Mess

I opened the door and couldn't believe my eyes.

I'd only been gone one hour.

The kids had made a total mess of the house.

Their Dad looked up guiltily from his new iPad.

Rest centre

Back in the good old days you went to the rest centre to relieve yourself. Photographed in Tanunda, Barossa Valley, South Australia.

Feed

Originally this sign said - DO NOT FEED THE SEA GULLS. Photographed in the Docklands, Melbourne, Victoria.

Dragon

Derek the Dragon was sad.

Derek the Dragon could not make smoke.

And we all know there's no smoke without fire.

And this was Derek's problem. He was a dragon with no fire.

He asked a passing bird what she thought.

But she just talked about herself, as that is what birds do.
"Tweet twitter tweet."

He asked his neighbour the Bear what he thought.

But as it was nearly winter, Bear was sleepy, almost hibernating. So Derek didn't understand Bear's muffled words,
"Meed mood, met mat."

Derek was upset. He needed some help.
"I want fire, I need fire in my life. I am a dragon!" he said. But no one was listening.

Derek looked up into the sky. And what did he see? He saw smoke far away in the distance!

And we all know there's no smoke without fire.

Derek decided to go to the smoke.

Derek flew over hills, through valleys and across streams.

When he was close he could smell the smoke. Derek's mouth curved up a little at the corners.

Derek sped the last few miles towards the smoke.

And he found a wizard.

The wizard had a black pot of soup cooking on a big roaring fire.

"Hello" said the wizard pointing a crooked finger at Derek, "Would you like some soup?"

Derek starred at the fire, it crackled and glowed, smoke was billowing up into the air. Derek had a big smile on his face.

"Um, no thank you" said Derek, "I am here to ask you why I don't make smoke and fire?"

"Ahhh" said the wizard, "Let me see." and he paused for a while.








 "Are you happy?" the wizard finally asked

"No, I'm not" said Derek

"Once you are happy then you will make smoke and fire." the wizard wisely stated and went back to stirring his soup.

"But how do I become happy?" Derek asked the wizard

The wizard stopped stirring the soup and looked at Derek,
"Well, you will need three things. Someone to love,  something to do and something to hope for."

"Oh" said Derek and then added "Thank you" Derek then took off back for his home thinking hard about what the wizard said.

I have something to hope for - I hope one day soon I will make smoke and fire.

I have something to do - I must get happy to make smoke and fire.

But I need to find someone to love - I don't have anyone to love.

At home Derek wondered who he could love. The closest person to him was Bear. So he thought he would love Bear. He went to Bear and said,
"I have decided to love you Bear."

But Bear was asleep.

Derek wondered what to do next. He thought about bear. Whenever he saw Bear he was either sleeping or eating. Derek decided to go and get something for Bear to eat. Derek had to think hard about Bear again, what did bear like to eat? Derek remembered seeing Bear fishing in the river. So Derek caught some fish for Bear using his long spikey dragon's tail.

Derek put the fish next to sleeping Bear.
Bear stirred and woke up.
"Grrrr "said Bear "I mell mish"

"Pardon" said Derek
"I smell fish" said Bear more clearly this time.
"Yes I have caught you some, I remembered you like eating and I also remembered you like eating fish."
"Thats very nice of you." said Bear a little suspiciously.
"Well, l've decided to love you." said Derek
"What? Haa haa hah ha ha ha." Bear laughed out loud, a big hearty beary laugh.

Derek was taken aback, but then started very slowly to smile. Bear continued to laugh and his laughter became hysterical.
And do you know what happened

As Derek started to giggle, smoke started to smolder out of his lips.
Then as Derek's giggle turned into fun, full, proper laughter the smoke turned into fire.
"Whooosh" came the fire out of Derek's mouth.
"Whoosh" it went again.

And Bear and Derek enjoyed some barbeque fish for dinner.

Words to remind

I love these photographs by Erin Hanson. The words help us to remember the important things in life.

See more by Erin Hanson

Occasional Recipes

Recipe for Fear

Ingredients:

1. 1 Dark moonless night
2. 1 Howling wind
3. Several Thunders rumbling
4. Frequent Lightening flashing
5. 1 Dog barking
6. A distant persistent screaming
7. Tapping at your window

Method:

Combine until just mixed.

Recipe for Disaster

Ingredients:

1. 1 Planet Earth
2. Several billion people

Method:

Get people to multiply to unprecedented levels. Pluck all the trees from planet until deforested. Allow people to do mono-crop farming, spray with plenty of toxic pesticides. Experiment with plant genetics. Remove all the fish from oceans. Get people to rely on mass manufacturing to create huge amounts of waste and pollution. Mine everywhere. Let people fight and build highly destructive weapons. Use up all the planet's non renewable resources. Allow dangerous gases to form. Do nothing.

Recipe for Failure

Ingredients:

1. 1 person

Method:

Take the person and remove all their self worth. Then never let them try anything.

Recipe for Success

Ingredients:

1. A person with massive amounts of determination

Method:

Never let person give up at whatever they try.

Dare and brave

I dare you to be different and stand out from the crowd
I dare you to say what you really think, not caring for the consequence
I dare you to act on your whim and be really spontaneous
I dare you to ask all those nagging questions in your head
I dare you to be brave don’t worry about what others think
I dare you to change yourself, push your personality and your comfort zone
I dare you to leave silence in between your words let others fill the space

Glass words

Wonder

Wonder enters a child's mind

on every little thing they find

Wonder at whatever is new
True knowledge for a selected few

Wonder decreases with age
Youths rush to turn the page

Wonder quickens the heart
Experience grabs a head start

Wonder not to be repeated
Facts retained innocence fleeted

Mentor

Do I need a mentor?
Someone to guide me through.
Do I need a mentor?
Could it be someone like you?

I'd like to ask you questions
Take some time out of your day.
Find out the path you took,
be whatever that it may.

Are you interested in helping,
to be my sounding board.
Someone who is curious,
in the challenges I afford.

We could meet up at lunch,
and listen to each other.
I'd like your advice,
not hear about your mother!

If you just want to talk,
to someone who is here.
Maybe you should get a cat.
They'll have a better ear.

Do I need a mentor?
Maybe you're the wrong one.
Do I need a mentor?
You're ego's too big chum!

#5 Magic E

Following on from Big Dreams

Jane looked hard at the 'E' block the optometrist held and turned hers around to make it look the same. Her mother sighed and drew out a long slow breathe and she knew she had got it wrong again. Jane looked at the floor.

"I'm sure she can see the 'E'" her mother said, "I really don't think she comprehends what you want her to do with the block"
"Jane just hold your block the same as mine" the Doctor said

Jane examined the cube with marks all over it and then looked at the Doctor's cube. She turned hers around and around in her hands. It was like a big dice.
"I see" the doctor said "How is she going at school?' he inquired
"She loves it, but she is falling very behind, she just doesn't get it, the concept of letters making sounds and words, it's just too much for her at this stage.
"And her speech?"
"That is good, no problems there" said Jane's mother.

Jane understood everything going on around her, she just needed more time. She looked at the 'E' block now sitting on the doctor's desk. The big 'E' was looking out the window its arms reaching towards the tree out there. She looked at her 'E' block. She found the big 'E' and made it reach towards the window too. She held it up, she knew it was right this time. The doctor was busy writing down something at his desk and her mother was also looking out the window.

Jane stood up, climbed off the chair and placed her 'e' block on top of the one on the doctor's desk, she then went to sit on her mother's lap.
"You're too big for that Jane" said her mother and prevented her from sitting on her lap, "That's your special seat" she said as she pointed towards the large optometrist's chair. Jane stood by the chair and tried to hide in a curtain of her own hair.



"Good morning class" said the teacher
"Good morning Mrs Padderson" sung the class
"Today I have some magic to teach you. We are going to learn about the magic letter 'e'" said Mrs Padderson.
Jane sat on the mat playing with her skirt, she found a hole in her pocket that her finger could poke through. She could touch her skin through the hole.
"Does anyone know why the letter 'e' is special?"
Jane looked up, and dropped her shoulders, not that letter 'e' again.
"The letter 'e' can be magic, in some words it is very quiet and we don't need to make the 'e' sound at all. Can you all please remind me what the 'e' sound is?" asked Mrs Padderson
"EEEEEEEE" sung back the class
"When the letter 'e' is at the end of some words you often don't have to make the sound, instead we say the sound of the vowel in front of it.

I have a special movie I would like to play you





"Okay class I would like you to go back to your desk and get out your writing books" said  Mrs Padderson.

Jane sat at her seat and looked at her writing book, her mother had covered it with letters cut out from magazines. She traced over her name written in the top corner with a thick black texta. 'J 'said Jane 'a' she sounded out, then she made the 'n' noise. 'Jan' she said and stopped. That's not right, then she looked at the 'e' in her name.
'Jane' she then said aloud.
My name even has a magic 'e' in it she thought
Just my luck.


To be continued by the prompts at  Sunday Scribblings

DEMAND

I demand your attention,
it's time to listen to me.
Dont turn away or sigh,
this is my turn to be.

You're always talking,
not noticing who I am.
Expecting me to listen,
this relationship is a sham.

I want to be free,
have wings and fly away.
Grow and reach my potential,
not stay here and decay.

Its always about you,
what trouble you are in.
This has to stop, its over.
Game finished. I win.

Written for Sunday Scribblings

#4 Big Dreams

Following on from Pigs might fly

Opening the bottom drawer of Will’s bedside cabinet with force, Lizzy tipped it upside down. Papers, a half read novel, pens, an odd sock and fluff spilled onto the carpet. Turning over the draw the right way Lizzy looked inside, her fingernail picked at the corner of the drawer liner and lifted the sad patterned paper up. Her hands shook slightly with fear and excitement as she ripped at the envelope she found there.  This was real. Tearing it open she found the envelope contained an ATM card for the Bendigo bank.  Mr Stewart Boman was printed on the card. Lizzy also unfolded a computer print out giving  the details of the account. Will had added the pin number in red pen at the bottom. 1 9 6 2. Lizzy looked at these numbers for some time before she realised it was the year he was born in.

A door slammed. Jane was coming back inside. Lizzy sighed, stood up and while walking out of the room put the ATM card in her back pocket with the letter from Will. She closed the bedroom door behind her. Shutting out the mess there and the secrets she had discovered.

“I’ve put the dead rat in the bin, I put it in a garbage bag first though” Jane said as she came through the back door.” I had to toss those shoe box lids too, God I’ve just got to wash my hands “
“Sure, thanks for dealing with that” said Lizzy as she followed her sister into the bathroom
“How are you feeling now?” Asked Jane
Lizzy had to stop herself from saying ‘excited’, ”Oh um, I’m glad you’re here.” She managed
“You look a lot better than when I arrived, screaming like that really scared me.” Jane said as she scrubbed her hands. “Do you think you have an infestation of rats?”
“I hope not, but I doubt it, I’ve never seen any rat droppings around the place” said Lizzy, but she was really thinking that Will must have put the rat there so she would find the letters. Disgusting but effective.

Lizzy‘s mind thought about all that money. $300,000 in an account she could access. It was an exciting prospect and a temptation, she could fulfil the dream they had to travel the world on a round the world ticket. Will and her had big plans years ago to go to New York and London. They would also have loved to have visited France, China and Japan. But the September 11 terrorist attack had them rethink their plans and they went to the Whitsunday islands instead. With this money they could go, their big dream could become real.

But then Lizzie remembered something. Her shoulders dropped and her face fell. Will was dead. His letter had brought him back to her, his message to her made him real, tangible, alive and healthy again. Sharing his secret with her made him alive.

Lizzy left Jane in the bathroom, went to the bedroom, and stepped over the mess of shoes, shoe boxes and odd socks opening up Will’s closet. A stale dead rat smell remained. Lizzy pulled out his best black suit and took it to the living room hanging it on the curtain rail. She opened the window to get some fresh air on it. Then walked across the open plan room to the kitchen to put the kettle on. She got two cups out, not three. One tea bag would do, neither of them liked tea strong.

The suit hung, its presence changed the feel of the room. It moved in the breeze. It caught Lizzy’s eye and made her check it was only a suit black and moving by the window. She didn’t want to go anywhere without Will. The dream lay in tatters in her mind. That future path was a dead end. Will had said to her many times in hospital. “Don’t stop living when I’m gone, you have a future without me, I can’t bear the thought of you being miserable and depressed when I’m not here.” That’s a lot easier to say than do, she thought. The kettle whistled and bought Lizzy back into the room.

Jane’s fresh hands poured the water. Steam lifted from the cup. Jane looked up at the suit,”He looked great in that suit.” she said
“Do you think the smell of dead rat will come out?”Lizzy asked
“There isn’t really time to get it dry cleaned, how about we spray it with some linen water?” Jane suggested.
“Or we could use some of his aftershave, he loved that Hugo Boss one.” Lizzy said
“Did he want an open casket?” Jane asked
“No he didn’t, so the rat smell won’t really matter” Half not believing her own ears as she spoke, but she thought it was probably apt that Will should be cremated smelling of rat since he had kept such a big secret from her.
Jane coughed up a bit of tea, “Really Lizzy are you sure.”
“No I’m not sure of anything anymore.”Lizzy said
After a long silence Jane said “Just take each day at a time.”

Continued at Magic E

#3 Pigs might fly

Continued from Ethical

There have only been a few things that have happened in Will’s adult life that have shocked him. The fact that Lizzy wanted to be with him, could put up with him and even love him seemed amazing. Here was this beautiful intelligent woman wanting to be with him. It put a skip in his step, made him feel lucky and it surprised him every day that she was still there. Lizzy was the best thing that had ever happened to him. He loved the way her hair was in the morning, ruffled up and messy. He would often touch it on awakening, lifting it up with his fingers and smoothing it down on her pillow. He loved to feel it touching him, brush against his skin and catch its sweet scent.

Lizzy was strong too, not physically, but emotionally she wouldn’t let little things get the better of her. She always had something totally sensible to say if something didn’t turn out right. Like the time a car park they were waiting for was stolen by a sneaky driver in a BMW. He was furious and ready to get out and confront the driver, but Lizzy just drove on and remarked, “They needed it more than us, we’re not in are rush are we?” She had an ability to put stuff into perspective.

When his father had died, Lizzy had the idea to play a photo slide show at the funeral. Will remembered his mother’s reaction,
“I don’t know, I don’t really think that’s appropriate somehow?” She had said without really looking Lizzy in the eye. But Lizzy was adamant,
“I think it will be great, you know change the atmosphere and make it a celebration rather than a funeral.”
“And pigs might fly” said his mother.

Will smiled as he remembered the funeral. Lizzy had been so right. The slide show of his father’s life had people smiling while crying, laughing through their tears as they watched his father grow up from a chubby baby into a man, be on holiday at the beach in saggy bathers, look very drunk at Christmas, dig in the veggie garden, be awarded in the local paper and cut his 60th birthday cake.

Will looked up at the chemicals draining into his body and wondered whether he would make it to his 60th birthday.


Continued at Big Dreams

#2 Ethical

Continued from Message











Lizzy picked up the thick green envelope and ripped it open.
To Lizzy, she read and frowned wondering why Will would drop any endearments.

This is a letter I have to write.

I don’t want to tell you what I am about to, but I am forced too. Let me first say that had I NOT got ill and lived out the rest of my life so happy with you, you would not ever know what I am about to tell you. Fate is forcing my hand. This dam disease is making me confess the demons of my past. Maybe that is a good thing. I just wish it was not you that had to find this out. But you are the only living soul I trust. My dear darling Lizzy, I am sorry for what I am about to place on your shoulders.

The burden is not one I have enjoyed, but it is of my own doing. I can hear you say “Oh come on it can’t be that bad, you haven’t killed someone have you?” and let me reassure you I have not. However this confession to you is not easy. This deed I have done is wrong, unethical and will tarnish your memory of me and anyone else who finds out. Please understand I don’t want anyone else to know this. It could die with me, but I tell you in the hope that you my darling will benefit in the long run which is as I intended.

Before I drive you mad with apprehension let me get to the point. I have a stolen identity in the name of Stewart Boman. You might wonder who on earth that is, and honestly I don’t know him, I suppose he is a real person somewhere. I have not hurt him, but I have used his identity and details to open a bank account. The account is real and it has just over $300,000 in it. I can imagine you gasping now, I am so sorry to shock you. Know that I did want to tell you, but not burden you with the truth of what I have done.

The money is not Stewart Boman’s, it is really my father’s. Before he died he gave me all his bank account details. He knew it would be too much for Mum to manage and thought he was helping her. She never had to worry about money anyway, as Dad looked after everything. At that time you might remember Mum was a bit strange. I think you even said to me that people respond to crisis in different ways. Well I found out that Mum was having an affair. I think it had been going on for a while. I was outraged at her behaviour, Dad was on his deathbed and she was in the arms of another man. I just couldn’t see Mum get all of his money. I had the means to do something for the sake of Dad’s pride, so I did. I needed to hurt her and have one over her, without her really realising it, just like what she was doing to Dad. 

Initially I thought I would share it with David. I tried to tell him about Mum several times, but I just couldn’t bring myself to break the news. He’s been such a great brother now we are adults and he really looks after Mum. I just couldn’t confess to him and to this day I don’t want him to know. I think David would just give the money back to her if I shared it with him. I feel ashamed of what I’ve done. Just as I feel ashamed of Mum, but I think Dad would be happy with me.

Lizzy put the letter down on her lap and sighed.
“That’s a lot of money Will” she said out aloud. She looked back at the letter and read on.

At least now you will understand why I have had a strained relationship with my Mum. I have not forgiven her for what she did to Dad. I feel so embarrassed of her, and I feel so wounded for Dad. Would he know about it now do you think? Mum has absolutely no idea it’s happened, she never paid much attention to the finances.

So Lizzie, what do you think? I do feel as though David is entitled to half the money, but not Mum, not a cent.

Sorry my love, but this is your burden now. You can do what you like with this money. The account statements, card and pin number are in an envelope taped under the drawer lining of the bottom drawer in my bedside cabinet.

Obviously it would be suspicious if you transferred the money into your account. You need to think about the tax implications and also linking the account to you. I suggest you make cash withdrawals from various ATMs, interstate too if you can. Wear different stuff each time, sunglasses, hat, scarfs, heels to change your height and don’t park the car opposite or near the machine so it’s not photographed by the Bank’s camera. You need to be really careful. Approach the machine in one direction and leave in another.

I hope there is a small part of you that will find this thrilling.

I love you and I am sorry.

Love always Will.
xxx

PS Please destroy this letter for me.

Lizzy was appalled, but maybe a little thrilled. She wouldn’t have to worry about money quite so much, but could she really take and use this money? She did not feel at all entitled to it. To her, Will’s unethical behaviour showed just how much he loved his Dad. It warmed her that he trusted her and only her with this secret. At this moment she did not feel any burden only a growing pleasure that they still had something tangible between them. Lizzie stood up, folded the letter carefully, placed it in her jeans pocket, she walked towards Will’s beside drawer.



Continued here

#1 Message

It all happened so fast. After months of waiting, expecting it and even wanting it, for the sake of everyone, it still came as a shock when Lizzy heard those words, “He’s died.” She immediately broke down. That surprised her. She didn’t feel relief like she expected, relief that he would no longer be in so much pain. No, she felt complete loss. A deep loss, in the pit of her stomach. It ached there like a burn and she knew it was an ache she was going to have to live with. He’s gone, really gone, gone forever, this thought travelled around and around in her head, feeding her misery as she wept. He would never touch her again, she would never hear his voice, or see him smile at her, hear him laugh, have him come home to her and simply feel his presence beside her. Death was final.

The phone ringing made Lizzy come up for air and look about her; it seemed like life had taken on a surreal effect, a slow motion, she was able to look at herself trying to cope with the loss of her husband. She saw the small hunched figure of herself picking up the phone.
“Hello” she said.
 ”I spoke to the hospital and know about Will, are you ok?” It was her sister Jane
“No, of course not” she heard herself say.
“Oh sorry, stupid question, look I thought I would come over and help you sort some stuff out, I know Will was wonderfully prepared, but you’ll still have to decide some stuff like what he’ll wear, do you want me there?”
“Yes come over.” She paused then added hesitantly, “Was Will really prepared?”
“Oh Lizzy, Will was ready, you know that he just couldn’t fight anymore. He told us all that it was time. Will loved you so much Lizzy, he held on as long as he could. He didn’t want to leave you, his body just let him down. Will has been set free. He is not feeling the pain now.” Jane took a moment and wiped her tears as she heard Lizzy’s muffled cries.  She swallowed and said,
”You made him so happy Lizzy, you two were wonderful together.”
“Together.” Lizzy repeated softly.
“I’m coming straight over, see you soon” Jane said as she hung up the phone.

Lizzy listened into the dead phone for sometime before hanging it up. She felt close to the void that it provided. Eventually she stood up and walked into their bedroom. Everywhere she looked she saw him. The carpet, soft under her feet reminded her of the time that they chose it together. He kidded with her that he preferred a heavily patterned one, she saw his smile when she finally realised he was joking. Lizzy smiled back at him.

She noticed the lemon yellow of the wall, light danced over the surface. They had painted the room together one Easter long weekend, she saw his legs up the ladder as he reached to coat the ceiling. Lizzy craned her head up and saw the space where he had been. Her hand reached out and touched the wall.

His watch lay on the chest of drawers. Lizzy picked it up and looked at the time. Time was of no consequence now. She was compelled to put the watch on, the clasp felt cool on her wrist as she snapped it shut. She enjoyed the sensation of its reassuring weight.

Lizzy walked to the closet, she wanted to smell him, feel him surround her. She opened the door, but took a step backwards as the smell was overwhelming. She shut the door in horror. Her mind screamed out, her body went hot. She opened the door again, God the smell was disgusting, a rotten flesh smell that made her hold her breathe. It was a smell of death. Why did Will’s cupboard smell like that, was he in there?

Lizzy knew that was impossible, he was lying dead in hospital. Taking a deep breathe and covering her nose she looked about inside the cupboard. She couldn’t see anything. Grabbing the torch that Will kept under his side of bed, she began to search in the shoes and shoe boxes lying at the foot of his clothes. She was almost frantic, turning over items and peering down the toe of shoes with the torch to try and find what she thought must be a dead mouse or worse. She tossed the empty shoes aside in frustration. The smell was intensive at the back of the wardrobe. Underneath a plastic bag containing nothing but odd socks she found an old hat box.  She had completely forgotten about this box, it had been years since she’d seen it. Will and her had bought it at an antique shop in country Victoria while holidaying there. That must have been 20 years ago. The hat box was looking a little worse for wear. Lizzy gently lifted the lid, and looked in. She screamed on seeing the decomposing rat, the hat box and its contents got thrown across the room and she continued screaming.

Jane ran into the room and slapped her across the face. Then immediately gave her a big hug.
Jane took a step back while still holding onto Lizzy’s shoulders and looked directly into her sister's blotchy red face and asked,
“Lizzy, are you alright, Lizzy what happened? And what’s that smell in here?"
Lizzy broke down in her sisters arms.
“Come on Lizzy let it out.” Jane encouraged

Lizzy breathed in and spoke slowly, “Oh Jane, oh God, I found a rat, look over there, it was in his things.” She pointed in the direction of the window and sighed in a deep breathe. She felt drained. As Lizzy looked on, Jane took charge and picking up two shoe box lids she hooked the rat up off the carpet. She made a sandwich of it covering the rat with one lid and then she walked with purpose out of the room.

Lizzy looked at the mess she had made. Amongst the shoes, odd socks and boxes strewn around the floor she noticed several envelopes. These must have been with the rat in the old hat box. Did Will keep some old letters and cards she had sent him? She bent down to them pick up. They smelt of dead, but to her surprise each envelope was unopened and addressed to her. Three red envelopes, two white and a fat lime green one with a stain on it from the rat. It smelt the worst. Lizzy was written the same way on each. Her hand felt the slight imprint of her name written by him. They were sealed. God how old were they, when did Will write these? He had been in and out of hospital for the last six months. When did that rat crawl into its elaborate coffin to die? She wondered if she should open these all at once? Or save them, keeping and languishing in the expectation of what they might contain. If she thought about it too long, her expectations could get out of control, and lead to disappointment. Of course she would open them, how could she not. But should she open them in particular order? There were no numbers or instructions. Will had a message in these for her, it didn’t matter when he wrote them, all that mattered was that they were from him to her. A message from Will to Lizzy, a message from the dead to the living.

Continued here


Written for Sunday Scribblings

Yes

Yes, I will come to your party.
But, I want to say no, you’re too artsy fartsy.

Yes, you look handsome, cool and great.
 Really you don’t, but a shirt change will make us late.

Yes, everything is really alright.

Saying no will just mean a fight.

Yes, I’ll have some more food.

If I say no it will darken my mood.

Yes, alright I will have a dance,

Stuff your feelings, no I won’t prance!

Yes, I’ll have another glass of wine.

Stating no will just make me pine.

Yes, you can sit here and hold my hand,

No don’t touch me it’s too much to stand

Yes, I think you’re really nice,

Well actually no, I’d rather eat mice.

Yes yes you can drive me to my home.

I want to get away from you and be alone.

Yes that’s it, its chow good bye.

You are not coming up, no don’t even try.

 

Written for Sunday Scribblings 

Good old days

I hold you in my arms

You need and want me so much

Your little lives depend on me

I feed, wash and dress you, loving you all the time

You grow and learn, little by little

Small changes I hardly notice take place

You want me there, by your side; you reach up for my hand

When you are hurt, only I can stop your pain

Sometimes there is very little left of me

You trust me utterly

I love you unconditionally

Precious moments, laughs and screams

Mess and disorder clutter always to clean

You learn the rules, grow capable, and independent

Each step up is away from your need of me

I am proud, but don’t want to let go of you

Stop! Freeze time and hug you tight to me

I am living my good old days right now



Written for Sunday Scribblings

Extreme

Sweat prickles her skin,
A tickle to touch as the droplet slides down her neck
Nostrils flare as hot air shocks her there
Her throat swallows as she breathes in the dryness.
Each step is an effort against the thick blanket of heat against her.
She reaches up to retrieve the dry crisp clothes.
Even the pegs are hot
The wash had been hung out less than an hour ago
The northerly wind and high temperatures are perfect for drying
She can catch up on the washing for once
The only benefit of summer in the extreme
Living with a catastrophic fire warning

I live here

View Larger Map



Written for Sunday Scribblings

New Leaf

A word or so on the weather.

I love reading other people's blogs on the other side of the world when the weather is the polar opposite of what I am experiencing. The seasons are a powerful influencer on the way we live. It has got me so excited to read about snow. I love the change of seasons, each season is so remarkable.

We live with a large Golden Elm tree in our back garden that responds wonderfully to the seasons. The summer shade is enjoyed currently. It gives us the perfect dappled shade that moves in the breeze. The harsh hot sun is screen out as only spots of light hit the ground and dance lightly around us. The dry northern wind, that today sent temperatures to 41 degrees, is cooled by the elm. It protects us and aids us with our grueling summers. Under the elm we can sit, otherwise we burn. A canopy of shade when we most need it.

In autumn I look up in earnest at the leaves that are yet to fall as I sweep and sweep and sweep some more. Life renewing itself, I think, as I put the leaves back into the soil. The yellow leaves are bright and happy as we say goodbye to the warmth of the sun. I love to capture a falling leaf before it descends to the ground and make a secret wish for health for those I love most.

The bare winter branches cast eerie shadows on our back wall as the soft winter sun moves low across the sky. Green lush moss grows in the elms creases as rain makes it moist there. I touch it with cold fingers and wonder how long it has to live. I watch the shadows grow shorter as the sun rises. I look for warm spots to sit in.

A fluffy green blossom marks spring for me. Adelaide Rosellas arrive to eat and prune, gymnastics are performed to reach the morsels they desire. Wings are spread as they don’t tolerate me. The spring gully winds spread petals north west, filling gutters and corners not visited by the broom. We watch in anticipation as the bright lime green leaves sprout. Fresh new leaves ready to absorb the sun. Life renewed, protecting, and providing.

Written for Sunday Scribblings

Christmas Present

For Christmas from my big brother I received a notebook with a letter inside it. The letter said the following words:










The spoken word, it has been said, is unable to be taken back.
The written word will last longer than your life time.
Your thoughts are often never heard or shared.
There are many words which you wished you could have spoken.
Well, here is your opportunity, write them down in this book.

Great present, right up my alley.

Thank you big brother.

Weird

I think its weird that you change
so much whenever you hit the bottle.
I think its weird that you repeat yourself
over and over despite saying sorry.
I think its weird how you say you
want and love me, but criticise all that I am.
I think its weird how you crack
then rant and rave and hurt and hit.

I think its even weirder that I
stay with you and believe all that you say.
I think its even weirder that I
keep this secret and protect you from the law.
I think its even weirder that
we smile and say we are doing alright.
I think its even weirder that I
need you to keep me in this place.

Note: this is a work of fiction for Sunday Scribblings

Books alive

Game

Anthony Mort was desperate. The last few weeks had brought nothing but despair. He had no one anymore, no one he could really open up to. No one who cared. He was internalising every fine detail of failure. As far as he could see he had two choices. Play or not play the game.

The game offered a potential way out. A way to exit his despair, a potential solution. The more he thought about it he realised it wasn’t a choice it was his only possible way out. Not playing the game meant staying where he was. He couldn’t face life like this. Anthony had another swig from the bottle and greedily swallowed.

He was alone.

He decided to play the game three times. Evening the odds up and really leaving it to fate. But he would spin the cylinder between pulling the trigger. There was a 1 in 6 chance he would die.

The revolver was cold and heavy. Anthony scratched his head then placed one bullet in the cylinder. He looked into the other 5 chambers. Empty.

He decided to play in the bathroom. Easier to clean up.

He closed and locked the door behind him. He sat on the toilet. “No” screamed his head, “don’t be found on the bog.”

He got into the bath and lay down. That was better.

He spun the cylinder, placed the gun to his head and pulled the trigger.

Click.

No bullet in that chamber.

Anthony looked at the gun. A tear ran down his cheek. Maybe he should just do it without spinning the cylinder. That would increase the odds of dying each time. He would still only play three times. What did his Dad always say to him when things didn’t turn out for the best, “Give life a chance son.”

He put the gun to his head again. A strange noise was being made by this throat. A lump rose and he burst into tears and sobbed. His left hand tried to cover his face, his tears and his shame. He screamed out as he raised the gun to his head again and pulled the trigger.

Click.

Again he lived.

Anthony stopped crying. Maybe life was going to win, maybe he had to pull through this. Maybe life needed him now, even though no one else did. He wiped the snot from his nose. There was only a 16% chance the first time. The second time had a 20% chance.
 
This third time would be a 25% chance of death. 

 
For the third time Anthony raised the gun to his head and pulled the trigger.

Click.

Anthony was still a live, lying in a bath fully dressed holding a loaded revolver to his head. 

 
“Not even this game turns out for me, the odds went to life.” he said out aloud.

Anthony got to his feet and got out the bath. 

The game was over.

Life had won this round.