Category Archives: Writing

Love is Blind

After gardening I notice some annoying bumps on the back of my hand. My first instinct is to worry in case they are warts.

Next day, at breakfast, I observe the rash appears less inflamed; it must be the result of something I’ve touched in the garden.

I say to Joe, ‘Feel this, what do you think it is?’

‘Braille, it says, “I Love You”, but it’s missing the comma.’

‘But ‘I Love You,’ doesn’t need a comma.’

‘Then it says, ‘immensely and deeply!’

How can I worry about a few bumps after such an interpretation?

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Expectation

The heart, the organ donned in electric pinks and vibrant reds for Valentines Day, encourage so many poets to write verse. What a lot of fuss. Frieda and her husband don’t follow this tradition.

In her teenage years there were times when she was aware of her heart racing; with the excitement and the agitation of love that sent her rhythm into presto and appassionato. Not just in her teenage years, she supposes, though it all seems so long ago. In that state of high alert, she did stupid things that she’d rather forget. She and Helen Young sat together in Grade Four. They both fell for the new boy, Walter Wright, who sat directly behind them. He wore long trousers. None of the other boys did. It made him seem so grown up. Helen and Frieda went down to Coles and pooled their money to buy him a 1/6 d watercolour paint set. They secretly wrapped it and placed it in his desk for Valentine’s Day. They never knew if he ever guessed who had put it there.

Frieda feels she’s been oblivious for decades to the selfless dedication of her pumping heart. It’s reliable ticking, like a metronome, continuing  without payment or praise. Those memories from the past are best forgotten. She should pay more attention to the present and to her time signature of adagio and even adagissimo.

Now in her eighth decade an occasional twinge will remind her that life is finite. Should she give up rich and sumptuous foods to ease the burden on her heart? No, life is to be lived to the full, with that she gives thanks to the universe. When the metronome stops, she’ll be grateful to have lived a full and happy life.

 

<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/expectation/”>Expectation</a>

 

Barbara Pyett                                                                           February 2017

 

January

A break from routine allows the richness of conversation and shared meals with family and friends; plus the unspoken: pulling weeds, mulching, fertilizing, children to stay, shopping, pruning, cooking, cleaning windows, general cleaning, washing, ironing, washing up, sweeping, picking fruit and vegetables, making jam and chutney, watering, stewing fruit for the freezer, reading, writing letters to those neglected at Christmas time and contemplating getting the year organized making a list to get things fixed.

The TV is on the blink. The solar hot water system needs replacing. The cement step from the absent spa must be removed. Gutters are choked. Solar panels need cleaning. The cubby needs fresh paint. The dishwasher died and needs replacing. Edging around the garden beds need attention since the lawns haven’t been mown. Incessant need of sweeping gum leaves from driveway, patio and paths. Lopping grevilleas and correas to maintain bushiness. Finally, book an appointment with the physio to restore use of shoulder.

‘What do you think caused this bursitis?’ Lachlan asks.

I resist giving him a blow by blow explanation.

Resist“>Resist

Renewal

Renewal looks a strange word; it looks like three words in one.

I’m procrastinating…

If you are feeling your age, I’ve just read a book you might enjoy.

It is about a widow and widower who cross an invisible societal line in their small community. They feel that they’ve reached the age where they don’t care what others think.

‘Our Souls at Night’ is written by Kent Haruf. If you’re feeling you need to change your life in some way or just need a good read, this is the book for you. Haruf writes about two people in their seventies who find love and friendship with poignancy, charm and believability.

<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/renewal/”>Renewal</a&gt;

The Christmas Star

Last year our seven-year-old grandson gave us a beautiful ornate glass star that looks like crystals in a chandelier if you focus your eyes correctly. This year I asked Chris to hang it above the tree.

Beginning with the ruler, measuring meticulously in one direction and then the other, he proceeded to find a spot in the high raked ceiling for the hook.

Fighting to penetrate the hard wood, finally the hook was in place.
Climbing down the ladder, Chris heard his father’s voice in his head say, ‘Don’t worry sport, you can move the tree!’

This is exactly what he would have said.

Jack’s Present

This is a revised Christmas story written a few years ago.

Jack’s Present

Emily’s mum had helped her stir the special ingredients of oats and sparkling gold glitter and measured them into 15 envelopes.
On the front of each envelope were the instructions:

‘Sprinkle this reindeer food outside tonight.
The moonlight will make it sparkle bright.

Millie as a puppy

Millie as a puppy

As the reindeer fly and roam,
this will guide them to your home.’

Emily had signed each one ‘Love Emily’.
She proudly gave them to her friends at Day Care.
Jack put his away safely.

Jack and his brother, Mackenzie, watched Mum pack their case. Jack made sure that his envelope from Emily was in his bag. They were driving to their grandparents and Millie’s house for Christmas. Santa must know where to find them.

Christmas Eve, Jack and Mackenzie left out a bottle of beer and some biscuits for Santa. Then they sprinkled Jack’s reindeer food outside before hopping into bed to have a story.

Whilst the children slept, Millie, the puppy, thought the reindeer food was put out in the courtyard for her, so she ate it all up.

Luckily Santa still managed to find his way.

The next morning Jack and Mackenzie discovered their bulging stockings and ran to show their parents.

Everyone decided to take Millie for her walk before breakfast.

They had to wait while she searched for a special spot under a callistemon tree.

‘How come Millie’s poo is glittering?’ asked Jack.

‘Wow, you’re right,’ chuckled Grandpa, as he scooped it into a bag.

‘It’s her way of wishing everyone a happy Christmas!’

Mackenzie laughed. ‘Millie’s a clever dog!’

‘What a treat! But remember, my treasures,

all that glitters is not gold!’ said Grandpa.

Mackenzie and Jack

Mackenzie and Jack