Sitting in a clubhouse, or member’s entertainment space, during kids disco hour. The noise in incredible here at the back of the room. The kids, mostly littleys, are up in front of the stage. The DJ is talking with Microphone, above the music. The kids are loving it, but at this decibel level are the kids being deafened? I’m glad that I don’t have children any more. I am happy to be a spoil sport.
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Volunteering, Strong on Your Feet
Volunteering takes many forms here in Australia. There are those who volunteer as firies (fire control officers), ambulance officers, in op shops (charity shops), teaching numeracy and literacy, and so on and so forth. At my age I don’t have the horsepower to join the volunteer fire brigade or volunteer sea rescue.
For quite a long time I volunteered on an adult literacy program. Nowadays, I volunteer with a group that works with the Senior Citizens in the community. We hold regular classes in which we teach the Seniors a series of exercises to strengthen their balance and so prevent falls.
As a trained Yoga teacher, I find this rewarding – although the exercises are not yoga asana, they make sense when viewed as appropriate for older people – some in their 90s. The program is put together by two physiotherapists who keep a close eye on the instructors.
[148 words]
No words
I haven’t written anything in a week. Well, I’ve been working, but my client’s enthusiastic announcement for their new game feature hardly seems significant, considering everything else that’s been going on, now does it?
Usually, I don’t get anxious reading the news. There is nothing I can do about it anyway.* But just looking at the unfathomable footage of the burning Amazon, the events unfolding in the UK, the US, and Germany, reading statements and comments, leaves me stunned, unbelieving, overwhelmed. What has gotten into you people?! When have we, as a species, descended into this kind of madness? Aren’t we supposed to be the smart ones? When have we decided to abandon all reason? And for what? A treacherous illusion of happiness, meaning, fulfillment? So we can live out our days gluttonously, comfortably and in what little comfort we can amass? Just so we can feel good about ourselves — or rather better than everyone else — we blindly believe those who offer easy solutions for complex problems, not realizing — or worse, accepting — that they are just as mad, just as scared as we are?
Seriously, what’s wrong with us?
Five minutes really isn’t a long time, but this had to be said nonetheless…
*Strictly speaking, that’s not even true. Vote. Sign petitions. Protest. Boycott. Donate.
[217 words]
(c) Anett Enzmann 2019
Dream remembered
In was in these very hills soon after I came to this place that I had a vivid dream.
After climbing steep hill, I was led through a large courtyard painted white, up some stairs and through tall, heavy wooden doors into what seemed like another world.
Inside, tall thin arches covered with long drapes in rich fabric wafted slightly in the breeze. The hall – for that’s what is was – had drapes hanging everywhere, so that the precise size of the room could not be discerned. One could not see the walls themselves.
There was a large rectangular table at one end with people seated around: Arabs, Africans, men, women, all in grand attire. In the centre, a heavy round table, covered with a cloth. In the corners of the room were large brocade cushions piled high. People were dressed in long robes, and cloth headdresses studded with jewels and reclining, comfortably talking, and drinking out of jewel encrusted goblets.
As I entered, wearing a plain purple robe and leather sandals, but no other adornment, an imposing woman stood up.
She had the most magnificent robe of all. Deep purple, with swirls of bright blue, and gold brocade on a matching outer cloak. It complemented her dark brown complexion perfectly, and set off her bright eyes with a power I had seldom seen in a woman.
As she rose, so too did everyone else. She approach me slowly , with the dignity befitting her office.
She said, “So, you have come”.
I stood tall, bolt upright and held her gaze, “Yes, I have”.
She took her time and circled around me, at about two metres distant, inspecting me, it seems. The hall was quiet, but not unsympathetic.
I stood motionless and looked straight ahead. When she had come full circle she faced me once again. Raising her chin ever so slightly, as those of authority do, she said in a deep, resonant voice, “Welcome!”
With that she handed me the gold goblet in her hand. I raised it in a toast to her, with my head bowed for a moment, and then drank my first sip. I felt as if I had come home.
(This was the first dream I had, very soon after emigrating to Portugal.)
©2019 Allison Wright
[366 words. I cheated again: total time 12 minutes + 2 minutes for editing.]
Internet Addiction?
The World Wide Web. The internet. Wi-fi. Mobile data. Websites. Blogs. Emails. Facebook. Twitter. News. Online. Wikipedia, search engines. Networks, Servers. Documents. Spreadsheets.
All words and actions that are embedded in our daily lives. Without them how would we ever manage our lives, careers, business, hobbies. Until you go offline! After six days away with almost no connection, and even that little bit in chunks of about five minutes a couple of times a day I am feeling frustrated, and irritable, and wondering if this is what addiction feels like. Only two more days to go and then I will be back with automatic connection to what ever device I switch on. That’s the plan. Even all of them together if I want. I live in hope.
A visitor
We discovered that the young guy at the meeting was called Thabo. We also discovered that his uncle’s big house was just around the corner from where we lived. Well, just around the corner, if you can walk with ease, that is. He already had elbow crutches, and walked with difficulty. I could see it in the tensing of his arm muscles and clenched grip. And he knew very little about what MS was going to take from him. New diagnoses are the hardest.
But hey, this guy was so determined to “keep on going”. We said, “Come around on Saturday, we’re home all day”. So he did.
It was the time of the food shortages. He was very respectful to arrive at 2.30 pm. The fact was that we had not eaten yet. I was about to serve our lunch, when the bell at the gate rang.
He followed me up the drive, and took a seat. I said, “Now, listen, I can see that you walked all the way here. We were about to have lunch. It is chicken wings and gravy with rice. And some spinach from the garden. We would love you to join us in our meal”.
The tall, skinny young man beamed bashfully. “Only if there is enough…” Yeah, I thought. He had not eaten yet today either.
“Today, there is”.
So there we sat, the three of us in our lounge, with trays on our laps. And plates piled with real food. I silently thanked God that on this day, we had enough food for everyone.
We had a lovely conversation after that, with our bellies full. He could tell a good story, that Thabo.
©2019 Allison Wright
[285 words. Total time: 11 minutes ]
Lunch
I did not go out into the garden yesterday. Or at least I don’t remember whether I did. I must have watered, but only in a mechanical sort of way, without paying too much mind.
The day was too full to linger there. And today, I have made my rounds, the cursory greetings and expressions of delight at a new flower, the swelling gourd and loofah pod, new things.
Dangling green beans that I leaving hanging, although I should pick them, but will wait until I have time to cook. And oh, surprise, young peas already on their self-sown vine. They are nice and I nibble on their sweetness and discard their shells wherever I like.
And then I remember food, for yesterday was rushed boiled potatoes and something else, on yes, ice cream which did not cool. So why, you ask such crazy eating?
It is the text. The imperative of the big text demands my all, and does get it, in fits and starts.
But today, I gather up this and that and peppers and tomatoes and onions and cheese and whatnot. I force myselfself to make the dough. The pizza is in the oven and will have to pass for the five vegetables that one is supposed to eat daily. Ah, the big text calls me,
But wait, the oven timer is sounding.
I shall eat like a queen today, if queens eat in front of laptops somewhere in this squiffy realm.
©2019 Allison Wright
[248 words]
The box
“What this doing outside?”
Cath and Andrea had just moved house. Outside the side door on a narrow strip of cement running the length of the building was a box of papers belonging to Andrea.
“You need to sort it before it comes inside,” said Cath.
Andrea pouted. “What if it rains?”
“Best get to it, then, sweetie.”
Andrea sat on the box for a few minutes. “Bloody hell!”
Then she lifted it up and took it to the back garden. There was a 44-gallon drum there. She tossed most of the papers into the drum, doused them with cigarette lighter fuel, set a match to them, and watched them burn.
Her early literary efforts went up in flames, apart from one of two sheets of paper. She figured that she had sorted those papers pretty well. Done!
©2019 Allison Wright
[140 words]
Zwischenzeit
Termin um 10, noch 25 Minuten Zeit. 25 Minuten reichen für ein spätes Frühstück in einem Café gegenüber dem Krefelder Hauptbahnhof. Ich bin nicht gerne da wo ich bin. Aber die Sonne scheint und ich befördere mich mit einem Cornetto und einem Cappuccino nach Italien. Der Krefelder Bahnhof hat einen Belfried. Die Niederlande sind nicht weit. Den Belfried erkläre ich zum Campanile. In den Tiefen meiner Tasche finde ich die TLS. Eine Zeitung aus Papier gehört zum italienischen Frühstück. Die Repubblica wäre stilechter, aber da müsste ich wieder über Salvini lesen. Also lese ich mit geringem Erkenntnisgewinn einen Artikel über Puritaner in England und den USA. Und schon ist meine Zwischenzeit vorbei.
Deus é grande
Outside the kitchen door there was a concrete hard standing with a depression in it running the length of the courtyard towards a metal door in the wall shielding the view of the back garden from the road.
It was hot, so we five kids begged my mother to let us dam up the gap between the bottom of the door with towels, and run the hose pipe so that the depression filled with water for us to play in.
She agreed, so there we were, my sister and I, our two little boy cousins and the girl from across the road, all sitting naked except for our underwear on the concrete, splashing each other with a pitiful amount of water.
There was a lady at the school gate telling people about Heaven, where our souls go when we die. That is what we were talking about. She said that we had to repent of our sins, whatever that meant. Then my friend from across the road said it was that if you had been bad you had to say you were sorry. We had to be good to get into Heaven. We all looked up at the bright blue sky and wondered if you could get to Heaven if you had been mainly good and only a little bit bad.
We didn’t know. I laughed at my sister, because she couldn’t say “damnation” properly. She laughed at me because I did not know what it meant. We decided that God must be very big. Then, our cousins splashed us, and tickled us. That is all.
©2019 Allison Wright
[268 words – one extra minute because I made so many typos today: forgive me.]
five stray minutes 