I like to keep my clothes on hangers. Different types for dIfferent things. It follows that I have a lot of hangers in plastic, wood and wire of all shapes and colours. I keep them on an accessible shelf, stacked neatly and ready for use. But coat hangers like to party; I know this must be the case because every time I want a hanger or two they are all mixed up and, very often, tangled up, sometimes one or two are on the floor. Who does this? I am the only one who uses them so the obvious answer is that hangers like to party when no one is around to hear them. Or perhaps they all like to mix and mingle in a struggle for superiority. Do you also have party-going, or aggressive, clothes hangers?
Blog Feed
Enough
I had an errand in the village and then the perfect espresso coffee. I drank in the fine blue sky. All around, promises lapped at my confidence saying yes, today would indeed be productive.
The coffee was so good, I wanted more.
Always wanting more; just a little bit longer. Wait! Stay with me!
But more would have been too much, and perhaps it would have taken away the blue sky lining my soul.
I scraped the sugar from the bottom of the cup. Life is sweet like that.
©2019 Allison Wright
[92 words]
Hornets’ Nest
Hornets. There are about 15 of them, buzzing fussily in and out of the hole in the wall they have recently chosen as their dwelling. Unfazed by the voices and the life behind the crumbling bricks they simply go about their day. Every day.
I was scared of them, at first. A strange, primal fear of one of them unsuspectingly exploring its environment, getting trapped in my room. What is this place? What are all these smells and things? Who are these furry creatures staring at it with their preying eyes? It buzzes around, disoriented, panicking, lashing out.
Poor thing.
I’d better keep my windows closed.
[111 words]
(c) Anett Enzmann 2019
Japanische Gemütlichkeit
Die Wohnungen meiner Tokioer Freunde waren voll, voll von Büchern, Kleidern, Schuhen, Tellern, Tassen, Reisschalen, Teeschalen, Gläsern, Töpfen, Bildern, Glücksbringern und Erinnerungen. Wir hatten Platz zum Reden, zum Essen und zum Trinken. Die Dinge um uns waren ein Kokon aus Freundschaft und Freundlichkeit. Für Marie Kondo war dort kein Platz.
In-tray
(An attempt to describe an object.)
The handcrafted pine tray is larger than the ones purchased in the office supplies store. It is three inches deep, and easily takes the A3 sketch pads and folders piled in it, and flowing over its edges in ways that seemingly defy gravity.
A sad shaft of light reveals a thin film of dust on every edge of paper jutting out. Why would one keep an envelope, if not to protect whatever is inside? What is it, I wonder? And why did I keep it?
I have a red folder sitting right on top of a pink one. These are the only elements of colour standing out from the manilla and white. The colour scheme is scary. I shall have to apply some interior décor principles to that mess soon.
©2019 Allison Wright
[138 words]
A New Decade
Turning sixty seems to demand momentous actions. The sixty-year-old body, however, recoils at the qualifier. A relaxed, grilled dinner in the backyard of a good friend, just a summer Saturday night, serves as a perfect marker.
My candle-blowing, not-to-be-divulged wish is for it all to continue, though all things clicking on as usual seems almost too much to ask for, mortality being what it is. I remember that continuance demands change. Impossible desire, this oxymoron. Careful what you wish for.
History having shown its talons, I am fully aware that on this side of sixty, change can be more frightening than hopeful. But here we are. Sixty. Hoping.
Walking, Talking
I went walking with my good friend this morning. First coffee, then wandering down the the beachfront. She talks and I listen all the while. I think she finds it easier to talk when we don’t have eye contact. She has recently come through the chemo fire.
Fortunately, her husband is tremendously supportive. He is also quite alone in this space. He walks ahead of us with my husband, also talking and divulging many things to his older friend. It is therapeutic for both wife and husband and we are good listeners, my husband and I. We listen and we hear.
The subtext is what matters sometimes. Neither of us are giving advice. Well maybe a bit of advice.
[119 words]
Entropic wardrobe
Yes, the entropic wardrobe is a closed system and subject to randomness and disorder. Chaos, even. It is a closed system because, despite disorder within, care is usually taken to ensure that the door closes.
Of course the jolly thing is too small. That is why there exists what like-minded friends have dubbed the “drobe”, loosely defined as a chair, or other piece of furniture, placed in a bedroom to bear the weight of any clothes that for any reason do not get moved either to the laundry basket or, when clean, back into the wardrobe itself.
Sometimes, confusion occurs with drobes, for the manager of the drobe cannot remember what direction the clothes on it are supposed to be travelling. This turmoil is responsible for many an item being needlessly washed twice. Rather that, than place already worn clothes back in the wardrobe.
As to the wardrobe itself, the chief cause of entropy arises when visitors are expected and the entire amorphous pile on the drobe has to be unceremoniously dumped inside the wardrobe, whose door is firmly shut.
All this to give the impression of order, you understand.
©2019 Allison Wright
[193 words]
Summers
Summer is when you have a shower and do not towel dry. Instead you wash by hand the clothes you had previously stepped out of, all the while noticing in the mirror the new wrinkles that etched character last winter into your middle age.
They glory in the brightness streaming through the window. You don’t care so much, as wonder who this new person is – or will be next year. At least you can still touch your toes. That’s something.
©2019 Allison Wright–
[80 words]
Travelling People
A Japanese family of five, Daddy on a company assignment in Germany. First encounter with bureaucracy in a foreign land. There was a glimpse of being at the mercy of some unknown, unheard of power. The kafkaesque moment passed. Some of us can travel freely.
five stray minutes 