Home – Page 3 – five stray minutes

Lunch

Published on August 26, 2019August 26, 2019 by Allison Wright1 Comment

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.

Anachronism

Published on August 21, 2019September 4, 2019 by Anett Enzmann4 Comments

The living room window overlooks The City. A church looms over narrow cobblestone alleys lined with quaint frame houses. Ivy and roses wind around colorful doorways reminiscent of Tolkien’s Shire. No trees. They didn’t have room for them in the Middle Ages. This part of the town is slowly sinking; you can see the cracks in the walls.

Then: a parking lot. A nightclub. Stores. People on bikes. The occasional horse-drawn carriage chauffeuring flocks of tourists to the sets of the soap opera that is being filmed here. The adjacent street has trees. Workers dutifully cut them into shape every spring. The sound of sports car engines revving. Honking. Busses. Sirens. Someone is smoking under the window.

The church bells are tolling, and a loud ping proclaims that I’ve got mail.

[132 words]

Hornets’ Nest

Published on August 20, 2019September 4, 2019 by Anett Enzmann2 Comments

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]

In-tray

Published on August 19, 2019 by Allison WrightLeave a comment

(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.

Entropic wardrobe

Published on August 18, 2019August 18, 2019 by Allison Wright4 Comments

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.

Summers

Published on August 17, 2019 by Allison Wright1 Comment

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.

Cement

Published on August 14, 2019 by Allison WrightLeave a comment

It was good of my neighbour to wake me from that afternoon sleep. All that scraping, and some generator-type noise. I could think of better things to do at the closing of the day. The old sound from childhood, the rhythmical grating of sand against metal as someone mixes cement.

No, wait, the cement is already mixed. Someone is shovelling it from the pile on the ground into a wheelbarrow. What on earth does he need cement for? He finished refurbishing his house last year, didn’t he? Pity about the bright blue exterior paint,but hey, who am I to criticise someone’s desire for brightness in their life?

That old joke about getting a great discount at the paint shop, because no one else wants that colour springs to mind. With a giggle and a guffaw I lie there, fully awake now.

The gritty grey cement is slopping around in my mind. And the story my builder Dad used to tell of how his workers peed on the sand pile. The sugar in their pee weakened the cement. That’s what the building inspector said. My Dad had to re-do some section of foundation for a house because of that. He had to start all over again.

Baked beans

Published on August 13, 2019August 15, 2019 by Allison WrightLeave a comment

Chili and butter in a pan with baked beans, heat not too high. She reached for her bowl and favourite spoon. She knew there would come a point when hot was hot enough. Instant gratification, that was it. Is that why she ate standing up, at the kitchen counter, gazing out of the open door?

The door banged, as usual, against the stoned wedged artistically in the jamb. She did not care. Some people did. It annoyed them. For her, it was a sign of life. It was the outside talking to the inside.

But right now, the beans were ready. She would wash the pan later, she thought, as she switch the gas burner off.

Her mother’s old pressure cooker was heavy. She remembered that.