Do I remember good times, you bet. A new grandson’s on the way and the First I’ve witnessed becoming a miniature person. It’s not over yet and always a wonder to me, like watching a flower in slow motion, to see.
Sorry there aren’t other events. Having been ‘cloistered’ granny-nanny until recently I hadn’t gotten to traveling anywhere noteworthy, but I’ve seen some good movies, went Christmas shopping online, bought a bottle of Prosecco to toast the new year after I tuck my grandson in and utilize what remains in a mimosa, straight juice for him, for January 1st’s brunch.
The Prompt: “…think about your past year… Remember a good time, experience, meeting or event and share it in 100 words.”
She’d just stepped out of the shower. How Janine hated this rainy weather wreaking havoc with her sinuses causing her head to be clogged most of the time and making voices sound like they were in a tunnel. She grabbed a plush towel twisting its corner as tight as she could, cramming it into one ear then the other to dry them. She hoped that’d do the trick.
“Well, they’re dry but this is new; what is that ringing in my ears? Nothing like Santa’s bells.” She was reminded of a child receiving a Christmas bell so he’d always believe.
“Nope. This isn’t it. Terrific.”
The prompt for this week is:
“…but what is that ringing in my ears?…”
“It’s like being in a daze”, Naomi was saying. “You finally get the one thing you like to do and there’s a breeze – you feel alive. It’s surprising how seldom I come across what I’m certified for. Here you’re dealing with the UN. Cooperation maybe. There it’s one culture so for the most part there shouldn’t be serious opposition except people have their opinions, each the right ones, or historic issues that they consider one another an abomination.”
She sighed at the array of copies for class that covered her desk.
“What was it I need to remember about this next group?”
Grace shook her head.
The prompt this week is:
…I need to remember…
I sat with my books
And came across a notation
About a pub I frequented a lot
Redundant, should change that
I’d get my pint and pizza
Sit and write
The game played on the big screen above
A lively-noisy place but for a waitress who assumed
Me an idiot for using a dictionary to communicate
A point not easy to get me to
I’m a New Yorker
Not tipping is sacrilege
I was living abroad you see
I sat closer to the bar where she’d be watched
The owner knew me at least
I was there enough but I’d said that
A victim of menopause throes
Thank goodness that’s done
No one knew
Wearing sandals in winter was a treat
Though menopause you can keep
Thinking that, what good does it do?
It’s late or it’s early
Where are you sleep
Wonder if I stopped, snuggled in
Closing my eyes
Would it work?
Guess I’ll give it a try
Damn, need another tissue
No one’s beautiful wife rose early as she did
Silently crept disturbing no one’s sleep
Looked out the window giving a peek
To the parasitic tree
The mistletoe such significance
But she was no one’s beautiful wife
Standing over the stove creating
Silently she stirred as daylight rose
The curtains drawn back
Such a sight covering trunk and branch
Those special berries poisonous
We stand beneath and kiss
But she was no one’s beautiful wife
Silently she stood listening outside a door
Peaceful sleeping gentle breath
A good rest health restored
A sigh of relief no one heard
From no one’s beautiful wife
The prompt this week being: …those special berries…
Mattia was in the kitchen. I didn’t know her, not yet anyway but I would over time. Wasn’t worried. We’d met at the interview about the room and she was enthusiastic about me moving in. Took it as a good sign remembering what the agent’d said about good karma – she’d sensed good karma when she spoke to both of them about the rental. Her other flatmate was a sweetheart. Spoke lousy English but a sweetheart.
When I came in she’d just finished cooking for herself, had her plate and was about to go to the table in the other room as I’d begun unpacking my groceries. Guess curiosity got the better of her. I put dinner napkins I’d bought on the top of the fridge, noticing she paused, put her plate down, put her napkin away, reached up, grabbed the package, opened it and took a napkin. As far as I knew my mouth hadn’t dropped open as I watched. After putting the package back, she picked up plate and utensils and continued on not saying a word. I’ll have to admit I was surprised she didn’t ask but for the sake of diplomacy I didn’t say anything. It’s not uncommon for dry goods such as napkins, paper towels, dish detergent and toilet paper to be used and replaced by all who share the house or apartment. It wasn’t mentioned during our first meeting though so I later spoke to her offering money toward household goods. Oddly she was aloof as she brushed at the air with her hand. Huh? It was explained most everything they used came from their store. If I wanted to use something different I’d have to buy it on my own. Well yeah, that’s normal, most of us have our favorite products but the topic of sharing was glossed over and my offer flippantly dismissed. Flippantly, that was it. Didn’t make much sense. An alarm was stirring but I distracted myself thinking of the location, the boutique across the street, the subway stop on the corner, the massive El Corte Ingles two blocks away and that restaurant, oh, what was its name that served eggs benedict located right near the train station. Still I’d felt I hadn’t even been here for five minutes, something’s not right yet, but I’ll keep an eye on things, mine in particular.
At the same time I was annoyed with myself even thinking like that.
It’s true what ever I make I usually Italianize, but does that mean the incense burning in the living room with the stove fan turned on in the kitchen immediately after I cook imply they don’t like Italian, or I should say she doesn’t? I can’t say I’ve met many people in my lifetime who didn’t go for Italian food. Not impossible though.
The soup is stirred
Say not a word
Honestly! I’m being absurd.
It was supposed to be basketball according to the other coach. Normally I teach people to speak English but a job’s a job. Manned with whistle and timer I stood alongside the wall with the rotating team. Did they think I’d have no idea? I saw traveling and personal fouls thank goodness, but then wrestling, pile up for first down, sliding into home, other hydroplaning, general assault and tug-o-war.
Was this going to define my day?
And so it begins.
The prompt this week is: “…and so it begins…”