Thursday, 21 March 2019

Someone Being Observed by Someone Else




by Stephen Bowman

Arabic tea

Here it comes.   Number 42.    Good.   This will be my eleventh lesson.    Think I’m coming on OK.    Teacher’s quite patient anyway.      Sometimes laughs at some of  the English expressions I’ve picked up.      OKEY DOKEY   LOVELY JUBLY   English....................... interesting language.      
          
British buses!      Quite strange.   Everyone sits still, bolt upright, not saying a word, minding their own business.        Sorry.   Sorry.    That’s all I hear      Oh, sorry.    What’s the matter with them?    Why can’t they relax?    Chat with the people next to them.

The place where I come from they call the Middle East.       Middle East!    How’s it Middle East?    To me it’s home.       Think that’s to do with the British Empire.    From what I’ve read it’s all to do with where you find yourself in relation to Gt. Britain.   Near East.   Middle East.   Far East.      Anything to the west was called “The West.”  

What a strange language really, and they keep saying, Thankyou, thankyou, thankyou,  They give somebody something and say Thankyou. 

There’s someone who has been looking at me for this whole bus trip.   Almost as though I’m under observation.   I know I’m different from him.   My skin’s darker than his.  My clothes are a bit different from his.     Why does he keep looking at me and, more than that, why does he seem to be trying to make out that he’s not looking at me?

I wonder if he’s doing an assignment for some sort of writing class he goes to?       An older type person.  Must be retired.   Thinks I’m some sort of exhibit. 
 
There it is again, our eyes met and he looked away.  
 
I’ve been here almost a year now.    It’s a good country, just a bit different from what I’m used to.    Continual reference to the weather.     Cold today.     Nice and sunny today.   Cor, bit hot today!       Hot!     They don’t know what hot is, they wouldn’t last an afternoon in my country.

Oh, no! He’s writing something down now.        I knew it!        A would-be writer.      I’m getting off the bus soon.  We’re nearly there.

Oh, don’t say he’s getting off as well.   No, he’s just getting up to let someone else  off.      Just listen to the words..... Thankyou,     thankyou.     Sorry,    Thankyou.  English!
                                                                                                           

Wednesday, 20 March 2019

Soap Bubbles

by James Bates

iced camomile tea


My daughter hands me the soapy wand and says, "Here, Mom, your turn." I take it from her and dip it in the solution before whipping it through the air. Allie watches mesmerized as the bubbles form and begin to float away. Then she's all motion as she bolts from my side, running after them, giggling, trying to catch them before they pop and disappear.
            Next to me Dad stands watching, arthritic and crippled by the years, yet eyes twinkling with life as he remembers, I can tell, when he and I both played this game. Gently, I touch his arm and hand him the wand. He takes it and reverently holds it for a moment, taping it in his open hand. Then he confidently immerses it in the solution and, like an orchestra conductor with his baton, he moves it with subtle grace in a sweeping arc through the air. We watch as the bubbles come alive and go streaming, floating out on the soft, summer breeze, carrying with them joyful memories of long ago when I was a child and we shared happiness like this together.
            Next us, Allie is still, but for only a second. Then in a flash she takes off running with wild abandon, laughing and chasing our bubbles, while Dad leans his tired body against mine and we both watch, grinning from ear to ear.

Abut the author 

Jim's research finds that soap bubbles first appeared in Flemish Paintings over 400 years ago. In the 1940's the Chicago company Chemtoy began selling bubble solution to the public and it's been popular with kids (and grownups) ever since. If you like this or other of his stories you can check them out on his blog: www.theviewfromlonglake.wordpress.com.

Tuesday, 19 March 2019

The Meaning of Friendship



by David Gower

dry sherry


I just need to finish off a couple of e-mails and then I can show you what to do. It might sound a bit slushy to you but it is comes from a lifetime’s experience. As I write you might see the real meaning of friendship to me.

Dearest Kate

It felt so strange and I thought it was only me but I heard on the radio this week that the biggest number of people looking for love is us – the baby boomers. It seems that we still have the thrill and excitement, the butterflies in the tummy and the nervousness of first meeting just as we did when we were teenagers.

I am so glad that you feel it too. I thought it was only me being silly and not accepting my age. I remember how when I thought anyone aged 40 was old and I always seemed to be going to funerals? I realise now that adults then had much harder lives and it was no wonder that they popped their clogs early. What an odd expression. No wonder foreigners find the English language a puzzle.

How kind you have been to me since we first knew that each other existed. I remember the day that I swiped your picture on my phone. My friend dared me to register on the website that was on TV. You would never believe how many strange characters we found. Someone even tried to tell me they had money and needed my bank details to get their fortune out of  their homeland. Another one told me I had won a lottery I had never entered. It made us wonder about who they were but when I saw your picture and read how you had described yourself I knew. It was like the adverts say ‘you were the one’. I told my friend that you looked like ‘the one’. How right I was since you replied to my first nervous message I have felt a special link between us. That is why you can have my details, that is why I trust you as a friend.

I feel that I know so much more about you and I am excited at the thought of meeting face to face although there is sadness that before we met up I have to go straight to Dad’s and arrange all the matters for the funeral and probate. It is lovely of you to offer to be with me but Dad was a very private man so it will be just me, the undertaker and the vicar. Dad was always a stiff upper lip chap and would want me to be the same.

I need someone like yourself at a time like this - your friendship and the kind words in your messages mean so much to me and you seem to understand my loss having become an ‘orphan’ just like me. We are both alone in the world now and how much I wish I could be with you this very minute.

My travel plans were almost ruined when my briefcase was taken with my cards but luckily my passport was at home safe and sound. I thought I could scrape enough to cover the air fare and accommodation on the trip from Sydney but the insurance says there will be a delay in paying me back and the bank says I left my pin numbers written down. I have no memory for all these codes and passwords. I had to be helped to log on to meet you by my friend. How sad is that? How glad I am that I never did any bank stuff on the phone, what if I had lost that too?

Having to budget for the funeral and other costs leaves me as they say embarrassed but I will have to manage as best I can until the estate is settled. The arrangements for the funeral cannot be changed at such short notice.

It was really kind of you – an act of friendship to offer to help out. I have to overcome my reluctance and accept. You must let me make it up to you when we meet. Do I sound forward? I do hope not but I am hopeful that we might start afresh together when I am back in the UK to settle. Our friendship means so much to me.

I am so looking forward to seeing you and starting life anew. I know you have estimated how much the flight and a hotel in Singapore for a couple of days should be and I will let you know when the transfer arrives safely.

What would I do without you having found someone so dear in such an unexpected way? You are a friend indeed.

Love from far away but with you soon

Tony

SEND

Dearest Andrew

It felt so strange and I thought it was only me but I heard on the radio this week that the biggest number of people looking for love is us – the baby boomers. It seems that we still have the thrill and excitement, the butterflies in the tummy and the nervousness of first meeting just as we did when we were teenagers.

You get the picture? Remember, never be greedy; once the money arrives close the account and start the next identity on your list.

The meaning of friendship in this line of work is money.





Monday, 18 March 2019

Eli's Wroms


by Dawn De Braal 

orange juice

The small building behind Crawford’s Auto Repair housed a two-room apartment where Eli Matten lived in exchange for doing odd jobs for his uncle. Every day precisely at 7:15 Uncle Jeff or Aunt Caroline, brought his favorite breakfast Cream of Wheat hot cereal, sprinkled with brown sugar. Eli opened the door when he heard Aunt Caroline’s knock.
“Here you go, sugar!” said Aunt Caroline handing him the hot bowl.
Thanking his aunt, Eli set the bowl down on the kitchen table inhaling the hot steam rising from his breakfast, sighing. He said a quick prayer and started to eat. When he finished, Eli walked to his uncle's garage to begin his work day.
“Morning Eli.” Uncle Jeff was always a happy man.
“Morning Uncle Jeff. Thank you for the Cream of Wheat.”  Eli put the used bowl in the sink and picked up a broom to start sweeping the shop as he did every morning. Jeff asked him if he’d like something other than Cream of Wheat for breakfast tomorrow. Eli shook his head, “no.”
Then his Uncle Jeff made a new proposal, “Eli, do you want to make some extra money today?” Eli put down the broom and trotted over to his uncle in a strange forward motion which was the way he ran.
“What do I gotta do?” asked Eli excited.
“Rototill the garden. Your Aunt Caroline has been on at me all week. I’ll start the rototiller and show you how to use it. Do you want the job?”
“Twenty bucks,” Eli replied shaking his head up and down. Uncle Jeff agreed to the twenty bucks for Eli’s sake knowing he would pay him more after the job was completed. Twenty bucks was Eli’s “go to” amount for any odd job.
When Eli finished for the day, his uncle took him out to the garden and started the rototiller. It was loud and leaped out of his hands. Eli shook his head no, stepping away from the machine. He would not use the rototiller.
“I'll still turn the garden using a shovel, ” he said simply
“Eli, it will take you hours to do this by hand, ” Uncle Jeff warned.
“Don’t care, I will do it. I want the worms.” Eli said earnestly.
“The worms?” questioned his uncle.
“Yes, I will sell them for bait. The rototiller will cut them up. No one wants broken worms.” Eli grabbed the shovel and started the daunting task of turning over the dirt in the garden. The hot sun beat down on him. Every shovel full he turned over brought up worms. Eli sifted through the dirt putting the worms in a coffee can saved from the garage.
Ed Norski, coming in to pick up his Cadillac, noticed Eli out back working, “I see you got the dummy digging your garden.” He said to Jeff.
“Hey! Don’t call him a dummy. He’s disabled, there’s a difference! He’s my nephew.” 
Ed’s neck turned a bright red. “Sorry I didn’t mean nothing by it.” Ed paid his bill quickly leaving the garage.
Eli worked the rest of the day turning the dirt, picking out the worms, then raked the entire garden. When he finished, his Aunt Caroline, was thrilled. It was almost dark when she came out to the apartment with his supper. Eli preferred to eat alone. He opened the door taking his favorite meal, cheeseburgers, and chips. “Thank you, Aunt Caroline.”
“Eli you did a wonderful job on the garden, I can’t thank you enough! Uncle Jeff said you collected worms. What are you going to do with them? “
Eli pointed to the can sitting on the counter. “I’m gonna sell them and make more money.” He smiled proudly as he accepted twenty dollars from his aunt.
“You'll need to make a sign, I have some cardboard and paint in the garage, would you like me to help you with it?” Aunt Caroline asked.
“No, I can do it,” he said biting into his cheeseburger waving his aunt away. Eli had received an honorary diploma from the Calcounty School District. Aunt Caroline left him to eat his supper.
Early the next morning Jeff went to the garage to open up for the day. In the front window, there was a huge cardboard sign painted in red letters, “ELI’S WROMS 4 SAL ”
 Jeff shook his head as he made the customary Cream of Wheat breakfast Eli insisted on every morning. The microwave dinged, brown sugar was added.  Taking the bowl out to the apartment, Jeff admired the freshly turned garden knowing it took Eli the better part of the day to do this. He was amazed by what his nephew could do when he put his mind to things. He knocked on the apartment door.  Eli answered accepting the hot Cream of Wheat.
“How much for all of your worms?” Jeff asked his nephew.
Eli put his hand to his head ciphering. “Forty bucks,” he said solidly.
Jeff was taken back. “You mean to tell me you picked that many worms?”
Eli laughed at his uncle. “No, the worms are twenty bucks. Another twenty bucks for turning the garden.”
Uncle Jeff couldn’t beat Eli’s reasoning. “You got me, Eli. After breakfast come and get your money.”
 Jeff walked back to the garage taking the sign out of the front window, he pulled two crisp twenty dollar bills out of the register setting them aside for Eli. He then wrote a reminder note to slip into the cash drawer as to why the days' balance would be off. “Eli’s Wroms $40.00.”

Sunday, 17 March 2019

Soft Centre

by Matthew Roy Davey

chocolate milk

The previous tenants had abandoned some of their stuff when moving out: books in the bathroom, a Japanese doll in the spare room, dirty dishes in the sink.  The estate-agent apologised and told us it would be taken care of before we moved in, should we like it. 
In the fridge was a box of chocolates and a pint of separating milk.  I opened the chocolates.  Lying on the hard-centres was a piece of paper, folded once.  I took a chocolate and opened the note.
‘Maria,
I love you
ALWAYS!
Xxx’
I felt like a thief, reacting with no flash of joy, sad instead, a nothing meant for someone else.  I wondered why they’d left in such a hurry.  The chocolate was cold and hard. 
Maria had not seen the note but then neither had my girlfriend.  I would not make the same mistakes.

About the author

https://matthewroydavey.wordpress.com/  

Saturday, 16 March 2019

If It's Too Good To be True

by Allison Symes

  frothy milkshake


You know the old “you can only have three wishes” ploy - well I think I’ve found a way round it. I was clearing my late mum's place before putting it on the market. Dad died years ago and Mum got a new lease of life to be honest. Think very old school. I don't miss him but Mum's another story. Anyway I found this old lamp.

Course I know the old tale. Mum took me to all the pantomimes when I was a kid. Later, she introduced me to the theatre, Shakespeare especially. Anyway for a laugh, I rub the lamp. What harm could it do?

I tell you I nearly joined dear old Mum when that genie turned up. He was surprised to see me though he was sorry to hear about Mum.

Then I found out about the scam. Mum and the genie had a good  racket going. Her only wish was for dirt to blackmail people with who would pay up and keep quiet. She would ask for two small payments only to be paid in cash. They were never more than £5000 each and often much lower so the people concerned felt they were getting off lightly! No wonder we could afford all those theatre trips. Mum worked as a hospitall cleaner!

What does the genie get  of it? If he gets sent back to his world, he'll be put to death for corruption so the longer he stays in his lamp the better. The great thing is as Mum's only heir, I inherit her wish so we can keep this going!

It has been an eye-opener to see how many on Mum's list she didn"t get to do. I must be off now. Have lots to do!


About the author 

Allison Symes is published by Chapeltown Books, Cafe Lit, and Bridge House Publishing amongst others.  She is a member of the Society of Authors and Association of Christian Writers.  Her website is www.allisonsymescollectedworks.wordpress.com and she blogs for Chandler’s Ford Today - http://chandlersfordtoday.co.uk/author/allison-symes/


Friday, 15 March 2019

Regret Long Ago Over a Large Single Malt


by David Deanshaw 

a large single malt

I believed


We met and I was smitten
And I believed in you

You made me happy
And I believed in you

We travelled and you taught me so much
And I believed in you

You showed me galleries
And I believed in you

You talked of history
And I believed in you

We loved each other
And I believed in you

You strayed
And I still believed in you

You betrayed me
Yet I still believed in you

We parted and you pursued me
But I had stopped believing in you.

DD June 20xx


About the author 

David Deanshaw is the author of  The Price of Loyalty and an associate member of the Society of Authors.