Pythian Games

“Under the Golden Oak”

Digital Construction

L. Gloyd (c) 2008

She wants to come out. I know she does. I can feel it. Like some alien egg about to hatch deep within my chest, eating its way out through my heart, ripping my soul to shreds as she goes. She is in there. Not even biding her time. Rocking back and forth gently, as she sets fire after fire within my mind, teasing me with images that never come to be. Her soft sibilant tongue caresses my inner ear, strokes my cheek when I am dazed. She prods me on with promises, things only she can deliver. Oh, gods saves me, it’s true. I need her. With such an overwhelming urge I think I may take the knife to my chest to let her out on my own, loving every rip and tear and bit of shredding flesh as it peels away from the fright that lives within me. She has created an altar for me, to torment me, to display the gifts she holds just beyond me reach, entreating me to give in, to sell what’s left of my soul. The air inside is so thick, heavy with scents, perfumes, incense, choking me, strangling me, as swiftly as her fist as it tightens at my throat, driving the breath from my lungs, stripping raw my throat, leaving me unable to cry, to cry out. I am nothing, nothing but a willing shell, a husk of a creature, so deep is my need for her, my addiction. She chants, songs full of magic works and spells, weaving scenes of such intimate detail, of such immense fortune, the waves of her songs beat against my veins, humming along in my blood. I am nothing, nothing, nothing at all. She has me, right where she wants me, and this we both know. I am hers, as much as she is mine. My Muse. My most powerful weapon. My eternal guise. I am her slave, and she is mine. I have no control; she has everything. I am blind, and deaf, and dumb, except to that which she would have me notice. She is the Voice from Up Above and From Down Below. She is the animation of my soul, making my body go. I am humbled and contrite. I have nothing to give her, except the knife, which leads her yet again to the space of white called my empty page.

by Raven TK

by anita marie moscoso

Did you ever have one of those days when everything went wrong?

Maybe you knew it was going to be bad when your alarm went off  20 minutes too early and to make it worse it was one of those nights where you woke up every half hour and when you got out of bed you knew, you could feel it was going to get much worse.

Veta Trella had a night like that.

After she got out of bed she went  to take a shower and as she stepped into her tub she slipped but was lucky enough to break her fall with her knees.

That  was okay because Veta wasn’t the kind of person anyone paid attention to so if she had to limp and shuffle no one was going to notice.

That was the only lucky break Veta had for the rest of the day.

When Veta dried her hair she was distracted by the sizzling sound the wires made everytime she turned her wrist and just before her hair was completely dry some blue sparks flew out of the wall and all of the lights in Veta’s house went out and stayed out. 

She guessed all of those black scorch marks all over her walls by the electrical outlets she saw on the way to her basement to check her fuse box was not a good sign.

When Veta  finally made it out thedoor she looked down in time to see her that not only were her shoes not tied, they were different colors and just as she turned to go back into her house the door swung shut and she knew that not only was the door locked she had never taken her keys out of the candy bowl she kept them in.

But none of that mattered for very long because as she took  a step she tripped on her laces and went face first into the door.

It was only a matter of seconds- not minutes before her nose started to swell and she could feel her lips start to go numb. She poked at her face and sighed and then Veta walked around to her back yard.

She walked slowly up the steps to her back porch and when she reached down to pick up a little clay flowerpot to break the little glass window in center of the porch door she felt her fingernail peel back and then it came off with a sting.

She held her hand up, looked at raw  finger tip and sighed.

Veta made it through her kitchen safe enough but when she got to the living room she scared her cat Blitzer right off of the couch he knew wasn’t suppose to be on.

Veta didn’t have the heart or energy to yell at him because she shouldn’t have had to break into her own house and put herself in the position to scare her black cat into running straight across her path.

In fact, he was so startled by her that he jumped straight up onto the mantle piece above the fireplace and sent Veta’s antique mirror crashing to the floor where it didn’t just break.

It smashed into millions of little shards and a cloud of dust and glass wafted up and into Veta’s face- Veta’s bruised and swollen face that was now in the process of working it’s way into a full fledged allergy attack.

” Oh, why the Hell not ” Veta said and then she sneezed and her nose started to bleed- all over her brand new white blouse.

When Veta made it to her bus- well it wasn’t her usual bus because she missed her regular bus- she almost tripped over a woman who had suddenly stopped to pick something up off of the ground and that sent Veta and her things flying  in about four different directions.

Veta sort of shuffled and cringed all the way to the back of the bus and when she sat down it was on something wet and sticky and she closed her eyes and when she opened them she looked up and then down and then from her left to her right and then slowly behind her. When she was done she slouched down and held her belongings to her chest and tried to make herself breathe.

 She thought if she concentrated on doing just that she wouldn’t start screaming.

Then the woman Veta had tripped over took the seat right in front of her and she was jabbering and laughing and chatting away to the very good-looking man next to her.

” Can you believe it? ” she sang, ” first I find a hundred dollar bill right there on the curb on the very morning I’m thinking I’m going to for sure  miss my bus and then…” she leaned towards her seat mate and nudged him with her shoulder ” you ask me out and look! “

 She was holding her phone up and the man read the text message and he congratulated the woman on her promotion and then he moved a little closer to her and put his arm over the back of her seat.

” I mean, I don’t know where all of this is coming from.  I’ve never had luck like this before!”

” My Grandma would have said you have the luck of the Devil ” he told the woman happily.

And then Veta reached over she tapped them each on the shoulder.

When they turned around they were looking straight into Veta’s bright yellow eyes which were ringed with bruises and they saw the little white horns she normally hid under her blow dried hair and then her forked tongue shot from under her broken nose and swollen lips and she hissed “ your Grandma is liar.”

The Stanthorpe `fashionistas’

Shakira! Shakira! (According to my granddaughter)

The bubble blowing stilt faery

The Apple and Grape Festival Mascots in the Grand Parade

The Grand Parade float winner

High in the mountains of the Granite Belt, not far from the border between NSW and Queenland, Stanthorpe boasts some of the best soil and the best climate for growing fruit and veges in Australia. Harvest time is a real celebration, particularly for apple and grape growers, which is why this Autumn madness is know as the Apple and Grape Festival.

It starts on Friday night when the fun fair arrives in the main street, and then gathers momentum on Saturday morning, when the High St is filled with stalls, games and events.
The festival is a testament to the amazing diversity of this normally sleepy little country town. Because it is such a prime growing region, we get many backpackers looking for work, as well as tourists hitting the wine and grape trail. So at any time, Stanthorpe is likely to host people of all nationalities, but never more so than at harvest time

The festival is truly multicultural - Asian dancers mingle with South American pipe and salsa players, even a youthful steel band conducted by its Jamaican instructor marches in the parade. There is music of all kinds, from salsa to pipe bands.

Here are some of the highlights I will always remember:

The youthful band on the High St stage blasting out their own version of ‘Punking Matilda’ to a delighted crowd.

The beauty and vitality of the girl with the salsa band who just kept dancing and smiling all day.

The `Stanthorpe fashionistas” visiting the Army display and camping it up with some very amused (and bemused) soldiers.

The stilt walking Blue Faery blowing bubbles into the crowd.

The grand parade down the High St was a highlight worth braving the hot sun. The winning float was an apple coach entered by food chain Red Rooster which was still being welded together on Friday evening.

A great street party went on long into the night, but we had tired babies to take home. Three year old Adria, who thought the world had come to her birthday party, didn’t want to leave. But she did get to see the fireworks later on from the porch, when she sighed with contentment and said, “what a day!”

Sunday saw the festival dying down. The High St was cleared and open to traffic again, but the markets and the rides continued in the side streets. Weroona Park was jam packed with wine tasters and revellers.

The whole festival was great fun and well worth being there!

by

a.m. moscoso

inspired by the Soul Food Cafe Writing Prompt

Duende

” That daughter of yours- she’s a quiet one, isn’t she? ” The 6th Grade teacher at Old Creek Elementary School said to Mr. and Mrs. Erbin at the last Parent- Teacher Conference” I don’t think I’ve heard her say more then four words in the entire time she’s been a student here. “

Mr and Mrs. Erbin looked at each other and before Mr. Erbin could open his mouth to reply Mrs. Erbin snapped, ” And whose side of the family do you think that problem came from? “

” Like I was the one responsible for wiring her brain.” Mr. Erbin pushed his face staight into his Wife’s face and they glared at each other.

” Really Mr. Erbin- nobody in this room had the sole responsibility for-” Mrs. Snodgrass wasn’t sure if she was repeating what she heard correctly so she said with a little hesitation ” for wiring Cynbel’s brain.”

Mrs. Erbin shrugged and looked up at the ceiling and smirked, and that one little gesture seemed to push Mr. Erbin straight into Angersville Population 1 where he became the Mayor upon arrival.

” We both had a hand in our daughters development Mrs. Snodgrass. We studied and observed, we took classes and tests we asked questions and attended more lectures until we were positive, confident that we could raise a healthy, intellectually superior child. And do you know what we have here?”

Mrs. Snodgrass was too polite to say what they had here.

” Cynbel eats bugs, she only takes a breath once every six hours and one of her eyes is permmantly shut. I’m sure that you’re  aware she won’t the touch the food on her plate unless it’s moving. Do you know what it’s like to have to sit next to your child and jiggle her plate so she’ll eat? “

” Go ahead and tell her who came up with that nifty little idea.” Mrs Erbin muttered.

” It worked, didn’t it? “

Mrs Snodgrass looked at both of the Erbin’s and shook her head- just a little.” Mr Erbin…we have the means to help your daughter -”

Mr. Erbin shouted, ” Our daughter is beyond help Mrs. Snodgrass because our daughter is like a science experiment gone horribly wrong. You must be able to see that.”

Mrs Erbin looked liked she was going to pick something up and hit her husband with it.” Anybody with eyes in their head can see that you insensitive fool. Go ahead and tell her whose project it was. “

by a.m. moscoso

It was snowing on the night Olibanum Franks disappeared from his cottage on the cliffs and Olibanum who thought electricity was an uncontrollable monster just waiting to strike him down lived alone in that house by lamplight.

On that awful night there must have been some sort of accident with one of those lamps or maybe a candle because that little cottage on the cliffs burned down and from the valley below the burning trees looked just like the candles that Olibanum used to read by when the Sun went down.

All they could do in the little village of Ninebones Cross was to watch and hope the fire didn’t spread down the hillside and take them the way it must have taken poor Olibanum up there on the cliffs.

Four days later it was safe enough to go up to Olibanum’ s cottage and they didn’t find a trace of their friend; not a bone or a button or even the melted remains of the little silver rings he wore on his left hand.

So with nothing to bury the Villagers wondered what kind of funeral should they hold for their friend and in the end they didn’t have a funeral because none of them really believed Olibanum was dead.

He was just gone.

Of course Olibanum wasn’t really gone, but he knew if he didn’t get away from the crazy woman sitting in front of the computer soon he would be.

Olibanum remembered the fire and he remembered the roof caving in on his head and he even remembered the smell of his own flesh beginning to burn.

And then there was a bright light and he was lying on his back and looking up into the very unwell face of Tamara Osterick and when she smiled he knew he was in trouble.

Lots and lots of trouble.

At first Olibanum wouldn’t say a word, he went to the window and looked out into the strange world that this strange woman had brought him into. She lived in a tall building and the people and cars below were the size of children’s toys. But looking out into this awful world was much better then looking into the face of that awful monster that brought him here.

He didn’t want her to talk to him; he didn’t want her to look him. Because when she did she got into his head and that was somewhere he wanted to keep her out of as long as he could.

So as long as Olibanum’ s eyes were opened and he was looking around the woman at the computer wrote and the screen filled with words and images and she ignored him.

She didn’t care that she was stealing from him…that she had stolen him from Kamala. She just wanted the words; no matter what she had to do she wanted the words for her own.

He was nothing except for letters and words and punctuation marks to Tamara Osterick and that was how she treated him.

It was only when he sat down and closed his eyes that she seemed to take notice of him. “ You’re not helping either one of us by refusing to cooperate Ollie.” She stopped typing and looked up at him and then she shuddered.

“ Geeze, the first thing we’re going to change is that hair cut. Really, is that the best Kamala could come up with at the end of her long and prolific writing career? A crazy man who cuts his own hair and lives on a cliff and gets blamed for murders being committed by vampires?

“ I’m not crazy. “

“ Dude, you’re crazy she wrote you that way.”

“ No, she didn’t.”

Tamara laughed “ look at me, I’m arguing with a character a dead woman made up. Is that a riot or what Ollie?”

And all Olibanum could do was back up against the wall and try not to panic. But it was hard too because that woman was about to murder him and there was nothing to stop her from doing it.

Nothing.

All he could think to say was “ Don’t call me Ollie.”

But of course Tamara wasn’t listening.

She was too busy stealing…and losing her mind.

Olibanum couldn’t know it but his world was gone; Ninebones Cross, his burned out cottage and all his friends. Gone and the woman sitting across from him was the reason why.

There was no way for him to know, but he did and the quiet gentle man that lived on cliff in a small cottage and read by candlelight felt it…and then he began to change.

He watched the screen fill up with words and words and more words and as they appeared Olibanum could feel himself becoming less. He could see his reflection in the mirror over Tamara’s couch and his hair was changing.

 It was lighter and longer and his eyes were dark green now.

 He held his hand up and saw that all of the silver rings Kamala had given him in her first book were gone. She’d written it into the story just for Olibanum because he had suffered so much in that story. As she ended the story she thought the gift of those little rings was the least she could do for him.

He remembered the sound of her fighting with someone she thought of as EDITOR over what was called a  “throw away scene.”

He’d heard her yell, “ No, its staying in there. I know it doesn’t make sense! But if you take it out I take a walk and I take those four books you want with me!”

And in the end the rings stayed and Olibanum had something in that forest of words that Kamala grew over 30 years of writing just for him.

Now Olibanum didn’t have his cottage on a cliff, he was being moved to an apartment and his hair was blond and neatly trimmed and he murdered women for fun. That’s what he picked up as the Monster re- wrote and butchered away at Olibanum’ s life.

Tamara’s thoughts weren’t as clear as Kamala’ s. They were dark and twisted and Olibanum didn’t like them rolling around in his head. But the more she wrote the more clearly he could hear and see them.

They were making him crazy.

“ Will you answer just one question for me?” Olibanum asked, “ What happened to Kamala?”

Tamara stopped typing and Olibanum saw her shoulders shake and he thought she was crying.

“ Freak accident, she was electrocuted  “ Tamara choked “ her radio fell into her tub and fried her up like calamari.” And then Tamara laughed so hard she vomited all over her desk.

But she didn’t seem to care.

She just kept laughing.

So Olibanum’ s friends were dead and he was pretty sure his world was gone and pretty soon he would be gone too. Rewritten by this horrible woman and her dark thoughts.

And then he got an idea, he was inspired and he realized it was probably Tamara’s idea so it wouldn’t be like murder at all.

It was more like suicide.

With that squared up and neatly justified in what was left of his eroding brain Olibanum asked Tamara  “could you open the glass doors Tamara? I’d like to feel the night air before…you know. I change. Just one last time. Please. I’d open the door myself, but I might… I don’t know… break.”

Olibanum held up his hand and Tamara could see both his hands were missing fingers and his left wrist had no flesh on it at all.

Then Tamara looked up into Olibanum’ s changing face and she felt sorry for him. Until she was done writing he was going to look like a poorly made rag doll and that of course he might stay that way if she never finished her story.

Oh well.

She opened the door and went into the kitchen to get some supplies to clean up the mess on her desk. When she came back out into the living room Olibanum was gone.

Tamara raced out onto the patio and looked down over the railing and then her feet left the ground and she was over the railing and as the ground rushed up to meet her Tamara’s last thought was ‘ the world is melting”

The Villagers of Ninebones Cross found Olibanum wandering next to the remains of his burned out home. His face was scared and one of his eyes was gone but he was back and that was all that mattered.

“ Where did you go Olibanum? What happened to you?” they all asked.

And Olibanum said, 

“It was snowing on the night I disappeared from my cottage on the cliffs and because I thought electricity was an uncontrollable monster just waiting to strike me down I live in alone in that house by lamplight…”

Wonderword — Door County Shopping May 31, 2007
Posted by Barbara in Creativity Catalogue, Pythian Games, Uncategorized. add a comment , edit post

A unique house stands near the edge of the busiest highway in Door County. A sun-sparkled, crystal-clear lake laps at the home’s backyard out-buildings and chirpy bird calls obscure the road noise from the many layers of nature’s sounds. Black-faced swans, with shiny iridescent feathers, stretch their necks high like giraffes nibbling the highest branches of a lone tree. The female swan, though less flashy than the male, shows a sculpted daintiness under her masqureade of brown colored feathers. Three children play in a nearby tree fort.

Above the front door’s arch, a handmade sign spins ’round, blown by strong winds and loosely hanging by tiny screws. It reads “Collette’s Gift and Beauty Shoppe. Low cost custom cuts.” Peeking through a set of white draperies, I see a single sink and hair dryer, and a glass display cabinet filled with dusty, cheap trinkets. The glass panels are beveled and the panes are etched with a flutter of butterflies, belying it’s antique worth and catches my husband’s eye.

Across the highway, a smaller log cabin stands amidst tall prairie grasses and perennial flowers. An engraved plaque is fastened to the door and reads ‘The Miniature Lamp and Jewelry Collection.’ Two artists stand behind a counter at an elaborate work station. On a piece of black velvet lays a tool kit placed on a red lacquered tray. The man, who bears an uncanny likeness to Albert Einstein, works on a hand-crafted collection of necklaces shaped from specks of gold nuggets. He uses a sheet of paper as a pattern. The custom jeweler, Lester Thomas, also uses a heat gun to shape the precious metal into rings and bracelets.

Since the recent death of his wife, Maria, he struggles to replace the best known and talented artisan in the resort community. Although his daughter, Alena, is learning the craft, she hasn’t inherited the natural talent her mother possessed. The mortgage and the costs of metal are due, and Lester struggles to meet his budget. He imagines the business his wife built from next to nothing will go bankrupt. He can barely see his creation through a steady stream of his tears.

The following is taken from the Wonder Word exercise. Instead of trying to find all the words contained in the list the objective was to try and weave into a yarn all the words contained in the list.

Here is my offering:

The boy paddled his boat along the shore where the water was white as waves crashed over the reef, his necklace of wild pig tusks glinting in the early morning sunshine. Here was his favourite spot in the ocean. He weighed anchor and cast his nets over the side. He knew it would be a while before anything bit so he slipped into the water. Down in the depths there was a huge variety of sea life: large marine mussels and gray oysters clung to the rocks in whose cavities glossy lobsters hid and crabs scuttled across the sand; snails trailed the rigid curves of their shells over the sea floor which was littered with pink clams, scallops and patterned cone shells of all shapes and sizes; shoals of polished prawns dashed from rock to rock in frantic search of plankton and sea slugs fat as cucumbers merely lay in obese repose occasionally exuding bursts of liquid which had earned them the less-than-complimentary name of sea squirts. A deadly puffer fish drifted in front of him. With no danger present its spines were retracted but at the slightest hint of danger its size could swell to that of a football and its spines would be fully erect. Several small flat turtles passed above his head casting small shadows on the silvery sand below him.

When his lungs were fit to burst he kicked out strongly to propel himself to the surface where he gulped hard to re-fill his lungs. He could hear drums coming from the shore. Part of him wanted to stay out on the seas and part of him wanted to hide. He disliked killing animals for money and knew that the drums signified the appearance of a rare type of land tortoise which must have wandered away from its usual habitat. The difference about this animal was that this particular species had a peculiar type of growth rendering its shell much larger than that of other tortoises. The natives were only too eager to sell this shell which was eagerly sought after for ornamental purposes. Thoughtfully nibbling from a dish of peas and walnuts he had brought with him he hauled in his nets and reluctantly headed for the shore.

Traveller

April 26, 2007
Posted by Barbara in Pythian Games, Barbara’s Journey. add a comment , edit post

Grandpa, the handyman, the gardener, the landscaper, and the landlord of the apartment building in which we lived, celebrated his 80th birthday by ordering a fancy, expensive Lazy-Boy chair and placing it in front of the living room’s triple windows. He folded his heavy work pants and shirts, all green like Mr. Green-Jeans, and shoved them on the back shelf of his closet. And there he sat, in his blue Lazy-Boy, everyday all day long. He left his post by the window only to eat, sleep and take care of necessaries.

I was only 8 and sorely disappointed that Grandpa was retiring from being my idol, my very own Mr. Green Jeans. When I complained just a tiny bit, Grandpa frowned and shook his head. “Little girls should be seen and not heard. And I’ll decide what to do with the rest of my life, thank you very much. Give some respect to your 80 year old Grandpa. Now off you go.”

Grandpa turned away from me and headed to the kitchen where he asked Grandma to make him a sandwich. He never had been a “lovey-dovey” Grandpa, but we spent skads of time together and grew to be great friends. Even as a toddler, I followed him everywhere. As I grew older, I helped him do his jobs around the house. But now, in just a matter of days, Grandpa claimed he was retiring from all kinds of working. He refused to care for his apartment building which had always been a source of pride to him, and he refused to help Grandma with the toting and carrying or anything else for that matter. He became helpless and doddery overnight.

It was a mystery to me. Grandma tried to explain, although she seemed confused herself. She said, “This aberration is typical of the Woods’ men. Counting unknown generations back, the men of the family quit working when they turn 80, (if they live to be 80,) and they totally rely on the women of the house to carry on with the chores. Grandpa says it’s his due.”

I didn’t know I was an 8 year old feminist. Feminist wasn’t even in my vocabulary, yet. “Grandma, he knows how to do everything around here. He cut the grass and planted the gardens. He always made his own lunch. He collected the rents and fixed the apartments. I know so. I always helped him and we did a good job. He can’t make you do all the work; he has to do his share.”

Grandma just shook her head, laughed a sorrowful laugh. “I know, Bo. That’s the way it’s always been. But now Grandpa has it in his mind that he’s old and tired. Of course, he isn’t any more tired than he was two days ago. He’s not a full year older, just a matter of hours. And he can do almost everything he’s ever done around here. But this is the way of the men from the Woods’ family; they call it quits at 80. That’s their tradition, and Grandpa doesn’t believe in breaking traditions.”

“Well, it’s a stupid tradition, and I’m never going to marry a Woods’ boy.” I was disgusted by the whole mess. “Did Grandpa tell you about turning 80?”

Grandma shook her head sadly. “Bo, I’d heard whispers before I wedded Smulling, but I thought the cousins were trying to scare me into calling off the wedding. Actually, they were, but I was in love and refused to believe them. And I’m still in love with your Grandfather. This is his decision and I’ll do the best I can to deal with it. After all, a little hard work won’t hurt a William’s girl, even when she turns 90.”

“Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! I can’t believe you’re letting him get by with this.” I turned on the stair light and trounced up, slamming the door to my family’s second floor apartment. I lived there with my parents and little sister. Grandma and Grandpa lived downstairs from us, and they were always like a second set of parents to me. But now I wasn’t so sure about Grandpa. He was acting plumb crazy.

The next day was Saturday and I wandered downstairs while my mother was occupied making pies for dinner. Dad had already gone out to the backyard and I followed him. I supposed he was planning on cutting the grass since he was fooling with the mower. “Dern thing. Can’t get the engine to start.” He gave the metal hood a kick but that didn’t help.

“Dad? Grandpa always pulls that cord. Then he turns the mower on.”

Dad shrugged his shoulders, said a few more ‘derns’ and followed my directions. The mower nearly jumped onto Dad’s foot as it started, and Dad went to cut the grass, mumbling a string of cuss words as he walked up and down the yard. I cleaned out the at the bird bath and watched a new flock of birds land in the water. I pretended not to hear my Dad.

When he was finished, he stomped into Grandma’s kitchen. Grandma was cutting carrots for a pot of vegetable stew — Grandpa’s favorite meal. “Pearl! You’ll need to hire a handyman to take care of this house. I work 60 hours a week and then I’m expected to come home to all of Smulling’s work. I can’t do it and I won’t do it. Why don’t you talk some sense into that geezer of yours.”

Grandma stared at Dad and then glanced at me. “Bo, go on upstairs for awhile. See if you can help your mom. Your Dad will be up in a few minutes.”

I climbed a couple steps, then crouched in the stairwell and listened to the conversation in the kitchen.

“Listen, Dale. I only can hope he’ll be coming out of it soon. I just got a postcard from Aunt Lilly. Listen to this. She wrote, ‘Persevere. They all get bored after a week or so. He’ll soon be out of his chair and back to his real life.’ So there, Dale. I’m going to give it a few more days before I raise holy hell. How about you joining me?”

“Well, I hope you’re right, Pearl. I can’t deal with Smulling when he’s acting like this. I’ll fix the leak in your toilet, which is Smulling’s job by the way, and then I’m going upstairs to watch the baseball game. Cubbies against the Cards. Smulling can sit and look out to the street, count as many cars as he can, but I’m not missing that game.”

I scurried up the rest of the stairs and slipped inside our apartment just as Dad opened the door. No one was the wiser, except for me. Mom was feeding my baby sister while preparing lunch and Dad went over to pfutz with the TV picture. I had just enough time to sneak back down to my grandparents before the game started.

When I traipsed into the front room, there was Grandpa watching out his windows, viewing the cars pass by. When I walked up next to him, he had a scorecard and pencil in his hands. He was marking down the colors, brands and makers of all the passing cars. He was pretty involved with the whole act. How could I get him out of that dern chair?

But an idea sniggled into my brain and I followed my instincts. I said hello and wriggled my way onto half of Grandpa’s lap. He didn’t growl at me or chase me away, so I stayed put. I was on a mission.

“Grandpa, give me a hug. I haven’t seen you in so long.”

He squeezed my arm and continued to tick his cars on his paper. “I’m busy with other things, Bo. Don’t have the time to entertain you or run this house.” He shook his head, but I thought it was a rather uncertain shake. “Too big of a job. I’m 80 years old, you know.”

“Maybe you’re too old to climb a ladder and replace the gutters or fill the furnace, but you can still do almost everything else.” I was whining, but I couldn’t help it. This was important.

“Hey!” Grandpa smashed his face into a scowl. “Who’s been telling you I can’t replace the gutters or fill the coal scuttle. I’m not weak. I’m just retired.”

I pushed on, treading in deeper water. “Maybe Grandma and Dad think you can’t keep up. I’m going to miss you in the garden. Dad doesn’t know how to do anything in our yard.”

Grandpa kept scowling. “I tell you I can work just as hard as I did when I was 79. But it’s Saturday afternoon. I always take Saturday afternoon off.”

“You remember why, Grandpa? You always come upstairs to watch the ballgame. It’s Cubs against the Cardinals today.”

“Hey, the best rivalry in the National League. Tell your Dad to pop me a beer. And give me a minute to tell Pearl I’m going up to your apartment.”

I jumped off his lap, and he dropped his car charts on the floor. He retrieved his shoes and got himself put together, then he stood for awhile to stretch. “Hey, Grandpa?”

“What, Spider?” I was pleased. He called me by my secret name.

“Why were you sitting there so long? It was so boring, wasn’t it?”

“Well, Spider. Let me tell you. At first, I spent my days reminiscing about my childhood and my teens. Did you know that World War I broke out when I was seventeen? I was fighting overseas before I turned eighteen. There were lots of memories there, good friends and some horrible stuff, too. You don’t need to know about that, Spider, until you are much older.

“Did you remember anything else? You took so long, sitting here every day.”

“Oh, Bo. There was my marrying your Grandma and buying our first house. My first job and my children, born one after another. Three healthy, smart, beautiful kids. 80 years worth of memories. It took me awhile to track them down. Maybe someday I won’t be as good a remember-er as I am now, so I wanted to do it while I could. All the Woods’ men take stock when they turn 80.”

“Did you think about me, Grandpa? Did you?”

“Of course I did. I spent a lot of time thinking about my family, especially those who live so close. You all were in my memories. After I remembered as much as I could, I started counting cars. But let me tell you. That was awfully boring.”

“Yeah. So now you’re gonna watch the Cardinals beat the Cubs, and then get back to living. Right?”

Grandpa tousled my hair and I told him to stop, though it couldn’t have gotten messier. Then he gave me a big grin. “Yes, I suppose I am.” Halfway across the living room, he stopped abruptly. Was he changing his mind? I held my breath.

“Bo! Watch this!” The he danced a jig in the middle of the room. We laughed so hard, Grandma came to see what the fuss was all about. Then she started laughing, too.

“Pearl, I’m going upstairs to watch the game. As Grandpa headed up the stairs to the apartment, I followed close at his heels. I wasn’t surprised to hear him talking to himself. He always did.

“Old! Ha! Doesn’t this family know everyone deserves a little break? Fools. I’m done resting. I’ll be back to puttering on Monday.”

I couldn’t be quiet. “Hip. Hip. Hooray! Grandpa’s back to stay!” Then we reached the landing and I did a little tap dance.

“Hey,” Grandpa said. “Let’s get to that ball game. The whole family can dance after the Cards win.”

I nodded my head and we took our places in front of the TV. I started praying fervently for a win. After all, I wanted to see everyone dance after the victory, especially my Mom and Dad. What a hoot!

That song by Meatloaf often haunts me these days. My mother is 80, and it is obvious that now it is the memories of long ago that seem closer than they are, than the most recent. She remembers her childhood and youth very clearly, but has to be constantly reminded of things that happened just weeks ago. It isn’t Alzheimers, thank Heavens, but as her doctor has gently pointed out, a natural occurrence that my husband calls `Oldtimers’.
I haven’t noticed it yet – the events of long ago still seem long ago to me. My rear view mirror still reflects events that seem a respectable distance away. But sometimes a deep sense of nostalgia overcomes me for the world as it used to be, and I can smell the scents of an English spring as vividly as if were closer than it appears. Perhaps as I get older, those objects will seem closer. I am not sure if I am looking forward to it – is it simply the natural progression of a mind overfull with stimuli, or is it an escape from a world that becomes harder to fathom, so many are the changes?
What I do have are moments that I recall with piercing vividness – a walk on a Guernsey beach, bluebells filling a wood, the crunch of autumn leaves underfoot. Sensory things can stimulate a memory – the smell of tangerines (which I have learned to call mandarins now I live in Australia) which always brings back one particular snowy Christmas. This was the only time of year you buy tangerines in Britain, as their season overseas occurred during our winter. They were each wrapped in silver paper and sold singly – very expensively, too, so we could only afford them as a Christmas treat. Breaking open a tangerine releases that unique sweet scent which takes me right back to a Christmas when my parents were broke and it looked as if we wouldn’t get Christmas dinner that year. But then my father got a salary advance, and I set out with mum to the local market. There she bought a turkey with all the trimming, vegetables and tangerines. On Christmas morning there was one in my stocking as always and I broke it open, and breathed in that lovely, once a year smell.
Memories from childhood are precious – but memories from my children’s childhood are even more precious to me now. I suspect those are the memories I will recall most often as I grow older. My childhood gave me few companions my own age and the company of adults rarely brought bright moments – only those adults who were children at heart. But when I had my own children, I found myself with all the companionship I had missed – their games, their laughter, their beauty filled my life as nothing else had.
All my rear view mirror shows me now is how quickly those years sped away and how far we have all traveled since I held those lovely children in my arms. If the mirror brings them closer again, then maybe a change in perspective won’t be so bad,

My Room 

My typical day starts begins after everyone else in the house has been fed, dressed and organised. I try to have my own breakfast and always a cup of hot sweet tea. More often than not my tea gets cold and I reheat it in the microwave throughout the day when I think I have time to drink it. Today I have reheated it 4 times and had two sips from my cup.  

It has been hard to find my way here. I became lost in day to day life. This  somewhere  has been forgotten and neglected in recent years but it has always been here. My beautiful gentle giant took my hand and helped me find my way back. He encouraged me to take off  the dust sheets, open the windows and turn on  the music so my room could live, breathe and sing once more.

In my mind my room is many things; a conservatory with large windows letting in light, house-plants growing in healthy profusion, tables and chairs to sit, share drinks and chat or write whilst enjoying the sunshine and the view outside of lawns, trees and hills.

It is a studio with room for easels, tables, sinks, mess, paints, brushes, tools, canvases on the walls , sculptures on tables, works in progress inviting reflection, creation and invention.

It is a lounge full of soft comfortable couches and chairs, ideal for curling up, snug with a gently crackling pot belly stove in the corner, enough light and cushions to read, write, knit or sew.

It is a sewing room with a trestle table to strew beads, threads, material and all else needed to make gorgeous creations.

It is a bedroom, warm and inviting in which to loll, read and dream to my hearts content.

Most of all it is a place with no time, no clocks, no deadline, no demands, no interruptions. A place where I can start and finish when and where I want.

My room is something of a house; a place for everything  I am with room for everything I want to be.

A place where my tea never gets cold.

Vinnie’s Game.

As Halloween grows ever closer, TV channels play the horror films, and review the history of Halloween (All Hallow’s Evening, Samhain, Day of the Dead). I managed to get 50 of the top 100 Scariest Movie Moments. Of course, I had to watch this to see how many of them I have seen. Not too bad, 45 of 50 movies have passed through my eyes and into my psyche.

50) Last House on the Left

I remember this film with marvellous chills.

49) Les Diabolique

4 The Thing

I never tire of this film.

47) Nosferatu (the original)

Always the scariest Vampyre.

46) The Sentinel

45) The Wicker Man (not the remake)

I remember being glued to this film.

44) I didn’t get this title, but I had seen it.

43) It’s Alive

Shiver shiver!!

42) An American Werewolf in London

I never tire of werewolf films!!

41) The Hills Have Eyes (the original)

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeekkk!!!

40) Black Sunday

39) Dawn of the Dead

Zombie films should be fun and funny!!

3 Peeping Tom

37) House on Haunted Hill

Haunted houses always give me the willies!!

36) Cape Fear (with Robert Mitchum)

How could anyone top Robert Mitchum and Gregory Peck??

35) Aliens

The Aliens make this film series, H.R. Gieger’s Alien is CREEPY.

34) The Hitcher

Could anyone pick up a hitchiker after seeing this???

33) The Fly (with Jeff Goldblum)

Even my brothers can’t watch this all the way through!!!

32) Pet Sematary

“Here kitty, kitty…”

31) Friday the 13th

Funny, freaky, a definite carload drive-in movie.

30) The Blair Witch Project

Was it supposed to be scary, I was bored to tears.

29) The Serpent and the Rainbow

2 When A Stranger Calls

I wonder how many kids stopped babysitting after this came out?

27) Frankenstien (the original)

Yes, yes, always the best!!

26) Seven

Very disturbing, and believable. The beast that lurks within man is the worst.

25) Phantasm

Unforgettable, the music is an excellent accompaniment to the tale,

24) Suspira

23) Rosemary’s Baby

Incredible filmmaking, with a well-written story to back it up, the acting was superb. One of the finest horror films to watch over and over.

22) Don’t Look Now

21) Jacob’s Ladder

This is one of the most disturbing films I have ever seen. It still slithers in my subconscious.

20) The Ring

Yaaaawwnnn… wake me up when it gets scary.

19) Hellraiser

I will never watch this film series again, it upset me that badly!!

1 The Haunting

A good ghost story is one that can be retold over and over.

17) A Nightmare on Elm Street

More funny than frightening, but… Freddy is so cool as a nightmare monster!!

16) The Omen (the original)

Gregory Peck is incredible in this film, but then, when isn’t he??

15) Freaks

14) Halloween

How could I be frightened by someone that shares my family name. Mwah-hahahahahaha!!!!

13) Scream

Loved the mask, it still gives me a giggle.

12) Misery

One word… Hobbling.

11) Audition (from Japan)

The people in the Far East are the Masters of the Horror Film, they bring the arts of their heritage to the art of film making.

10) Wait Until Dark

It is bred into our genes to be afraid of the dark, ask anyone that has been lost in the woods!!

9) Night of the Living Dead

Woooo-hooooo!!! The best zombie movie, I enjoyed the heck out of the fact that the hero was one of the first black heroes in film making.

8 ) Carrie

Go Carrie Go!!! Who doesn’t identify with Carrie?

7) The Silence of the Lambs

I must admit, there are Hannibal Lecter quotes that have become a part of my family’s history. “Free Range Rude” is so appropriate in the town I live in!!

6) The Shining (with Jack Nicholson)

“Heere’s Johnny!!” Yeeeeks!!

5) Texas Chainsaw Massacre

This film makes me grateful that I live in the desert.

4) Psycho

Did any of you quit taking showers after seeing this???

3) Exorcist

I could not watch this film all the way through without having nightmares until I was in my 40’s!!!

2) Alien

When the baby alien rips out of John Hurt’s belly I think I jumped straight up to the ceiling!!

1) Jaws

“Shark!!!”

Gwenguin

October 10th 11:50pm

Cod liver oil capsules- 2

Multi-vitamins - 2

Extra Vit C - 2

Corn plasters - 1

Knee support stocking to wear during day - 1

Clippers for ingrowing toe nails - acquired by mail order

Anti - inflams - 6

Red hot heat gel - 8 rubs

Garlic capsules - 2

Red wine for sake of arthritis - bottle - 1

Low fat  friendly bacteria trendy health yogurt drinks - 3

Apples - 2

Bananas - 1

Chocolate fudge cake as essential to keep spirits up - large slice - for nerves!

Exercise for mobility in knees - yes - I did walk about today.

8:12am

Is anything more likely to stop a woman in the prime of her mature years finding a rich, handsome toy boy than arthritic limbs? Creak, groan, crunch, the second I begin to move very little of my body moves with me. Fingers crack with the clarity of a rifle being discharged, knees straighten like a creaking door in a Hammer Horror film and I sound like I’m auditioning for a part in Scary Movie 6. How will I ever snare myself a rippling muscled Adonis if I’m clanking about like Tin Man’s mother from Wizard of Oz!

9:10am (approx.)

Morning check up (as per usual) phone call from Jenny, sweet, dutiful, over protective daughter. Wish she would do us all favour,  ditch dullard husband and lighten up. Together there’d be no stopping us, we could easily be taken for sisters if she’d try a little harder to go with the flow and get back in the hunt for a hunk. There are times when I wonder if I left hospital with wrong baby; how did I manage to produce a woman whose watchword is ’moderation in all things’ and happily espouses it like an updated version of The Lord’s Prayer? I blame her father, she listens to his earnest warnings and dull mutterings like they’ve been written in stone and rolled down a mountain. Thank God her kids are displaying good,  healthy signs of teenage rebellion with fire in their bellies!

9: 50am 

Morning call, as per usual, from ex-husband Richard. Ten years of divorced bliss and he phones to warn me about icy conditions on roads and give urgent injunctios to wrap up warm. He is so transparent. I know he harbours obsession I may have a man here. I’m 73, of course I’m going to have men here! He needs to get a life, in fact he should go one better and get a wife! Reassured him would wear fleecy leather gloves he bought me last Christmas and hung up when he began lecture on advantages of thermal underwear for elderly women. If that’s all he can think about he needs to get himself elderly woman a.s.a.p ( 73 not elderly, late middle age for young at heart )  preferably an Eskimo who will whisk him off to her igloo and show him entire wardrobe of thermal garments for the nether regions.

9:50am

Breakfast -  tea, toast, marmalade, apple and a small quantity of disgusting wood shavings also known as pure bran. Put my feet up wearing secretly owned pair of lemon jimjams and had lovely hour reading personals ads. in local rag with Snuggles, my comforting and intelligent cat. I know numerous individuals who could learn a lot from watching him. 

One or two ’come and get me’ pleas caught my eye, someone has to save them and add colour to their beige lives but honestly, who writes those things. Noticed one that’s been in for a few weeks:-

          Male, 36, GSOH, doesn’t smoke, professional man, own house and car looking for lady who likes having fun, eating out, cinema, theatre and travelling - for friendship and possible romance.

Love doing all those things, especially possible romance; circled ad. in red ink, just to give myself fall back option. I’m certain I could show that boy a good time and he would definitely end the date knowing the difference between friendship and possible romance!  Obvious he’s never met experienced and racy gal, the mature woman has such a lot to offer! On the other hand, I do like to see my purchases before I buy… shame! 

11:00 am - showered and dressed - quick half hour watching Judge Judy,  shouted,  ’Bang ‘em up Jude’ at tele screen through entire programme. Picked out hunk snaring outfit for old crone get together. 

12:o4 pm

Lunch - leak and potato soup, Melba toast, salad concoction from supermarket freezer, home made bread from new bread making machine ( tasted of onions but sure I did not include onions) plus tap water I keep in empty ‘Malvern Hills Spring Water’ bottle to impress visitors.

1:06  10 minute power nap, all the rage, fine by me.

1;46 pm -  drove down to old crone centre with Bridget Bardot scarf hiding me from view. Cannot be seen entering OAP premises, especially as am using it to seek out EYM’s. Hope to be confused with active, young social worker. Hip playing up.

2:oopm  Tuesday afternoon whist drive. No idea how to play whist so spent time doing usual, nodding politely at old dears swapping cards and slurping tea whilst scanning room for new and potentially eligible men. Incredibly this has proved happy hunting ground in past. Chap I noticed last week with full head of hair and sprightly step turned up again. Made eye contact. Had hoped to make far more than eye contact if I could have got him on his own and away from Enid Hetherington who was boring him into a coma. As I said to best friend Ethel, so few men, so little time; doubt she heard, hearing aid she wears makes sonic noise which attracts every dog in four mile radius. Am prepared to overlook her handicap of ancient name and deafness for wicked sense of humour and fully functioning brain!

5: 00pm -   shattered, possibly eligible man has definitely married to him wife! Saw him being picked up in MG Midget sports car by bride of 4 weeks,  24 years his junior… she has to be gold digger. What is problem with women in their 50’s? She should have gone for boy 23 years her junior,  already hard enough for outgoing attractive full on women in my age group to find man with all faculties, hair, lithe limbs, good quality suits and active libido. Do not need tarts like Melissa (ughh)  pinching them from under nose and flaunting them at whist drives!

6:00 pm

Cocktail hour, screwed cocktails for large glass of Jacob’s Creek shiraz - mmm. Changed out of hunk snaring outfit for something comfy.

7 pm - fish for tea, wrote 2 letters to MP on iniquities of  waiting lists re: new hips for over 70’s, (who should qualify instantly)  finished off wine, tuned in to Coronation Street, looked at male gymnastics on Sky, attempted Guardian crossword, read book, steamy romp in 1940’s England - brief encounters in all possible farm locations!

10:36 pm -  lovely hot bath with scented aroma therapy oils and candles, Jenny convinced will burn house down, at least house will smell nice, glanced at clock, applied Jane Fonda anti-wrinkle “costs a fortune but I’m worth it moisturiser”,  came to bed.

11:36 - still fuming over Melissa personage stealing my ‘eligible man’ project, but must get beauty sleep. Hussy!

Jan - think this will be continued!

The Pythian Games were renowned for the abundance of skill and courage required in order to compete. I might add that the skill and courage required varied markedly depending on the nature of one’s chosen event. Three young men of dubious intelligence with an avid interest in current affairs, (being more famous than Posh and Becks) incredible ambition, (anything for fame) and a burning desire to be celebrated far and wide,  pooled their ideas together with the intent of outshining the stars. As was their custom they met up every day in Homer’s Hip Hangout coffee bar to discuss their progress and run ideas past each other. “Waiter, three cappuccinos, one no cream, one whipped cream, one extra double whipped with a flake and hold the sugar. One blueberry muffin, one redcurrant muffin and one chocolate with chips, don’t hold the calories. Three plates of pancakes with syrup, three flapjacks and a bowl of cherries in liqueur.” They were peckish and completely dedicated to healthy eating, in fact two of them had written dissertations on the subject as undergraduates at The University of Crete. In their opinions people who couldn’t see the benefits of healthy eating had to be cretins. Hmm, in the words of an Oscar winning cretin they shared the view that, ‘ Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you’re gonna get.’ Eminently sensible then to eat the entire box safe in the knowledge that you won’t die wondering.

 ”Right lads, ordered the grub from the tasty waitress, just enough for a snack to rev up the old brain cells,  so let’s see what we’ve come up with today. Marathon, pole vaulting, hurdling, swimming and anything to do with throwing things no chance, have I got that right?”

 ”Yep, s’right, mmm, greatchoclalatetmuffin.” “No problem, get it scoffed Mick, we need to sort this out tonight or we’ll be too late to enter. You eating a cherry and pancake with that muffin?” “Hmmm, s’gorgeous… chry it, s’lovely. Chu wanna chry it Nick?” ” No thanks, I’ll pass that one up mate, I like to taste my blueberries. Okay Rick, have you got something concrete in mind?”

“Concrete, in a word that’s exactly what I have in mind.” “Well run it by us then, don’t keep us all in suspenders, let’s hear the man with a plan.” “Ymmm, chwets hear, chpass che cherries.” “Mick, do you know what it’s like trying to understand you when you’ve got a mouthful of everything? Don’t eat the cherry stones you animal, honest to… you can be so disgusting mate.” “Hehehehe - chi chnow, hahaha…ughhh, choking…!”

“I’m not giving you mouth to mouth so if you do choke you’re on your own and will you grab those pancakes Nick before the human dustbin gets his gnashers round all of them. Cheers mate - now, here’s the master plan for a celebrated and may I say brand new event at this year’s Pythion games. Mick, Nick….the three legged race…. in a sack! Plus….we will all carry a concrete, yes, a concrete brick! Now is that a winner or what?! Three laurel crowns for the price of one, glory to the Uni. of Crete, girls on every arm and as much free grub as Mick can eat. Waddaya think?”

“Three-legged race, in a sack, carrying a concrete brick. You want to go to the committee and propose that as an event, no, the event of the Pythian Games.” “Absolutely! Is that a  winner or is that a winner. I can see us now, on top of the podium, flag flying proud, the clapping, the cheering, the headlines next day:- Rick, Nick and Mick take Blue Ribbon at Games!”

“You can hear that mate, see it, dream it in your mind’s eye? I think he can Mick, I think he really can see that. You finished eating?”

“Yep, didn’t see a reason to stop, just kept on going, munch munch, crunch crunch. Swept the board.”

“You set then mate? ” “Yep.”

 ”Aren’t we going to discuss it lads, come on, throw it round the ball park, suck it and see, look at the bigger picture?”

“Rick.”

 ”Yep.”

“You’re gormless!”

“Oh. Same time tomorrow?! I’ll buy.”

“Can’t wait mate - can’t wait.”

To be continued - maybe!

Jan