Norbert Burtonshaw was heavily into natural food. By “natural” I mean organic and unprocessed. He liked to grow things himself and then he knew for sure what he was putting into his mouth. He grew lots of sunflowers and pumpkins. That way he could dry the seeds in the sun and spend a gloomy winter gobbling them up. If one needs to nibble between meals, what better than a sunflower or pumpkin seed or two?
His wife, whose full name was Constantia Margaret Burtonshaw, thought that Norbert’s obsession with food was ridiculous. “You’re not a canary,” she would say. “If God intended you to be a canary he would’ve given you a singing voice.” And indeed, she was right; Norbert didn’t have a musical note in his skinny body.
In the meantime, Constantia Margaret Burtonshaw would get stuck into her meal of animal fats and salt and sugar and everything under the sun that was processed and came out of a packet. Constantia called herself buxom; others called her fat.
Constantia and Norbert had drifted apart over the years, although they still lived at the same address. They never shared a meal together; their preferences were so vastly different. And then one day, Norbert dropped dead. Most people were expecting it to be the other way around.
At the post-funeral cup of coffee, Constantia Margaret Burtonshaw served a variety of little cakes imbued with all sorts of seeds that made a mess. “These little cakes are to celebrate the life of my late husband,” said Constantia. “However,” continued Constantia, “there are little bowls of whipped cream on the tables, and one can place a dollop of cream on each little cake if one isn’t a canary.”
I am waiting for Constantia to sing.
LikeLiked by 1 person
She sings like a screech owl, if screech owls screeched – which they don’t.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Norbert’s death might have proven quite handy in a coal mine.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Yes – perhaps that’s a substrata in the story.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I see what you did there.
LikeLiked by 1 person
So it seams.
LikeLiked by 1 person
That Constantia is a character…did she bury Norbert in a shoebox?
LikeLiked by 1 person
Possibly he was buried in a shoe box – but he was more of a budgie than a canary.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Charles Darwin said, “An American monkey, after getting drunk on brandy, would never touch it again, and thus is much wiser than most men.” I suspect getting hooked to sunflower and pumpkin seeds could be worse. No wonder people like Norbert fail the test of Natural Selection often.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I’ve seen a drunk pigeon falling out of a tree having eaten too many fermenting plums, but never a monkey! This story was inspired by my saving a pile of sunflower seeds this year and not being able to “husk” them properly I’m saving them for the birds in winter.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I could be the drunk pigeon. Why do you keep killing yourself in your stories, my friend?
LikeLiked by 1 person
Because autobiography is the best fiction there is!
LikeLiked by 1 person
I’ll take the dollop of cream every time, in fact just yesterday I made a chocolate cake covered in whipped cream….
LikeLiked by 1 person
That is an excellent thing to have done. I fear however that things might get gooey in the mail, so I regretfully deny myself a slice of your chocolate cake (in the likely event of being offered a piece). However, you have given me an idea.
LikeLike
I think the cream might have gone off by the time it gets there, so it’s just as well you’re able to deny yourself. I’m not quite sure what kind of idea I’ve inspired though….
LikeLiked by 1 person
You have inspired me to try and cook a cake. I cook biscuits with my eyes shut, but (this is unbelievable but true) I have never made a cake in my life!
LikeLike
Good luck, make sure you let us know how it goes!
LikeLiked by 1 person