No Number Posting

This posting doesn’t have a number. Tomorrow it will be the 3000^th and final story. I don’t want to clutter the last tale with statistics so I’m doing the statistical thing now, and won’t let the congratulatory wine and lamingtons muddle the final posting.

Statistics:

There were three thousand stories over ten years – roughly. About a hundred poems. And about 500 music compositions.

I’m not going to mention names because it would go on forever; for example I won’t mention that Andrea Stephenson of Harvesting Hecate, followed a close second by Author Sarah Angleton and Marina of Letters from Athens and Chris Nelson, is the longest faithful follower. And that Uma of One Grain Amongst the Storm has made the most comments, followed by Noelle of Sayling Away, etc. etc. and already I can hear you cry “But what about me?” (I told you so).

I am most grateful for the 10 years of lovely people I have met and become friends with, for example Max of PowerPop… An Eclectic Collection of Pop Culture who spent hours trying to fix a computer fault on our machine – and he lives on the other side of the world! And there’s Yvonne from Australia who during hard covid times cheered our doldrums with a surprise box of wines! And already I can hear you cry “But what about me?” (I told you so).

There are two people who are no longer with us that I would like to mention. There’s probably more but they forgot to tell us. There was Pauline King of Dunedin, New Zealand, who never missed an occasion to comment – and who happened to live on the same street as once did my great great grandparents in the 1880s. The other was the lovely Cynthia Jobin from Rumford, Maine, whose poems delighted many and her considered comments delighted people even more. And already I can hear you cry “But what about me?” (I told you so).

Then there are favorite people who have disappeared off the radar, such as Prospero’s Island and araneus1 and Oscar Alejandro Plascensia.

I will still be reading blogs and commenting here and there. And if something of interest crops up I could well do a posting! But it won’t be regular. I want a change of scene after a decade – although I’m not sure what yet. It could be a novel or a symphony or just a bothersome terminal illness! This blog started when I broke my leg – let’s hope history doesn’t repeat.

So thanks one and all for reading, for commenting, and for posting interesting blogs yourselves, such as Dumbest Blog Ever and The Haps with Herb and Ordinary Person and Cindy Knoke and Iseult Murphy and Observation Blogger and Chel Owens and GP and Sylvie Ge and rachelmankowitz and itchingforhitching and Obbverse and Poetry from John Looker and Town & Country Gardening and Alex Raphael and Pacific Paratrooper and Talkalittledo – For Life Is Funny and arlingwoman and Inese and Keith Kreates and .. oh goodness I warned you. Already I can hear you cry “But what about me?”

As you reach the peak of your life and go over the hill, may your downward slide be as graceful as possible.

2900. Vehicle accidents

Once again a story’s round number (#2900 – Only 100 to go! – Phew!) means a deviation into the real world.

Today’s topic is Accidents. I have been in three vehicle accidents that I can think of.

Incident 1

I was driving along happily on a winding, hilly road when suddenly, on a corner, the steering locked. I screeched to a halt and stopped literally inches from an oncoming car but had swiped the side of an oncoming pickup in front of the other car. It made a terrific WALLOP!

I got out of the car and the woman driving the other vehicle screamed, “Are you drunk?” I said “No, but I’ll try and get the car off the road.” I succeeded in getting the car to the side.

The driver of the pickup was a mechanic. How lucky was that? He looked under my car and was able to remove a large plastic covering that was meant to cover the underneath workings of the engine. Three of its four bolts had fallen out and the plastic covering had swivelled around and locked itself over the front right hand wheel. Hence my inability to turn the steering wheel.

Everyone went on their merry way. The pickup had lost a bit of paint on its side and the man said to forget about it. For myself, the dent in the side got fixed over the ensuing days.

Incident 2

In order to get a few extra bucks to supplement my weekday, underpaid library job, I took up mowing peoples’ lawns in the weekends. After all, I had a lawn mower and a big five door station wagon with a large lift-up back door.

One of the houses was at the end of a long single-lane driveway. I had to mow not only their lawn, but also their driveway entrance at the road. The long drive had corners. The best way to get from the house lawn to the gate lawn (with little space to turn a car) was to put the lawnmower in the back, and back the car down the drive.

I’m a good driver and set off backwards at a fair rate. There’s little time to waste when pursuing an extra buck. Suddenly, around a driveway corner, a huge truck appeared from nowhere. I had to slam on the brakes.

The car came to a screeching halt but the lawn mower maintained its momentum. Off it went, shooting through the window of the back door and smashing the glass to smithereens. The lawnmower was okay, and the shattered back door and window got fixed over the ensuing days.

Incident 3

I was almost home. Home was about three minutes away down a little country road. I was following a large articulated cattle truck and trailer. Suddenly a squall hit from nowhere. A huge poplar tree came crashing down across the road in front of the cattle truck. Both the cattle truck and my car screeched to a halt. All were safe but the road was blocked.

The truck driver got out a large chain. I got out of the car to help, despite the wind and rain.  He hooked the chain around the tree, and backing, dragged the tree off the road. The road was open!

I said, “That is the most amazing driving I have ever seen in my life.” And he said, “I don’t think you’ll be saying that for long. I think I’ve just backed over your car.”

And indeed, he had.

2827. The novelist

Barnabas was lucky to have such a supportive wife. He was famous as a novelist and would spend a lot of time away from home on speaking engagements. People were amazed at how he could find enough time to write his extraordinary novels and be on the road so often.

The highlight of his career was when he received the Nobel Prize for Literature. He travelled to the Nordic Countries to be feasted and celebrated. It came as an utter shock to the King and Queen of Sweden, as well as to other Royal Houses in the area, and to the Lords and Ladies, and to common people (plebs) as well, when in his speech of thanks he did something never done before: he relinquished the award.

“How can I accept such a wonderful award,” he said, “when I have just read A Passing Shower by Bruce Goodman? This wonderful novel makes my novels look like nursery rhymes. It makes War and Peace look like a comic. It makes Les Misérables a mere shoddy musical. I therefore relinquish the title of Nobel Laureate and pass it on to the author of A Passing Shower. Naturally there was an outcry. “You can’t do that,” declared the Queen Consort of the Faroes.

It was the Prime Minister of Greenland who saved the day. He said he had read A Passing Shower and couldn’t recommend it highly enough. “This novel,” said the Prime Minister, “makes Pride and Prejudice look like a cheap pornographic chapter in a kindergarten text book. At first it was confusing until I realized that it was meant to be confusing. The Narrator is a complete mess. She is a post-modern narrator who is totally unreliable.”

The rest of the Prime Minister’s speech was in Icelandic*. But if you wish to pursue the Prime Minister of Greenland’s recommendation (and also the recommendation of the Queen Consort of the Faroes who has subsequently read it and denounced her earlier protest) then it is available free of charge here.

* Þessi skáldsaga er blóðug klúður. Höfundur ætti að vera látinn standa fyrir framan ísjaka og hlaðinn skotum.

2824. By way of explanation

Some might wonder- although no one has ever said – why so few (if any) of my stories are set in New Zealand.

Let me quote from some recent New Zealand flash fiction sites, and it might indicate why I prefer to write in a more universal English! Don’t get me wrong – I’ve nothing against it – but I have only three followers who live in New Zealand and two of them are French! So I will stick to being more universally accessible (for the time being).

Here are some quotations:

1. When Kaikaraka call, the world stands still. The Tūpuna gather. Powhiri has begun. The Kaikōrero has gathered up these callings. Stands, speaks safely, speaks knowingly. Kaiwaiata sing to support the Kaikōrero, and the Manuhiri. Their voices, lift, swirl and settle the spoken words. The Kaikarakia makes the blessing to begin the Hui.

Actually, one example is probably enough! I do not speak New Zealand Maori, but I would be familiar with all these Maori words in an English context. I know that English pinches words from other languages, but sometimes I think it gets a little greedy!

Haere ra!

2849. Subway

(As for any significant number in these stories the fiction deviates into truth. This number – Story 2849 – is significant because it’s the pin number to my Swiss Bank Vault.)

I thought I’d put in an unashamed plug for Subway – the food chain. Don’t get me wrong; the two times I’ve had a sub from Subway I’ve enjoyed the grub. But this is how the two times happened.

I had just arrived in Boston, USA, to study. Back then the Subway chain hadn’t reached New Zealand. I had a couple of days before lectures started so I learnt how to catch a bus from the suburbs into downtown Boston and do some exploring. Lunch time came. There was a take-away called “Subway”. I was greeted by a cheery fellow behind the counter.

“Lkj, gja, lkjhsf, lkjd, or tdxd inches?”

Inches? I presume you’re not talking about… um.. I’m metric. Inches?

“Do you want rfv, thn, asdfg, gsdf, ,yuk, or sdf?”

Um…

“Sauce? Wge, fhh, sdfff, mustard or lkeb?”

Eureka! I comprehended a word: mustard!

I came away with half a metre long French baguette.  To this day I have no clue what was inside.

My second Subway experience was in Auckland, North Island, New Zealand. My oldest sister was visiting from the South Island and we went “shopping”. Lunchtime came. Sue suggested Subway.

“Lkj, gja, lkjhsf, lkjd, or tdxd inches?”

Inches? I’m metric. Inches?

“Do you want rfv, thn, asdfg, gsdf, ,yuk, or sdf?”

Um…

“Sauce? Wge, fhh, sdfff, garlic or lkeb?”

Eureka! I comprehended a word: garlic!

I came away with half a metre long French baguette.  And a permanent fear of fast food chains.

2800. My town

As is the “custom” on this blog, a round number (Story 2800) ushers in a reflection from the scrapbook of real life and not from the made-up world of fiction.

However, I seem to be devoid of ideas. Going back over past reminiscences things seem to be getting progressively more and more boring.

I despise boredom. It’s why I live near an exciting town (Stratford, Taranaki, New Zealand) where I get groceries. Perhaps I could walk you down the main street (in pictures) so you can get an idea how vibrant and exciting it is.

So there it is. I hope none of you want to come and live here, because I want it all to myself.

2700. For no rhyme or reason

(As some of you will know, when a round number is reached in these story numberings, there is usually a departure from the norm and a flurry into the almanacs of the past).

Academics will tell you that children’s nursey rhymes have profound and often dark origins. As a child I didn’t care that “Ring a Ring a Rosy” was about the Black Plague, and “Little Jack Horner” was about the dissolution of the monasteries under Henry VIII. I loved nursey rhymes because of the rhythm and rhyme. I guess most of us did.

But there were other rhymes that weren’t necessarily traditional nursey rhymes. Some of them were favourites and often recited.

My all-time favourite was:

One-One was a race horse.
Two-Two was one too.
One-One won one race.
Two-Two won one too.

Then there was:

Fuzzy-Wuzzy was a bear.
Fuzzy-Wuzzy had no hair.
Fuzzy-Wuzzy wasn’t fuzzy wuzzy?

Then there was the one for which I always fell:

Adam and Eve and Pinch-Me-Tight
Went down to the sea to bathe.
Adam and Eve were drowned.
Who do you think was saved?

Another was recited in the school grounds but never in front of parents:

Fatty and Skinny were having a race.
Fatty blew-off in the policeman’s face.

My favourite regular nursey rhyme was:

Lucy Locket lost her pocket,
Kitty Fisher found it,
But not a penny was in sight
Except the ribbon round it.
It might’ve been you.
It might’ve been you. etc

I liked it best probably because it was associated with a game of sitting in a circle and hiding an object and chasing other people. (Incidentally, if you don’t know it, it’s sung to the same tune as “Yankee Doodle” and they think that “Lucy Locket” may have come earlier than “Yankee Doodle”!)

Perhaps you have some rhymes from childhood that you might share in the comments? They don’t have to be utterly wholesome if that’s the way they were!

2626D. A memorable event – Part 4

(continued…)

In the morning the boy’s father called in with my clothes (all neatly folded). The boy had the flu and had got delirious. He escaped out the toilet window and with the rain and river thought that the events had actually happened – which is why he was so believable.

The Armed Defenders had surrounded the house. The parents came to the door. It took the poor fellow a year or so to get used to what had happened.

Years later I bumped into him on some street steps in Wellington (New Zealand’s capital city). He owned and ran a popular lunch restaurant in the heart of the city’s business area. We chatted and he gave me the recipe of his most popular lunch soup recipe – which I still sometimes use to this day!

He then invited me to dinner at his home with his wife and children – and a good time was had by all! We sort of lost touch over the years, and haven’t “bumped into each other” for maybe a quarter of a century. So Carl, if you ever read this…

The End

2626C. A memorable event – Part 3

(continued…)

I phoned the police. Two policemen came and interviewed him. They too drove to the house and came back. They then called the “Armed Defenders Squad”. (In New Zealand the Police don’t carry guns, but when there is a need such as this the highly trained Armed Defenders step in.)

The police took the boy away. I did not know for the rest of the night what had happened.

(To be continued…Finale tomorrow)

2626B. A memorable event – Part 2

(continued…)

I leapt out of bed. My heart stopped. To this day I’m quite pleased with my reaction. I handed him a towel and said, “Well don’t stand there all wet. Dry yourself.” He was about my size so I found him some clothes.

He explained what happened.  He had gone to the bathroom in the night. While he was there the voices of men (it sounded like two of them) were shouting at his parents in their bedroom. Then there were gunshots. They started yelling for him to come out. The toilet had a louvered window. The boy squeezed himself out. He ran through the rain towards the river – the area of which was unhoused. The river was slightly in flood. He waded up the river towards school and came into my room. Naturally he was upset.

We got in a car and drove to his house (I have no clue why). No lights were on in the house. There were tall poplar tree swaying in the wind. It was dark and threatening. We drove back to school.

(To be continued…)