Tag Archives: anniversary

1933. Two deaths on the one day

Rosslyn was more upset about her dog dying than she was with her husband’s passing. Both died on the same day; both suddenly; both deaths unrelated.

To be fair, Mercury the dog was the only friend she had. He was a chow chow and had been on heart medication for a little while. His suddenly demise was always going to be a possibility. On the other hand her husband had been on no pills. “It’s a pity there’s not a pill for verbal abuse,” Rosslyn used to declare throughout their marriage; for Earl had a tongue that Rosslyn nicknamed “Whiplash”.

And so it was that her best friend, Mercury, and her least-best friend, husband Earl, both died on the same day. Who was to know? Rosslyn paid to give her husband the skimpiest funeral possible. Mercury got the works, and his ashes were returned from the crematorium in a silver-plated urn inscribed with his name.

The marriage had been a mistake. She should never have gone ahead with it. There were ample signs during the engagement period that he would verbally abuse her once they were married. And indeed she was proved right. The honeymoon had barely started when the abuse began.

It was sad that Mercury wasn’t going to be about to celebrate the wedding anniversary next Saturday. The absence of a husband at such a celebration was no loss. Rosslyn always celebrated the wedding anniversary with her dog. What else was there to do?

Goodness! Coming up this Saturday they would’ve been married for sixty-four years.

1830. Poached salmon

Aubrey was preparing a nice dinner for when his wife, Shona, got home from work. It wasn’t a special, special occasion, but nonetheless it was special enough. It was their thirteenth wedding anniversary.

Aubrey decided on nothing too fancy. He was going to poach salmon on a bed of sliced lemon. He would make a dill and mustard sauce, accompanied by potato and bean salad. Then all would be topped off with his wife’s favourite, rhubarb pie.

He was just beginning to prepare the meal when he realized he needed a lemon and had omitted getting one at the supermarket. Not to worry. His next door neighbour had a huge lemon tree, laden with fruit. In fact it was so close to the boundary fence that Aubrey could simply have reached over and plucked one. But Audrey was not one to do that.

He would visit Mrs. Geraldine Trapski and ask if he could have a lemon. Incidentally, Mrs. Trapski was renowned for her generosity. She was involved in the Girl Guides and had even been given a special medal after she had donated a not-so-small château in the mountains for the girls to use. She had also been seen (although some claimed it was a little ostentatious) putting a tin of beans in the bin for the poor at the supermarket. “Oh no!” Mrs. Trapski had said in a slightly louder voice when asked about it, “I always give something to the poor.”

Of course, this has little or nothing to do with this story. Aubrey needed a lemon and Mrs. Trapski had a tree-full. Aubrey knocked on Mrs. Trapski’s door.

“Good morning! Look, I was about to poach some salmon steaks and realized I don’t have a lemon. I was wondering if it was possible to borrow a lemon.”

“Borrow a lemon? Are you intending to bring it back?” joked Mrs. Trapski. “I’ve had some unusual requests today but nothing like this! Only this morning the Girl Guides phoned to say a window latch in their château that I donated needed fixing. Of course I’ll pay for it, I said. And then – you won’t believe this – at the supermarket I placed a small jar of what the British call gherkins but I really think the French word for them, cornichons, had a bit more class. But when I placed the jar in the poor bin the shop assistant exclaimed, the poor don’t eat that stuff. Goodness me! So I brought the jar home. I can’t stand the things myself so I threw them away. It was terribly wasteful of the shop assistant to force me into doing that. Waste not, want not has always been my motto. And in answer to your request for a lemon, the answer is no. Grow your own.”

Aubrey returned home with his tail between his legs, or he would’ve if he’d had a tail. Mrs Geraldine Trapski left home half an hour latter to attend her Bridge Evening, the snob, just as Aubrey’s wife Shona arrived home.

“Dinner will be a little late tonight,” said Aubrey. “I haven’t started it yet. We’re having salmon steaks poached on a bed of lemon slices from two large lemons.”

1505: Wedding anniversary

When Callista’s husband forgot their anniversary for a third year in a row, enough was enough. Callista planned a murder.

She read every book and article on “How to” that she could find. She even read Agatha Christie and Arthur Conan Doyle. This was to be a murder that was fool proof. What is more, she would do it on their anniversary – the fourth he would have forgotten.

In the end Callista thought shooting with a gun was the safest bet. She thoroughly researched the angle of entry a suicide victim’s bullet would enter the head. It was a question of getting into the right position and pulling the trigger before the victim realized what was going on.

The anniversary day dawned. The gun was loaded. Callista waited.

Before long, Peggy-Sue wandered up the garden path. Peggie-Sue came once a week to clean the house. As she entered the door, Callista pulled the trigger.

“You!” shouted Callista. “Your conniving sensuality is the cause of my husband’s infidelity.”

The coroner ruled “Suicide”. And although Callista and her husband didn’t really live happily ever after, Callista was well-pleased.

700. Flowers from my garden

Today is the 700th story on the 700th day (plus 13 poems and 49 pieces of music). For 700 days I have wandered your wondrous gardens of bloggeration (or is it bloggery or blogification?) There have been weeds and flowers, vegetables and fruit, shrubs and trees, well-worn tracks and hidden paths… each an adventure; each a moment for admiration. The wonder of each creative blog I follow!

Today then, I celebrate in the simplest way: here are flowers for you from my own garden; picked over time; not always the most-ever beautiful. They are presented with gratitude.

Thank you!


This dahlia (whose name escapes me – have subsequently found the label in a drawer and it is called “Rebecca’s World”) is among my favourites. It looks a little like a water lily. Each flower begins it’s life either deep red or pure white. As it unfolds the red flowers become white and the whites become red.


This dahlia (whose name escapes me) is too brazen, too bold, too messy, too loud. (It’s not so subtle in the real). After one season I dug it out and gave it away. It was a show-off; a smarty-pants. Let’s hope it enjoys doing its thing in its new ostensacious setting.


This dahlia (whose name escapes me) I call “My Shirley Dahlia”. Shirley used to help me in the school library. One day I brought a bunch of these flowers for the library. She wanted a tuber. Next winter I gave her some. The next spring, mine never grew; they had rotted in the ground. The following winter, Shirley gave me some of the tubers that had multiplied in her garden. The next day she was killed in a farm bike accident.


This dahlia (whose name escapes me) I plant amidst the white. Come Christmas (which in New Zealand is summer) the white and red bloom together in a brilliant yuletide show!


This dahlia (whose name escapes me) is perhaps as near to a sunrise as I can get; or maybe it’s a sunset. Here you see it flowering among the berries of a karaka (New Zealand laurel). The karaka berries are poisonous but the kererū (wood pigeons) love them!


Here are two flowers of the banana passionfruit. And the fruit is delicious to eat. But don’t tell the Government Department for the Environment: the plants are classified as a noxious weed.


Among the first flowers of the spring is this New Zealand native, the kowhai (pronounced Coe-fie). Golden sunshine on the ground in the daffodils; golden sunshine in the trees. Winter must be over!


My favourite tree in the garden; the pepper tree. Some years it flowers prolifically; some years hardly at all. But all year, every year, it hangs and weeps. My kind of tree…


 I think this is some variety of virgilia. Blue sky, green leaves, peach-coloured blossom.


If you love wisteria (as I do) you must avoid planting it near the house. This one is currently destroying my side fence with its testosteronic growth – a true teenage boy is the wisteria.


The Jerusalem artichoke! Tall. Playful. Like giants chatting away at a convention. Lots of bees. Lots of butterflies. Lots of tubers to eat in winter.


The globe artichoke! The stately grandfather of the garden flowers and garden vegetables.


The annual national orchid show was held just twenty minutes from where I lived. Each year I would buy a new orchid. I had quite a collection and they were spectacular! When I left the area there was no room in the removal vehicle, so I gave the orchids to a neighbour.


This is my Christmas lily (known as such because in New Zealand it flowers at Christmas). I have only the one variety of Christmas lily. It grows about 7 feet high before it flowers!


I often use weeds and grasses with flowers if they’re brought inside. It saves on garden flowers and they look great anyway!


My favourite roses are wild ones. I like it when they grow berserck over a background fence. I’m not a great rose fan so avoid them. They scratch!


Here are flowers of the feijoa. It’s one of my favourite fruits; a large green perfumed fruit of the guava family.


Sunflowers galore in summer! All kinds and shades! This one is called “Teddy Bear”. It’s the cuddliest flower in the garden.


Dark blue is my favourite colour in the garden. I have lots of irises, but if I move this one comes with me!


I don’t know the name of this flower. I call it Christmas Bells because it rings in Christmas! And let it ring out the 700th story! Thanks for walking with me for all or part of these 700 days! (See note below from mattb325 – it’s Dierama pulcherrimum: the fairy’s fishing rod or angel’s fishing rod!)

600. 600th anniversary adventure

© Bruce Goodman 2 June 2015

I have racked my brain as to how best celebrate the 600th story on the 600th consecutive day. Occasionally, on some such anniversary I have gone a little personal, a little autobiographical.

Today then, to celebrate, I thought a presentation would be nice as to how I fill in my spare time. How to fill in the hours, the days, the weeks, the months… What fun-filled activities do I manage to squeeze into my busy schedule between waking and nodding off at breakfast? Here is something that most, possibly, have tried. I still try. I find it saves on buying expensive indoor plants.

1. Take one sweet potato (in New Zealand we call it a kumara, but that’s because we steal our words from all over the show) and put it half in water. I use the purple sweet potato. I have not tried any of the other varieties of sweet potato. Place the kumara upright in a vase or dish. I pack pretty stones around it to keep it upright. Put it in a dark cupboard until it begins to sprout (like for a week or two).

2. This is not all I do. Oh no! I get my camera and photograph it. In fact, I’m an expert at time-lapse photography. I press the camera button once every two or three weeks. I know it might sound a bit slow, but I’m not that technical.

3. So here is the result! I’m glad to have had the company of those who walked with me for all or at some stage during the 600 story days. The experience has sprouted and sprawled like a sweet potato. Some shoots die; some thrive. Sometimes it grows out of control; sometimes it’s root-bound and stifled. Sometimes it’s pretty; sometimes it’s not. But which ever way it grows, it has always been an adventure for which I am grateful!

That’s the story. Thank you!

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