2640. Back street triumvirate

It caused a great deal of anticipation when Nadia said she would cook dinner. The three widows, Beth, Angela, and Nadia, had all ended up living on the same little back street. They had quickly become friends – of sorts.

Every month or so they would meet to share a meal. The first time it was a Beth’s place. The second time it was at Angela’s place. Nadia seemed a little reluctant to take her turn, and then suddenly one day she announced she would cook. Judging from what she said, she was an excellent cook, having worked as head chef in an exclusive restaurant for many years before retirement.

It was therefore with considerable anticipation that Beth and Angela arrived at Nadia’s place.

“Well,” said Nadia. “Where’s the food?”

“The food?” asked Beth and Angela.

“I said I would cook,” said Nadia. “I presumed you were supplying the food.”

Needless to say – but it will be said anyway – the little back street triumvirate didn’t survive for long.

2621. Old friends

Coral and Ginger were well into their 80s. They had been friends for years; in fact they had started kindergarten together way back. They both had had happy marriages, brought up families, and been widowed. These days Ginger lived at her daughter’s home. Coral was fiercely independent and lived alone.

Coral hated the fact that she was getting old and couldn’t do things that used to be as easy as pie. For example she could no longer lift a heavy pot off the stove, or even pick up her beloved cat. She still managed household chores but at a slower pace, as long as there was no heavy lifting. And then the sad news came. Ginger was chronically ill. She had cancer. “If there’s anything I can do just call,” said Coral to Ginger’s daughter.

And indeed there was something Coral could do. “Would she mind ever so much to stay the night and fix Ginger her dinner and breakfast?” Ginger’s daughter had to go away overnight urgently and Coral would be the perfect caregiver.

“It would be a privilege,” said Coral. Off the daughter went! She had barely left when…

Ginger fell out of bed.

2553. In the mud

(Hagiography has not played a very big part in these stories, so here’s one with a hagiographical theme!)

When Teresa of Avila, the great 16^th century Spanish reformer of the Carmelite nuns and monks, was crossing a plank over a muddy swollen creek she slipped and fell in the mud. She was heard to say a prayer:

If this is the way you treat your friends no wonder you have so few of them.

2296. Friends on a road trip

A road trip was just the thing for me and my friend. We would drive from one side of the country to the other, sell the car upon arrival, and fly back home. There was no hurry. We could enjoy the adventure that every day could bring. In fact we had allowed for several months of adventure.

Around the fourth day we started to argue. He wanted to turn left and I want to turn right. He wanted to see the city and I wanted to see the national park. In the end I gave in and we went to the city.

Once we were in the city he said he was taking the night off and went off clubbing somewhere and probably got drunk or whatever. I was left alone, so I took the vehicle and started to drive the few days home.

When I got home he was already back. He’d flown. So we had a huge row and that was the last time we spoke.

2254. Time of birth

Heather was 84 when she discovered she had possibly been adopted. Her adopted parents were long dead, as indeed would have been her biological parents.

Her day had started as quite ordinary. She still had all her marbles and was active for her age. It was late morning when she went to check the mailbox. Her life was about to be turned upside down. Kitty, a dear friend and neighbour, had rather nonchalantly asked a few weeks back at what time was Heather born. Heather said she didn’t have a clue but it might be on the birth certificate. So she wrote away for a copy and on this day the birth certificate arrived.

There was no time of birth, but the couple named as her parents were not the parents she had known. In fact there were other little titbits of misinformation. The date was wrong by several days. In fact, the date was possibly correct. Heather had spent a life time wrongfully thinking her birthday was on the 12^th whereas in fact it had been two days earlier on the 10^th.

The place of birth was news to her as well. She had always presumed she was born in Thrushport, but the certificate clearly stated Sunnytown. And splashed across the information in another hand-writing was the word – ADOPTED.

But the biggest news of all was her name. She had always been called Heather; plain Heather and nothing else. The birth certificate clearly stated her name was Philomena Heather. Philomena! Clear as a bell – Philomena Heather Brighton.

“But Heather,” exclaimed Kitty the dear friend and neighbour. “Brighton is your married name!”

“This,” declared Heather, “almost certainly calls for a celebratory wine.”

2054. Lucas’ connections

Lucas had never been popular. At primary school he had tried to buy friends by giving them sweets and cookies; all without much success. At secondary school his attempts at friendship became more expensive; it was sodas and cigarettes.  Later he resorted to drugs – not big time drugs – but bits of stuff here and there.

These days he’s rather rich. He’s twice divorced. He drives a fancy car and lives in a fancy house. The house has a tennis court and pool. He neither plays tennis nor swims but who cares? Who cares when you have a gardener and a couple of servants? No one knows exactly where his money comes from.

He still doesn’t have any friends. He says he doesn’t need them. His favourite saying, as he gads about in torn shirt and comfy jeans, is: When you’re as rich as I am you dress how you like.

All that was last week.

This week he got shot in the head. Police said they thought he had mafia connections. They’re not doing much about it because nobody cares. Few attended his funeral. Who would want their name taken down  by an undercover agent?

1983. Bird of Paradise

Rita and Carmen had been best friends for years. They were both widowed, and both had three children and four grandchildren. They lived not far from each other. Every Wednesday, to prevent a certain humdrumness, they would go on an outing. Sometimes it was just a cup of coffee in a café in town. Sometimes it was a bigger event, such as a visit to the city art gallery or a concert. Today they were going to the Botanical Garden’s Tropical Conservatory.

“Would you look at this one,” said Rita. “Such a pretty little flower!”

“I would’ve missed it if you hadn’t pointed it out,” said Carmen. “Smell this one here. It stinks!” And indeed it did stick!

“Look at this Bird of Paradise flower. It does look like a bird, doesn’t it?”

“They say,” said Carmen enthusiastically because she knew a little about the Bird of Paradise plant, “that the flower produces no pollen, so it’s generally great to plant if people are worried about allergies. Not only that, but they say if you rub a leaf on the palm of your hand you feel compelled to blurt out the truth whether you want to or not.”

“That sounds a bit dangerous,” declared Rita, rubbing the palm of her hand on a leaf. “And I might add that the way you slurp your coffee makes me want to spit.”

“That’s nothing,” said Carmen. “When I was having an affair with your late husband he gave me your bank account number and password. You wouldn’t have noticed, because you’re too thick, but a bit here and a bit there goes a long way.”

“You strumpet!” declared Rita. “So you’re the crumpet he so disdainfully spoke about; how your breath reeked of garlic and you were in need of a hefty dose of deodorant.”

The insults continued for another five minutes. It was a weekly event. In fact, one suspected that both had prepared the insults to hurl well in advance.

1856. The fart cushion

Hilton was a little bit surprised when he opened his birthday present from Jude. Jude had been a life-long friend but lived far away. They still remembered each other’s birthdays and would send gifts through the mail. This year Jude had sent Hilton one of those trick fart cushions that you put on a chair and it sounds like someone farts loudly when they sit on it.

A fart cushion – or a whoopee cushion, whatever they’re called these days – was funny the first time; like back in 1842AD when Hilton saw (or rather heard) his first one. These days they were about as funny as a tetraplegic in a three-legged race. Why Jude had sent him one for his birthday was anyone’s guess.

Hilton wrote to Jude thanking him for his gift. Ha ha ha! said Hilton. It was great fun thank you. He fooled his three year old grandson who thought it was a scream. And so, Jude, it brought much joy on my birthday!

Hilton never worked out why Jude had sent him such a stale trick that was both useless and unfunny, and Jude never said. Which possibly explains why none of us, dear Reader, have the slightest clue either.

1806. Alleluia! the cat

Christina and Florrie lived in the same house and shared a pet cat. They called their cat “Alleluia!” because it brought such joy. The exclamation mark in the Alleluia! is an important part of the name, Florrie told the vet. Our cat is not simply “Alleluia” but “Alleluia!”

There were many other things that Christina and Florrie shared besides the cat. They shared cooking and meals, for example, and cleaning the house. They shared a glass of wine before the evening meal. They shared the rent. They had shared like this for thirty-two years. It was not only companionship; it saved money. How much cheaper it is to heat a single house rather than two.

Every day the cat would curl up at wine-time on the mat between Florrie and Christina’s armchairs. It was part of the daily ritual. Alleluia! was now seventeen years old, as far as they knew. It had adopted Florrie and Christiana. They had no idea where it came from. They advertised with photographs but no one came forward. Alleluia! was there to stay.

And then, very suddenly, just as they were one evening pouring a wine, Christina had a stroke and died. Florrie had to make all the arrangements for Christiana’s funeral, while she herself was devastated. Admittedly it gave something for Florrie to do, something to occupy her mind, but she never imagined that such feelings of grief were possible.

When all was over, Florrie still had Alleluia! It was a connection, a support. The cat was a living link. In fact, Alleluia! had taken over Christiana’s armchair in the evenings. It might sound silly, but Alleluia! was always there for Florrie to talk to.

And then Alleluia! took ill and Florrie had to have it put down.

1293. Mimi the mimic

Mimi was a wonderful mimic. She’d have the person’s voice, their laughter, their movement, off to a tee within minutes. She was the life of any gathering. People were in fits. They were in hysterics. And of course to make matters even funnier, Mimi would imitate the people as they laughed. It was a vicious circle. She had a knack of making people helpless; they would literally roll on the floor.

When she died fairly suddenly, no one had much to say at her funeral because they didn’t really know who she was.