2308. Back in time

For goodness sake! I only wanted to go to the supermarket to get a few things, so I jumped into the car and set out for the few miles to get there.

I swear that every ten yards or so that the car travelled, everything went back in time by several years. The style of the houses and gardens changed; the other vehicles were ancient models. Before long there were carts being pulled by horses along a dirt track. I still seemed to be driving my modern car but no one noticed.

The style of clothing changed, as did the hair. Everyone wore hats! Good gracious! I swear that boy is wearing what I would call knickerbockers. And there is a group of children racing with hoops.

Oh but it’s changed again. The industrial factories have given way to pasture land. I must have gone back quite a few centuries by now. There goes a knight on a horse exactly like I imagined they looked like. He was possibly on his way to join the Crusades. And here is the village market in the street.

I parked my car next to the communal well and walked along the stalls. I couldn’t see what I wanted, so I asked.

“Hello,” I said, “I’m looking for a few things but I can’t find them. I need to buy peppers, tomatoes, avocados, potatoes, and possibly some teabags?”

The man looked at me as if I was from outer space. He said a few things in what sounded like a foreign language, so I said “Speak proper English, you Bonehead.”

What a fool he was. I held up a couple of carrots indicating that I wanted to buy them and gave him a two dollar note hoping that would cover things. He took one look at my money and went berserk. Other stall holders joined in. Some threw eggs at me. I barely made it back to my car.

As I travelled home the time gradually moved forward again, and as I entered into my gated community I thanked God I was once again safely ensconced in the enlightened twenty-first century.

1746. The kindness of strangers

A terrible tragedy has hit the country; some crazed idiot, for the past three weeks, has somehow poisoned some of the fruit and vegetables that can be purchased from the supermarket. Each week it has been a different fruit or vegetable sold in two shops each time. It seemed to cover the outlets throughout the country at random.

The first week it was Granny Smith apples from two outlets at opposite ends of the country. The second week it was cos lettuces. The third week it was cucumbers. Who knows what it will be for the fourth week. So far eleven people have died. No one is buying fresh fruit and vegetables the length and breadth of the country. Everyone is purchasing tinned fruit and tinned or frozen vegetables and meat. Thank goodness the meat is untouched.

But all that is not what this story is about. This story is about what happened to Freddie, and the story of the poisoned food is but the backdrop for Freddie’s yarn. It’s nice to have something positive to tell at a time when such a horror has taken over the news.

It was one of those weeks when Freddie didn’t have much money to go on. He’d been to the doctor and the dentist, and his car needed attention. Suddenly he discovered that there was very little left over for the groceries. He had a cat and a dog. Buying food for them was his first priority. He could always go without if needed, but a pet should never have to. The trouble was that Freddie could have bought food for the dog and cat as well as a little for himself if he’d been able to buy vegetables; but he had to buy some meat for himself to be safe. He placed a pork chop in his trolley and proceeded to the check-out.

Oh dear! As luck wouldn’t have it, Freddie had just enough for the cat and dog food, but not enough for his pork chop. The man in the line, directly behind Freddie interrupted, and said he’d pay for the pork chop. And he did!

Such kindness! It’s times of tragedy that brings people together. Freddie couldn’t believe the kindness of that stranger. Such a lovely man.

Did I mention he had the loveliest of smiles?

1411. Home with a sexy brunette

Let’s face it. I enjoy being fondled. All over. And nearly always by visitors. I simply have to sit still and people seem to be drawn irresistibly to me. They can’t help it. Strangers seem to take one look at me and it is all hands on. I get prodded and poked; massaged even. At heart I’m a pathetic stickler to being tactile.

The other day (it was pretty cool I suppose) this lady came up to me and started patting me, and then she plunged her nose onto my skin and sniffed. She smelt me! It’s funny how different things turn people on.

And then yesterday afternoon it all came to a head. This sexy brunette took me home with her, and I’m currently on her dining room sideboard sitting in a fruit bowl.

Poem 63: On a dahlia

[Many thanks to Uma for the beautiful photograph.  Uma is a wonderful writer (and photographer).

The form selected for this week is an adaptation of the Vietnamese Luc bat. It is an adaptation of the poetic form because Vietnamese is a tonal language and it cannot be imitated in English. The syllable count and the rhyming pattern have been adhered to!]

The dahlia opens slow
before it makes a show, bright red,
and then the full-faced head
bends down towards its bed and bows;
as if to say the hours
of fleeting life somehow are short.
Its beauty comes to naught
as petals fall uncaught and die.

Some say each flower shall leave
a cob, a pod of seeds, a cone,
from which will spring the bones
of new flowers, new fruit, grown; and yet,
lest ever I forget,
my death shall not beget new grain
to grow in hope, in pain,
in love, in loss, in gain, in joy.

To hear the poem read aloud click HERE.

830. Fresh tomatoes

The sign on the glass window of the roadside fruit and vegetable stall read:

FRESH TOMATOES! PICKED TODAY!

Reece pulled over in his car. There was little tastier than a tomato that had not been in the mass-production cooler. Nothing took the taste away faster than making them cold to keep them fresh.

But the roadside stall was closed. Starlings had entered through a broken back door. Nesting straw, twigs, and waste, were scattered all about. The stall looked like it had been abandoned for a good three or four years; the vendor long gone; the family business crumbled under competition from the mass-producing-cold-store supermarkets. No one wanted to eat food these days that had its taste. Processed vegetables, fruit, even milk, were poor imitations of the real things.

The only fresh-looking item was the old sign on the glass window of the roadside fruit and vegetable stall:

FRESH TOMATOES! PICKED TODAY!

To listen to the story being read click HERE!

Music 38: Fruits

© Bruce Goodman 24 June 2015

All from the garden, just on the one day.

It’s the time for the pickles, and chutneys, and cannings, and lots and lots of fresh fruit and vegetables!

Listen to the music HERE.