Outside heavy rain pounds
the driveway’s vast puddles
batters the windows in a
deafening roar, darkens
the living room till I switch
on the cluster of lights.
Lunch must be eaten at home
today, something warm, tasty,
cheerful from the cupboard.
Piping hot baked beans on two
thick slabs of warm crusty
toast lubricated by melting
margarine spreading out
around its crusty base.
Aaaahh …… comfort food.
Chop garish pumpkin into
pieces squish thud squish
thud. Chop off skin scoop out
seeds slide skin and seeds
into scraps bucket clatter clatter.
Slide pumpkin pieces from board
into pan with knife blade. Add
small chopped potato to thicken
sprinkle salt and pepper over all.
Cover with chicken stock simmer.
Bubble bubble bubble lid puffs
up steam puffs out lid clunks
down after steam escapes.
Puff clunk puff clunk.
Turn down element heat
rattle rattle clunk rattle
rattle puffff ssssss !!!
Lift lid test pumpkin, knife
slides in pumpkin soft as butter.
Mash pumpkin potato chunks
together stir into chicken stock.
Aaaah !! Heavenly steaming aroma !
Top up with chicken stock,
stir in milk – creamy texture …
Taste ……. aaah !! …… !!
Heat again gently, lid rattles,
stir slowly, set aside to ettle.
Pour into bowls, add sour cream
dollop, chopped parsley garnish
……. Perfection …… !!!
After errands through the
milling throng around our
shopping plaza I need lunch
to re energise myself. The
nurse and diabetes classes
give strict instructions for
healthy diabetics’ food.
Last time here I ate a little
seafood cocktail with a
healthy wholemeal sandwich.
Today I crave a Macdonald’s
burger with double meat patties
and fries to bolster up my tea
with milk and equal.
I could walk down the road
to the healthy sandwich bar
but Macdonald’s is right here.
The health professional relatives
frown on Macdonalds – so very
unnutritional. The haute cuisine
connoisseur relatives say
Macdonalds is just not food.
But I enjoy a Big Mac and fries
occasionally as a change from
my favourite plaza cafe’s
toasted ham and cheese sammies.
I give in to myself, eat burger
and fries with milky tea
and am most relieved some
weeks later when my glucose
count has still gone down.
A diet decreed by health
professionals has been deemed
essential for my functional
quality of life. Approved
healthy foods are urged on
me at family gatherings.
I am trying to comply but
I refuse to interact with the
favourite super food of
familial health professionals
…… kumara*. No. I can not
eat it. They are puzzled.
I deeply miss chicken nuggets
Big Macs an fries. I did not
eat them often but the choice
was always mine !
“No nutritional value !” exclaim
the health professionals, surprised.
No indeed ! Instead they have
delicious savoury flavour,
juicy burger patty, hot crisp
crustiness of fries, all so sensual
to the taste buds, such glorious
lingering taste and texture.
We have agreed to differ on
this matter of food sensuality.
Kumara is off my menu.
**kumara – New Zealand sweet potato.
My computer stopped working 36 hours ago and I am posting this at the library during a brief visit to town. I hope to have my own computer access again in the next day or two.
Unfortunately I may miss some of the posts I find so interesting.
Thin wavy red lines wander
across a large golden moon,
ambling away from a blue
white nucleus at one side
of that luminous sphere.
Around it, behind it, the
pitch black of space highlights
this red lined golden orb.
Three more moons appear on
the computer screen as the
optometrist brings up his
other photos of my eyes,
focused on the centre of
each eye, then from the sides.
For now there are no tiny
tears in the veins of my eyes,
from the glucose gravel in
my bloodstream, flowing through
every part of me, even my eyes.
Last November a violent powerful
earthquake rocked our shaky
isles in the middle of the night.
Usually I sleep through them
but my sliding doors banged
so long that at last I woke up.
The sliding door into my kitchen
was knocked off its little guide
rail, the repairman said the carpet
underneath was loose. The carpet
man said the carpet’s anchoring
square edging was wet and all
puffed up. With water coming
under the wall from the shower
I would have to call the plumber.
The plumber said the shower box
would need to be dismantled
by the builder so the shower
could be repaired. Then the
builder would re line the
shower box. No more leaks.
And so it finally ended, this
saga from the quake. My kitchen
door and living room carpet
were functioning, well repaired.
The builder tore out the shower
box lining, the plumber repaired
the shower tray and mixer, the
builder relined the shower box.
All with the related large bills.
Six months later this earthquake
damage is repaired …… I hope.
To fly from her provincial
home city to the folk music
holiday weekend in the country
she chose the very cheap air fares
of the budget airline so she
had to fly to the vast mega city
then out again. This lengthy
trip gave the cheapest fares.
A thick dark fog monster
choked the mega city’s airport
with clogging swirling vapour.
The budget air line with its budget
skeleton staff slogged to rebook
its passengers around the country
on its budget skeleton air fleet.
She arrived one day late for
her folk music holiday weekend.
Serious brains tell me
television is frothy lightweight
air brained frivolous. They stare
at me blankly as I enthuse
about documentaries, drama,
current affairs programmes,
reality and games shows, and
in between funny moments.
During the day I cook meals,
garden, clean house, read
books, newspapers, magazines.
I even write posts for a blog.
Yet I remain unweighted by
serious subscription magazines.
come night time I chose to
relax, have a good laugh, watch
ancient history documentaries,
enjoy a different world.
Sitting on my couch leafing
through my book of jotted
words, scribbled ideas, thinking
thoughts for my next poem
for my blog, pondering one
then another.Nothing strikes
a chord, starts me writing.
Ceiling corners’ cobwebs taunt
me, wisps of carpet fluff float
up, point at me. A layer of dust
covers sideboard, living room
surfaces, dulls them greyly.
The kitchen floor needs sweeping,
wet mopping. All sights that
annoy me as I sit. The tiles
around the bathroom vanity, the
large bathroom mirror all need
smudges, soapy smears wiped off.
So many distractions from writing.
When I sweep the floors, work
the vacuum cleaner, ply wet
mop and bucket, clean bathroom
tiles and mirror, move dusters
over living room and bedroom…
… ideas flow, ready to write,
sharp words, keen phrases come
to mind. So I jot them down,
continue cleaning write down
more …… Most confusing !
Working for a living my spine
twisted into kinks, my muscles
crunched bones out of place.
…… Pain ! …… Immobility !
On the massage table the
therapeutic masseuse fully trained
in human anatomy would unknot
the knots, unkink the kinks with
thumbs, knuckles, heel of hand
all precisely and agonisingly
placed ……. Aaaarrrghh !!
I would carefully focus on
relaxing to allow this additional
pain to release the knots
and kinks, release me to move.
Next day I would feel tender
through neck, arms, shoulders
back thighs, calves even after
hot showers and baths.
Soon I would move easily
… until I eventually seized
up in new knots, new kinks.
After retirement I expected
to move freely, continuously
without further painful massage.
Not so. Age has replaced
workday stresses, knots still
return to grip my back.
Those expert hands must
still work their painful magic.
lifecameos 