HEARTS NEVER MEETING

She hates the old suburb.  "It's dirty and rundown".  Was she really talking about those streets of interesting shops and colourful people that I love so much?

Where she sees death, I see vibrant life.  Where she scurries, I wander happily.

The buildings aren't flash and modern, not like a shopping mall where you can buy a hundred varieties of plastic thingies.  The small shops are mainly one-off, not part of some super chain.  Mick's Nuts is cramped and they only accept cash, but people come from all over this city to shop there; even royalty had sent a minion to buy some nuts.  Reverse Garbage is my second home and I've turned lots of their industrial offcuts into art and useful items.

The smell of Asian greens wafts out of the Vietnamese deli and the footpaths are full of people eating at the many cafes.  From an upstairs room, the sound of "hare krishna" floats out of the window of the vegetarian restaurant.

The old suburb has heart.

"No-one could find Barbara Streisand's nose beautiful!"  She was so sure in her black and white world.  I shrank back into myself like a mimosa leaf that had been touched.

Your harsh dismissal

of the beauty

I see in

the old and unusual

our hearts never meeting

SPRING AND RAIN ... some poetry, mainly haiku

Rain always brings

a rush of poetry

to my heart

With spring comes

a livening

of the spirit

and I feel one

with green things

Winter is over

I sit on the stairs at night

 once again

Rainy day

the soggy earth

squelching underfoot

Spring brings

an outrage of

nasturtium flowers

Nasturtium flowers

looking back at me

through the rain

Unnoticed

the violet flowers

for itself

Spring in this land of

evergreens

its subtle changes

Dark glossy leaves and

the tender pink flush of spring

lilly-pilly tree

Here a small pansy

clinging close to the earth

and there a tall tree

City pollution

disappearing for a while

as the rain comes down

The sweet earth

receives

the falling rain

 and her children

smile

Soft leaves of green herbs

nestled in straw coloured mulch

catching raindrops

In the gentle rain

bright green mint leaves quiver

as the drops fall

Rusty guttering

rain water drip-dropping

onto the earth

Marigold circle

bright yellow flowers smiling

at the sun

My soul lives down where

the dark moist leaves decompose

on the forest floor

Forest floor

wet leaves

return to the soil

The oriole calls

to remind me that spring

is here again

The paper-thin skin

on my old woman's hands

softly wrinkling

This cracked old wall

toeholds in the crevices

for mosses and ferns

Spring returning

the dragonfly bends the reed

 of the bulrush

WHAT THE ALIEN SAW ... or ... "It's a Wrap"

One fine spring day, the alien called Zop landed his craft in invisible mode on a quiet suburban street. Zop’s mission was to observe and report on the cultural behaviour of the local homo sapiens. His findings would earn him a PhD on his home planet if he was lucky.

He heard a noise coming from what looked like a community meeting place. “Ah, I’m sure to see something here of academic interest to my head of department”.

When Zop saw the assembled group of women, he knew he had hit paydirt. Their “leader”, probably the high priestess, was showing the others how to wrap what looked like very long bandages around and around their bodies, this way and that, then twisting and pulling a long “tail” over their heads from behind. Then they bent their knees, bending forwards slightly, and stomped round and round the room.

Zop had of course studied the cultural practices of earth for his undergraduate degree. He reached the obvious conclusion that these women were worshippers of ancient Egyptian mummies. This ritual was apparently designed to bring the mummies back to life. His theory was strengthened when he read the title of their pamphlet “Bones for Life”, although it would have made more sense to him if it had read “Bones brought back to Life”. But where they stored the old Egyptian bones was still a mystery to him.

This discovery was certainly very exciting for he had never read about such a sect existing on modern earth. But one facet confused him. Their “dance” was more like that of the American Indian than that of the Egyptians. In fact, he heard the priestess mention the name “Pocohontas”. Clearly, there was an as yet undiscovered connection between those two cultures, which he could enlarge on in his thesis. Yes, he would certainly impress his professor back home.

The dance was followed by communal singing in a magic circle. Then, exhausted by their dallying with the gods, they all laid down on special mats on the floor. The building itself must have been a power source as they all pushed their hands into its walls to get some sort of a recharge.

All in all, Zop found the experience most enlightening. He returned quickly to his home planet where he wrote up his observations and submitted his thesis. He was awarded a First and became a renowned, much respected professor of anthropology.

The ladies continued to meet weekly for their Bones for Life classes, completely unaware of Zop's visit and their effect on a distant alien civilisation.

-oOo-

TO READ MORE ABOUT "Bones for Life" classes, visit http://www.bonesforlife.com/

MAKING ÆBELSKIVER

"It's a little tricky at first cause sometimes you have to give it a bit of finger."  That was Doc's suggestion for this week's (#41) FridayFlashFiction's starter sentence, but it didn't get enough votes.  However, it has inspired me to write this story ... not fiction, it's true.

-oOo-

"It's a little tricky at first cause sometimes you have to give it a bit of finger."

That’s how I would have begun the lesson in making æbelskiver, or ebelskivers as we say in English.

Æbelskiver is a Danish word meaning “apple slices”. Well, “slices” doesn’t really fit the bill. Wikipedia describes them as: traditional Danish pancakes in a distinctive shape of a sphere. Somewhat similar in texture to American pancakes crossed with a popover …

I watched the “training” video on my laptop. It all went so smoothly. There was an air of monastic meditation about the almost buddha-like demonstrator as she calmly went through the steps: mixing the batter, heating the pan, brushing the butter into the little round recesses, dropping in the batter, turning them with non-metal skewers when they were cooked just so. Not a drop of batter out of place, either on her immaculately clean clothes or the counter top. It was like watching the Japanese tea ceremony.

She made it all look so-o-o-o easy. Her and her “I’m just floating through this demo” manner.

Now it was my turn. Surely I too could achieve enlightenment this way.

My sister had sent me an æbelskiver pan for my birthday. I grated apples and cooked them with brown sugar, butter, spices and lemon juice.  So far, so good.  I mixed up the batter with plain flour, baking powder, buttermilk, sour cream and so on.  So far, so good.  I heated the pan and brushed the wells with unsalted butter.  So far, so good.

I added blobs of batter to the sizzling wells, not always elegantly.  I got batter in more places than I was supposed to.  My hands are a bit shaky at the best of times.  Then I added a bit of apple mixture to each one, still not always elegantly.  Bits of apple clung to the spaces between the wells.  Finally, another blob of batter ... and wait for them to cook.  The bottoms were burning before the tops started to firm up. I turned the flame down as far as it would go without blowing out.  The timer said they still had a minute to go on that side. I turned them anyhow, using two bamboo skewers, one on each side of the pancake and ... over they went.

They didn’t always land neatly on the other side.  This is where I suggest a bit of finger is needed to position them nicely ... and that is what I did.  When the pancakes looked nice and brown, I up-ended them onto a waiting platter and waited for them to cool down a bit before hoeing in.  I dusted them with sifted icing sugar mixed with cinnamon and served them with cream.  Hmm, some are not quite cooked inside. I think I need to try another one.  Yes, that one was good.  Maybe just one more to make sure.  I ate all 21 of them in a matter of hours.

I had uncooked batter all over the counter top; and me; and the frypan; and the floor; and the utensils.  In fact, everywhere in the known universe had batter on some part of it.  It seemed, then, that this was not going to be my path to enlightenment.

I made another batch the next day. Yes, the next day. I know, I’m a guts. I made them under the pretext that I was going to share them with other people. I didn’t.

LIFE CHANGES

I’ve never felt at home in this dimension.

I always knew there was something else and felt that, if I just held my mind in the right way, I’d connect with the universe and “real” life would begin.

I was three years old when I expected the big “happening” during a ferry ride to a nearby island. It didn’t come. I was deeply disappointed and felt that life had passed me by.

I never spoke to anyone about this until now. I have just found the words. And I thought that no-one would understand or they would make me feel spiritually "dirty". Other people seem so at home in this dimension – getting married, having children and careers. I’ve never understood how they did it. I want to scream: “How can you be so comfortable and normal? This isn’t real life! Everything and everyone are just ‘Mickey Mouse’ – your religions, institutions and marriages.”

I still think this way but life has brought a series of small “enlightenments” instead of the single big one I had anticipated as a child.

Normally, these gems of awareness have come about through difficult life experiences – times of rejection, pain, loss and confusion – what many people would describe as “negative”.  But these gems have been far more precious to me than the things I had been clinging to.

I don’t have a “philosophy” of non-attachment. I think that is foolish. Letting go just happens. When the object of desire is unattainable, there is pain, struggle and turmoil as the brain continues to grasp for satisfaction. It devises all sorts of ways to try to get what it wants and doesn’t want to accept that “the door has been closed”.

But there comes a point where magic happens. An awareness sinks in that the brain’s activity has become like a stuck record. Seeing the whole process of desire as it is, without rationalisation or the need for fulfilment, understanding comes. Then desire with all its turmoil simply falls away. Choice plays no part.

Another major turning point in my life came unexpectedly with such simplicity, without fanfare. Walking back to the office after lunch, a workmate said, as we were passing a garden: “I love daisies”. Those three words changed my life in a huge way – my essence, who I am. You might say it was the moment the penny dropped.

My initial reaction was to squirm inside. I felt like spitting out the words: “Daisies! They’re just a common flower!” But something stopped me. I heard her honest words, saw her joyful face and looked at the daisies. They were white with dark centres and I was touched by their simple, elegant beauty. The “commonness” existed only inside my dull, ugly brain. We walked on in silence, but I had been transformed ... forever.

I could go on and on, but I will stop here. I hope I have communicated at least some of where I’ve come from and who I am today.

SPRING HAIKU

A burst of haiku

as spring's buds swell open

flowers in bloom

-oOo-

Spring rain
washing away
the dust of winter


-oOo-

Spring rain

marshfrog welcoming

the new season

-oOo-

Winter's white arms

turning pink

in spring sunshine

-oOo-

The feel of sunshine

burning into bare skin

now that winter's gone

-oOo-

In the small garden

spring sunshine burning down

fresh beans on the fence

-oOo-

This oh-too-short spring

a time to rejoice before

the heat of summer

-oOo-

Past due my tax forms

past due a myriad things

I'd rather not do

F-F-F #41 THE PHOTOGRAPH

This week's Friday Flash Fiction #41 starts with the sentence : "He walked in and slid the photograph across my desk."  Here's my version:
___________________________

THE PHOTOGRAPH

He walked in and slid the photograph across my desk.

“You swine! You rotten swine!” I spat.

His sickening leer deepened into something that could not be described as a smile. More than a smirk, this look had oozed up from the slimy recesses of his dark brain. It did not belong on someone’s face. “I’ve got you now” he thought. “You are in my power.”

I’d been working in the office for about a month. I thought he was cute and was kinda thrilled when he asked me out. He’d been oh-so-charming when he wined and dined me. I’d always been a sucker for a smooth talker and, having drunk a few glasses of wine too many, had giggled my way back to his place.

Thinking back, I blamed the alcohol for my lack of inhibition; but hey, who am I kidding? I would have had sex with him no matter what. It was only afterwards that I realised what he was really like and had spurned all his further advances. But mistakes made in the heat of the moment always come back to bite you in the bum.

He revealed that he had a hidden camera in his bedroom. Sexual blackmail was his game and he was threatening to post the pic on the office noticeboard and to email it around. “I’ll leave this lovely photo with you to help you contemplate your future” he said.

My brain went into a spin ... but then I had an idea. He would regret trying this one on me. “Thank God for modern technology” I thought. I scanned the photo into my laptop and did some “strategic” manipulation. I reduced “that part of his body of which he was most proud” to miniscule proportions and replaced my face with the face of the boss’s wife.

Now I was the one who was smirking.

I walked in and slid the photograph along his desk and said “How would you like to see that on the office noticeboard?”

“You swine! You rotten swine!” he spat.