I travelled to this place to escape – what specifically, I have never quite been sure. My life had become ... how would you say ... mundane and meaningless. People were constantly demanding of my time, my emotions, my physical being. I was stuck in the proverbial rut. Too focussed on material possessions and instant gratification. Just like every one I knew. Carbon copies.
I was annoyed at everything and everyone. And then I snapped. Just like that. No rhyme or reason. One day I woke up and left with nothing more that the clothes on my back, the colour in my hair and a few dollars in my pocket.
I surfed the trains up the coast. No particular destination in mind until I jumped. And here I am. I was lucky to find this place, quite by chance. Wandering along the country roads, I spotted this old deserted, ramshackled cabin from the distance. How I’ll never know. Perhaps a glint of sunlight on the cracked glass of the only remaining window. Perhaps a greater power drew me here. Even now when I am looking, I struggle to see the shelter nestled in the side of the hill surrounded by dense overgrown bush.
The previous occupants had left behind bits and pieces. Rudimentary furnishings like the creaky old rocking chair straddling gappy tongue and groove. Not a hint of luxury. No electricity but a heap of firewood. I have become Tom Hanks in Castaway. How I hated that movie. It all seemed so ridiculous and contrived. Yet here I am living that life.
In the early days I fashioned tools and utensils from treasures found in the surrounding woods. I use these to fish in a nearby lake, to scale and clean my catch. Some days I have luck and some days I don’t but it doesn’t matter.
By night I watch the midnight sky. Lying back on the cold hard earth under the milky way. Eyes wide taking it all in. With no artificial light the stars twinkle, strong and bright. They have become my learned friends, sharing the mysteries of the universe. Sometimes I wish on a falling star, not for material things but for learnings and greater enlightenment.
I am under no illusions that the day will come, and perhaps soon, when I will leave this sanctuary. That I think of this humble existence in those terms still amazes me. But it is here that I have learnt to nurture my soul and my psyche. To be at peace with myself. When the time comes, whether I return “home” or simply move on, I know that I will be a different person from the emotional wreckage that stumbled upon this place, cursing and swearing and blaming everyone else for everything that had ever gone wrong. Self absorbed beyond distraction.
I have learnt that a life alone need not be a lonely life. The trick is to let go of the neediness. Soon you realise that all you truly need is to co-exist with nature and to be at peace with yourself. I am now a spiritual being. Don’t get me wrong. I haven’t found God. I didn’t look for her but I did look for me.
Tuesday, 13 October 2009
Sunday, 11 October 2009
Conversation with Intent (Kerry)
You've accidentally dialled the wrong phone number, but the person who answers sounds familiar. Immediately he/she recognizes you, but because you made the call you're too embarrassed to ask who it is. Using only dialogue, figure out who the person is.
“Hello.”
“Ahh…hello. Who…I mean, how are you?” I stutter into the phone, momentarily confused by an unexpected male voice.
“Basil! I don’t believe it. I haven’t heard from you for ages. You old dog. What’re you up to?” he enquires cheerily, recognising me straight away.
“Pretty much business as usual,” I reply non-committally. “As long as water keeps flowing under the Harbour Bridge I reckon there’s not too much to complain about. No major disaster anyway. And you? What’s happening with you?” I add, hoping to glean some clues about his identity.
“Actually, I’m really good thanks, Basil. Shirley’s retired now too so we’re finally able to loosen up a bit. You know, a spot of travel, the theatre, that sort of thing,” he muses.
“Good to hear that life’s going well. Any special trips on your agenda?” I ask.
“In fact we were thinking of coming over your way for a holiday. Still living in the same swanky part of town I suppose. Never could work out how you could afford it,” the mystery voice responds, challenging me to bite.
“Depends on your definition of swanky,” I reply, bristling with indignation. “We’ve moved around a bit in our time. I guess you could say we’ve made the most of our opportunities. We’re settled in Point Piper at the moment.” In order to cover myself and not to appear discourteous, I add, “Of course, happy to see you again. Just let us know when and how many.”
“Thanks, Basil. You know, we loved that retreat arrangement in the backyard at Vaucluse. Where you put Shirley and me when we visited.”
“Yeah, that old cabin was pretty useful when we had lots of people staying. Specially for our Christmas parties,” I remember, nostalgically.
“We were glad to have somewhere away from the main house to be with the littlies. They’re well and truly grown up now, of course,” he says.
“Of course,” I parrot. “Off your hands, I hope. Young people these days are so hard to get out of the house.”
“Off our hands! I should say so,” Mystery Man laughs, like I’ve missed the joke. “Our baby, Jimmy, just had his fortieth. He’s working in IT in the States. California. Bill and Greg are married and earning enough to support their families. Helps me sleep at night, knowing they’re all independent.”
Three little boys. Forty years ago. Now it’s coming back. It was one of those seventies parties, stretching out for a few days, plenty of beer around the pool, relaxed. Know what I mean? We put the family out in the backyard because of those three little rascals. We couldn’t risk having them spoil the party by annoying the other guests. This is my ex-boss from Hell, Andy Watkins. I handed in my resignation after that party. Couldn’t face dealing with his autocratic ways another day.
“Well, nice talking, Andy. Regards to Shirley.” I feverishly consider a way to put him off coming to visit us. “We’re planning a move overseas pretty soon. Might have to postpone that visit, eh?”
“Hello.”
“Ahh…hello. Who…I mean, how are you?” I stutter into the phone, momentarily confused by an unexpected male voice.
“Basil! I don’t believe it. I haven’t heard from you for ages. You old dog. What’re you up to?” he enquires cheerily, recognising me straight away.
“Pretty much business as usual,” I reply non-committally. “As long as water keeps flowing under the Harbour Bridge I reckon there’s not too much to complain about. No major disaster anyway. And you? What’s happening with you?” I add, hoping to glean some clues about his identity.
“Actually, I’m really good thanks, Basil. Shirley’s retired now too so we’re finally able to loosen up a bit. You know, a spot of travel, the theatre, that sort of thing,” he muses.
“Good to hear that life’s going well. Any special trips on your agenda?” I ask.
“In fact we were thinking of coming over your way for a holiday. Still living in the same swanky part of town I suppose. Never could work out how you could afford it,” the mystery voice responds, challenging me to bite.
“Depends on your definition of swanky,” I reply, bristling with indignation. “We’ve moved around a bit in our time. I guess you could say we’ve made the most of our opportunities. We’re settled in Point Piper at the moment.” In order to cover myself and not to appear discourteous, I add, “Of course, happy to see you again. Just let us know when and how many.”
“Thanks, Basil. You know, we loved that retreat arrangement in the backyard at Vaucluse. Where you put Shirley and me when we visited.”
“Yeah, that old cabin was pretty useful when we had lots of people staying. Specially for our Christmas parties,” I remember, nostalgically.
“We were glad to have somewhere away from the main house to be with the littlies. They’re well and truly grown up now, of course,” he says.
“Of course,” I parrot. “Off your hands, I hope. Young people these days are so hard to get out of the house.”
“Off our hands! I should say so,” Mystery Man laughs, like I’ve missed the joke. “Our baby, Jimmy, just had his fortieth. He’s working in IT in the States. California. Bill and Greg are married and earning enough to support their families. Helps me sleep at night, knowing they’re all independent.”
Three little boys. Forty years ago. Now it’s coming back. It was one of those seventies parties, stretching out for a few days, plenty of beer around the pool, relaxed. Know what I mean? We put the family out in the backyard because of those three little rascals. We couldn’t risk having them spoil the party by annoying the other guests. This is my ex-boss from Hell, Andy Watkins. I handed in my resignation after that party. Couldn’t face dealing with his autocratic ways another day.
“Well, nice talking, Andy. Regards to Shirley.” I feverishly consider a way to put him off coming to visit us. “We’re planning a move overseas pretty soon. Might have to postpone that visit, eh?”
Hide and seek (by Heather)
You've accidentally dialed the wrong phone number, but the person who answers sounds familiar. Immediately he/she recognises you, but because made the call you're too embarrassed to ask who it is. Using only dialogue, figure out who the person is.
Lisa settled into her big easy chair, phone in hand, and chose Marty’s number from her recent calls list. She reached for her glass of red wine. Marty wouldn’t answer til about the seventh ring – it took him that long to finish his move, pause the game, take a swig, find the phone and answer it.
So it was a surprise when the phone was picked up on the second ring and a male voice said, “Hello?”
Lisa frowned. For one thing, it wasn’t the seventh ring. For another, it didn’t sound like Marty. “Hello?” she said uncertainly.
“Ahhh, Lisa, so glad you called! I thought it might be you. How ARE you?” the voice said. It was a confident, sexy, smoky sort of voice. Arrogant, almost. Lisa felt a tingle. She whisked the phone from her ear and peered at the number on the screen.
Damn, it didn’t say “Marty” on the screen and it was an unfamiliar number, definitely not Marty’s. Who an earth HAD she rung?
How embarrassing! Not about to admit the error, she warmed up her voice to match the one on the phone. “I’m very well, thank you. And how about yourself?”
“Oh, I’m well, very well indeed,” the sultry voice said. “I was hoping you’d return my call, and now you have. That’s a promising start.”
Lisa’s brain grasped at the clue. Okay, so this guy had called, and she must have inadvertently selected his number from the recent calls list. But who the hell WAS he? Curiosity partnered up with embarrassment.
“Well, I have indeed returned your call,” she said. “I, ah, was wondering what you had to say.”
“Oh, I’ve got lots to say to YOU,” he replied, the voice as smooth as honey. “Although I’d really like to say it in person.”
Lisa chuckled and took a sip of wine. Who WAS this guy!!? Was he for real? She couldn’t think of a clever riposte so stayed quiet.
“Lisa?” the voice persisted. “I heard you chuckle and can hear you thinking over the possibilities. I think we should explore them too. Plus I’d like to wrap my fingers in that long dark hair of yours.”
Lisa set down the wine glass abruptly, with a first flicker of concern. Where had this guy come from? What on earth was the connection? Was Marty setting this up?
She decided to play it a little safe. “Well, you know me; all attached to another guy.”
“I know,” the voice said, “but he doesn’t treat you very well. Abandoning you all night like that, leaving you for others to entertain. I really don’t think this is the man for you, Lisa.” He spoke her name like a caress.
The penny dropped. Last Saturday night at the pub. A little guy with intense eyes had come over and chatted her up while Marty was playing a game or two of pool. She was several sheets to the wind and couldn’t remember much of the conversation, but she recalled thinking that he was a little spooky. One thing for sure is she wouldn’t have given him her phone number.
“You’re making some assumptions, there, my friend,” she said, attempting cool. “And I’ve been wondering, how’d you get my number?”
“Ah, when the wolf wants his prey, there aren’t any obstacles big enough to stop him.” He paused. “Let’s just say I was resourceful. And then I thought to myself, if she doesn’t ring me back, that’s it; no more moves for me. But if she calls, well, that’s a different matter. There’s no stopping us.” The lazy voice took on a harder edge. “So let’s cut the foreplay. I’ll be right over.”
Lisa leapt from her chair, knocking the wine over in the process. “Hold on a minute,” she said. “For one thing, you don’t even know where I live.” She held her breath.
“Baby, baby, of course I do. I followed you home. Your friend stayed the night, but I thought to myself, he won’t be doing that much longer.”
Your friend stayed the night!? – Lisa tried to register the implications of that remark.
“See you in a few minutes,” the voice said, and the line dropped out.
Lisa looked at the phone, paralysed for a moment. Then she fell back into the chair.
A careless curiosity, a careless politeness – carelessness, really, if one were to tell the truth – governed her life. And now it might have placed it at risk.
She rose quickly. She locked the doors and windows and turned out the lights. She called Marty, who answered after seven long rings and finally cut through her panic to say he’d be over as soon as he could. She went into the bathroom, locked the door and settled down to wait.
But it was only moments later when the doorbell rang. She heard the doorknob rattle and a by-now familiar voice called, “Come out, come out, wherever you are. Come on, little Lisa, don’t change your mind. Let’s play.”
Lisa fumbled into her pocket for her phone, which of course wasn’t there. Carelessness.
“I’ll huff and puff and blow your door down,” the voice called.
She heard the sound of a window softly smashing.
Lisa settled into her big easy chair, phone in hand, and chose Marty’s number from her recent calls list. She reached for her glass of red wine. Marty wouldn’t answer til about the seventh ring – it took him that long to finish his move, pause the game, take a swig, find the phone and answer it.
So it was a surprise when the phone was picked up on the second ring and a male voice said, “Hello?”
Lisa frowned. For one thing, it wasn’t the seventh ring. For another, it didn’t sound like Marty. “Hello?” she said uncertainly.
“Ahhh, Lisa, so glad you called! I thought it might be you. How ARE you?” the voice said. It was a confident, sexy, smoky sort of voice. Arrogant, almost. Lisa felt a tingle. She whisked the phone from her ear and peered at the number on the screen.
Damn, it didn’t say “Marty” on the screen and it was an unfamiliar number, definitely not Marty’s. Who an earth HAD she rung?
How embarrassing! Not about to admit the error, she warmed up her voice to match the one on the phone. “I’m very well, thank you. And how about yourself?”
“Oh, I’m well, very well indeed,” the sultry voice said. “I was hoping you’d return my call, and now you have. That’s a promising start.”
Lisa’s brain grasped at the clue. Okay, so this guy had called, and she must have inadvertently selected his number from the recent calls list. But who the hell WAS he? Curiosity partnered up with embarrassment.
“Well, I have indeed returned your call,” she said. “I, ah, was wondering what you had to say.”
“Oh, I’ve got lots to say to YOU,” he replied, the voice as smooth as honey. “Although I’d really like to say it in person.”
Lisa chuckled and took a sip of wine. Who WAS this guy!!? Was he for real? She couldn’t think of a clever riposte so stayed quiet.
“Lisa?” the voice persisted. “I heard you chuckle and can hear you thinking over the possibilities. I think we should explore them too. Plus I’d like to wrap my fingers in that long dark hair of yours.”
Lisa set down the wine glass abruptly, with a first flicker of concern. Where had this guy come from? What on earth was the connection? Was Marty setting this up?
She decided to play it a little safe. “Well, you know me; all attached to another guy.”
“I know,” the voice said, “but he doesn’t treat you very well. Abandoning you all night like that, leaving you for others to entertain. I really don’t think this is the man for you, Lisa.” He spoke her name like a caress.
The penny dropped. Last Saturday night at the pub. A little guy with intense eyes had come over and chatted her up while Marty was playing a game or two of pool. She was several sheets to the wind and couldn’t remember much of the conversation, but she recalled thinking that he was a little spooky. One thing for sure is she wouldn’t have given him her phone number.
“You’re making some assumptions, there, my friend,” she said, attempting cool. “And I’ve been wondering, how’d you get my number?”
“Ah, when the wolf wants his prey, there aren’t any obstacles big enough to stop him.” He paused. “Let’s just say I was resourceful. And then I thought to myself, if she doesn’t ring me back, that’s it; no more moves for me. But if she calls, well, that’s a different matter. There’s no stopping us.” The lazy voice took on a harder edge. “So let’s cut the foreplay. I’ll be right over.”
Lisa leapt from her chair, knocking the wine over in the process. “Hold on a minute,” she said. “For one thing, you don’t even know where I live.” She held her breath.
“Baby, baby, of course I do. I followed you home. Your friend stayed the night, but I thought to myself, he won’t be doing that much longer.”
Your friend stayed the night!? – Lisa tried to register the implications of that remark.
“See you in a few minutes,” the voice said, and the line dropped out.
Lisa looked at the phone, paralysed for a moment. Then she fell back into the chair.
A careless curiosity, a careless politeness – carelessness, really, if one were to tell the truth – governed her life. And now it might have placed it at risk.
She rose quickly. She locked the doors and windows and turned out the lights. She called Marty, who answered after seven long rings and finally cut through her panic to say he’d be over as soon as he could. She went into the bathroom, locked the door and settled down to wait.
But it was only moments later when the doorbell rang. She heard the doorknob rattle and a by-now familiar voice called, “Come out, come out, wherever you are. Come on, little Lisa, don’t change your mind. Let’s play.”
Lisa fumbled into her pocket for her phone, which of course wasn’t there. Carelessness.
“I’ll huff and puff and blow your door down,” the voice called.
She heard the sound of a window softly smashing.
Tuesday, 6 October 2009
Life as a Hermit - by Rick
When my friends heard that I was taking a job for 5 months as caretaker at Sunshine Manor, they couldn’t tease me enough. “You must be mad to go up there. No wait! That’s what you’ll come back like.” “Make sure you take your exorcist with you to get rid of all the ghosts.” Those were a couple of their better ones.
But what could I expect? Ever since The Shining anyone who spent time alone in the winter months was going to cop a ribbing. It didn’t help either to point out that (a), Sunshine Manor was a private estate, not a public resort or (b), it was only 3 years old and didn’t have a history of wild and wooly characters that once inhabited it or (c), that no previous caretakers went mad there and chopped up his family or (d), that I was going to be there alone and couldn’t chop anyone up nor be chopped up or (e)…. Well I stopped giving them reasons because it just played into their childish antics. Besides what did I care what others thought about my choice?
Really what could be better? Roland Mathews III, media mogul and multibillionaire would actually PAY me to watch over his estate high up in the Rockies over the winter freeze. The place came with electric power with 2 backup generator systems, satellite internet and phone systems, 14 bedrooms, 16 bathrooms, a heated pool and spa, a kitchen with a walk in fridge and freezer bigger than my current flat and so on. And all I had to do was watch over it, make sure no pipes froze over, keep animals from breaking in and messing it up, keep the place vacuumed and clean, like that. I could do whatever I wanted in my spare time and was supplied with enough food to last me for more than a year. And if I didn’t report in every day it would be assumed that something bad had happened to me and a helicopter would be flown in. Sounded to me like Mr. Mathews had all the bases covered for any emergency. And the 5 months sounded like more than enough for me to get my novel finished.
……………..
Well half a month to go and I sure showed my “friends”. Who’s laughing now Freddy? I’ll admit the first couple of months were hard. Lots of boredom. Lots of loneliness. But then I got into the groove. Regular surfing on the internet, writing each day in my book, making new friends. Suddenly it all fell into place. I sent my novel off to seven different publishing houses yesterday. It’s bound to set off a bidding war I’m sure. Imagine an 813 page novel without a single consonant! I’m sure it’s never been done before. Mickey read it over before I sent it out (he’s my inspiration for it) and said it was destined to be a classic. (But then what does a mouse know? He’s just being nice because we’re friends. Oh, I’m just being overly modest! He’s right!)
Well I better think about getting ready for leaving here. I’ve got to place the order for the fertilizer and bleach. And I’ll have to get a plan in place for having a bath and maybe even shaving. I’m not sure what Mr. Matthews is going to think about Mickey and his family. I told him to keep them all in the guest room, but the youngsters had minds of their own and now are all over the place. Boy they sure did chew up the books! That library will never be the same. (Big deal! Most of those books were over 100 years old anyway.)
Enough thinking. I’m getting a headache again. I’ll have one last look at my emails to see if any contracts came through for the novel and then off for my usual 2 a.m. nap.
But what could I expect? Ever since The Shining anyone who spent time alone in the winter months was going to cop a ribbing. It didn’t help either to point out that (a), Sunshine Manor was a private estate, not a public resort or (b), it was only 3 years old and didn’t have a history of wild and wooly characters that once inhabited it or (c), that no previous caretakers went mad there and chopped up his family or (d), that I was going to be there alone and couldn’t chop anyone up nor be chopped up or (e)…. Well I stopped giving them reasons because it just played into their childish antics. Besides what did I care what others thought about my choice?
Really what could be better? Roland Mathews III, media mogul and multibillionaire would actually PAY me to watch over his estate high up in the Rockies over the winter freeze. The place came with electric power with 2 backup generator systems, satellite internet and phone systems, 14 bedrooms, 16 bathrooms, a heated pool and spa, a kitchen with a walk in fridge and freezer bigger than my current flat and so on. And all I had to do was watch over it, make sure no pipes froze over, keep animals from breaking in and messing it up, keep the place vacuumed and clean, like that. I could do whatever I wanted in my spare time and was supplied with enough food to last me for more than a year. And if I didn’t report in every day it would be assumed that something bad had happened to me and a helicopter would be flown in. Sounded to me like Mr. Mathews had all the bases covered for any emergency. And the 5 months sounded like more than enough for me to get my novel finished.
……………..
Well half a month to go and I sure showed my “friends”. Who’s laughing now Freddy? I’ll admit the first couple of months were hard. Lots of boredom. Lots of loneliness. But then I got into the groove. Regular surfing on the internet, writing each day in my book, making new friends. Suddenly it all fell into place. I sent my novel off to seven different publishing houses yesterday. It’s bound to set off a bidding war I’m sure. Imagine an 813 page novel without a single consonant! I’m sure it’s never been done before. Mickey read it over before I sent it out (he’s my inspiration for it) and said it was destined to be a classic. (But then what does a mouse know? He’s just being nice because we’re friends. Oh, I’m just being overly modest! He’s right!)
Well I better think about getting ready for leaving here. I’ve got to place the order for the fertilizer and bleach. And I’ll have to get a plan in place for having a bath and maybe even shaving. I’m not sure what Mr. Matthews is going to think about Mickey and his family. I told him to keep them all in the guest room, but the youngsters had minds of their own and now are all over the place. Boy they sure did chew up the books! That library will never be the same. (Big deal! Most of those books were over 100 years old anyway.)
Enough thinking. I’m getting a headache again. I’ll have one last look at my emails to see if any contracts came through for the novel and then off for my usual 2 a.m. nap.
Finding peace (by Heather)
Write about your experience of life as a hermit.
I have been a hermit for 336 days now.
Time doesn’t have the same grip on me that it used to, but my one concession has been to keep track of the days. This morning I pencilled the 336th stroke on the laundry room wall.
I am sitting on my little cobblestone patio, watching the sun head quickly toward the horizon. Today is a particularly red sunset. The hills are glowing, the river in the distance burns red. I almost dare to look directly at the sun.
I review my day today: I rose at 5:00 and made tea while the birds cranked up their day as well. I did a half hour of yoga, then chopped up some fruit and had breakfast. I visited with the lorikeets at the bird feeder while topping up the apples and seed. I checked the seedlings in the garden and watered them. I drove down to the ocean and walked the beach an hour each way. I stained the bird house I built yesterday. I scrubbed the cottage floor even though it didn’t need it. A day much like every other in most respects.
The sun has disappeared. A sigh escapes me. I glance at the paper lying on the bench beside me. I pick it up again, and reread the short letter from my daughter, picked up from the mail box this morning.
Dear Mum,
I assume all is well, as I haven’t heard anything from you. I know I promised I wouldn’t disturb your hermitage, but I wanted you to know that…well, how else to say it!? – I’m pregnant. With only 3 months to go. I caught myself WADDLING in the shop window the other day. All is going well with Greg – better than you thought it would!
I don’t expect you to help, Mum. I don’t expect anything, but I realised I really wanted you to know.
Love you,
Carolyn
I catch myself smiling while I envision Carolyn waddling.
This was not the only big thing that happened today. This afternoon (after a couple weeks of procrastination), I phoned to get the results from the long trip to visit my oncologist (that after several months of procrastination).
“Nothing but good news, Julia,” he’d said when he came on the line. “You’re in great shape. You’re in complete remission.”
I sigh deeply again. It’s been quite a day, really. More of a day than a hermit should have to put up with.
I gather up the letter and move into the house. I lean against the door, then go to the bedroom where I reach under the bed and haul out the antique oval mirror from where I stashed it 335 days ago. I sit on the bed with it and inspect the image as objectively as I can. I see a face with a few more wrinkles than when I last peered at it; I see choppy shoulder length hair, long since grown out of its cut, with several inches of salt and pepper followed by its more familiar layer of dark brown. I’m surprised by the colour in the face and an unfamiliar serenity in the eyes.
I mount the mirror on the wall where it used to live, and step outside again. It’s still light enough that I can see, just across the fence from me, a brown cow with a white face walking slowly along the fence line, followed by a miniature version of herself. The calf, probably just a few days old, runs to catch up, then soon forgets itself again and stops to scratch itself with a back leg. It peers in my direction before frolicking off again towards its mother.
The pair disappears behind the trees. I go back inside and draw the curtains against the gathering dark. I walk swiftly to the spare bedroom and drag the big old suitcase off the top of the wardrobe. My heart is thumping.
The 337th day will be something different.
I have been a hermit for 336 days now.
Time doesn’t have the same grip on me that it used to, but my one concession has been to keep track of the days. This morning I pencilled the 336th stroke on the laundry room wall.
I am sitting on my little cobblestone patio, watching the sun head quickly toward the horizon. Today is a particularly red sunset. The hills are glowing, the river in the distance burns red. I almost dare to look directly at the sun.
I review my day today: I rose at 5:00 and made tea while the birds cranked up their day as well. I did a half hour of yoga, then chopped up some fruit and had breakfast. I visited with the lorikeets at the bird feeder while topping up the apples and seed. I checked the seedlings in the garden and watered them. I drove down to the ocean and walked the beach an hour each way. I stained the bird house I built yesterday. I scrubbed the cottage floor even though it didn’t need it. A day much like every other in most respects.
The sun has disappeared. A sigh escapes me. I glance at the paper lying on the bench beside me. I pick it up again, and reread the short letter from my daughter, picked up from the mail box this morning.
Dear Mum,
I assume all is well, as I haven’t heard anything from you. I know I promised I wouldn’t disturb your hermitage, but I wanted you to know that…well, how else to say it!? – I’m pregnant. With only 3 months to go. I caught myself WADDLING in the shop window the other day. All is going well with Greg – better than you thought it would!
I don’t expect you to help, Mum. I don’t expect anything, but I realised I really wanted you to know.
Love you,
Carolyn
I catch myself smiling while I envision Carolyn waddling.
This was not the only big thing that happened today. This afternoon (after a couple weeks of procrastination), I phoned to get the results from the long trip to visit my oncologist (that after several months of procrastination).
“Nothing but good news, Julia,” he’d said when he came on the line. “You’re in great shape. You’re in complete remission.”
I sigh deeply again. It’s been quite a day, really. More of a day than a hermit should have to put up with.
I gather up the letter and move into the house. I lean against the door, then go to the bedroom where I reach under the bed and haul out the antique oval mirror from where I stashed it 335 days ago. I sit on the bed with it and inspect the image as objectively as I can. I see a face with a few more wrinkles than when I last peered at it; I see choppy shoulder length hair, long since grown out of its cut, with several inches of salt and pepper followed by its more familiar layer of dark brown. I’m surprised by the colour in the face and an unfamiliar serenity in the eyes.
I mount the mirror on the wall where it used to live, and step outside again. It’s still light enough that I can see, just across the fence from me, a brown cow with a white face walking slowly along the fence line, followed by a miniature version of herself. The calf, probably just a few days old, runs to catch up, then soon forgets itself again and stops to scratch itself with a back leg. It peers in my direction before frolicking off again towards its mother.
The pair disappears behind the trees. I go back inside and draw the curtains against the gathering dark. I walk swiftly to the spare bedroom and drag the big old suitcase off the top of the wardrobe. My heart is thumping.
The 337th day will be something different.
Oldsmobile Triptych (by Heather)
Begin your story with: "The car door is slammed shut ..."
JUNE.
The car door is slammed shut and the brand new robin’s egg blue 1955 Oldsmobile leaps to life. My cousin Kathie presses her nose against the glass and crosses her eyes at me. I can’t help giggling, though I’m already feeling sad that she’s leaving and I won’t see her for another two weeks. Beside her, Susan, Lyndsay and Bob bounce around jockeying for position on the back seat. Uncle Jack is driving and Aunt Ellen is holding baby Norman. John disappears into his position on the floor of the back seat and little Ralph wriggles in his spot on the back window shelf. Theresa, who’s the oldest and the biggest, sits in the front between her mum and dad.
My dad’s hand is on my shoulder. Grandpa and Grandma stand beside us, and we’re all waving goodbye as the car pulls out of the driveway and accelerates down the dirt road toward the city. Uncle Jack loves a little speed and he wants to show off his new car.
My nine cousins come out from the city two or three times a month, especially during the summer. They have a big plot in my grandparent’s garden, to help feed all those mouths, as my mother says. I love it because I’m an only child (until recently) and it’s lonesome in the country sometimes.
As we’re turning away getting back to normal, there is a thump and we all turn to look as the door to the outhouse opens – and out comes Christine, next youngest after Kathie. We all look at each other in alarm. Christine hasn’t figured out the problem yet, and she’s concentrating on her zipper at the same time as trying to carry a handful of dandelions.
Dad breaks out of our freeze and swings into action. He runs to her, grabs her, tosses her into his car and floors it down the driveway. You can see her face trying to decide whether to cry or not. Whether his old Ford can catch the Oldsmobile is another question but Dad’ll give it a go!
JULY.
The last car door is slammed shut. Everybody has exploded out of the Olds, as you would after spending over an hour in the car with 10 other people. My grandfather and I are the receiving party this time. As I look around for Kathie, I slowly become aware of an agonised wail. We all stop what we’re doing and look at the source of the sound. There’s Kathie, tight up against the car, with a huge scream building up and slowly releasing itself. I’m the first to notice that, while the rest of her is all out of the car, her middle finger is still stuck in the door near the hinge. Uncle Jack leaps to action and opens the door while Aunt Ellen grabs Kathie and holds her hand out for inspection. That finger looks completely smushed to me. The three of them hop back in the car and head off for the doctor’s in Tomahawk, a few miles from where we live.
I can’t believe what I’ve just seen. Everything about Kathie is perfect. She has perfect blond hair, and perfect clothes, and a perfect laugh and is perfectly beautiful. I can’t believe that she’s not going to be perfect any more.
AUGUST.
The car door is slammed shut. This time it’s me on the inside, at the window, where I’ve been given the place of honour as the special guest going into the city for a holiday with my cousins. My dad and mum are standing outside the window waving. Mum is holding my baby brother Paul. I felt so excited a moment ago, and was so impatient to be off, and suddenly the bottom drops out of my stomach and I’m feeling completely forlorn. I put a big smile on my face and wave furiously at Paul and my parents, and at Grandma and Grandpa. John, on the floor at my feet, is crabbing at me to get my feet out of his face. Christine and Susan are arguing about whose turn it is to sit next to Bob, who gets to sit by the window. Uncle Jack shouts in his huge voice, “All of you, shut up,” and there isn’t a sound in the car. I feel lost inside this big family. The week stretching ahead has never seemed so long.
JUNE.
The car door is slammed shut and the brand new robin’s egg blue 1955 Oldsmobile leaps to life. My cousin Kathie presses her nose against the glass and crosses her eyes at me. I can’t help giggling, though I’m already feeling sad that she’s leaving and I won’t see her for another two weeks. Beside her, Susan, Lyndsay and Bob bounce around jockeying for position on the back seat. Uncle Jack is driving and Aunt Ellen is holding baby Norman. John disappears into his position on the floor of the back seat and little Ralph wriggles in his spot on the back window shelf. Theresa, who’s the oldest and the biggest, sits in the front between her mum and dad.
My dad’s hand is on my shoulder. Grandpa and Grandma stand beside us, and we’re all waving goodbye as the car pulls out of the driveway and accelerates down the dirt road toward the city. Uncle Jack loves a little speed and he wants to show off his new car.
My nine cousins come out from the city two or three times a month, especially during the summer. They have a big plot in my grandparent’s garden, to help feed all those mouths, as my mother says. I love it because I’m an only child (until recently) and it’s lonesome in the country sometimes.
As we’re turning away getting back to normal, there is a thump and we all turn to look as the door to the outhouse opens – and out comes Christine, next youngest after Kathie. We all look at each other in alarm. Christine hasn’t figured out the problem yet, and she’s concentrating on her zipper at the same time as trying to carry a handful of dandelions.
Dad breaks out of our freeze and swings into action. He runs to her, grabs her, tosses her into his car and floors it down the driveway. You can see her face trying to decide whether to cry or not. Whether his old Ford can catch the Oldsmobile is another question but Dad’ll give it a go!
JULY.
The last car door is slammed shut. Everybody has exploded out of the Olds, as you would after spending over an hour in the car with 10 other people. My grandfather and I are the receiving party this time. As I look around for Kathie, I slowly become aware of an agonised wail. We all stop what we’re doing and look at the source of the sound. There’s Kathie, tight up against the car, with a huge scream building up and slowly releasing itself. I’m the first to notice that, while the rest of her is all out of the car, her middle finger is still stuck in the door near the hinge. Uncle Jack leaps to action and opens the door while Aunt Ellen grabs Kathie and holds her hand out for inspection. That finger looks completely smushed to me. The three of them hop back in the car and head off for the doctor’s in Tomahawk, a few miles from where we live.
I can’t believe what I’ve just seen. Everything about Kathie is perfect. She has perfect blond hair, and perfect clothes, and a perfect laugh and is perfectly beautiful. I can’t believe that she’s not going to be perfect any more.
AUGUST.
The car door is slammed shut. This time it’s me on the inside, at the window, where I’ve been given the place of honour as the special guest going into the city for a holiday with my cousins. My dad and mum are standing outside the window waving. Mum is holding my baby brother Paul. I felt so excited a moment ago, and was so impatient to be off, and suddenly the bottom drops out of my stomach and I’m feeling completely forlorn. I put a big smile on my face and wave furiously at Paul and my parents, and at Grandma and Grandpa. John, on the floor at my feet, is crabbing at me to get my feet out of his face. Christine and Susan are arguing about whose turn it is to sit next to Bob, who gets to sit by the window. Uncle Jack shouts in his huge voice, “All of you, shut up,” and there isn’t a sound in the car. I feel lost inside this big family. The week stretching ahead has never seemed so long.
Sunday, 4 October 2009
Sickness may be catching (Kerry)
The car door slammed shut in my face. His last words rang in my ears, competing with the tinnitus that usually has over-riding power in that area.
“That’s it. I’m outta here. I’m getting rid of the stupid things,” he had shouted at me.
He had spoken with such vehemence that his spittle splashed onto my cheek. I recoiled, shocked by his uncalled-for tirade, and pushed myself hard against the driver’s door in an attempt to avoid any more spit. I thought of the germs that must surely be dripping down my face as I waited for his next volley of rage. I am very particular about hygiene and specially avoid contamination from body fluids. My bottle of anti-bacterial lotion was in the glove box by his knee and therefore out of my reach at this time. I would be all right as long as I didn’t lick my lips. I sat tight-lipped, wishing he would come good with his promise and just get out of the car.
But he sat there in the passenger’s seat fuming with anger. His fat, white hands were working furiously with one another, twisting, pressing against his knees, squeezing together. They reminded me of the ‘stupid things’ he had threatened to rip so violently from my care. Squirming live things, crawling over each other blindly, pressing down on each other. I had to look away. I could feel my stomach begin to turn.
“You tell anyone, you’ll be sorry. Don’t think I won’t be watching you,” he had added.
This time his voice had dropped ominously, sliding, hissing across the car seat between us. I felt dirtied by the hate in his words. They had a bitter, poisonous smell. I reacted instinctively by brushing something off my skirt, not wanting to have his poison settle on me. Nevertheless I nodded furiously, unable to open my mouth but acknowledging that I understood. He apparently took my response as acquiescence to something he had said and smiled grimly. It was a moment of comparative relaxation and I allowed myself to settle back into the seat a little. The door handle had been pressing sharply into my hip, aggravating my chronic bursitis. I needed relief from the pain.
Seeing me relax, however imperceptibly, seemed to aggravate him again. He leaned forward and brought his face up close to mine. He was sneering aggressively. I pushed back and again the door handle sent a jab of pain into my hip. I could feel his hot breath. He smelled like the drunk he was, reminding me of stale cigarettes and late-nights in the pub. I was repulsed.
“I’m taking them,” he shouted at close range.
He leaned back and undid his seatbelt. Twisting in his seat, he reached over to the back seat and picked up the basket. I heard the faint, nervous mewing. He climbed out of the car. With one last look in, he communicated the full slug of his vicious intent.
The car door slammed shut.
“That’s it. I’m outta here. I’m getting rid of the stupid things,” he had shouted at me.
He had spoken with such vehemence that his spittle splashed onto my cheek. I recoiled, shocked by his uncalled-for tirade, and pushed myself hard against the driver’s door in an attempt to avoid any more spit. I thought of the germs that must surely be dripping down my face as I waited for his next volley of rage. I am very particular about hygiene and specially avoid contamination from body fluids. My bottle of anti-bacterial lotion was in the glove box by his knee and therefore out of my reach at this time. I would be all right as long as I didn’t lick my lips. I sat tight-lipped, wishing he would come good with his promise and just get out of the car.
But he sat there in the passenger’s seat fuming with anger. His fat, white hands were working furiously with one another, twisting, pressing against his knees, squeezing together. They reminded me of the ‘stupid things’ he had threatened to rip so violently from my care. Squirming live things, crawling over each other blindly, pressing down on each other. I had to look away. I could feel my stomach begin to turn.
“You tell anyone, you’ll be sorry. Don’t think I won’t be watching you,” he had added.
This time his voice had dropped ominously, sliding, hissing across the car seat between us. I felt dirtied by the hate in his words. They had a bitter, poisonous smell. I reacted instinctively by brushing something off my skirt, not wanting to have his poison settle on me. Nevertheless I nodded furiously, unable to open my mouth but acknowledging that I understood. He apparently took my response as acquiescence to something he had said and smiled grimly. It was a moment of comparative relaxation and I allowed myself to settle back into the seat a little. The door handle had been pressing sharply into my hip, aggravating my chronic bursitis. I needed relief from the pain.
Seeing me relax, however imperceptibly, seemed to aggravate him again. He leaned forward and brought his face up close to mine. He was sneering aggressively. I pushed back and again the door handle sent a jab of pain into my hip. I could feel his hot breath. He smelled like the drunk he was, reminding me of stale cigarettes and late-nights in the pub. I was repulsed.
“I’m taking them,” he shouted at close range.
He leaned back and undid his seatbelt. Twisting in his seat, he reached over to the back seat and picked up the basket. I heard the faint, nervous mewing. He climbed out of the car. With one last look in, he communicated the full slug of his vicious intent.
The car door slammed shut.
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