THE ARTIST

Let me paint a picture in words:….my imagination is my canvas and language my paint:


THE ARTIST

The colours: gentle moods with silent hues,
Passionate reds and brooding blues:
A backdrop of lifetime’s mopes,
Past, present and future hopes.

Brush: dancing on parchment …deliberation,
Staring at its master in anticipation.
Submissively it oozes its paint
Tentatively, touching with scarring taint.

Background music honors memories
Some are sad, some a pleasure
Rhythmically, wistfully in the breeze
Holding my artistic measure.

Melting moments of chocolate…
Wafting flavours in my nose
Savouring, pondering my work takes form.
Look at the creation… wriggle my toes.

The work; a sleep of a thousand sighs
And moments mentioned to tearful eyes.
I command the skies and twiddle the landscape…
And finally settle in silent slumber.

(CAM 20June2008)

A ROUND TUIT

How often do we put off that irritating task…”I’ll do it when I get around to it!”? My own experience is that often that task simply never gets done. It hangs around the attic of our mental ‘to do’ list, gathering layers of dust and eventually fading into obscurity.

Some time ago, I was shopping for a present for a person who ‘had everything’ – I’m sure you know the feeling; the endless trudging around a shopping centre in the hope that something will just jump out at you.

At a time when my legs were almost deserting me I walked into a crafters’ shop. The display was marvelous, such creativity! On a remote shelf, there it was – the perfect gift – a small round cushion with a label; the ‘TUIT’.

On the back of the label was the explanation: “For the procrastinator:- A product that will eliminate all excuses – the ROUND TUIT! - For that special person who promises they will do something when they get a ROUND TUIT.”

I bought the ROUND TUIT that day and gave it to that special person, but alas – we don’t have one in our house and the excuse remains…”I will eventually get around to it!”

SAVING WATER

SAVING WATER

Most newlyweds will know that the first few of months of married life presents the task of working out the division of roles and household chores. 25 years ago, my husband and I were doing just that. He developed a really endearing habit in his routine of bringing me a cup of tea or coffee in bed first thing in the morning.

His own experience, in those first few months, however, was rather alarming since he was convinced that his coffee tasted like rubber. He analysed his routine very carefully; checked the kettle, the milk, the coffee and the mug but the irritating taste of rubber could not be identified. Indeed, he even bought a new kettle in the vain attempt to avert the taste. Eventually he resolved that it must be something in the pipes in our flat. Either way, the distaste was there to stay.

I, on the other hand, didn’t notice anything unusual. I had grown up on a farm where water was scarce and we saved every drop we could. Complaints about the taste of water were out of place. Indeed our water on the farm often tasted like rubber, so the rubbery taste in the flat wasn’t unusual at all from my point of view.

Those first winter months of our married life were very cold and one of our treats was the nightly hot water bottle. I would boil the kettle in the evening and fill the bottle lovingly before retiring to bed.

One Saturday morning, my husband slept in and I decided to reverse the treat and give him a cup of coffee in bed. I duly trotted off to the kitchen, clutching the hot water bottle. I checked the water level of the kettle and seeing that it was fairly empty, carefully opened the stopper of the hot water bottle and poured the water into the kettle.

It was at that point that my husband walked into the kitchen a saw what I was doing. After a whole year, he had found the source of the rubbery taste in his coffee:- his wife in the thoughtful attempt at ‘saving water’ had unthinkingly been emptying the water from the hot water bottle into the kettle each morning. At last the mystery of the rubbery taste was solved. I, however, have never lived this story down. It has been a constant joke in our family. “Visitors beware – our coffee tastes like rubber!”