Brussel Sprouts

Why does everyone hate Brussel sprouts?

I was a good little girl. When I was told to eat up my vegetables, I ate up my vegetables. And I don’t think there is one that I don’t like. I acquired a taste for them all, you might say.

Unfortunately, no one in this house, apart from me, likes Brussel sprouts so it’s almost pointless having them at meal times.

But I am bloody well having them on Christmas Day no matter what the rest of them want.

Just thinking out menus.

And beginning my online shopping. Whee! Christmas is coming. Now I’m in the mood! 🙂

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Santa’s Little Shopper

In quieter moments, calm descends and peace prevails.

Time slows down, actions terminate and silence hails.

A blessing on an eve of pleasant pastimes,

Moments stretch and fill, a sweeter lifeline

To all the busy days that lie ahead,

Reposed, reclining now upon my bed.

 

December’s come and Christmas days are looming,

Excitement builds in kids, their faces blooming.

Activity so manic, all things pending,

Trees and decorations, all that spending

Time in frantic towns, in busy stores.

I’m really not excited yet. It bores.

 

To think of shopping really is no pleasure,

I’m gonna cheat and really will endeavour

To buy the pressies all upon the ‘net.

I hope I can achieve my aim. And yet,

There is a little frisson of a thrill

To join the hub. I maybe will.

 

But only for a day or two near Christmas.

Until then I’ll shop online and bypass

All the feet and sweating bods and trains.

I’m good at panic shopping! That’s my aim.

Achieve so many stockings full of wonder

But do it from my bed, no fear of blunder.

 

It’s not Bah! Humbug! to avoid

All the bizz and too much hectic noise.

I just prefer a calmer sort of retail

Where I can browse online and never fail

To buy the stuff. I have to make a list.

I’ll even check it twice in case Santa’s missed

 

Any sort of person that needs giving.

With kids, so many friends all need serving.

A token for the neighbours, this as well.

I’d really better start. Oh, bloody hell!

I do this every year. It’s how I am.

I wait and then I rush and try to jam

 

A month of work into a couple of days.

You’d think by now I’d learn that planning pays.

But no, it’s true, I never can be arsed

To start Christmas any earlier. What a farce

I feel it is to bring it so far forward.

I’ll get there just the same. You mark my words.

 

Video reading Santa’s Little Shopper

Birds And Then Some

So, there’s a bird that speaks

And it’s not a parrot.

Never deigns to repeat,

How boring would that be?

This bird has wisdom borne of measure

And knows sweet sentimental songs.

Many witness this bird’s tweet

And hope to emulate its truth.

This bird, however, fears morning’s song

And wants to sing the whole night long.

Alas, this flighty creature flew

Into abyss and then it grew

Enormous wings

Of such proportion

Diluted by another portion.

And dulled the sense therein.

Such bird has weekday to embrace

It’s faltering and shy of face.

Another bird may do as well,

Or other creature

That may swell

Emotions’ heart

And flighty song.

Such as those I do not seek,

I like the bird that has a beak.

Brian knows the answer true,

His answer is a teacher,

Soother.

Others here have self-confessed

That addled brain

Knows what is best

To chill and to remember when

A Friday comes round once again.

So, fortunate the heart that finds

That no bird is required,

I doff, I laugh, I seek your name,

Truly, you’re admired.

For fortune finds

A friend in you

And, I believe this happiness true,

Except for one teeny ….

Observation

That all trains stop

At my station.

This busyness I cannot thole

And so I seek another goal;

Oblivion, a chore for some

Sometimes, I like the brain that’s numb.

As Diamonds

I count them carefully

And gather close these treasures,

Old and new alike.

Antiquity and modern.

Scents of valued familiarity

Mingled in form with fresh.

They seem from the same

Rich seam

Of ore.

Mined for worth,

Pressed and tested by years

Of pressure,

Carbon, as diamonds.

Friends.

A Gamble

It’s too late in the morning for reason.

No excuse seems valid to me.

You dealt your cards, now use them.

Cheating can never be free.

There’s a tax on your woeful behaviour,

A poll to pay; you won’t pass.

There are dues you had to consider,

If you wanted our union to last.

The thrill you had in your dealings,

The hand, to me, that you dealt,

No thought considered the feelings.

Was it worth it for all that you felt?

I’ve thrown my cards on the table,

I relinquish the stakes that I bet,

I’ll take my pot to a different casino.

You stay with the one that you met.

Everything has to be paid for,

All gambles, consider the odds.

Luck, in life and at tables,

Lies in the lap of the gods.

The above is not a reflection on my relationship, as someone expressed concern that a previous one was. It is a combination of imagination and knowledge of people close to me who have had experience of the above.

An Illicit Pleasure

Back and forth,

Up in the air,

Stomach somersaulting.

Stolen treats

On children’s swing,

Heart to mouth pole-vaulting.

 

Someone comes.

It’s not a kid.

The parkie’s on his way.

Jump off fast before you’re caught.

That really made my day.

 

Gasping air,

Knees to chin.

No wonder kiddies love it.

So much better being on board

Than standing by to shove it.

Two Pet-Hates

I stood in dog shit the other day. Well, slid, more like. Fortunately, there were no deep treads on my shoes so I didn’t have to do the whole ‘scraping-it-out-with-a-stick’ kind of thing.

But, what is it with some dog owners?

If I can go armed with my poop bags, why can’t they? It’s so inconsiderate.

Your dog. Your dog’s shit. CLEAN IT UP.

Have you ever tried removing dog kack from the wheels of a pram. Totally, boak-worthy. Gag reflex goes into overdrive. I’m gagging just thinking about it. So, I’ll move on. Boak!

Litter louts. That’s another crowd who get on my wick.

Parents who stand around and blab while their kids drop sweetie wrappers at their feet. Don’t the parents notice? Or care?

Patrons – adults and children alike –  from chip shops and takeaways who drop greasy papers and cartons on the ground.

Do they live here? If so, don’t muck up your own home ground.

And, if you don’t live here, don’t shit in my kennel!

Three Funerals and an Afternoon Tea

That’s probably not going to make a great title for a film. There wouldn’t be too many laughs in it either.

This week past I attended the funeral Mass of a young man. Fifty-five is young when you’re fifty-two.

In the last year, this is the third death of someone young that I’ve known.

I wasn’t close to any of them but they had each come into my life at different points. They were each local, they were each about the same age. They each died alone. Completely alone.

They had loving family. Families who cared about them and wanted to help them. They were each beyond reach of help.

Two died alone at home. One ensured he would be found. They died, directly or indirectly, by their own hand. Their choices and circumstances led them to an early death.

Their families grieve the loss of one they could not help, despite love reaching out to do so.

Such a waste.

One I will remember by a piece of his art that hangs on my living-room wall.

Another, I will remember each day I pass her house.

The last I will remember from a dance as a teen.

I knew them all in better days, in a carefree past.

Whatever troubles life brought to them, they were too much.

And the afternoon tea?

Well, today, my husband and I went for a champagne afternoon tea that had been purchased last year for our silver wedding anniversary as one of the gifts from our seven gorgeous kids. The other gifts were enjoyed almost immediately. This voucher has lain for nearly a year, almost on the point of expiry. Finding the time to use it always just out of reach.

We made time today to use it. For a few hours we had time for just the two of us. We reminisced, we laughed. We talked about our children – that’s inevitable. We made a few plans. Some may happen. Some may not.

Our weeks unfold, one upon the other. There are glad days and gladder days. There are sad days and sadder ones still.

We live, we work, we love. We reach out to each other, as a couple, as a family.

Sometimes, that is enough.

And, sometimes, it is not.