Santa Claus Took Our Mother

We have been very naughty for our parents.

Disobedient.

Yelled at our mother.

We had nearly driven her round the bend.

Caused disharmony between our parents.

Our mother had started to withdraw from everyone.

We annoyed her all the time to have our own way.

We had bicycles but we were reckless when riding them. Careless with their care.

We didn't appreciate the presents we were given.

Our mother could see what we were doing and warned us to keep off of the road. To stay in our own yard but we never listened to her. When she wasn't watching we rode out of the yard and down the road.

Most days, we were away for hours, never telling her where we were going. Or asking if we were allowed to go. Or tell her how long we would be.

Never a day went past without us grumbling, or fighting. We didn't let her have a moment's peace. She tried to get us to share our toys, and books. No. Not us. We wanted everything our way.

She gave up on us.

She kept mumbling, “Fight on. I hate peace.”

We were well fed but we were never satisfied. Each of us sneaked food from the cupboards, and fridge, when she wasn't looking. Things like biscuits, lollies, chips, and anything else we like to eat. When she came to find them to share between us all, the food was missing.

She was disillusioned with all of us.

On occasions, we sneaked away with her perfume, jeweler  or anything else we knew we were not suppose to have. She seemed to know when things were missing. That was something we could never work out. We believed she had a sixth sense. We even helped ourselves to the money in her purse. She knew. We all tried to lie our way out of trouble, or blame someone else because we didn't want to take the blame.

Our mother tried to tell us what we were doing wrong but we never listened.

We believed we knew better than our parents did.

What we were told seemed to flow in one ear, and out the other. None of the advice sinking in.

We thought we were grown up. Yet, we hadn't reached double figures.

We wanted our own way.

Doing what we wanted without any thought for the consequences.

We began to hate our parents because we thought they didn't want us to have any fun.

When we were asked to clean out rooms, or do other small jobs, this task was too much trouble for us.

We'd start to fool around.

Start a fight to make her mad with us so we'd be sent outside to play.

That is what we had planned.

Work was not a word which applied to us.

“Ah, gee. Work, work, work. Mother, don't you think we need some time to play,” grumbled Serena.

“Yeah. Know what you mean. Make your bed. Clean the room,” Julie mimicked her mother.

Peter began to throw toys around from where he sat on top of the wardrobe.

“Mum. Peter won't help us,” squealed Julie, dodging a toy.

Within seconds there was an all out war with children screaming, and yelling. Our mother came to the door to see what we were doing.

“I know you don't want to do the work that's why you started the fight. You lunch will be late today, because I will have extra work to do now to clean up your mess. Out you go.” Our over worked mother began to clean the room.

She hadn't yelled at us. Just calmly told us what to expect.

Many times when our mother was upset with us she cried.

We didn't care.

With all of her worry she became sick.

The doctor told her it was due to nervous tension.

There came a change in her attitude.

She didn't yell at us any more.

Didn't ask us to do our work.

Our mother made sure we were clothed, and fed.

She locked away all her feelings inside so she wouldn't be hurt further.

All weekend, our mother didn't speak to us just kept on doing her work. Meals were set on the table but she didn't call us to come to eat. She allowed us to venture in when we were hungry to find the meal waiting on the table. Most times the food had cooled.

She settled into a calm world of her own. She was switched off from all the troubles of the world. Looked like she had no worries at all. Mum may have been in the house but her mind was miles away.

Our father began to worry.

He knew something was wrong so he began to ask questions.

“Do you children know what is troubling your mother. Have you been doing all the things you have been asked to do?”

We all looked innocent at him.

All five of us looked him in the eye, and lied.

“Yes. We have been doing our work.”

None of us wanted to be in any trouble.

We knew we were safe.

Mother wouldn't spill on us.

We all lied through our teeth to save our own hides.

“There must be some reason she has lost the light of life from her eyes. He love has been replaced with bleakness.” Our father looked puzzled.

One night when we were up to our old trick while our mother washed the dishes, the racket we were making, made her so angry she couldn't stay quiet a moment longer.

She turned toward us with anger in her eyes her silence broken

“Right. I have had enough of your nonsense. You all think you are very smart but you're not. You have done your dash. You won't be receiving any presents for Christmas. I don't think your father buy you any either when I tell him what you all have been doing. I defiantly know Santa Claus won't bring you any presents. I wish Santa Claus would take me to the North Pole. Then we would see who was going to do all the work. Not one of you are ever thankful for what you receive. You can all go to your room, and stay there.”

Her angry eyes flashed at us while she yelled.

She pointed her hunger in the direction of the rooms.

Her finger was like a sword slashing through the air.

We rushed to our room.

Quickly shut the door behind us.

What our mother said to us that night stayed in the back of our minds.

Christmas was coming closer.

Mum still didn't have any Christmas spirit.

She didn't do any cooking for us to have over Christmas.

No present appeared in the house.

On Christmas eve we kicked up a stink.

We made our father so made he lost his temper with us.

Everyone was on the receiving end of his tongue when he lashed out at us.

On Christmas morning, we were out of bed early to see what presents we had received.

Our parents were asleep when we quietly stole from our bedrooms to the lounge room.

We opened all our presents.

We didn't have the decency to thank them for the presents.

We left a paper mess all over the lounge room floor.

All day we didn't worry about helping our parents. Mother worked hard to put lunch on the table but we didn't want to eat. We were too full of the lollies, and chips, from our Christmas stockings.

“You had better eat something now. The food won't be here later when you are feeling hungry,” said our mother.

“We don't want any more,” we complained. Much later we found out our mother had spoken the truth when our stomachs began to ache from all the junk food.

When we were in bed our subconscious mind seemed to tell us,”You children have been very naughty. You have all treated your mother very poorly.” The the speech which our mother had made a while back kept getting louder, swimming around in our minds.

Our stomachs churned around.

The voice of mother kept repeating, “I wish Santa Claus would take me to the North Pole.”

Our dreams were all in a jumble.

We didn't know what was true.

Or what wasn't true.

In our dreams, or were they nightmares.

We woke up on Boxing Day morning to find our mother wasn't there.

We rang everyone we knew to try to find her but no one was able to help.

Our mother had vanished.

What we hadn't found in our panic was the large white envelope under the Christmas tree addressed, “To Whom This May Concern.”

Our father opened the envelope and read the letter to us.

“Dear Children,

I have taken your mother with me. I have had to make a special trip back from the North Pole to collect her because I saw you did not treat her with proper respect. You all have worried her sick this past year. Disobeyed her every wish. Broken all the family rules. Destroyed the love she has for you. Broken the ten commandments. Your mother tried to keep you free from harm but you didn't see it that way. Your eyes were clouded with what your thought you wanted. My elves need someone to look after them. To love them. Maybe now, you will understand what you have lost. When you have changed your ways I will return your mother to you.

Yours Faithfully,

Santa Claus.”

Our father slowly folded the letter.

He stared into space not seeing any of us.

He was disgusted.

We were sad to hear what had been in the letter.

We tried to change our ways.

During the year we received letters from our mother at the North Pole. She told us how much she enjoyed her work with Santa Claus, and his elves. How they appreciated what she did for them.

“Everyone up here is always very happy even when they are working. No one argues. It is a pleasure to work for people who never complain about what I do,” wrote out mother.

Christmas arrived, at last.

We prayed we had been good enough for Santa Claus to return our mother to us.

We decorated the Christmas tree which stood near the fireplace in the lounge room.

We put presents under the Christmas tree for our parents.

There was even a present for Santa Claus.

On Christmas Eve we went to bed early so we'd be awake early to find if our mother had been returned.

We mad sure our rooms were clean, and tidy before going to bed.

On Christmas morning we rushed into the lounge room to see if our mother had been returned.

We all turned as one with sad, sorrowful faces, to return to our bedroom.

We looked into our parent’s bedroom when we were passing.

Mother was in bed cuddle up with our father.

To us, the dream was real.

We woke.

We ran to our parent's bedroom to see if our mother was there. “Mum, Mum,” we yelled as we ran.

“What's wrong. Where's the fire,” our parent's asked, with concern in their voice.

“There's no fire. We had this bad dream Santa Clause had returned last night to take you away,” we all mumbled.

“As you can see I'm still here. What made you have such a dream.”

“The other night you said,'I wish Santa Claus would take you away',” we replied.

“I was only trying to make you understand you have to behave. Not to be nasty all the time. You are old enough to know you should help people, not upset them to have your own way,” our mother told us.

“We will try to be more helpful in the future,” we said. “And we'll eat all our meals.”

“We'll see,” said mother, over the tops of our heads while she cuddled all of us.

The truce didn't last long.

Over the years there were many which were broken.

Even when our mother yelled at us we knew she still loved us all.

She would always be there for us in the good, and the bad, times.

Katie Koala

Have ti improve my photos collection. Didn't have a koala, or a kookaburra. Put in a magpie. One of the ones that squawk until it is given food.

Old Katie Koala live in a forest of Eucalyptus trees.

She couldn't see very well.

Her eyes had been affected with a disease,

She had a knee sense of smell. She was able to smell out the best of the Eucalyptus trees for miles around.

The friend of Katie in her colony tried to keep her away from the stronger, fresher eucalyptus trees because they knew she couldn't handle the taste of the stronger variety of leaves.

Every so often Katie wandered away on her own. Followed the scent of the eucalyptus on the wind. She made her way to the better trees. No matter what danger stood in her way, Katie pressed on to her destination.

She struggled like an olden day adventurer to reach her goal.

No cats or dogs.

No people or cars.

Were going to stop Katie from reaching the place she wanted to be.

What she couldn't see she didn't fear.

On arriving at the trees, Katie climbed up the nearest tree to munch away all night on the tasty leave before trying to find her way home.

This time Katie took a wrong turn.

She didn't make her way back to her colony before the sun began it ascent over the horizon.

Katie Koala struggled her way up the nearest tree to sleep. She tried to settle in the fork of the tree but the branch seemed to have a life of its own. The branch wouldn't stay still. Must be a strong wind, tonight, thought Katie, he mind foggy.

“Ooophs,” sang Katie. “The world is spinning around. And around. I'm going to fall off.”

Katie dug her claws into the bark of the branch of the tall tree. She hung on for dear life.

“Hello,” said Katie, when she was game enough to open her eyes. “Who are you. Hic. What're you doing in my tree. Hic.”

There came no answer. Katie blinked her blurry, double vision eyes. She could still see a long line of koalas sitting in her tree.

“Okay. So you don't want to talk to me. Hic. Would you like to hear me sing. Hic. I like to sing.”

Katie still didn't receive a response from her questions.

“Okay, guys. You asked for this. Hic.”

“Ten fuzzy koalas sitting in a tree,” Katie began. “If I was to push one of you there should be nine left plus me.” Katie pushed with her leg to be rid of one of the ten koalas. When she blinked all the koalas were still there. The fuzzy shapes hadn't moved.

“Would you like me to tell you a story. Hic. I know plenty of storied. Hic.”

No one spoke to Katie Koala. She She believed she had found a good crowd of listeners. Katie decided to tell them a story.

Many, many years past, something happened to the earth.

It turned on the axis to a one hundred and eighty degree angle to the right.

Everyone on the planet became confused.

They never made to where they should have been going. No one knew which way was which.

When time came for Santa Claus to do his Christmas present run, the reindeer became confused. They were used to going the same way every year. This time their radar was out of focus. Santa Claus dropped the wrong presents at the wrong homes.

On Christmas morning the children woke to open their presents from Santa Clause. There were no presents for them. The presents had strange name written on them The presents given by families, and friend, were the only gifts they were able to open.

The world was in an uproar.

Santa Clause had lost his marbles.

He's had too much eggnog before he set out to deliver the presents.

The reindeer were too old. Had they become forgetful.

Had they lost their way.

The reindeer should be put out to pasture. Younger ones trained to do the present run.

The stardust was contaminated which confused the reindeer.

Many children were in tears.

Were inconsolable all day.

Wouldn't eat their lunch.

Something had to be done to console the children and to put Santa Claus back on the most popular guy list.

Urgent messages were sent to Santa Clause to tell him of the mess he had made. He had to fix the problem this very night.

Mary Claus woke her husband to tell him what he had done. The world was made with him. Mary Claus had to call on their sons, Jed, Chris, and Sam, to come to help sort out the mess. The elves would have to travel in each sleigh to sort the presents to make sure they were delivered to the right children.

As Christmas day was drawing toward evening, each of Santa Claus' sons had a knock on the front door of their homes. Each was handed a parcel by an elf with instructions to put on the Santa suit. He was to then climb into the sleigh parked in the street to be taken to meet with their father.

On arriving at the meeting place, Santa gave Jed, Chris, and Sam, a quarter of the world each to go to where they would retrieve the wrong presents. The compass on each sleigh had been reset. Once the presents had been collected the sons had to return, exchange the presents to go to the right places.

So that year Christmas presents were opened on Boxing day. Santa, his sons, and the elves slept well into the next day. The reindeer were exhausted because this year had been a triple run for some of them. Santa Clause prayed the world wouldn't turn again to upset his Christmas run.

“Hey. What happened,” shouted Katie Koala, scratching her head. “Who hit me.”

Katie shook her head to try to focus on the view. They were still there all of those fuzzy kolas. Now, there were pretty colors, too.

“Which one of you hit me on the head.” Jacky Kookaburra laughed his loudest laugh which echoed in Katie's head.

“Go to sleep,” yelled Jacky Kookaburra. “I need my sleep.”

Jacky Kookaburra, how did you get on the moon. Don't you think the stare look lovely. Such bright colors.”

“We're not on the moon,” yelled Jacky Kookaburra. “You must have bumped your head.”

Katie Kookaburra had received a bump on her head. It was from the stone Jackie had dropped on her head. He did this to try to stop her talking. Prayed she'd go to sleep. Maybe he should go tell her family where to find Katie so they'd come to take her home.

“Wheee. I'm on the moon,” cried Katie. “There's the stars. The rainbow. The shiny thing must be mars.”

Katie bounced on the branch of the tree she was sitting on. She thought she was bouncing on the moon.

Jacky Kookaburra, fed up with the noise decided to fly away to find her family. To tell them where to find her. He'd just taken off when there was a large, crashing sound.

Jacky Kookaburra flew all the faster to find her family to come quick. Katie may have hurt herself when she fell.

Jacky Kookaburra returned with her family.

Katie was rocking back, and forth, where she sat on the broken branch. She was singing very loud.

Over the moon, hic.

Around the stars, hic.

Slide down the rainbow, hic.

An I'm off to Mars, hic.

Katie was having a lovely time.

She was enjoying her party.

She moved slower, and slower, until she toppled to the ground, asleep.

The family knew Katie Koala was asleep because of the loud snoring noise she made.

While Katie Koala was asleep, her family, and animal friends helped carry her home.

“Where am I,” Katie Koala asked, when she woke. She sat holding her head in her paws. “Have I been sick?”

“Must be space-lag,” everyone suggested.

“Space-lag. What's space-lag?”

Everyone began to sing the song now known as 'Old Katie's Song' but it had more words added to it.

Over the moon we go. Around the stars in the sky. Slide down the edge of the rainbow. And we're off to see Mars. Every so often the song echoed through the bush to remind Katie Koala what she had done. A reminder to keep away from the strong Eucalyptus trees.

In The Park

 Angie was positioned on the bench in the park.

She watched the double handful of gosling waddle behind their mother toward the edge of the lake. Their mother was taking them for a swim during the peaceful, early morning, to forage among the reeds for their breakfast.

Alexander, wrapped warmly in a rug sat in his pram. He chuckled. He clapped his hands. Pleasure sparkled from his bronze eyes. His eyes turned to pain when the gosling disappeared from his vision. Tears dribbled down his toffee colored cheeks. Angie leaned forward to lift Alexander from the pram to console him while she wiped away his tears.

Frank sat on the ground beneath the huge tree watching all the early morning people commune with nature. He doubled over with pain in his gut. Pain from the cancer in his body was like a tapeworm making its way through his body cells to turn his body to mush. Frank wished for the end to come. He didn't want to suffer any longer. Her tried to focus his mind to overcome the havoc the cancer had caused. Leaning back against the tree his thoughts returned to the days past when his body had been clear of pain. Free from cancer.

Not wanting to watch his father suffer another day, Kamran, armed with a battery of high powered solicitors waving writs, marched up the front stairs of the family home. A couple of policemen were with them to make sure not one of the group took the matters of law into their own hands. Frank wanted to make his father go into the hospital for treatment. He paced the porch between knocks on the door while he waited for someone to answer the door.

Trinkle, Frank's other son didn't possess a legal mind but lived by his wit. He'd advised his father to go out before the troops arrived. He knew they were coming to badger him to change his mind. With his mind on other projects, Trinkle was never sure where he should be. Or what he should be doing. He left the house not long after his father leaving Kamran to cool his heels.

Wind gushed in from the bay. The sounds like silk stockings whipped on the clothesline of a yacht. He had never been on a yacht so he didn't know how the stocking sounded blowing in the wind. But he had listened to the sales flapping when in a small sale boat.

There was silence. Then the sound raised in volume when the whining noise moved closer. Chuck revved the engine of his motor cycle to jump the gutter on the edge of the street to reach the park. He didn't know why he had picked the park to release his pent up emotions. In agony of mind at Cole's words, Chuck had to admit his friend had been right. His boss at the science lab had voiced the same opinion. The Day of Reckoning had come, which he had put into action several months ago. His boss had forced him to take a very long holiday. Everyone had warned him about burnout. He hadn't listened. He though he knew what was best for him.

Chuck didn't know his fatal decision would be like that. What had he done wrong. But that was the way his life would be from now on. The memory will stay with him forever.

The lack luster voice of dull, old Seaforth glided into their minds like a tide of slow moving molasses. There he stood on his soapbox droning about drugs, in verse. To listen to his version about love no one would want to attempt to fall in love. The world is a horrible place to live according to his expressions of love, death, and war. Everyone were sinners sucking all the energy from life. Seaforth's glazed eyes told their own story. He was stoned out of his mind taking all the color from the universe.

Everywhere was dark. Darkness. Seaforth lived in a black hole. To him, he had no option but to sink further into the stinking mire till his life ended. He would then be at peace. He would no longer have to try to surface above a dead man walking.

Angie stiffened imperceptibly at the words spoken by Seaforth. He didn't witness this because his sight didn't see much further than the end of his nose. She felt sorry for him. Angie prayed some other mother wouldn't have to listen to her son sprout words of doom in the future. Alexander, she hoped, would travel along a different path.

Lily made her way across the path. No make up. Only strong black, long lines where her eyebrows once had been. Her back ridged. Her face stern. But her body moved gracefully telling of better days. Lily's countenance cold but quietly beautiful even without her make up. She was a complicated person, always busy searching for objects to make her deserted tunnel a home. She needed money to buy food, and clothes. Lily presented more like an onion than a banana, because she wore many layers of clothes so no one would steal them. Her personality also like an onion but clammed up tight when people asked about her past.

Fin lay on the grass. He hadn't been home. His stomach rumbled to remind him he hadn't eaten since last night. While he had waited in the lounge room for Joyce-ta  a laden plate of fruit, and cheese arrived, to be placed on the table. A cup of sweet orange-colored tea had been placed before him. He set to nibbling on the food but his mind was on Joyce-ta in the shower. Finn imagined her smoothing fragrant soap over her body. Bubbles clinging to her skin. He wanted to be there with her in the shower standing under the water. His hands slipping over her curves. Thinking in this vain, Finn remembered the dark-eyed gypsies he had watched dancing around burning camp fires in Romania. His hands burned with want with the rest of his body but he's been bitterly disappointed, and frustrated, by the end of the night. She turned at her open door to shake his hand to wish him a good night.

He looked introspectively into his mind to find a reason why his night out with the luscious, hot, Joyce-ta  became a washout.

“Edward, Are you listening.” Finn grumbled to his friend who was there beside him. “What did I do wrong. She brushed me off like last weeks breadcrumbs stuck to her jumper.”

“That's women for you, my friend. I've learned to expect nothing but the unexpected. That way you don't take the refusal to heart when the door is slammed in your face.”

“I think I'll pass in the future. Women don't know what they want. They have you panting and tonguing then cut you off at the knees.”

“I watched what happened to my father,” moaned Edward. “The poor bugger. The light went out of his life when mum walked out on us. He drank whiskey day and night to try to forget. But still a hazy vision of mum floated beyond his reach.”

“How come we ended the night in the park.” Finn sat up to look around.

“I always come here when I want to fudge out. Look to see who may be worse off than me. I haven't seen the woman with the baby here before today. Wonder who she is.”

Angie had worn a dress the same color of her blue eyes. This dress reminded her of the one her father had brought her home from San Francisco. She had taken her son to visit his grandfather for the first time. Her father had disowned her when she had fallen pregnant. He refused to let either of them into his home

Bundling Alexander into the pram, Angie stood to walk out of the park. She had waited long enough for her father to change his mind.

“Angie.” Finn looked puzzled.

“Who's Angie. Where is she.” Edward searched for a beautiful young woman.

Finn stood. “Angie,” he called louder. Then he walked faster to catch up with the retreating woman. “Angie.”

Angie stopped walking believing her father had changed his mind. She looked into Finn's puzzled face.

“Finn.” She turned the pram away from Finn. She was shocked to see him. She believed she'd never see him again. Except in the features of his son.

“I thought I recognized you. Are you babysitting?”

“No. This is my full time job”

“You've become a nanny?”

“No. I've become a mother.” She swung the pram to face her son toward Finn. “Meet Alexander. Our son.”

Finn stood gasping like a fish out of water. His eyes on the son he didn't know he had.

Still Waters.

Still waters. What hides beneath the still water? A body of water where no birds swim on the surface of the lagoon. Little perch do swim in the water and leeches do survive in the clay section when the water recedes at certain times of the year. The water is good for drinking, or it used to be, when I lived in the area, we went there to pump water to keep out water tanks full when the railway were late with delivery, or no rain fell to keep them full. One thing we could depend on is that there was a supply of fresh water there for the taking owing to not many animals ventured near the edge for a drink, for they were never seen ever again.

The Aboriginal gentleman who worked with my father kept telling us the story of the Bun yip who lived beneath the surface of the water to grab everything, human or animal, who entered the water.The whole area around had a sacred silence warning people to treat with care. I always felt as though I had to whisper so the Bun yip didn't hear me. Even riding past the lagoon on the road I prayed no part of my bike made a noise to upset the monster.

Then one day when I was a little bored while waiting for the drums to be filled I took a length of hose from the back of the truck to blow bubbles in the water. I lay close to the edge near a tree, the clay around the base of the tree gave way and in I fell surfacing with weed and green slime clinging to my hair. I grabbed hold of some of the tree roots to pull myself around to where I could climb out. Not being able to swim made the experience more scaring plus the thought of the monster might come to drag me out into the deep water never to be seen again.

Bluesy The Fly

                                                        Bluesy.

R.I.P.

Here lies Bluesy. The bane of my life.

He annoyed me day, and night. Disappeared for short times. Then out of no where he's appear. Buzzing around the kitchen. Bug me while I tried to read. Write. Crochet. Acted like a dive bomber attacking. Proving he was invincible to death.

“Where's the fly spray. If I can find the damn can.” I search the cupboards. Wave my arms to keep the pest at bay. I slid open the doors. Tried to chase him outside but he didn't budge. I searched some more places for the spray to no avail.

“I'll fix you, you nuisance.” I searched out the fly swat. I sized up the funny looking swat. The object looked more like an ornament. No hope of using it for a killing instrument. I change my mind. I couldn't use it. My imagination brought up the scene of his splattered body on the surface of the cupboard. Yuck. Didn't want to clean up the mess.

“Fine. You can have the kitchen. You won't find any food.” Locking all the doors I ventured up the stairs to lay on the bed to read a book. I opened the book. Put on my glasses. Made myself comfortable, to find peace, while I became one with the characters.

“Buzz. Buzz.” The rotten blowfly had made his way upstairs. It kept buzzing between my glasses, and the book. My interest in the story lost.

“You can have the book.” I placed the book and glasses, on top of the bedside draws. Grabbed the edge of the quilt to cover me from head to toe. Waiting for the buzzing to stop I drifted off to sleep.

On waking. I listened for the consistent buzzing to alert me Bluesy haunted my bedroom. No noise. He'd found some other way to be amused. With a little luck, and inventiveness on his part, he had escaped.

Bluesy was not to be found. Like the fly spray, he was in hiding. Until. That is. I sat at the table to eat my evening meal. He didn't act like a normal blowfly. Not once did he try to land on my food. Unless, I counted the times he flew past my face when raising the food to my mouth. Or when he dive bombed toward my mug of coffee. The mug had to be covered when not in use. Bluesy is persistent, and annoying.

Our disagreements continued, on and off, over the next few months. I'd leave the screens open for him to leave on his own accord. I've chased him toward the door but he kept doubling back. The bee, which made its way into the kitchen was of less trouble to evict out the door.

Bluesy didn't see the errors of his way. But he knew when to disappear. The fly spray wasn't used on him. I was pleased I didn't have to use it. I would have suffered from the spray while he flew away laughing at my folly.

I decided to leave him be. Flapping my hands when he was present. Kept all food out of his reach. I didn't want him leaving germs on what intended to eat. Kept my mouth shut while he was at his annoying best. My glasses are still in tact. Many times they have been sent flying. The chase for Bluesy would have been intensified if the glasses had broken. I had a feeling one day he'd meet his Waterloo. Misjudge his target.

The day has come. I was busy rushing from job to job. I came inside to have a drink. My mug had been left uncovered. Bluesy had been missing in action for a few week. I picked up the mug to have a drink.

There lay Bluesy. Drowned. Floating on the surface of the cold coffee.

I flushed Bluesy down the sink drain. Well. I'm hoping the body did belong to him, not one of his family.   

Lessons To Learn

Karen stood at the rickety old sink cupboard, the tap on with water running over the onions she peeled to make the mince stretch further to last a couple of meals. More and more tears trickled down her cheeks from the hot smell of the onions, in the end she didn't know if she was crying because of the onions or the struggle to keep a roof over their heads and stomachs full. For years, since her husband had walked away from his family responsibilities leaving behind him a mountain of debt, Karen had kept her counsel and marched forward to hide the disaster from her family with no complaints about her lot. She knew her family were displeased with the tight rein she kept on her purse strings, keeping them in clothes and food, not explaining how she went without for them.

Gary tripped on the hole left behind from the missing piece of lino, the pattern and color faded by years of many feet walking on it and the sun burning in where they holy, worn curtains didn't cover the windows. The excitement and joy that had Gary rushing into the kitchen, forgotten on seeing the tears streaming down his mother's cheeks to drop and mingle with the water, and vegetable peels, in the sink.

“What's wrong, Mum? Has someone upset you? Still having trouble with your new boss? I'll fix...”

“No, Gary,” sniffed Karen. She dropped the knife and the onion in the sink, dried her hands on her apron before she reached in the pocket for her handkerchief to blow her nose and wipe away the tears. “I always cry when I peel onions.”

“What were you in a hurry to tell me? Did you receive the promotion you wanted?” Mentally crossing her fingers that her son would be able to pay for his own clothes and may give her some rent money to help improve the food supply. Have a real steak for a change.

“You sure there's nothing wrong?”

“No.” Karen cast her son a watery smile, which covered the years of hurt and struggling, her body needing a long, long holiday, to recoup from the strain, and hours of hard working at the three jobs to keep the family together.

“Did you have some news to tell me?”

“I bought a new car. Come outside...” Gary stopped talking as thunder clouds crossed his mother's usually placid features.

Taking a couple of deep breaths to calm her, to stop the outburst of fury, Karen spoke. “And where did you find the money for a car? I suppose it's a bomb ready to explode into pieces and you'll expect me to pay for the repairs.” The Gods were up there laughing at her misery. She didn't take in all the information Gary had given her until the word 'new' penetrated her exhausted mind.

“New! Did you say, new? What have you done? What bank did you rob?” She could hear sirens In her mind followed by police banging down her front door, the rusting hinges wouldn't hold them at bay.

“I bought it with my credit card...”

“Credit card? What bank was foolhardy to trust you with a credit card?” Karen stormed through the house toward the front door, that she swung back against the wall not worried about the fragile hinges.

“Argh!” Karen screamed past her tight lips at the sight of the new car parked at the verge in front of the house.

Taking a few more deep breaths, Karen forced the words past the blockage of fear stuck in her vocal cords. “You'll have to return that – that car.” The shine from the suns rays on the shiny new paint laughing as they jigged merrily in front of her worried eyes.

“But, Mum,” Gary wailed. “The man at the bank explained to me how I can afford to keep the car. I only have to make small payments on the card.”

“Did he explain how many years you would have to be putting 'a little bit' of money on the card? What happens if the car is smashed? You'll still have to pay without having a car to drive. Is the car insured?”

“Of course it it. I'm not stupid,” Gary complained, shocked by his mother's reaction. He only wanted to make his mother's work load easier so she didn't have to struggle home with the heavy bags of shopping from the bus stop.

Karen left him at the door to go back to peeling the hot onions giving her a reason for her tears. She listened to Gary stomp down the steps, the car start and be driven away.

A couple of hours later, Gary returned home bearing a piece offering. He walked into the kitchen with plastic bags with containers of food and a smile.

“You can keep what you've cooked for another time. We're eating take-away tonight.”

“You can't afford to that now you have a car.”

“Yes, I can. I took the car back. At least I won't take a life time to pay for our dinner. Let's eat while it's still hot.”

 
This is a story about a idea we were given to write a story of about half a page but I got carried away. Now that I'm catching up on some work I maybe able to back more often.
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In Remberance of my Aunt Clarice.

The verse to follow is a little of my thoughts for my Aunt Clarice who passed over yesterday after a battle with illness and pain from a broken hip. She will not feel the pain now of broken bones but the lose of her husband, children, grandchildren and great grandchildren, left behind to morn her departure to Summerland  where she will find peace. Aunt Clarice may have left but our memories of her will forever stay with those who she loved and extended family.

I remember Aunt Clarice
with fondness, appreciation,
she gave of herself, her time
day or night without complaint,
a meal or bed always on offer,
she shared time and food,
washed, ironed, cooked, cleaned,
her work never done
bust was  her way of life,
I can picture her in Summerland
scrubbing clothes by hand
moping floors, cooking, ironing,
taking care of those in need
watching over her family
till their time has come to be with her
to show them the right path
from the doors of this world
to the next where she will
once again take special care
of loved ones she had to leave,
may her light shine the brightest
each moonlight night
and in the darkness
to guide you one and all,
life goes on each day
memories never fade.