She came, she went. I wondered if she was a figment of my imagination until the day I grabbed her boot. Now I know she is real. I have her boot to prove it. Am I going to do a Cinderella search for her. No. Not when there are easier girls to catch.
Thank you to Sonya for hosting 3 line Tales
“Joan was trying to hide she was pregnant, so she invented the farthingale.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Absolutely.”
“Are you pregnant?”
“Absolutely not.” The hors d’oeuvres were offered but Abigail could not reach the tray to take one.
“You’re crinoline is far too broad Abbi. Why have you made it that big?
The waiter returned holding the tray with a pair of fire tongs. Abigail took one, then a second for just in case.
“Well why?” Prunella insisted.
“If you must know. Lord Skank told me he would dance with me but I want to keep my distance.”
In response to Rochelle Wiseoff-Field for Friday Fictioneers with thanks to Dale Rogerson for providing the photo for the prompt.
© irene waters 2016
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In response to Weekly Photo Challenge prompt.
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In response to Cee’s Fun Foto Challenge
© irene waters 2018
The group gathered for the obligatory group photo. Getting them to line up, however, was a different matter as they spread out over the prow of the boat, refusing to join together in a bunched group. It was difficult to get them to come together but not as difficult as the disagreements over lunch. The Greeks had argued with the Russians and the Americans with the Bangladeshi. Uzbekistan had sided with the Russians. Burma wouldn’t talk to anyone. They still smarted from having their knuckles rapped over human rights. Finland tried to talk fairness, strutting that they have the least corruption in the world and can therefore adjudicate. Just the title ‘United Nations’ was starting to be a joke when a unified position could not be reached over something as simple as the lunch menu.
In response to Priceless Joy’s prompt and thank you to Dorothy for providing the photograph.
© irene waters 2018
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This link will take you to Image-in-ing where photographers from round the world showcase photographs they have taken during the week.
photo courtesy Amazon.com
A Gentleman in Moscow by Amor Towles was a book I did not want to read when I saw the length of it. I knew it was about the life of a man who had been confined to the Hotel Metropol for thirty years. Not a compelling synopsis of the book which I anticipated being dry and boring. Lets face how much stuff can you do in thirty years confined to a hotels corridors and facilities? However, from the first page the beautiful writing and well constructed story compelled me to read on, only to experience disappointment that the book had finished – albeit with a marvellous ending.
The tale commences in 1922 when Count Alexander Ilyich Rostov is tried by the Emergency Committee of the People’s Commisariat For Internal Affairs and because of a revolutionary poem he’d written in 1913 that the Bolsheviks admired, he was sentenced, not to life or death in Siberia, but to living the rest of his life in the Metropol Hotel, a grand hotel with ballrooms, cocktail bars, cafes and restaurants. He finds that he can no longer live in the suite he had been occupying and is moved to a small room in the attic.
The story tells of how he maintained his sanity during the thirty years he was imprisoned there. He said “if a man does not master his circumstances then he is bound to be mastered by them” and that “imagining what might happen if one’s circumstances were different was the only sure route to madness.” What he does to master his circumstances I won’t spoil for you by telling you. It makes you realise that exile is preferable in that you can make a new life for yourself in the new place but when you are where your life is but cannot partake is much more of a punishment.
Throughout it all the Count remains a gentleman. Early in the book he befriends Nina, a 9 year old girl who holds the key that opens every room in the hotel and a friendship that has lasting effects springs up between them. There are the hotel staff – some that become friends, others enemies. His friend from university days, Mischka, also drops in periodically to visit. The other two major characters (without giving anything away ) is a former colonel of the Red Army whom the Count tutors for many years in the ways of the west and an actress that he has a long term love affair with.
We are told some history and politics. The characters are drawn expertly and it is written with humour, compassion and much philosophical thought and insight. It shows good winning over evil and hope over despair. It shows resilience, and the maintenance of standards. Count Rostov showed himself to be a gentleman in the true sense of the word.
Would I recommend this book – absolutely I would. It was captivating, compelling and completely satisfying.
© irene waters 2015 — My cooking
The prompt for this month is Childhood Cooking Experiences.Reading Robbies flash fiction I started to think about how cooking was presented to me as a child. Did your mother set you up to cook by working side by side with you in the kitchen? Did she set you up to be kitchen illiterate?”
Please join in giving your location at the time of your memory and your generation. An explanation of the generations and the purpose of the prompts along with conditions for joining in can be seen at the Times Past Page. Join in either in the comments or by creating your own post and linking. Looking forward to your memories.
Baby Boomer – Australian country and later Australian city
My mother was a high school teacher and worked most of my life. She went back to work when I was three years old. During the week we had very plain food – meat and three veg. She would come home tired after her day and spend the next hour reading the newspaper. Shortly after she’d finish she’d think about dinner – always planned in advance. I know my mother would not have considered cooking a chore but it certainly came across to us that it was something she had to do. A wife had to feed the family. A wife, in those days, was expected to stay at home. Mum was determined to have a career but also maintain the home fires in a way that no-one could say that we suffered from her daytime absence. During the week the only time we entered the kitchen when she was preparing meals was to either wash up or get the necessaries to set the table. Weekends weren’t much different although with the additional time Mum would make an effort to have special meals on Saturday night and Sunday at lunchtime. If we had dessert during the week my Dad made a jelly. He was the expert in this field. Mum would often make a pie or some other sweet for the weekend meals. Cooking cakes and biscuits was confined to when she had to take something for morning tea or if the church ladies guild were having a cake sale. And of course she made super cakes for our birthdays.
In my memory we weren’t invited into the kitchen to help with the cooking. The most we did was get to lick the bowl out. As a girl I was not expected to assist with food preparation until we had moved to the city and I was much older. Then it was only to peel the vegetables.
It was not until my Father took me to the Royal Easter show and we visited the A-jin-o-moto (a brand name for MSG) stand and were given a recipe book and also collected some Arnotts recipe cards that I had a desire to cook. When I was doing my HSC this became the way I avoided study. I would come home from school, get out these cards and spend the rest of the afternoon cooking. It didn’t last long. Most of the recipes were a failure due to my lack of prowess such as misinterpreting the order of 1 tsp almond essence and putting in one tablespoon.
I wonder sometimes when I watch mother’s with their children in the kitchen making simple gingerbread men or peeling the veggies or whipping cream or any task a small child is capable of and then see those children grow to be competent in the kitchen as adults, whether I too would have been able to cook had I had these experiences. My gut tells me probably not – my mother sewed and encouraged me in this pursuit – but I still can’t do it.
I’m looking forward to reading your memories……. and don’t forget that if you are interested in memoir check out the series on the second Friday of the month over at Carrot Ranch. Join in the conversation.
Baby Boomer Australian city
Baby Boomer USA cities
Gen X – USA Rural
Gen X / Y -USA rural
https://chelseaannowens.com/2018/04/28/cooking-with-mum/
Gen Y – South Africa City
https://robbiesinspiration.wordpress.com/2018/04/23/timespast-childhood-cooking-experiences/
Gen Y – India
https://syncwithdeep.wordpress.com/2018/04/15/times-past-cooking-with-mum/
© irene waters 2018
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