Search Results for 'rush'

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  • #6221
    TracyTracy
    Participant

      Mary Ann Gilman Purdy

      1880-1950

      Mary Ann Gilman Purdy Marshall

      Mary Ann was my grandfather George Marshall’s mother. She died in 1950, seven years before I was born. She has been referred to more often than not, since her death, as Mary Ann Gilman Purdy, rather than Mary Marshall. She was from Buxton, so we believed, as was her husband William Marshall. There are family photos of the Gilmans, grocers in Buxton, and we knew that Mary Ann was brought up by them. My grandfather, her son, said that she thought very highly of the Gilman’s, and added the Gilman name to her birth name of Purdy.

       

      The 1891 census in Buxton:

      1891 census Buxton

       

      (Mary Ann’s aunt, Mrs Gilman, was also called Mary Anne, but spelled with an E.)

      Samuel Gilman 1846-1909, and Mary Anne (Housley) Gilman  1846-1935,  in Buxton:

      Gilmans GrocersSamuel Gilman

       

      What we didn’t know was why Mary Ann (and her sister Ellen/Nellie, we later found) grew up with the Gilman’s. But Mary Ann wasn’t born in Buxton, Derbyshire, she was born in Eastwood, Nottinghamshire. When the search moved to Nottingham, we found the Purdy’s.

      George Purdy 1848-1935, Mary Ann’s father:

      George Purdy

       

      Mary Ann’s parents were George Purdy of Eastwood, and Catherine Housley of Smalley.

      Catherine Housley 1849-1884, Mary Ann’s mother:

      Catherine Housley

       

      Mary Ann was four years old when her mother died. She had three sisters and one brother. George Purdy remarried and kept the two older daughters, and the young son with him. The two younger daughters, Mary Ann and Nellie, went to live with Catherine’s sister, also called Mary Anne, and her husband Samuel Gilman. They had no children of their own. One of the older daughters who stayed with their father was Kate , whose son George Gilman Rushby, went to Africa. But that is another chapter.

      George was the son of Francis Purdy and his second wife Jane Eaton. Francis had some twenty children, and is believed in Eastwood to be the reason why there are so many Purdy’s.

      The woman who was a mother to Mary Ann and who she thought very highly of, her mothers sister, spent her childhood in the Belper Workhouse. She and her older sister Elizabeth were admitted in June, 1850, the reason: father in prison. Their mother had died the previous year. Mary Anne Housley, Catherine’s sister, married Samuel Gilman, and looked after her dead sisters children.

      Mary Ann Gilman Purdy Marshalls recipes written on the back of the Gilmans Grocers paper:

      recipes

      #6206
      TracyTracy
      Participant

        “I’m not ‘aving this treatment, Mavis, I’ve booked meself in for the spirit chew all mender tations session instead. No need to loook at me like that, our Mavis, I aint going all new agey on yer, just thought I’d give it a try and see if it relaxes me a bit.”

        “Relaxes yer? Yer int done a stroke of work in years, whatcher on about?” Sha said, nudging Mavis in the ribs and cackling.

        “It’s not all about the body, y’ know!” Glor replied, feeling the futility of trying to make them understand the importance of it to her, or the significance in the wider picture.

        “I’m listening,” a melodious voice whispered behind her.  Andrew Anderson smiled and looked deep into her squinting eyes as she turned to face him (the sun was going down behind him and it was very hard to see, much to her chagrin).

        “Tell me more, Glor, what’s the score, Glor, I want to know more…”

        Gloria, who knees had momentarily turned to jelly, reeled backwards at this surprising change in the conversation, and lost her balance due to her temporarily affected knees.  Instinctively she reached out and grabbed Mr Anderson’s arm, and managed to avoid falling to the ground.

        She retracted her arm slowly as an increasingly baffled look spread across her face.

        Why did his arm feel so peculiar? It felt like a shop mannequin, unyielding, different somehow.  Creepy somehow. Glor mumbled, “Sure, later,” and quickly caught up with her friends.

        “Hey, You’ll never guess what, wait til I tell yer..” Glor started to tell them about Mr Anderson and then stopped. Would it be futile? Would they understand what she was trying to say?

        “I’m listening,” a melodious voice whispered in her ear.

        “Not bloody you again! You stalking me, or what?”  Visibly rattled, Gloria rushed over to her friends, wondering why every time that weirdo whispered in her ear, she had somehow fallen back and had to catch up again.

        She’d have to inform her friends of the danger, but would they listen? They were falling for him and wouldn’t be easily discouraged.  They’d be lured to the yacht and not want to escape. The fools! What could she do?

        “I’m listening,” the melodious voice whispered.

        #6202
        TracyTracy
        Participant

          While Finnley was making the tea, Liz consulted the Possibe L’Oracle for a reading. It said:

          “We are the collective of the Ancient Draigh’Ones, we greet you and your queries, Liz.

           Well, well. Looking at the concepts you brought up in your last offering to this story thread, we couldn’t really pick up what your energy was trying to express.
          Forgive us, humans still elude us at times. 

           We must withhold points for continuity {audible snort} though, as it feels it needs to gather more support from your fellow companions {snort} for now. But who knows, you may just be a pioneer. Go on trailblazing Liz!

           Psst. We’ll give you a hint, here are some trending concepts here you may want to check out for yourself.”

          Perplexa the robot provided her typically superfluous additional information, with baffling lists of numbers, but Liz noted the many mentions of cleanliness and cleaning implements, and wondered why that hadn’t manifested into a marvelously clean house.

          Leaf (1 ), with mentions by Flove (1) — last seen in  #6198, 2 days ago
          Cleanliness (1 ), with mentions by Flove (1) — last seen in  #6200, 22 hours ago
          The Glow (1 ), with mentions by Flove (1) — last seen in  #6200, 22 hours ago
          The Edge (1 ), with mentions by Tracy (1) — last seen in  #6199, 2 days ago
          Cleaning tools (1 ), with mentions by Tracy (1) — last seen in  #6199, 2 days ago
          Brush (1 ), with mentions by Tracy (1) — last seen in  #6199, 2 days ago
          Jeffrey Combs (1 ), with mentions by Flove (1) — last seen in  #6198, 2 days ago
          The Times (1 ), with mentions by Flove (1) — last seen in  #6198, 2 days ago
          Drama (1 ), with mentions by Flove (1) — last seen in  #6198, 2 days ago
          Fern (1 ), with mentions by Flove (1) — last seen in  #6198, 2 days ago
          Time (1 ), with mentions by Flove (1) — last seen in  #6198, 2 days ago

          #6199
          TracyTracy
          Participant

            The philodendron leaf was so large that on it’s trajectory towards Finnley it caught a bottle a Bhum on the edge of the desk, causing it to topple onto the floor.

            “Now look what you’ve done, you clumsy thing!” exclaimed Liz.  “That was a gift from Godfrey!”

            “Don’t worry, he’ll never know,” replied Finnley, picking up the pieces.  “And don’t shout at me, after my, you know…”

            Liz softened and said gently, “Well speaking of brushes, dear, you’d be better cleaning that up with a dustpan and brush, or you might cut yourself.”

            #6198
            FloveFlove
            Participant

              “You were listening, Finnley!” said Liz barely able to hide her surprise. It had been a long time since anyone had listened to her. Godfrey said it was because she mostly talked nonsense. He’d smiled kindly and handed her a doughnut to soften the harsh words, but it had stung nonetheless.

              Finnley rolled her eyes. “I told you already, I’ve turned over a new leaf. Since my brush with … ” She lowered her voice dramatically as her eyes slid around the room. “… death.”

              “Death! Oh, you really are ridiculous and very dramatic, Finnley. And why are you squinting like that? It’s most unattractive.” Liz paused. Should she mention the hair? Finnley could be so sensitive about her appearance. Oh dear lord, now the silly girl is crying!

              “I’m sorry, Madam. I’m sorry for all the times I haven’t listened to you in your numerous times of need.” Finnley gasped for air through her sobs as Liz flung a philodendron leaf at her.

              “Speaking of leaves, you can wipe your nose with that. Now, Finnley, I always say, it does no good to cry over milk which has been spilled. The question is, where to from here?”

              #6178
              TracyTracy
              Participant

                Nora woke to the sun streaming  in the little dormer window in the attic bedroom. She stretched under the feather quilt and her feet encountered the cool air, an intoxicating contrast to the snug warmth of the bed. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept so well and was reluctant to awaken fully and confront the day. She felt peaceful and rested, and oddly, at home.

                Unfortunately that thought roused her to sit and frown, and look around the room.  The dust was dancing in the sunbeams and rivulets of condensation trickled down the window panes.   A small statue of an owl was silhouetted on the sill, and a pitcher of dried herbs or flowers, strands of spider webs sparkled like silver thread between the desiccated buds.

                An old whicker chair in the corner was piled with folded blankets and bed linens, and the bookshelf behind it  ~ Nora threw back the covers and padded over to the books. Why were they all facing the wall?   The spines were at the back, with just the pages showing. Intrigued, Nora extracted a book to see what it was, just as a gentle knock sounded on the door.

                Yes? she said, turning, placing the book on top of the pile of bedclothes on the chair, her thoughts now on the events of the previous night.

                “I expect you’re ready for some coffee!” Will called brightly. Nora opened the door, smiling. What a nice man he was, making her so welcome, and such a pleasant evening they’d spent, drinking sweet home made wine and sharing stories.  It had been late, very late, when he’d shown her to her room.  Nora has been tempted to invite him in with her (very tempted if the truth be known) and wasn’t quite sure why she hadn’t.

                “I slept so well!” she said, thanking him as he handed her the mug.  “It looks like a lovely day today,” she added brightly, and then frowned a little. She didn’t really want to leave.  She was supposed to continue her journey, of course she knew that.  But she really wanted to stay a little bit longer.

                “I’ve got a surprise planned for lunch,” he said, “and something I’d like to show you this morning.  No rush!”  he added with a twinkly smile.

                Nora beamed at him and promptly ditched any thoughts of continuing her trip today.

                “No rush” she repeated softly.

                #6166
                TracyTracy
                Participant

                  “Grandpa,” Clara said, partly to distract him ~ poor dear was looking a little anxious ~ and partly because she was starting to get twangs of gilt about Nora, “Grandpa, do you remember that guy who used to make sculptures?  I can’t recall his name and need his phone number. Do you remember, used to see him driving around with gargoyles in the back of his truck. You look awfully pale, are you alright?”

                  “No idea,” Bob replied weakly.

                  Tell her! said Jane.

                  “No!” Bob exclaimed, feeling vexed.  He wasn’t sure why, but he didn’t want to rush into anything. Why was Clara asking about the man whose phone number was on the note? What did she know about all this? What did he, Bob, know for that matter!

                  “I only asked!” replied Clara, then seeing his face, patted his arm gently and said “It’s ok, Grandpa.”

                  For the love of god will you just tell her! 

                  “Tell who what?” asked Clara.

                  “What! What did you say?” Bob wondered where this was going and if it would ever end. It began to feel surreal.

                  They were both relieved when the door bell rang, shattering the unaccustomed tension between them.

                  “Who can that be?” they asked in unison, as Clara rose from the table.

                  Bob waited expectantly, pushing his plate away. It would take days to settle his digestive system down after all this upset at a meal time.

                  “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost, Clara! Who was it?”  Bob said as Clara returned from the front door. “Not the water board again to cut us off I hope!”

                  “It’s the neighbour, Mr Willets, he says he’s ever so sorry but his dogs, they got loose and got into some kind of a box on your property.  He said…”

                  #6164
                  EricEric
                  Keymaster

                    VanGogh was sniffing frantically on the patio outside the house, a usual indication that he’d found the perfect spot for a healthy stool, but this time, as soon as Clara had looked the other way to take care of the sautéed mushrooms on the stove, he darted for the shed where the odd big toy had been unearthed and stored out of sight.

                    His tail wagged frantically as he pushed the door open, and slid underneath the tarpaulin behind the sleeping lawn-eater.

                    He started to scratch the box, the way he usually tried to open the puzzle ball Clara would fill with some kibble. It didn’t roll like the ball-that-dispensed-kibble. In frustration, VanGogh started to push his paws on the sleek smooth surface, near the curious indentations.

                    Something clicked open.

                    “VanGogh! Where are you boy?! Come!”

                    Suddenly distracted from this puzzling quest, he rushed to the kitchen for dinner.

                    #6132
                    TracyTracy
                    Participant

                      I don’t know how long it’s been since I ran away but I wish I’d done it years ago. I’m having a whale of a time. Every day is different and always new people to talk to.  Boggles my mind to think how long I spent sitting in the same place seeing the same two or three faces day in day out.  I miss my old comfy chair sometimes, though. That’s one thing that’s hard to find, a nice recliner to kick back and snooze in.  You can find things to sit on, but not with arms and a backrest.

                      I discovered a good trick for getting a bit of a lie down, though, especially when it rains.  I go and sit in an emergency ward waiting room and start doubling over saying I’m in pain, and they let me lie on a trolley.   If I fall asleep quietly they tend to forget me, they’re that busy rushing all over the place, and then when I wake up I just sneak out.  Always make full use of the bathroom facilities before I go and if I wander around a bit I can usually find one with a shower as well.  Usually find some useful odds and ends on the carts the staff push around, and then I’m on my way, rested, showered, toileted and ready to roll.

                      I always wear a mask though, I don’t take unnecessary risks.  And I only take unused syringes to trade with the junkies.  I wouldn’t want it on my conscience that I’d passed the plague on to anyone vulnerable.

                      #6124

                      In reply to: Tart Wreck Repackage

                      FloveFlove
                      Participant

                        “I’ve been wondering …” Star tightened her lips. “No … perhaps not.”

                        “What? Spit it out,” said Rosamund.

                        “It’s nothing … just that … I interpreted my remote view as New Zealand but perhaps it wasn’t New Zealand per se, and by that I mean perhaps it was a symbolic representation, a clue if you will, and i was too quick to rush in and give it meaning.”

                        Rosamund screwed up her face. “You lost me at Purse Eh.”

                        “Me too, dear!” said the middle aged lady. “Does she always go on like this?”

                        “Worse usually. Yabba yabba yabba them two. How about I swop you dental floss for some lippy?”

                        “Don’t yo mine those rudy poohs,” said Tara, who was starting to sound a little slurred. “What’d ya see, Star, eh?” Star’s remote viewing skills never failed to amaze her, and, to be honest, she’d been surprised when Star made such a horrendous hash of this latest attempt. Once she had sobered up she might feel compelled to apologise for her rude outburst. She snorted into her drink. Not bloody likely!

                        Before Star could answer, there was an excited scream from the waitress.

                        “Look, who’s here!” she shouted. “Look everybody! It’s only Vincentius come to join us!!”

                        “Why, thank you. What a welcome!” said Vincentius in a deep melodious voice. He sauntered casually over to the bar, seemingly oblivious to the effect he was having.

                        “Oh. My. God,” said Star.

                        Rosamund who was using the lipstick to write her number on the burly bouncer’s bicep gave him a shove. “Get lost, Loser!” she hissed.

                        “Over here, Vincentush! Whover yo are!” shouted Tara before falling off her bar stool.

                        #6078
                        AvatarJib
                        Participant

                          “You really know your trade, Fuyi,” said Rukshan. “You’ve built the most exquisite and comfortable place. And I think the empty dishes speak aplenty about the quality of the food and the pleasure we took in this shared meal. Now, let us help you with the dishes,” said Rukshan.

                          “Ach! Don’t be so polite,” said Fuyi. “I’ll have plenty of time after yar departure tomorrow. It’s not like the inn is full. Just enjoy an evening together, discuss yar plans, and have some rest. I know that life. Take the chance when it presents itself!”

                          Rushan nodded and looked at Kumihimo. Fox sighed with relief. His belly was full and round, and he didn’t want to disturbed his digestion with some chore.

                          The Sinese food made by the innkeeper had been delicious and quite a first for most of them. Tak had particularly enjoyed the crunchy texture of the stir fried vegetables flavoured with the famous five spices sauce. Nesy had preferred the algae and chili dishes while Fox, who ate a red hot pepper thinking it was bell pepper, had stuffed himself with juicy pork buns to put out the fire in his mouth.

                          Gorrash, befuddled by the novelty, had been at a loss of labels, good or bad. He simply chose to welcome the new experiences and body reactions to flavours and textures. As for Olliver, he gave up the chopsticks when he saw how fast Fox made the food disappear from the dishes.

                          Now that the dishes were empty, the children and Gorrash had left the table and were playing near the fireplace. Olliver was looking at the trio with envy, split between the desire to play and enjoy the simplicity of the moment, and the desire to be taken more seriously which meant participate in the conversation with the adults.

                          “We have plenty to discuss, Fae,” said Kumihimo.

                          Fuyi looked at Olliver, recognising the conundrum. “That’s settled, then,” he said to the group. Then turning toward Olliver: “Boy! I’m sure the start of the conversation will be boring for a young mind. Let’s join the others for a story of my own. You can still come back later and they’ll fill you in on the details.”

                          Fuyi and Olliver moved to the fireplace. The innkeeper threw cushions on the floor and sat on a wooden rocking chair. At the mention of a story, Tak, Nesy and Gorrash couldn’t contain their exuberant joy and gathered all ears around Admirable Fuyi. As he rocked, the chair creaked. He waited until they all calmed down. And when he was satisfied he started.

                          “I was young and still a fresh recruit in the Sinese army,” started Fuyi. “We were stationed at the western frontier just below the high plateaus and I hadn’t participated in any battle yet. With the folly of youth I thought that our weapons and the bond we shared with my fellow soldiers were enough to defeat anything.”

                          #6071

                          In reply to: Tart Wreck Repackage

                          EricEric
                          Keymaster

                            “Listen” said Gabe, the cult leader. “How long have you been Gourd level? One year?”

                            The other nodded.

                            “See Gavin, I think you’re ready to go Operating Tomathetan.”

                            Gavin gulped. “But, but… are you sure about such a leap? And… what about…”

                            “Oh, don’t worry about him, the yielding of his crops has been written, and it’s not good. Better look toward the future Gavin. And let me ask you something, don’t you think about the future?”

                            When the Great Leader Undisputed Gabe had spoken, it was customary to bow and continue listen, in case he wasn’t finished.

                            “Is there anything more I can do you for, oh GLUG?”

                            “Sure. Get me your proposal for the new organization of the crops. No rush. Tomorrow will be fine.”

                            “Your great leaderness is too bountiful.”

                            “Of course. Now scram, I have rituals to attend to.” And with that, Great Leader Undisputed Gabe made a hasty retreat into the inner sanctum with his favourite vestal priestess of the moment.

                            :fleuron:

                            Gavin was flummoxed. It had all been foretold by the heretic Basil. He wondered, should he consult him? The weight of this sudden assignment felt heavy on his shoulders. He wondered how he could solve the mountain of problems that had accumulated like horse shit on a pile of manure.

                            :fleuron:

                            “You’ll see, it’s all connected.” Star signaled Tara when they were ushered into the inner sanctum. “I’m sure all the trail of clues have led to this for a reason. Have I told you about my theories about multiple timelines and probable selves? Maybe the Vince who called us called us from a different probability…”

                            “You probably right, but that nurse outfit is really too tight.” Tara wiggled impatiently on her chair.

                            “AH! There you are!” a manly voice behind them. “Welcome, welcome, young fresh divine sprouts.”

                            “Did he call us prouts?” Tara almost tittered. “Sshtt” Star elbowed her.

                            Gabe took a while to observe them, then made a face. “Not the freshest batch I had, I must admit, but that should do.”

                            He clapped his hands, and a woman entered. “Get those two well anointed, and prepared in the art of leafing.”

                            Tara and Star looked at each other with an air of utter incomprehension on their faces, but decided unanimously to just go with the flow. Who knows, if all was indeed connected, it would probably bring them one step closer to Uncle Basil and the solving of mysterious comatose Vince.

                            #5953
                            AvatarJib
                            Participant

                              Bubbling and turning from orange to green to duck blue, the potion was perfect and smelled of good work, a strong blend of cinnamon, cardamom and crushed cloves. She smiled broadly and poured the potion into five vials, which she gave to Rukshan. They were all gathered around her in the kitchen looking rather fascinated by the whole operation.

                              “One for you, and one for each of the children,” Glynis said with a grin.

                              “I’m not a kid,” said Fox.

                              “Why only five?” asked Gorrash who suspected something was off. “We are Six. There’s Tak, Nessy, Olliver, Fox, Rukshan and I,” he said counting on his chubby fleshy fingers.

                              “I don’t need a potion to go wherever I want,” said Olli with a grin.

                              “Well,” started Glynis, “Despite your unique skill, Olliver, you still need the potion in order to thwart the control spells Leroway’s saucerers had scattered around the country,” Glynis said. “You all remember what happened to aunt Eleri last time she went out. You know how skilled she is when she need to sneak out. She barely escaped and Rukshan and I had a hard time turning off that dancing spell, which I’m sure is the least damaging one.”

                              She looked at Gorrash with compassion but the light dimmed as a cloud passed in front of the sun outside. She pointed her finger at him. “Your immune system is still like one of a newborn. And I’d prefer you’d stay home and not go around during a beaver fever pandemic. There are plenty of things you can help me with!” Glynis showed the cauldron, vials and other utensils she used to make the potion, and the cake earlier, and yesterday’s dinner.

                              “Well, if I have not to challenge my immune system…” Gorrash started.

                              “You know better than to argue with me,” she said.

                              Gorrash opened his mouth to say something but decided otherwise and ran away into the garden.

                              Fox started to follow him.

                              “Don’t said Rukshan. There’s nothing you can do.”

                              “He’s my friend!” said Fox.

                              #5614
                              AvatarJib
                              Participant

                                Suddenly May had a doubt. She had been so focused on her inner ramblings about men’s reputation, prostitution and what knot that… something felt awfully wrong with the baby. Not the shouting and crying, not even the smell from the dark ages. No something more subtle that kept her awake. She had to be sure.

                                She woke up and put on some a brown woollen gown on top of her silky night gown (her little pleasure). She had to be sure nobody would pay attention to her, but she couldn’t resist the soft touch of silk on her skin. Anyway, she went rushing in the baby’s room and unclothed it.

                                There it was, right in front of her. It was not baby Barron, it was a girl! She had been fooled by the clothes and the awful mess the baby had done in its pants. And for sure she had looked away because the smell, and she didn’t really liked babies.

                                “Oh Look who’s awake!” said the voice of June, thick with bad Maotai.

                                May felt the blood drain off her face. She dressed the baby back up to hide the missing appendage.

                                “Oh! Nice baby Barron,” she said trying to hide the quiver in her voice. “Look who’s back, your two favourite Aunties.” May turned to face the two au pairs with a forced smile on her face. The baby started to cry.

                                #5585
                                TracyTracy
                                Participant

                                  Aunt Idle:

                                  The more they hounded me to open the letter, the less I wanted to.  I just wanted to dig my heels in at first, honestly when nothing ever happens for months and years on end, any little thing out of the ordinary is worth making a meal of.  But the longer it went on, the more uneasy I got. What if it was disappointing, somehow?  What if there was bad news, or news we didn’t want to hear that we wouldn’t be able to unhear, once we knew?  What if it was none of those things and just a few scribbles the child had done, or a hand print? It was like opening a Christmas present with a dozen people looking at your reaction when you open it. What if it was something that didn’t tell you anything? Maybe something quickly tied together in a rush with no particular meaning? Of course that would be a treasure to receive, what with communications being so non existent, but still, it would be an anti climax after all this anticipation.  What I wanted, I realized, was the complete story of everything that had happened since we last saw them. I wanted to know all about it.

                                  #5376
                                  TracyTracy
                                  Participant

                                    Aunt Idle:

                                    I don’t know how I restrained myself from throttling Finly when she finally handed me the letter from Corrie.  A whole week she’d had it,  and wouldn’t share it until she’d cleaned every last window. Some peoples priorities, I ask you!  The funny thing was that even when I had it in my hand I didn’t open it right away. Even with Mater and Bert breathing down my neck.

                                    It was something to savour, the feeling of having an unopened letter in ones hand.  Not that this looked like the letters we used to get years ago, all crisp and slim on white paper, addressed in fine blue ink. This was a bundle tied with a bit of wool pulled out of an old jumper by the look of it, all squiggly,  holding together several layers of yellowed thin cardboard and written on with a beetroot colour dye and a makeshift brush by the look of it.  The kind of thing that used to be considered natural and artistic, long ago, when such things were the fashion.  I suppose the fashion now, in such places where fashion still exists, is for retro plastic.  They said plastic litter wouldn’t decompose for hundreds of years, how wrong they were! I’d give my right arm now for a cupboard full of tupperware with lids. Or even without lids.  Plastic bottles and shopping bags ~ when I think back to how we used to hate them, and they’re like gold now.  Better than gold, nobody has any interest in gold nowadays, but people would sell their soul for a plastic bucket.

                                    I waited until the sun was going down, and sat on the porch with the golden rays of the lowering sun slanting across the yard.  I clasped the bundle to my heart and squinted into the sun and sighed with joyful anticipation.

                                    “For the love of god, will you get on with it!” said Bert, rudely interrupting the moment.

                                    Gently I pulled the faded red woolen string, and stopped for a moment, imaging the old cardigan that it might have been.

                                    I didn’t have to look at Mater to know what the expression on her face was, but I wasn’t going to be rushed.  The string fell into my lap and I turned the first piece of card over.

                                    There was a washed out picture of a rooster on it and a big fancy K.

                                    “Cornflakes!” I started to weep. “Look, cornflakes!”

                                    “You always hated cornflakes,” Mater said, missing the point as usual.  “You never liked packet cereal.”

                                    The look I gave her was withering, although she didn’t seem to wither, not one bit.

                                    “I used to like rice krispies,” Bert said.

                                    By the time we’d finished discussing cereal, the sun had gone down and it was too dark to read the letter.

                                    #5375
                                    TracyTracy
                                    Participant

                                      May took the brat down to the kitchen and gave him the pot of cold spinach to play with while she slipped outside to send a coded message to her fiance,  Marduk.  Barron happily commenced smearing globs of green mush all over his face, mimicking his fathers applications of orange skin colouring paste.

                                      “We have a window of opportunity tonight,” May wrote. Actually she said “hu mana sid neffa longo tonga bafti foo chong“, which meant the same thing.   “Slopi sala ding wat forg ooli ama“,  which she knew Marduk would read as:  “The kid will be in a big pot of spinach by the gate at midnight.”

                                      Forg ooli ama? keni suba?” he replied.   With an impatient sigh May texted back “Sagi poo! And bring a spare set of clothes and a wash cloth!”

                                      Now all she had to do was pack her suitcase, and keep the kid occupied for the next couple of hours.  What she wasn’t expecting was a visit from Norma, who plonked herself down at the kitchen table, and started a long story about how underpaid and underappreciated she was.

                                      May tried to hurry her along with the story, but there was no rushing Norma.  She was firmly planted at the table for the duration of the evening. May did some quick thinking, and slipped a couple of fast acting laxative pills into the glass of wine that she handed to the maid, frustrated that no sleeping pills were easily found.  They usually worked within a couple of hours, and with a bit of luck May could coincide her exit with Norma’s inevitable rush to the lavatory.

                                      “امیدوارم که مؤثر باشد” May said to herself, and seated herself at the table to endure Norma’s long winded complaints.  One hour and 43 minutes to go.

                                      #5368
                                      AvatarJib
                                      Participant

                                        Noor Mary Chowdhury had just been promoted to the role of housekeeper since the arrival of the new Iranian maid, May. It was a nice change of position but sadly the salary was not really following, she’ll have to talk to the chief of stuff, Mr August. She suspected him to have a crush on her and he might get a word in her favor to Mr Lump.

                                        “Tskk,” she said to May. “You’re not doing it right, rub gently with the newspaper to make the silver shine.”

                                        “Like that?” asked May. Norma bobbed her head the Indian way, and as May seemed a bit confused she added “close enough.”

                                        “Mayyyyy”.

                                        The shout startled them both.

                                        “Keep doing like that only. I’m the housekeeper, I’ll go check.”

                                        Norma went to the nursery room and her lips tightened when she saw the two au pair aunties slumped on the couch. June’s eyes were misty, she turned her bottle upside down to show it was empty. April was busy on her phone as usual, ignoring the maid as if she was insignificant.

                                        Norma snorted, she didn’t say anything but showed her disapproval silently. June’s breath could make an elephant drunk while sitting on its back and April was so ugly she would make it run away.

                                        “I’m not your maid,” the housekeeper said.

                                        “Oh that’s right!” said June to April “Coz she’s got a PhD!” and they laughed.

                                        It hurt but Norma kept her lips tight and left the room. She bumped into Mr August Finest and her mind went blank. He was tall and wore a handsome moustache. She had forgotten she wanted to talk to him about her salary.

                                        #4858
                                        EricEric
                                        Keymaster

                                          “Well, where were we?” Jerk took the articles where he left them when he got up to check the price on one lacking a barcode.
                                          The blip blip resumed, with the impatient twitching lady pouncing on the items as soon as they passed the scanning, to cram them into her compostable bag.

                                          Days were stretching in ennui, and he started to feel like an android. At least, the rhythmical blips and “Have a good day, thank you for your purchase” were now part of his muscle memory, and didn’t require much paying attention to.

                                          He’d renewed the yearly fee to maintain his group website yesterday, but he wasn’t sure why he did it. There were still the occasional posts on the groups he was managing, but the buzz had died already. People had moved to other things, autumn for one. Really, what was the point of maintaining it for 3 posts a week (and those were good weeks, of course not counting the spam).

                                          There was fun occasionally, but more often than not, there were harangues.
                                          He wondered what archetype he was in his life story; maybe he was just a background character, and that was fine, so long as he wasn’t just a supporting cast to another megalomaniac politician.

                                          The apartment blocks were he was living were awfully quiet. His neighbours were still in travel, he wondered how they could afford it. Lucinda was completely immersed in her writing courses, and Fabio was still around amazingly – Lucinda didn’t look like she could even care of herself, so a dog… Meanwhile, the town council was envisaging a “refresh” of their neighborhood, but he had strong suspicion it was another real-estate development scheme. Only time would tell. He wasn’t in a rush to jump to the conclusion of an expropriation drama —leave that to Luce.

                                          Friday would have been her 60th brithday (funny typo he thought). Their dead friend’s birthday would still crop up in his calendar, and he liked that they were still these connections at least. Did she move on, he wondered. Sometimes her energy felt present, and Lucinda would argue she was helping her in her writing endeavours. He himself wasn’t sure, those synchronicities were nice enough without the emphatic spiritualist extrapolations.

                                          “Happy birthday Granola.” he said.

                                          :fleuron2:

                                          Another crack appeared on the red crystal into which Granola was stuck for what felt like ages.

                                          “About time!” she said. “I wonder if they have all forgotten about me now.”

                                          She looked closely at the crack. There was an opening, invisible, the size of an atom. But maybe, just maybe, it was just enough for her to squeeze in. She leaned in and focused on the little dot to escape.

                                          #4854
                                          FloveFlove
                                          Participant

                                            “Nothing injured here,” said Agent X brushing himself down. “What is your status, Agent V?”

                                            “Hunky dory.” She extricated her tee shirt from a branch and inspected a deep red scrape on her arm. Her eyes circled the small clearing in which they had landed. If landed isn’t too grand a word.

                                            “Lots of trees,” she said.

                                            Agent X started heading towards a particularly dense area of bush. “This way to destination D,” he said brightly. “No time to lose.”

                                            I wonder what I ever saw in him,” mused V. Although he does have quite a nice butt.

                                            They had only trekked a few hundred meters when Agent X stopped abruptly. “Shush,” he whispered, holding his finger to his lips. “Do you hear something?”

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