Out of ideas

 

Out of ideas

 . . . so I’m reposting a post from nine years ago. It was a response to a prompt from a meme that is no longer active.

 

Tell me a story

 

Tell me a story

Of once upon a time,

When magic ruled the earth.

 

Tell it short or tell it long,

Make it trivial or sublime,

Write it sad or full of mirth. 

 

Knit a fabric of surprise,

Blend in truth and dreams or lies,

But make it real somewise.

 

Make me laugh or make me cry,

Tell me tales that make me sigh,

Bid me always question, ‘Why?’

 

Create for me delicious fright

Or make me gasp in sheer delight,

And make sure wrong is never right.

 

Catch a child’s mind when you can,

Always make your stories fun,

Then, storytellers, you have won!

 

Clinging

Tomorrow marks the third anniversary of my step into the Blog world. I shall probably forget it on the day so I'm reminding myself of it now with a repost of one of my earlier, unread posts. Enjoy!

Cling – to hold tightly, be emotionally over-dependent, refuse to let go

I'm a reasonably independent woman, not often prone to temperamental outbursts. I love the members of my family and I think they love me. We embrace affectionately, support each other emotionally and respect each other's privacy. Why then, given these parameters, can I not cope with clingfilm?

Other people efficiently manage to encase widely differing objects; jugs of stock are staunchly refused permission to spill, cakes are neatly parcelled and hermetically sealed, the onions of winter salads resolutely try but fail to send their fumes beyond the plastic. Portions of fruit and slices of vegetables, roast chicken carcasses and too-generous casseroles all consign themselves to the constraints of this thin clear self-adhering plastic material.

They do all this until I try to marshal them. To be more precise it is not the contents that prove problematic but the clingfilm. Does it recognise in me a person who secretly longs to be enfolded in strong arms and held close till, breathless with passion, I beg for release? Well, of course not, but I have to distract myself with idle thoughts as I wrestle with the wretched wrapping that clings to itself and to me as if scared to let go. I mutter and curse as the film tightens and thickens and eventually manage to reduce it to a sulky pellet which I would love to hurl into the rubbish bin but cannot as it still seems loath to leave me.

Thus, the contents of my fridge are left unwrapped, tainted with onion and curry, the chicken carcasses dry out to firewood consistency, the lemon halves shrink to husks, the cabbages wilt and everything that was once fresh and crisp limps into unappetising decrepitude.

Ah me, such is life!