Barb Taub ~ How NOT to quarantine. #humor #Lockdown #coronavirus

Reblogged from Barb Taub:

Hello fellow Lockdowners:

Today I broke the Hub, starting with his eyebrows.

He wasn’t able to get his hair cut before the lockdown. This isn’t really a big issue because…how to put this delicately? Having too much hair on his head hasn’t been a problem for him for decades. But at breakfast I looked up and realized that overnight two furry little animals had crawled onto his face and died. In their death throes, their scary spikey fur was standing straight out above his eyes. When I pointed this out, he got worried because he’s been doing video business meetings and classes online, and the dead animals eyebrows would certainly be visible.

So he did what anyone with a PhD in a highly complex and technical field would do. He took the electric clippers I’d gotten for the dog and gave himself a trim, hair AND eyebrows. When he came in to show me, I screamed. Apparently, his dead face-animals must have attracted rabid badgers, who gnawed his hair and eyebrows off in patches (leaving, for some reason, the respectable beginnings of a rattail at the back of his head).

Continue reading at Barb Taub

 

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Eve ~ Ritu Bhathal #writephoto

“Eve? Eve! Come back, babe! Oh, come on. I thought you’d like my costume… dressed as a tree. I even had an apple hidden, in a special place, for you to, you know, bite into. Reminiscing the good old days…

Continue reading at  But I Smile Anyway

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Riddles of the Night: The long and the short of it…

Continuing the story of a Silent Eye workshop in Derbyshire, in December 2017. Parts One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten and Eleven can be found by clicking the highlighted links.

We had arranged for everyone to meet on our final morning at the church of St Michael and All Angels in Hathersage. It is a place we have visited on many occasions, but, as had been the way lately, recent visits had shed new light on old, familiar details. Even ones we had previously photographed and written about, but still not really seen.

The current church is largely fourteenth century, with all the usual later renovations and additions, though there had been a church on the site, close to an old settlement of the Danes, since at least 1100. The names of all the vicars are still remembered, as far back as 1281.

Initially, the decision to visit the church had been taken simply to provide a point of interest along the way, as our main site for the morning was at some distance from our base in Bakewell. A visit to reconnoitre had changed that perspective, once we had made the Eyre connection.

And anyway, given that we had spent the previous afternoon at Robin Hood’s Stride, it seemed only right to pay our respects at the giant grave of his companion, John Little, better known as Little John… and chuckle at what appears to be a parking meter beside his resting place.

Charlotte Bronte stayed at the vicarage here when she was about to write Jane Eyre. The name of her heroine is that of the influential Eyre family whose tomb dominates the chancel of the church, along with a number of medieval brasses showing the Eyre knights and their ladies.

It was one of their descendants, Thomas Eyre, who had been the parson at Birchover and who had shaped the enigmatic landscape of Rowtor Rocks where we had spent the previous morning. And as if that wasn’t enough of a connection, there were all the other details we had missed…

As with so many things we have known but not realised until the time was right, it hadn’t even registered fully that this was a St Michael and All Angels, in spite of the dragons carved as gargoyles and grotesques on the outside of the church. The St Michael dedication is commonly found in areas where the leys… the dragon lines… can be found and the All Saints/All Angels attribution, we have found, tends to be significant.

Oddly enough, it is only as I write that it bothers to register that the little church in the village where I have lived for over fifteen years is also a St Michael and All Angels. Even odder still is the fact that the village of Hathersage has two churches dedicated to St Michael.

Arriving early on the last morning of the workshop, we had time to look around the churchyard, noticing how may of the crosses on the headstones were of the ‘cross pattée’ type, or resembled those on the medieval grave-markers we had seen at Bakewell.

Many of these symbols were also associated with the Templars and their successors. And, just to put the icing on the proverbial cake, one grave is carved with the All-Seeing Eye that is a symbol frequently associated with Freemasonry.

We know that it is easy enough for the human mind to join the dots and make patterns, finding significance where there is, in reality, none at all. It is all too easy to come up with a theory and start making the pieces of information you find fit that theory, rather like the Ugly Sisters in Cinderella, cutting off toes to squeeze their feet into the Glass Slipper. We didn’t have a theory… we didn’t have a clue what we were seeing to begin with, only that we were being presented with a lot of odd facts, artefacts and coincidences that all seemed to be related. All we were doing was trying to make sense of it all…

Had we any idea of what we were doing? More importantly, did those who had left us this centuries-old breadcrumb trail know what they were about? If they did, what were they up to? And if not, why were the same pertinent symbols showing up again and again in the most disparate places? What could possibly link a medieval church, the Templars, Eyres and Freemasons, a ‘green’ giant and the Bronze Age stone circle we would be visiting as our last site of the weekend?

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Eve ~ Sadje #writephoto

It was on the eve of that day

When we finally got the courage

To face our inner daemons

To put an end to the tormentors

Holding on to our heart with both hands

Continue reading at Keep it Alive

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The Eve of Destruction ~ Trent P. McDonald #writephoto

Hal scanned the items Toby had brought in.

“No, no, these won’t do at all.  I gave you very specific instructions.  Please try again.”

“Yes, sir,” Toby said.

Hal shook his head.  The spare parts were becoming scarce, harder and harder to find.  Someday there would be nothing left to scavenge.  Worse, nobody wanted to learn the ancient craft.  Toby was his twelfth apprentice in 22 years.  All of them before had left for more lucrative positions.

And each and every one was better on their worst days than that idiot Toby was on his best day.

Continue reading at  Trent’s World

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Mixed messages…

“… so older people are more at risk?”

I could see the wheels turning.

How old are you now?” I told him. His eyes widened. “When did that happen?”

I mentioned birthdays and their usual function of adding a year at a time to your age…

Next day the multivitamins arrived.

Designed for seniors.

“Make sure you take them…”

My son survived only because the thought was there… supporting my obviously elderly and decrepit immune system.

I did try to point out that sleep was also good for my immune system… but he didn’t take the bait, so I’m still up before dawn. To be fair, I did get one later start… which was lovely… but all the others we’ve agreed have gone down the drain when the birds woke him too early…

Then he imposed social distancing, of a sort. Not between him and me… that, given the level of support he needs, would be an impossibility. But to keep me away from potential infection, as I am obviously on my last legs. Except, as he has not been able to get a grocery delivery for the past few weeks… and cannot book one before mid-May… I am still having to shop for what he needs on a daily basis, which sort of scuppered his plans.

But lately, his ‘care of the elderly’ has become a bit confused.

On the one hand, he frets about me climbing ladders in case I fall, and with my ancient and threadbare immune system in mind, encourages me to have lunch with him most days… so he knows I have eaten “at least one decent meal” and am not “existing on cereals”. While I protest that my joints cannot take the extra weight I am likely to gain, he does have a pretty good chef… even if I do say so myself.

On the other hand, frail and falling apart though I apparently am, I have hauled out the pumps and cleaned his leech-infested pond yet again, wrestled with old roses whose roots are almost as big as me, digging holes for them so deep that he asked me what I’d brought back from Australia, cleared his back garden of the mess, bricks and heavy tubs the builders left behind, hefted solid limestone paving slabs and serviced his trike. And today, just for a treat, I will get to jet-wash his entire garden…

So I reckon I’ll have worked off my lunch.

“Well,” said my son, “If you’re that old, it won’t be that long till you retire,” assuming I make it that far in my frail and feeble state. “ …so I need to make the most of you while you’re still around…”

“…!”

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Scared ~ Reena Saxena #writephoto

“I have a confession to make.”

His loving eyes looked different, and she felt a knot in the stomach.

“No. It’s not what you think. I’m not going away anywhere. The monster you killed that fateful night was a dummy, and I helped you escape the law. But the monster who harassed you before that was me.”

Continue reading at Reena Saxena

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Bow #midnighthaiku

Walking through a dream

Far beyond the rainbow’s arc

Freedom lies waiting

*

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I’m a few mangos short of a chutney ~ Barb Taub #travel #India #humor

Reblogged from Barb Taub:

I’m Losing My Mangos.

Microwave Mango Chutney: There are a few recipes out there that qualify as miracles, and this must be near the top of the list. If you can find your mangos, you can microwave the best mango chutney you’ll ever experience in less than 10 minutes. It will change you forever. Promise. (I use this recipe from Silver Palate New Basics Cookbook, ©1989 Julee Rosso, Sheila Lukins, and available here. [Image by Steve Buissinne from Pixabay] 

I’m not sure how other writers are doing, but I expected to be churning out (obviously brilliant) new prose by the novel-full as we shelter from the pandemic. Somehow that’s not what’s happening, for a variety of reasons.

  • First, I have to admit I’m losing my marbles, or at least my mangos. No seriously. I purchased fresh mangos at budget-busting sums, but when I went to use them, they had disappeared. I looked everywhere, and accused my roommates (Hub and canine) of mango-nabbing. Two days later, the Hub found them in the cleaning cabinet under the laundry room sink. Since there is absolutely zero chance that either of my roomies left them there—one is thumb-deprived and one is mystified by my incessant cleaning of things like the toilet which will only need to be cleaned again—I can only conclude I’m the culprit.

Continue reading at Barb Taub

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Eve ~ Iain Kelly #writephoto

The monster haunted her every dream.

A giant, ten-feet high, with blue glowing eyes and long willowy tendrils.

It came for her through the fire and smoke, a vision of Hell surrounded by the dead.

She knew why it came for her. It knew she was vulnerable, a victim, an easy target that it could torment and devour. She had to make it stop. She had to fight back.

That morning she woke up covered in sweat, her breathing fast and shallow.

Continue reading at Iain Kelly

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