Quick Nap

Prompt: Comfort


Hello Wednesday!

As summer turns to autumn we all put on a cheerful front and declare our love of brown leaves and claim to adore the crisp cold air. At the same time we are chilled and miserable and damp as we put on scratchy socks for the first time since summer and fold up our patio furniture, relegating it to dark corners of the garage.

It’s a comfort issue. Warm breezes are more comfortable than chill ones, bare toes prefer to wiggle freely, an ice-cold drink on a hot day is only marginally rivalled by a hot drink on a bone-chilling near-winter day.

Wait. Those hot steamy mugs sipped while gathered round a fire are almost the definition of comfort. Perhaps we need the un-comfort to truly revel in comfort. Yin and yang, and all that.

In any case, I don’t feel ready for hot chocolate just yet. I would still refer a frosted glass of rosé enjoyed while basking in the illusion of endless summer. For now, anyway.

On the subject of comfort, I’ve been busy writing/compiling an ebook to publish on Kindle, a definite step out of my comfort zone since while publishing is a glorious goal, self-doubt and and impostor-syndrome follow me around too. So I am going to get this book written (it’s a fun guide to setting up a kitchen and pantry for newbies) and out there just to shatter the mystique of publishing. If you like, I’ll announce its launch here when it is on it’s first free Amazon promo.

In the meantime, may I present a few of my favourite cartoons, very loosely related to today’s prompt, “comfort”?

 

cartoon cat schedule

 

cartoon old cat

 

cartoon crocs


Peace and comfort,

~~FP

Tiny Umbrella

Prompt: None

freddie

Hello Wednesday!

In a departure from tradition, this post is not related to a prompt, nor is the post meaningfully related to the images that accompany it. (Just call me crazy and wild!) It’s just that the following has rattled around in my head for over a day now, so it’s time to let it loose:

Your family’s home
They wanna be fed
But you are confused and tired and stressed 
And would rather be dead!

We are the caterers, my friends
And we’ll keep on cooking ’til the end
We are the caterers
We are the caterers
No time for stress dreams
‘Cause we are the caterers of the world!

Who knows what it means
It’s only a dream
But when it’s night after night after night
You just wanna scream!

We are the caterers, my friends
And we’ll keep on cooking ’til the end
We are the caterers
We are the caterers
No time for stress dreams
‘Cause we are the caterers of the world!

Do you have recurring, repetitive anxiety dreams? I do, and they get so frustrating— and so boring— that I am trying new strategies to keep them at bay.

The kitchen/ cooking dream had almost faded away, once I conjured up detailed images of a singing catering crew who would pop into the middle of the stress dream as soon as I saw the dreaded big kitchen. Now my dreams are getting sneaky. The big cookpots are only slowly revealed. The ingredients and guest list keep changing…

I suppose if I dealt with the cause of this particular recurring dream it would go away for good. But for the life of me, I can’t figure it out.

Apropos of nothing, may I present, since it’s Wednesday, a few of my favourite cartoons?

cartoon nice wave

cartoon leo-cullum-may-i-have-a-tiny-umbrella-in-this-ernie-i-m-on-vacation-new-yorker-cartoon_a-G-9184361-8419447

cartoon bliss-are-you-as-excited-as-i-am-new-yorker-cartoon_a-l-9269896-8419449


Wishing you an excitement-filled week—

~~FP

No Pressure

Prompt: Loop


Hello Wednesday, June 21, you summer solstice,

Today is my favourite day of the year because it is the longest day of the year. Sitting outside at 10 pm with a glass of wine, watching the sun set, is worth the harsh 5 am stabs of light. Yes, I am a night person.

The word “solstice” means “sun-stopping”. Sun-stopping!  That is not a magical astronomical anomaly, alas, but but is so-called because the point on the horizon where the sun appears to rise and set, stops and reverses direction after this day. It is an eternal loop.

Speaking of loops, the first of my favourite cartoons this week is tenuously related to the Daily Prompt, loop:

cartoon tortoise and hare


Also eternal…

cartoon peacocks


They say people of high intelligence enjoy black humor…

cartoon chef


Welcome summer!

~~FP

A Good Man

Prompt: Denial

pot boiling over

Cleveland Russell was 58 years old, serving a life sentence for the rape and murder of one of the students in his high school chemistry class. His first two years were spent mostly in solitary, because the girl was young, pretty, and white, and Cleveland was none of these things, and that did not go down well with certain elements of the prison population.

Now his cell was part of a grouping of accommodation for non-violent offenders and aging criminals of various backgrounds, and he was taking a correspondence course in Deep Learning with Python, and alternately worked as cook and kitchen cleaner, depending on the whims of Garrett Sommerkinder, another murderer who had run the B South kitchen and passively terrorized his associates for almost three years.

Garrett Sommerkinder had taken a liking to Marcus, possibly because of his good looks and laid back demeanour, his obvious harmlessness, and his talent for acquiescing to authority without appearing to be weak or frightened. And attempted murder was not a crime to be sneered at, even among killers. So he had Marcus chop carrots and peel potatoes and cut celery into sticks and also put him in charge of the soup pot, a weighty responsibility that Marcus took very seriously.

That’s how Marcus and Cleveland found themselves working together, alone, cleaning up after Monday late meal. Cleveland was mopping the floors. Marcus was straining inedibles from the soup pot, things that couldn’t be properly blended smooth, like rinds and seeds.

Cleveland had a mop and a bucket. The bucket was full of clean, hot, soapy water. He was proud to clean the floors of the dining area and kitchen of B South. It’s how he looked at life now. There were good things in life, like hot, soapy water. There were bad things, like germs and grime. Cleveland was doing his part to do right, as best he could, and he didn’t care if it was in a small way.

“Take out the skins,” Cleveland advised Marcus. “But keep the leaves.” By “leaves” he meant herbs, if by chance the sad little garden in the clay soil by the generator ever produced a bit of thyme or parsley.

“So you got life,” Marcus said, as he picked out skins. It was a common early conversation. Never about the crime, just about the time.

“No parole,” said Cleveland, without pride, as some killers did.

“Didn’t do it though, right?”

“Well I did kill the child,” said Cleveland. He wasn’t a big man, but had a stocky, immovable frame. He moved the raggedy mop across the floor like a masseuse, with care, knowledge, and just the right amount of pressure.

“That’s too bad,” said Marcus. “I didn’t try to kill my wife.”

“No?” said Cleveland.

“No. I loved her. Still do.”

“So it’s a mistake.”

“Yes, a mistake that they thought I tried to kill her. I only wanted a bit of cash,” Marcus said. “I wouldn’t hurt her.”

“No,” said Cleveland. “But you did?”

Marcus said nothing. He ran his hands under the hot water tap, and dried them with a faded yellow striped cloth. “I didn’t think it would play out the way it did,” he said.

Cleveland was finished with the floor, and went to the sink too, and washed his hands, and dried them on the same cloth.

He said, “Nothing plays out the way you think it will.”

“I shouldn’t be here,” said Marcus.

Cleveland didn’t chuckle, or shake his head, or wonder at the denial that fuelled so many wrong-headed and futile attempts at self-understanding. He picked up the bucket and mop and moved towards the door leading to the main utility hallway.

“Marcus, is it?” he said. “Let me tell you, this place where you are at? It was your choice.”

Marcus shook his head. Obviously this Cleveland person didn’t understand. Marcus was not a criminal. Maybe he didn’t love in the conventional way. Maybe he made a few mistakes. He was a good man, really.

When Cleveland left the kitchen, a strange silence fell. Marcus could feel it. He made sure all the burners were off under the stove. He waited a few seconds for the floor to dry, then made his way to the door. He was tired.

He was a good man, really.


  • Image: Shutterstock