Tag Archives: magazines

Resting Places; Take Two

Resting Places; Take Two

At Tom’s,

Normans Road Post Centre

Normans Road Post Centre

I stop to browse the shelves; to see what’s new,

to post a letter,

and discuss the weather

The weather

The weather (remnants of Cyclone Lusi)

and the state of the nation,

and the state of the street, and the theme of the week.

Hairy Maclary and Friends http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hairy_Maclary "hungrily sniffing and licking their chops, they followed him past the school and the shops"

Hairy Maclary, from Donaldson’s Dairy, and  Friends “hungrily sniffing and licking their chops, they followed him past the school and the shops”

And catch, if I can, the tales, that Mavis

must tell, of Mrs Carbuncle’s feet.

If I linger long, and lost, in Nancy’s  garden of notes,

I am bound to hear of Audrey’s Jim, who’s rowed ever so well  in the Maadi Cup,

and big brother Ben, who’s working in London and enjoying the slum of his OE* flat,

whilst Susan’s Prudence has had enough and is heading back home, come next June, to give little Johnny and Sam the chance of living close to Nan, and squelching their toes in the soil of the land.

And I will hear Tom say, with wisdom and care, ‘That’ll be twenty, today, Alastair, and Margaret’s magazine will be here next week. See you then. ”

A few blocks north and it’s time to sit,

The old barber's chair

The old barber’s chair

in an old barber’s chair, where a golden-haired maiden, elegant and thin,

washes and trims this gossip’s, (yours truly 🙂 ), grey mane ,

whilst we discuss the earthquakes, the state of repairs,

and her good young man who knows how to cook and take care of the kids.

And, as we engage in idle chatter, Hamish and Ryan wriggle and squirm on the bench by the door,

waiting their turn (no appointments necessary)  for a short back and sides, because Mum, flipping texts and pages, said that they must,

all oblivious to the fact that once, over there, Charlie stood,

and sold a half loaf of bread to Martha and Fred, and a scoop of sugar for Mother’s tea.

Only Mother said could they have it on tick, because baby Mabel is sick, and Pa’s got no work till next Tuesday week.

And kind Charlie nodded, and sighed,  with wisdom and care, and allowed them to add broken biscuits for free, because he knew Billy and Annie would pay when they could. Then he secured the safe in the floor,

and went to his home, out the back door,

where his Kathleen played and the dog kept watch.  And Charlie was content that, at least, for this day, he had food in the larder, stock in his shop and a place to stop, with his lovely Louisa and  daughters, two.

The shop,  which is now Madisons for Haircuts,  was operated (owned?) by my grandfather for a few years, from 1921. It is one of the few physical reminders of our family history that survived the earthquakes.

[This will be my last post for a few weeks. I will be taking a rest from writing my blog as I will be busy with house guests until early April. I will try, as best as I can, to read your blogs and comments but I may not be as active as usual.]

*OE means Overseas Experience, a little like a Gap Year.

In Dreams begin Responsibilities*

A little while back  Sophia Stuart (and her virtual self teamgloria  )  walked away from the fast lane……

Walking away from the fast lane

Walking away from the fast lane

which must explain why I found her/them, last week, at a small post shop in quiet, suburban Christchurch.

In the quiet suburbs

In the quiet suburbs

I was very surprised to see her there (that’s me in the window, not her), because we are awfully far away from her home in Los Angeles. But there she was, and she had obviously travelled very s l o w l y, possibly by sea, because her departure date was stamped November, and, even in our little backwater, it is already December ;). Because it is such a long way from over there, in the Northern Hemisphere,  to here, however one travels, and because teamgloria ** is one of my best blogging friends, I thought it only polite to invite  tg’s** who-she-is-in-real life-persona, Sophia, home for a spot of tea. So I scooped her up (she does say she is small) and home we went.  Sophia is used to driving about in a perfectly silver Prius but our transportation, though silver, is more modest :)…. a tiny Echo aka motoka kiwikiwi.

Since I was not expecting guests, I  had only a simple cup of tea (rooibos, it was)  to offer, but I was sure Sophia wouldn’t mind. So, once home, I gathered up the  tea-tray  and

Tea Tray for Sophia

Tea Tray for Sophia

a  favourite shawl (Sophia likes shawls)  which, long, long ago, was loomed by the  loving  hands of gentle women in far Nepal,

Cloth of silken threads

Cloth of silky cotton threads

and spread a small picnic tea for the two of us,  in the late afternoon  shade of the sweet-scented, summer roses.

In the shade of the roses

In the shade of the roses

Isn’t it a lovely setting for a cup of tea?  Take a closer look  and enjoy talking to Sophia as much as I did. I hope you can see her, though 🙂

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If you think I am being a little too fanciful, (and I am, just a little), think deeply on  the serendipity of this. In the morning, before I met Sophia at the post shop, I read this, about beauty and dreams and cloths, in my book of daily poetry: our encounter was, I think,  meant to be……

He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven

Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

William Butler Yeats
Now, most everyone says that this is a love poem and most everyone
is, no doubt, right, but I am NOT everyone, and, for me, these words
speak of the gloriousness that is created, and the life that is lit,  loved
and well-lived, when we cherish and respect and take responsibility
for our   dreams: all dreams;
your dreams, my dreams, the dreams of city dweller, suburban home
maker and  the gentle weaver of Kathmandu……..
(Phew! All ‘that’ from a cup of tea and a magazine :D)
© silkannthreades
A loose thread