Too Irate to Celebrate.

I wasn’t expecting Easter to be a happy occasion this year but I thought that we would at least get to eat a nice meal. How wrong can you be?

I suggested to my husband that it might be a good idea if he helped his 89 year old father to barbecue the meat but he was not impressed with the idea. He did however manage to check on his father’s progress from time to time and tell him what he was doing wrong before wandering off for another cigarette and a sip of iced coffee.

I busied myself in the kitchen seasoning meat and preparing salads and muttering under my breath about turnip headed trouts. In retrospect I should have paid more attention to what I was doing.

It took granddad over two hours to get the barbecue cleaned and lit so time was getting on and tummies were rumbling by the time the lamb chops, pork chops and sausages were cooked I had a plate of golden chips ready and the salads just needed dressing.

The best part of any BBQ for me is that first bit of meat snaffled off the grill but this was not the case on Sunday. As I happily chomped on succulent looking lamb chop my anticipation of gastronomic bliss plummeted from a precipice of panic as I realized that the chop was as salty as the dead sea. Drastic action was needed so I grabbed a bowl filled it with warm water and as I washed the chops granddad tossed them back on the grill for a quick sizzle. We carried the doctored dinner into the kitchen and were met by thick smoke bellowing from the fryer. In all the excitement I had forgotten about the last lot of chips (though they now resembled charcoal bricks) and we arrived on the scene just in time to prevent a fire.

We sat down to a meal of slightly less salty meat and cold chips then I remembered the salad dressing. I quickly threw salt oil and lemon into the mix and poured it on the salad before realizing that I hadn’t added pepper. Grabbing the pepper pot I turned it upside down over the salad and the lid fell off emptying the entire contents into the bowl. Once I had removed the salad with most of the pepper and tossed the rest we sat down in the smoky kitchen to a meal that was more eye watering than mouth watering and I couldn’t help wondering if my mum in law was having a ghostly chuckle about the mess we were making now that she isn’t here to shout and chivvy

Getting back into the swing of things.

Swinging

He hadn’t understood why she was so upset.

After twenty years of marriage he said
their sex life was getting stale.

Lots of couples did it.
Swinging was the thing he’d said.

She smiled contentedly
as his body swung in the tree.

Swinging wasn’t her cup of tea
but it was just what he deserved.

Shout Out for The Bloggess

If you came here expecting to be entertained then go here.

Perfect in Public

He's the perfect gentleman, at his lady’s elbow, kind and solicitous, smiling for the crowd.

She, recalling the man she fell in love with, feels a flicker of hope.

Back home, hanging his suit in the wardrobe, he tucks his caring persona in his pocket scowling at his family.

She returns to her divorce plans.

Death of a Day.

I refuse to justify the waning of the day
No matter that the sunset is a glorious blaze
.
It is the death of daylight.
Spilling its lifeblood into the sky.

No matter that the stars are bright.
They shed precious little light.
To illuminate the black of night.

I cannot accept this death of daytime.
The moon, a melancholy globe,
Does nothing to assuage.
I’ll mourn ‘til morn.


.


ELEVTHERIA POTAMOUSIS
1933 - 2010
RIP

Invisible 55

She planned her escape, reflecting on fourteen years of marriage.
If she had been the whore he claimed, she would have screwed all his friends and told them what a dickless wonder he was. The problem wasn’t that she wasn’t a lady, it was that she hadn’t married a gentleman. Time to find a solution.

The Final Countdown

Tired flesh sagging on aged bones.

A frightened face confused and worn.

The patient speaks,

“I feel so weak.”

I reply,

“You have to eat!”

The medical bills have all been paid.

There is no cure, you feel betrayed.

The patient speaks,

“I feel so weak.

I reply,

“You have to eat!”

No more drugs, no more hope.

No one tells you how to cope.

The patient speaks,

“I feel so weak.”

I reply,

“You have to eat!”

You make plans for when you’re stronger.

I ask the doctor “How much longer?”

The patient speaks,

“I feel so weak.”

I reply,

“You have to eat!”

You’re still hoping for a future.

I pray you won’t have to suffer.

The patient speaks,

“I feel so weak.”

I reply,

“You have to eat!”

I wonder if when you die.

I’ll have the strength left to cry.

The patient speaks,

“I feel so weak.”

I reply,

“You have to eat!”

I apologise to my friends for my apparent lack of interest.

Life and imminent death are keeping me busy.