You've brought far too much chocolate, said Marie. And I don't see a sleeping bag. What are you going to do if we decide to camp out?
Don't worry about me, said Jesus. I've got this sheet.
And he pulled a grubby white sheet from the bottom of his pack.
That won't keep you very warm, said Marie.
Never mind, said Jesus. Have a chocolate.
No thanks. said Marie. No chocolate till Sunday.
What? said Jesus.
Don't you know the rule? aked Belle et Bonne.
No, this is the first I've heard of it, said Jesus.
I thought you of all people would know that rule, said Belle et Bonne. You surprise me. You don't seem very religious.
Religious! Why should I be religious? scoffed Jesus.
Yes Belle, said Marie. Jesus doesn't need to be religious. And neither are we religious, she added.
Then you ought to have a chocolate, said Jesus.
No thanks, said Marie. There are other reasons not to eat chocolate.
They cycled all afternoon along the coast road beside the wind-tossed sea. They bought pizzas for dinner and ate them under a pine tree.
Let's sleep under this tree tonight, said Belle et Bonne. It doesn't look like it'll rain.
Alright, said Marie, and Jesus agreed.
They lay side by side looking up at the clouds and the stars through the pine branches, Jesus in the middle because he was cold.
Jesus got out his Blackberry. The clouds look like blue white and black chrysanthemums, he said.
Are you tweeting that? asked Belle et Bonne.
Yes, replied Jesus.
It's nice, said Marie. Goodnight.
Goodnight, said Jesus, pulling out another block of chocolate.
To keep me warm, he said.
Sure, said Belle et Bonne. Goodnight Jesus. Sleep well. Good Friday tomorrow.
See if I care, said Jesus.
Showing posts with label Sunday. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sunday. Show all posts
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Near the Hole
ageless!! surely you aren't so thick as to believe god is a lobster! or pardon mmme a Creative Lobsterian Force!! ha ha, i amm laughing so much i amm falling off mmmy window sill.
ooh i have fallen off i will have to call pierre mmy bosommmmm friend
pierre! pierre! help mme i have fallen off the window sill!
ohh ageless she is not commming it is sunday
never mmind now i can explore the lower regions, mmm, there is a mmmetallic echo and i think i ammm very near the hole. o! i ammm afraid.
yes it is sunday pierre will be at church it is not far away. in fact she does not go anywhere she just commmmunes with the big stone at the end of the window sill but you have fat chance of getting her attention when she's doing it.
she worships a stone you are right but it is no ordinary stone, it is a stone made up of stones and all stones are manifest in its aspect at least so says pierre.
as for mme i don't believe in god, i have been around too long, eons and eons both as a living clammmmm and as a fossil, and believe mme, i have seen no sign of anything supernatural in all that timmmme, i wish i had it mmight be useful it mmight save mmme fromm this hole as it seemmms pierre isn't going to do it any timmme soon.
oh guess what ageless. hummboldt's gift turns out to be an idea for a film script, which hummboldt left his good friend charlie in his will. and it isn't any good. can you believe it ageless but the story is not over yet, perhaps.
sorry for laughing at you ageless and see where it has got mme, now mmaybe you are laughing.
tell mmme another story ageless to lift the boredommmm fromm the mmind of your friend
kobo
ooh i have fallen off i will have to call pierre mmy bosommmmm friend
pierre! pierre! help mme i have fallen off the window sill!
ohh ageless she is not commming it is sunday
never mmind now i can explore the lower regions, mmm, there is a mmmetallic echo and i think i ammm very near the hole. o! i ammm afraid.
yes it is sunday pierre will be at church it is not far away. in fact she does not go anywhere she just commmmunes with the big stone at the end of the window sill but you have fat chance of getting her attention when she's doing it.
she worships a stone you are right but it is no ordinary stone, it is a stone made up of stones and all stones are manifest in its aspect at least so says pierre.
as for mme i don't believe in god, i have been around too long, eons and eons both as a living clammmmm and as a fossil, and believe mme, i have seen no sign of anything supernatural in all that timmmme, i wish i had it mmight be useful it mmight save mmme fromm this hole as it seemmms pierre isn't going to do it any timmme soon.
oh guess what ageless. hummboldt's gift turns out to be an idea for a film script, which hummboldt left his good friend charlie in his will. and it isn't any good. can you believe it ageless but the story is not over yet, perhaps.
sorry for laughing at you ageless and see where it has got mme, now mmaybe you are laughing.
tell mmme another story ageless to lift the boredommmm fromm the mmind of your friend
kobo
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
The Information-Rich Half Woman
Welcome to my attempt to discover connectivity in random things. The second random thing is :
The Information-Rich Half Woman.
Last weekend we went to the beach twice. Once with our daughter, on Saturday afternoon, and once without her, on Sunday afternoon. On Saturday it was cloudy and cool.
On Sunday it was sunny, but it was very chilly on the beach. I took a photograph of the esplanade for a reason that escapes me now.
I loaded the photo onto Facebook, where my daughter commented that it looked a little colder than the day before.
I was surprised. In the photo it looked sunny and there were several people on the beach in shorts. What are the clues? I asked.
The woman on the far right, she answered. An outfit for a cold day.
The woman on the far right was so far to the right that she was only half a woman. I had hardly noticed she was in the picture at all. She was middle aged, wearing one sensible shoe, half a pair of wide black pull-on trousers, half a sleeveless fleece, one sleeve of a red long-sleeved sweater and half a pair of sunglasses. She was, needless to say, walking on the esplanade, not down on the beach.
My daughter is good at processing information.
The Information-Rich Half Woman.
Last weekend we went to the beach twice. Once with our daughter, on Saturday afternoon, and once without her, on Sunday afternoon. On Saturday it was cloudy and cool.
On Sunday it was sunny, but it was very chilly on the beach. I took a photograph of the esplanade for a reason that escapes me now.
I loaded the photo onto Facebook, where my daughter commented that it looked a little colder than the day before.
I was surprised. In the photo it looked sunny and there were several people on the beach in shorts. What are the clues? I asked.
The woman on the far right, she answered. An outfit for a cold day.
The woman on the far right was so far to the right that she was only half a woman. I had hardly noticed she was in the picture at all. She was middle aged, wearing one sensible shoe, half a pair of wide black pull-on trousers, half a sleeveless fleece, one sleeve of a red long-sleeved sweater and half a pair of sunglasses. She was, needless to say, walking on the esplanade, not down on the beach.
My daughter is good at processing information.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Brighton in the Afternoon
We don't always go to the beach at sunset. Take Sunday, for instance.
We were at my mum's visiting. It was 4 o'clock, and 42 degrees. She packed us off down the road for a swim, but she didn't come. The beach is no place for an old person on a day like this, she said.
We walked down Smith Street to the beach, down the steps and into the sea. There were more people in the water than out, feet balanced on underwater ripples of sand edged with an algal green. Knees bent in the sea not swimming. Hands floating in the top layer of water which was hot. Breathing the humid air hovering at head height over the flat slightly heaving green and yellow sea.
Not every old person had felt like my mum. Knees bent in the water close to the shore an old man harangued his wife and regaled her with a funny story. He stood up. His swimming trunks sagged. He pulled them up. He bent towards his wife and adjusted the strap of her swim suit. She continued to stare at the shore.
And I continued to stare at the shore, with the sun behind my head. Bright amoeba-like shapes slid over the skin of the waves reflecting the rocks and the tall creamy houses over the road. The first time I'd ever noticed those slices of houses shimmering in that sea.
We were at my mum's visiting. It was 4 o'clock, and 42 degrees. She packed us off down the road for a swim, but she didn't come. The beach is no place for an old person on a day like this, she said.
We walked down Smith Street to the beach, down the steps and into the sea. There were more people in the water than out, feet balanced on underwater ripples of sand edged with an algal green. Knees bent in the sea not swimming. Hands floating in the top layer of water which was hot. Breathing the humid air hovering at head height over the flat slightly heaving green and yellow sea.
Not every old person had felt like my mum. Knees bent in the water close to the shore an old man harangued his wife and regaled her with a funny story. He stood up. His swimming trunks sagged. He pulled them up. He bent towards his wife and adjusted the strap of her swim suit. She continued to stare at the shore.
And I continued to stare at the shore, with the sun behind my head. Bright amoeba-like shapes slid over the skin of the waves reflecting the rocks and the tall creamy houses over the road. The first time I'd ever noticed those slices of houses shimmering in that sea.
Monday, March 23, 2009
The Lesson
Pliny the Elder, who seems to think he can read anything of mine without asking, has been looking through some of my old diaries for seascapes.
Look at this one, he says excitedly. "Sunday, January 22nd 2006. By the time we realised it was cooling down enough to go for a walk, at about quarter to five, a horrid pall of smoke had enveloped all of Glenelg, and as we later found out, the whole of Adelaide. It was smoke that had blown over from Kangaroo Island where 3 fires were burning."
What memories this brings back!
What memories? I ask.
Of my volcano, he replies. But let me read on.
"Pat and I sat on a seat looking at the smoke-enshrouded sea, whence appeared pallid ghostly marine craft, with and without sails. Pockets of people stood waist deep in the water."
Oh! says Pliny, I can see it all !
"A young man with a smooth brown back cast a line in. What did he think he would catch, we wondered. An older man on a bicycle rode past and patted his saddle in what could have been construed as a lascivious manner, but did not stop."
Oh, that's the end. Pliny looks disappointed. What happened after that? Did the rescue ships arrive in time? And what has the man on the bicycle got to do with it?
Nothing, it rained the next day and the fires went out. They didn't need to send rescue ships. The old man just happened to be passing. But I wrote down what he did to teach him a lesson.
How might that work? No one will read your diary. Well, that is, I ............
Look at this one, he says excitedly. "Sunday, January 22nd 2006. By the time we realised it was cooling down enough to go for a walk, at about quarter to five, a horrid pall of smoke had enveloped all of Glenelg, and as we later found out, the whole of Adelaide. It was smoke that had blown over from Kangaroo Island where 3 fires were burning."
What memories this brings back!
What memories? I ask.
Of my volcano, he replies. But let me read on.
"Pat and I sat on a seat looking at the smoke-enshrouded sea, whence appeared pallid ghostly marine craft, with and without sails. Pockets of people stood waist deep in the water."
Oh! says Pliny, I can see it all !
"A young man with a smooth brown back cast a line in. What did he think he would catch, we wondered. An older man on a bicycle rode past and patted his saddle in what could have been construed as a lascivious manner, but did not stop."
Oh, that's the end. Pliny looks disappointed. What happened after that? Did the rescue ships arrive in time? And what has the man on the bicycle got to do with it?
Nothing, it rained the next day and the fires went out. They didn't need to send rescue ships. The old man just happened to be passing. But I wrote down what he did to teach him a lesson.
How might that work? No one will read your diary. Well, that is, I ............
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