December 2008 - Lesley

12/01

Although I am writing every day none of it is the satisfying “for me” writing. You might say that it was fiction, of a sort, but it will not be winning any awards and who would read it since it largely consists of evaluation reports and such like? When you are thirsting for a drop of creativity one hundred words a day might just keep you alive. At least there will be footprints on the snow and they may eventually tell some kind of tale. Keeping it going will be my first task then, followed by what to write next.

12/02

The stretched-out expanse of undisturbed snow called to her. It tempted her onto its freeze-dried flatness, sleeplessly bright and treacherously calm. Blinded by its purity she took her first steps, tentatively crushing the crisp surface and leaving ridged footprints in her wake. Instantly the chill wind made her eyes water, only for the frigid tears to freeze on her cheeks. A need to mark the unsullied whiteness overcame her and she reached out to the leaden sky. Like a felled oak she keeled over backwards and lay spread-eagled, her wide, staring eyes framed by their filigree frosting of white lashes.

12/03

I cry to hear your pain but cannot agree with what you have done. Sitting here in the middle I know that both of you are right and both so wrong. If it were just we three alone I’m sure we’d muddle along, but we have lovers, husbands, children and they all seem to get in the way. It doesn’t help to share everything with them. It complicates the issues and leaves many hurts behind that will fester. In a never ending cycle of blame they will all spew out again and again and I can see no way out.

12/04

She emerged from the river choking, weeds and water trailing from her shorn hair, hands making a frantic clutch at the sodden layers of underskirts which now revealed her bare thighs. It was strange how in moments of terror something mundane could occupy every space in your head, but protecting her modesty was the least of her worries. Struggling against her bonds was pointless and every effort served only to use up precious oxygen. Feeling the first downward motion of the beam she took a lung filling gasp of air as once more she was plunged beneath the icy water.

12/05

Thirst

On wakening a raging thirst came over me; a craving for sweet moisture that exposed a deficiency in every tissue of my body. Glued to the roof of my mouth, my swollen tongue ached, leaving me unable to articulate my desire.

A light pattering drew my attention to the dark panes of glass to the left of my bed. With sharp teeth biting at irritating motes of skin flaking from my lips I rose and lurched towards the window. Staring out at the sodden landscape my heart cried in agony at the sight of such a lack of sustenance.

12/06

Retching at the rising bile which burnt the back of my throat I propelled myself out into the starless night to find the means of quenching my desire.

My fevered brain fed my obsession and drove me on. Red-eyed, I strode along the deserted streets, wading through the overflowing gutters and crying dry tears at the hopelessness of finding salvation.

Near the darkened docks I lingered under a street light. A passing car splashed muddy water over the kerb as it pulled up close to where I lingered. The door opened and shaking raindrops from my coat I climbed inside.

12/07

Having little choice I knew I could take no pleasure from this act of desperation and the only emotions I recognised were depravity and self loathing.

He smiled as we settled on the back seat and the smell of damp leather rose with the warmth of our bodies. Removing his tie, I ran a nail down the exposed flesh of his neck and lent in, lips bared, moved by the need to act quickly before this chance expired.

He shuddered once as my teeth sank deeply into his flesh and then settled into ecstatic paralysis as I slated my thirst.

12/08

Goodbye to Grandad
Slow black car escort -
Suddenly laughter blossoms.
Look, his flat cap.

Grandad was a London docker for most of his life. He was one of the kindest, jolliest people I’ve ever come across, but then I only knew him as a “Grandad”. I know full well that he had his bad points, name someone who does not, but in my memory his image retains all the iconic qualities of Father Christmas, but without the beard and red suit.

In fact Grandad was bald. He lost his hair when he was twenty, through an illness never mentioned. In the whole of my family photo album Grandad seems to have never aged, though I do have one photo of him before he met my Nan, where he sports a full head of brown hair, which looks very odd!

12/09

The following short story has been developed from my 100 words on cold:

Cold

As Kanima stepped onto the never-ending ice-sea of Sital 4 she stared ahead at the hard landscape, not suited to man, where life could not exist. Instantly the chill wind made her eyes water, only for the frigid tears to freeze on her lashes. Already blinded by the purity around her she wiped away the encrusting from her eye-lids and took her first steps. The surface gave way with an echoing crack to reveal a layer of soft snow covering the solid depth of ice below.

12/10

The class had been set task as an introduction to their new home: to remain outside alone as long as possible in the inhuman conditions of the planet. Their tutor had explained in the classroom that it would be too cold to walk very far, but they were to be marked on the number of footsteps they achieved and their ability to remain calm and focussed. They were to maintain radio contact at all times and under no circumstances were they to touch any surface with their bare skin. Kanima looked around and wondered just how dangerous it could be.

12/11

She wondered how her friend Shanna had fared in the task. She had been fifth in today’s batch, or was it sixth? It didn’t really matter, but her confusion nagged at her. Shanna had stepped briskly from the long corridor which served as pod’s exit, and walked out beyond the wall of great ice blocks which afforded the pods some protection from the night storms, but Kanima had no idea what had happened to her friend after that. Reaching the gap in the gateway to the snow fields, Kanima quickly turned away from the well-trodden paths of the previous snow-walkers.

12/12

The stretched-out expanse of undisturbed snow called to her, tempting her away from the safety of the pods and luring her onto its freeze-dried flatness, sleeplessly bright and treacherously calm. How many footsteps could she take before she recognised her limits? Before she had to turn back?

The temptation to mark the unsullied whiteness in front of her became too great and she stopped suddenly some twenty steps out from the gateway. Turning to face the wall, she stretched her arms out from her sides and looked towards the heavens. She threw herself backwards, keeling over like a felled oak.

12/13

Eyes wide and staring, she lay supine, spread-eagled on the downy surface. In a few rapid movements she moved her limbs, sweeping them back and forth, creating a trough through the snow. Then just as abruptly as she had started she ceased all movement.

Silence settled around her prone form and the surface of her skin began to prickle all over. Her body was making an involuntary response to the creeping cold. If she had fur the goose bumps would have served to raise each hair follicle to improve insulation, but with no dense coat of hair she merely shivered.

12/14

All will to move seemed to be draining out of Kanima and she felt sleepy. The only thing she could focus on was the increasingly intense desire to urinate.

What was it her tutor had told her? Never… something. Watch for… what? Kanima felt confused and tried to recite out loud his instructions. She should know them off by heart after chanting them every day for last few weeks.

Were they her words, those slurred, blurred sounds? Her brain flitted from thought to thought and finally settled on the numbness which was creeping up from the tips of her fingers.

12/15

Cold bit through her gloves and she thought she could feel her own blood becoming dense and viscous. She should move, now, before her pulse slowed and ice crystals formed within her skin, but as she slowly considered this the thought slipped away from her. What was it she was going to do?

She yawned and watched the warmth from within her body dissipate into the biting air, ghostly whisperings escaping, her soul separating and taking flight. A moment of panic finally galvanised her and she tried to sit, but her body no longer responded to commands from her brain.

12/16

A dark shape loomed in front of her and a strong hand gripped her, pulling her upwards and away from the penetrating iciness which had immobilised her for too long.

“I think that has to be classed a fail, don’t you?” She watched her tutor’s lips move. He could be laughing at her, he could be angry, but the glare of the sun’s rays reflecting from his dark glasses masked any emotion in his face. His terse, flat voice droned on.

“Anyone can create a snow angel Miss Harcourt. The trick is not to lie there and freeze to death.”

12/17

Being a docker defined Grandad and shaped his life. It made him a life-long drinker and kleptomaniac. We all remember Grandad as a really good man, but he was undoubtedly a thief. At his funeral my Aunt’s eulogy to him mentioned the fact that Woolworths would miss him at the “Pick and Nix” counter and when he moved out of the family home to go and live with his son we unscrewed the front panel of the bath to release his stash of booze. Every type of spirit you could think of was there and none of it paid for.

12/18

One of my earliest memories of Grandad was being left with him outside a butcher’s shop while Mum and Nan went in to buy meat. Standing near the door, close to the window, and holding my hand with one hand, he coolly lifted a leg of lamb off a hook with the other hand and slipped the whole thing under his mac. With the words: “Come on girl,” (he rarely used our names) he gave me a tug and calmly walked off. Mum made a big fuss and I can not ever remember going shopping with Grandad again after that.

12/19

The House

The cold, grey walls were formed from great block s of granite, which always seemed to me to be a forever kind of stone, but these walls had been forgotten long ago. They had been uncared for over many decades and were now crumbling at the top and riven with jagged cracks. Soft tufts of moss grew over lintels and up window frames.

Someone had once lived here… had once loved here, and all that was left was the skeleton of a roof, its silver beams, bleached bones of a former existence, poking through the blue, shattered slates.

12/20

Something about this place called to my heart and drew me in. The house wanted me to become part of it. The scarlet slash that was its front door glared at me defiantly, daring me to make a home from its ruins, but would I be up to the task? Could I take over the reins from the person who had once diverted the stream, so that its gentle burbling could be forever heard on the edge of consciousness? Would I even be prepared to live here, outside any village, so isolated. I was not sure I wanted all this.

12/21

Old Dog, New Trick

You can’t teach an old dog new tricks, or so they say, but this has not proved to be the case with my mother. She’s not the old dog by the way, that’s Charlie, our highly strung springer/collie cross.

Stuck for a dog-sitter this summer we tentatively asked my parents to look after Charlie for two weeks. This might sound a reasonable request to you, but my mother has a life-long fear of dogs, particularly large, lively ones. Added to that she had recently fallen down stairs, breaking her arm and denting her confidence.

12/22

“What if he bullies me and won’t let me in the house?” I gave her what my husband calls my are you totally insane sneer.

“You’ve known him since he was a puppy, Mum, and besides, you’ll be feeding him. You just have to establish that you’re the top dog.”

So how do you go about that with a nine year old dog? His personality and routines were already well set and in his mind a firm chain of command was in place, with me right at the top, of course!

Mum did it by teaching Charlie a new trick.

12/23

It helped that he already had the basic set of commands: stay, sit, come and lie down (the old boy was extremely good at the latter). Plus, Mum was feeding him. It focuses the mind of most animals – husbands included, I have found – and immediately puts the food provider a few rungs up the social order ladder. However, getting your message across to an older dog, who basically wants to sleep all day, requires a lot of patience and gentle persuasion. Well, Mum had that in great abundance and she had plenty of time on her hands, or rather, hand!

12/24

Never having trained a dog before, she decided to get Charlie on side first and began by brushing him daily. He loves being groomed and quickly learnt to trust her and follow her commands. Such was his joy at this that he would jump up onto the garden table in anticipation should Mum so much as lift the brush. He has the most gorgeous black and white coat, and it positively gleamed under Mum’s daily ministrations. The activity had the added benefit of providing good physiotherapy on Mum’s broken limb, since she was determined to use her arm whenever possible.

12/25

After a few days Mum moved on to the training stage, her first activity being to get him to lie down and focus on a snack held in front of his nose. She always used the same snack, so he would associate that smell with training, as opposed to the countless other titbits fatty dog was given on his holiday (Charlie went on a diet when he returned home).

Next she moved the snack around his head, making him twist round. As he turned she gently pushed his belly, whereupon he would roll over to be tickled on his tummy.

12/26

It was just a short push from here to rotate him fully and she spoke the command “roll over” each time. However, she could only work with Charlie on this for a maximum of ten minutes at a time. On reaching his limit he would look at the snack with contempt and wander off to stare morosely from middle of a flower bed.

Still, ten minutes here and there, every day, worked brilliantly. Even the grandchildren got in on the act, managing to get the daft old boy to roll over for leaves and flowers, much to their twisted amusement.

12/27

As my husband and I returned from our holiday, presents in hand, we entered a room full of hushed anticipation. No offer of a “welcome back” cup of tea was forthcoming from my mother and instead everyone present was assembled on the sofas and an expectant edge pervaded the room. My niece and nephew were uncharacteristically not waiting to grab their new gifts, and my sister was grinning from ear to ear. This was an audience and in the centre of the family circle was a magnificently groomed Charlie dog.

“We’ve got something to show you,” they chorused, still grinning.

12/28

Out came the dog treats and down went the dog in one silky, streamlined movement.

“Roll over,” they chanted, and he did.

Charlie had learnt a new trick and Mum was full of a sense of accomplishment and liveliness, proving that neither you, nor your dog, are ever too old to learn.

It’s December now and, though Charlie’s coat is not so glossy, he’s still able to perform his trick. Mum’s planning to build on her success and wants to train Dad to wipe surfaces next. I do wonder if she might be biting off more than she can chew!

12/29

This year I have had the quietest Christmas ever. Just me, my husband and Charlie dog. We could have gone to family, but our plans to drive to Scotland on Boxing Day meant that we didn’t fancy adding a 300 mile round trip down south to our journey.

I was worried about spending Christmas Day on our own, I have to admit, and I did miss my family greatly, but there have been advantages.

We got to cook the traditional festive meal exactly the way we wanted it and served it up at much later than the normal lunchtime.

12/30

Another good thing about being on our own at Christmas was that my normally Grinch-like husband became a bit more considerate. He generally hates buying gifts out of some odd, deep-seated fear of getting it wrong, but he kept his moaning to a minimum, which was a lot pleasanter than his annual bah-humbug.

Prior to the day I had a depressing vision of the two of us opening a few gifts from each other in some flat little going through the motion ceremony but, in the end, unwrapping my lovely gifts in front of a roaring fire was actually romantic.

12/31

The best thing about our quiet Christmas was waking on Boxing Day with no hang-over and no vague memory of some alcohol fuelled family row, which describes the last few years. Oh no, this year my family had got the row in early, and my two sisters were also spending Christmas apart, not being on speaking terms during this season of goodwill.

I had been dreading Christmas and have been pleasantly surprised. Now I am not sure what we will do next year, but before then we have the summer holiday to plan. Should that be family free or not?