Fairy Hotel #FridayFictioneers

The child pointed at the strange structure against the fence and asked, ‘Grandma, what’s that?’

Grandma looked at the stack of bricks and wood with clay pots and other things stuck in between before replying, ‘it was a fairy hotel.’

‘Was?’

‘It’s fallen apart now,’ Grandma pointed out.

The child pulled at the weeds thoughtfully and said, ‘can we fix it? If it’s pretty again the fairies might come back.’

Grandma smiled, ‘Yes, if we believe they will.’

The child smiled back and together they began working on repairing the hotel.

 

(Inspired by; https://rochellewisoff.com/2018/08/01/3-august-2018/ with thanks).

Easter Eggs

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I was too old for chocolate Easter eggs. It was so hard resisting though when the shops were full of them. There was too much choice and that’s what put me off; do you go for plain and cheap? Fancy and expensive? Or something totally different like not chocolate but a egg made out of cheese!

I had to buy some for the grandchildren, there were six of them now. It wouldn’t be right them coming over and granny not having had a visit from the Bunny. It was always better to go for the Easter eggs that were cheapest choice or on a good deal. I got them last minute as I always did so I wouldn’t be tempted to eat them myself! This year, I went with a deal; three eggs for five pounds. They were good large ones too!

And I might have brought one for me….Well, you need to treat yourself more often when you are almost ninety!

Bad Day Cure

food, nuts, raspberries

After a bad day her only cure was to make cake. There was something she drew from the measuring and mixing of ingredients; a calming, homely sense that she could never put her fingers on. Afterwards when the cake was in oven, she curled on the sofa, licking the bowl and spoon. Memories of being little sat in her grandmother’s kitchen and eating the cake batter filled her. She had never known her grandmother not to be baking something. The timer went off and she hurried to take the cake out of the oven. The warm smell of vanilla of hugged her and she felt better already.

Shopping Trip

Shopping, Business, Retail, Shopping Cart, Transport

Why does everyone have to go shopping on a Saturday? Does everyone have the same thought when they wake up on Saturday morning; hey I’ll go shopping now! I don’t know, but whatever happens, I’ve decided not to be a sheep ever again.

Leaning on the shopping trolley and watching my granny hobbling passed all the can goods, I blow my long purple fringe out of my cold blue eyes. Dropping my head down, my hoodie falls back into place and I go into hibernation mode again. Wheeling the trolley after her, I look through the metal mesh at the floor going by.

‘Flora? What are you doing?’

The sharp voice of granny has me raising my chin off my folded arms that I’d rested on the handle bars of the trolley. Only she calls me by my full name. I look at her walnut like face and smile brightly. I hurry over and she drops a can of mushy peas into the trolley.

‘I thought something fell on the floor,’ I lie.

She holds my gaze in that –I-know-you’re-lying-and-were-messing-around-scowl- that my mum has given me so often. I shrug and look at the rows of can veg. Photo shopped images of too green peas and too orange carrot slices met my eyes.

‘What does your mother want?’

Speak of the devil.

I dig out the crumpled scrap of paper on which is my shopping list and check it.

‘Carrots and sweetcorn,’ I read off.

I grab two sliced carrots and one sweetcorn. Putting them in, I double check there’s nothing else.

Gran is shuffling away, her own list clutched in a gnarled hand that reminds me of a twisty tree branch. She reaches the end of the aisle and heads off to the right, ignoring the ready-made world takeaway food on offer before her.

I go to check it out. Mmmm…chicken tiki masla… I pick up the plastic bag, but the food inside just looks like a smear of colour. Dumping it back, I trail after granny, who is now musing over rice. I over take her and see what else was on mum’s list. Not much. Surprisingly. Which means that she plans to go shopping again by herself mid-week. I sigh and wish that the twins didn’t football practise and then a laser quest party this afternoon. That’s why, I’m here by the way; shopping with granny and being the taxi.

‘Flora? What are you doing girl?’

I turn then spin the trolley and come back to her, ‘Nothing. I was seeing what else mum wanted.’

Gran puts a small bag of brown rice in and inspects the contents of the trolley, as if I had sneaked something. She seems satisfied so we carry on, weaving around people, avoiding the running wild children. A baby starts screaming somewhere in the frozen section.

The time and my boredom drag. Finally, after triple checking both lists, freedom begins to shine through. We go to the checkout, load everything on the belt then pack. Or I pack and gran sits on a plastic chair in-between two old woman. I wondered if they are waiting for grandkids or their adult kids to come and claim them? Gran seems to fit in so well, I can hardly tell her a part from the other too heavily wrinkled woman with short wispy white hair.

With the trolley repacked, we leave and head outside. The cold air feels so good on my face that I shut my eyes and take a deep breath.

‘What’s wrong with you, Flora?’

‘Nothing gran,’ I mutter.

Postcard #14

postcard 14

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