Break In


They stood on the front porch, stymied and stupified. Dylon had no key to the front door, and Linda hadn’t brought her key. She’d assumed Dylan would have his with his car key. No.

The spare key lock-box was empty. That meant Adele had taken it, either into her room or – as her car was nowhere to be seen – out with her.

“Let’s call Adele,” said Linda.

Dylan wouldn’t hear of it. No way was his daughter going to learn he’d forgotten to take his key with him.

“We’ll go to the back.”

Linda stretched on tiptoe to reach over the gate to unlatch it.

“I can get a spare key from the garage,” Dylan said. He went through his pockets as he approached the garage door. “Shit. I haven’t got the garage key either.”

Linda checked the doors, just in case they’d left one unlocked. No such luck.

Dylan steamed, Linda fumed…who each was blaming, neither would ever say.

Dylan examined each door…the sliding doors to the lounge and the bedroom were tamper ptoof, as was the wooden door to the laundry.

But…the laundry window?

Dylan turned the screen locks and removed the screen, leaning it against the wall. He didn’t for a minute believe it would, but he tried lifting the sliding window…and it slipped up and out easily.

So, who was to go in through it? Dylan knew he was too large and, at 71 a little too limited.

“I can do it,” Linda said. “I just need something to step up on.”

Thank heavens for absent-minded handyman husbands – he’d left two saw horses outside. Dylan placed one under the window – sort of. One foot was higher than the other three, and as the wall planter for their herbs was right below the window there was quite a space between the saw horse and the sill. Which was at Linda’s bust height.

Now, Linda had her own structural problems, neither age-related, even though she was 65 years old. One hip joint had been replaced, botched, and replaced again, leaving her with the leg an inch shorter than its mate, and limited movement. She had had surgery on the other leg to excise melanoma from the groin, so big a mass and so entwined around the tendons and arteries the surgeon had needed to scrape the cancer from the tendon – leaving even less movement possible.

But, of the two, Linda was the only one who could fit through the window.

She needed a boost from Dylan, but made it to stand on the saw horse. Now, how to pass through the window, now looking much smaller.

“Go through on hands and knees,” Dylan suggested.

Linda couldn’t get a knee up to the sill. “No, I’ll do it this way.”

“Perhaps I’d better try.”

“No, I can do it'” She shuffled herself around on the saw horse, until she had her back to the wall. With her hands behind her on the sill, and one foot on the garden tap, she boosted herself up into the window frame. Not comfortable when it’s an aluminium frame, with a slot-and-groove track for a sliding window pane!

She lifted a cheek so the grooved track fitted more comfortably. Only, now she was facing sideways, but still with both legs hanging off the sill. The leg closest to the window was the least useful leg. Try as she did, the bloody leg would not bend close enough to let her foot pass the frame – even after Dylan pulled her sneaker off.

“Leave it,” Dylan said. “I’ll think of something else.”

“No way – this is fun.”

“Try going through backwards.”

That was going to be awkward – an acrobat Linda was not. She shifted around again. First one cheek, then the other, passed that darned track. Where next…this needed some thinking. If I put my left hand down on the hot tap, and my right hand on the front edge of the tub,  I can start to let myself down onto the washing machine.

She set the plan in motion – and ended up flat on her back on top of the machine, her legs still up on the window frame.

She walked her feet along and down the wall as she turned herself to face the room, all the while laughing like a crazy woman at what she must look like (were anyone watching).

Once on her feet, she unlocked the laundry door for Dylan. He passed her and went to the door into the bathroom.

Shit, oh dear, he had locked the bathroom door from the inside before they’d gone out! Still no entry to their own house!

Dylan remembered he had tools in the boot of the car. Using a screwdriver he popped the bolts from the door hinges, then levered the door out of its frame, hoping the bolt bracket wouldn’t break the door. But no … success. They were in.

Tempting though it was to leave the door between bathroom and laundry, to let Adele see the open plan layout created by her key forgetfulness, Dylan set about replacing the bathroom doors’ locks with ones that could be opened from the “wrong” side, and setting another lock box out beside the lounge door.

The only real disappointment? No one had filmed her hilarious cat burglar impersonation!

Poetry & Tarts


I wish I could have peeped into your mind as you read just the title – I bet the image (for some) was a tad salacious.

Sorry, it’s rather less exciting… “Poetry & Tarts” refers to an event for New Zealand’s 2016 National Poetry Day, for which the Rotorua Mad Poets Society planned a month of poetry related activities for the community.
The event offered poetry readings by Mad Poets or the public – their own or other poets’ published works; and the only “tarts” available 9671_mini-raspberry-tarts
were not among those participating,
but sitting on plates for the refreshment break.

I’m hoping Poetry & Tarts will be included in 2017’s poetry celebration!
Maybe they’ll allow costumes to be worn!

Are there poems on the Tart theme? One jingle comes to mind:

“An empty gut, an aching heart –
Both fulfilled by a lovely tart.

(origin unknown)

If you know of others, feel free to either add them to the comments (accessible once you have clicked on the title of this post), or if a longer piece, post it at your blog then please pop back and leave a link to it in the Comments.
I Really hope to see more Tart poems (of either connotation)


This post brought to you via
dailyprompt_wordpress

 

 

Toilet paper from the bottom


Although I prefer the roll to unroll from the top, when Sharon mentioned “from the bottom” and “cats” in her post, I remembered our clever little kitty.

She came to us from the SPCA via my daughter, and had the LOUDEST PURR you can imagine (I wanted her to be named Harley).  Both daughter and I had places to go each day, so Hayley had to learn to use a litter tray. As we were flatting, the litter tray was kept in the bathroom cum shower cum laundry.

Hayley sometimes opened the door and would watch me on the loo, even putting her paws on the seat and peering down into the bowl! (I can laugh now…)

Daughter occasionally forgot about clearing the tray each day. I came home to the flat one day to use the ‘facilities’ and nearly gagged on the tray’s odour.

Then discovered that, beside the loo, there was a pile of toilet paper (as Sharon mentions).

On picking it up to drop into the waste bin, I realised Hayley had in fact pulled down a pile, dropped her own pile, then pulled down another pile to cover her doings. Clever wee kitty! Needless to say, it was all flushed away.

I’ve sometimes wondered why we didn’t smooch her into doing it all the time…who knows, she may have learned to actually perch on the seat for her daily doings. What a time saver that would have been, and So much more healthy.


A memory recalled by Sharon Hughson’s blog post Epiphany on the TP Roll
Click over and have a read.

 

 

How to “Burn” Your Hubby*


* and destroy kitchen equipment.

A five-part series of instructions…with notes and photographs of evidence

How to “Burn” Hubby p’t 1

  1. Decide to assist in preparing for cooking the evening meal
  2. Choose to prep for cooking the quickest vege option—frozen mixed vegetables
  3. Prep the Pyrex jug
  4. Prep the wax paper ready to be used to cover the veges.
  5. Tear off the roll a square of waxed paper, fold it in four—wax surface inside
  6. Mould it over the base of the jug

1 mould  the wax paper 1 ready for food to be added

7. Place it inside the jug, ready for veges to be added. Place in obvious sight.

How to “Burn” Hubby p’t 2

Leave hubbby to the cooking.

How to “Burn” Hubby p’t 3

  1. Hear hubby rage: “[expletive]! It’s burning!”
  2. Watch hubby burn hand as throws open the microwave door and grabs the smoking jug’s handle
  3. Wait as he waits for it to cool
  4. Watch hubby as he lifts the jug—and the microwave dish is stuck to it.
  5. Watch as he places them onto the plastic cutting board.
  6. Notice the burnt wax paper
  7. Notice he’s right – no veges had been added
  8. Listen to him blaming you for leaving the paper in the jug as if the veges were in there already.
  9. Refrain from pointing out he could have checked, or noticed the light weight of the empty jug.
  10. Decide to eat the meat and potatoes.

How to “Burn” Hubby p’t 4

  1. Listen to the “crackle” as the cooling glass cracks.
  2. Watch hubby struggle to separate the jug from the microwave dish
  3. Watch hubby as he forces to separate the microwave dish from the plastic cutting board
  4. Tell hubby you’re going to take photographs and blog all the instructions, with illustrations
  5. Wait until he’s gone out for a walk and take photographs

Below and right, burnt wax paper, melted Pyrex jug

3 after cooking non-existent food 4 wax paper and jug

Below and right — close up of the melted, crazed Pyrex,
and its size can be seen under the right pic of its off-balanced effect

5 base of jug 6 bubble on the bottom

Below, the melted dimple where hubby placed the lot to cool down.
Below right, the melted dimple in the microwave dish

7 plastic chopping board 8 microwave dish

Close up of the microwave’s new dimple

8a dimple in the dish

Post-event review next morning

  • The “half-bubble”, concave dimple in the dish is cracked—“work-around” until replacement found?
  • Place an inverted pyrex casserole dish upside down over the turnatble centre. Back to stirring and turning over food while cooking.
  • The jug’s swollen crackled “bubble” has crumbled. Jug totally “expletive”
  • The cutting board is “expletive”.
  • Buy replacement turntable dish online and await delivery

How to “Burn” Hubby p’t 5

  1. Blog it, with illustrations.
  2. Include in the blog a Poll “Whose fault was it?”

_____________________________________________________________

A:         Your’s — you should have left the jug with the paper cover beside it.

B:         Hubby’s — he should have checked before he baked it all
_____________________________________________________________

Readers are welcome to respond ‘A’ or ‘B’ as a Comment.

Why stop at sixty? Why not one hundred twenty?


Twenty-Five Seven ?   Good news — another hour has just been added to every 24-hour day (don’t ask us how. We have powers). How do you use those extra sixty minutes?http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/twenty-five-seven/

__________________

Sixty minutes, huh? Well, b’jasus, why stop there? Why not one-twenty – then I could really get stuff done…

Two Bodhran practice session, half an hour each. I just bought one, and have, at You Tube, subscribed to every set of Bodhran lessons there are. Determined to be able to drum it up on St Paddy’s Day.

Then there’s the Tin Whistle – bought that too, a while back. Again, subscribed to every set of Tin Whistle teachers on You Tube. What holds me back is – I cannot for th’ loif of me read the music. And having had to learn the recorder at primary skoowel doesn’t help at all, at all. Now play a tune for me, give me a day or two, and I’ll have it down pat.

(No, I didn’t say ‘I’ll have it down, Pat’!)

So dere’s anudder t’irty minutes left? Dat’s easy.
Guinness Yoga. Ye meditate for as long as it takes for th’ chill to leave th’ pint glass or th’ head to go, whichever’s first. Then meditate peaceful-like between each sup, until yer own head goes, if yez know what I mean.

 

A Writer’s only as good as her Observation skills


And, watching and listening are the major part of observations.

Here are some observations made while watching the Le Mans motor racing event in the weekend.

——————-

Watching, with Hubby, the Le Mans motor racing via streaming video down from the web, the commentary fed me with some hilariously amusing dialog and sound blit’s that I just Have to figure how to write them into a book.
Examples…

Two commentators of the Irish kind, let’s call them Com1 and Com2:
Com1 – Andy Baker’s here. … Actually, both the Baker brothers are here.
Com2 – Eah, yeahr – they’re here–both of them.
Com1 – Tha’s right–both the brothers are here.
Com2 – Aye, both the Bakers.

I’m cracking up by then – such an intelligent commentary! LOL

Com3 (discussing a well known racer) – do you know what he does when he’s flying?
Com4 – Go on, tell us…
Com3 – He waits until the passenger next to him falls asleep, the he leans on him and takes a ‘selfie’ of the two of them, and straight away posts it on Twitter.
Com4 – Eah, good craik, that!

Again, I’m laughing myself silly

With the glitches in the sound track, the commentary sometimes would go into a loop. So these are a couple of the more amusing ones …

Com1 – Ooh, look, that’s quite a delay-delay-delay there in the pit.

Com? – and of course, here’s the Ferari-rari-rari coming around-round-round the tightest bend.

Someone in the house said…
“Jaysus, that’s a helluva stutter he’s got there!”

And I’m falling off the arm chair laughing !
And there were so Many of these loop glitches! I have Got to work these into Some story or the other!