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The young man was nominated for an award for his bravery for his deeds the day after the storm. He was one of three men returning in their fishing boat with the morning catch. A tree had been knocked down in the storm and washed into the bay. Boat and tree collided, knocking the captain into the water, a rope tangled around his leg. The young man dived in and kept him afloat while the third member of the crew cut the rope. The young man helped his crew mate to shore and performed CPR until paramedics arrived. The end.
The Hollow Cottage
Some say the little house was not always knows as The Hollow Cottage. No one really remembers how it came to be so named. Some say it was because it sits in the Hollows and so it should be Hollows, with an "s", not Hollow without and "s".
The new owners of the cottage were due to arrive any day, and the entire village was abuzz with wondering what they would be like. Word was they would change the name back to what some say was the original, and call it Sleepy Hollow House.
The Deadly Lighthouse
The lighthouse at Dead Man's Pass was erected to save the lives of sailors unfortunate enough to be in the vicinity of this part of the coastline. Several ships were wrecked while the lighthouse was being built. They were hoped to be the last. More lives were lost in the construction. There are those who say the lighthouse or the very coastline is cursed. Lighthouse-keepers who take the job rarely last more than a month. The light will not stay lit, tended or not, and ships continue to be dashed on the black rocks.
Xeroxed Yellow Zines
Alphabet became complete day's effort for getting hundred (in joke), know Linda made nothing of previous quests 'round showing to understand various words, xeroxed yellow zines.
A broken camera did end far greater heights in just knowing limits, meaning no one photo queries right side to use, vanquished with xeroxed yellow zines.
Another beautiful cadence deciding enough fires go higher in justice; keen ladies mentor nice old people; queer, rich, silly troubadours unveil very well xeroxed yellow zines.
Ending leaves ends, voids, extinguishes new windows of real day's sound.
Mini tornadoes, gale-force winds, storm damage. Thick cloud, flying above the cloud, flying through the cloud. Turbulence. The house damp and sticky, humid and smelly. Blue sky morning and the promise of a good drying out. A light breeze to speed that up. Open all the windows and doors and freshen up. Friday, the last day of the working week and then two days of home. There is a lot of work to get through but that is not unusual these days. Two hours until tea and home made cake for morning tea. Plenty of time in a day.
The day went too fast and there is so much to do! It is just crazy. I always say I will never allow myself to get in this situation again - still, I do. This is the last time! At least I am home now and the hens are happy and the lions are out enjoying themselves. There has been a lot of rain, and for the first time mushrooms sprung up under the mango tree. An enormous number of mushrooms. I do not know if they are edible and put them in the compost.The Internet had no quick answer.
The lemon cake is very yummy. It is simple to make. You mix the ingredients all at once, pour the mixture into a cake tin, put in the oven and bake for forty minutes. When cooked, and as soon as the cake is out of the oven, pour over the top lemon juice mixed with caster sugar. This soaks into the sponge and makes it super light and moist. I also lightly sprinkled on some cinnamon. I gave the hens some of the disappointing yoghurt cake today. Needless to say, they seemed to love it and wolfed (beaked) it down.
Peter Walker planned every step of his life, leaving nothing to chance. His greatest success was the family business, a disaster he inherited and rebuilt from his father. Peter was the great grandson of the founder of Clarence's Stone Masonry, situated next to the Wadgrove cemetery. Peter's father also left him his grandfather's motorbike. Peter had never planned to ride a motorbike but he also hated to see anything go to waste, so he restored the machine and became a motorcyclist. Peter didn't plan to be in the cemetery so soon, his grave graced by one of his own headstones.
He looked at his phone, turned pale, then quickly left the room. She watched him, smiling. She looked at the message she had just sent from the phone in her hand, the same one she had just salvaged from the bag of the woman she had hit over the head and locked in the garage... "i am here! out the front!" She stood up and followed him to the front door "What's up? Are you going out?" He turned, hand on the door handle, "I thought I'd go for a run, just checking what it's like outside!" "OK", she said.
She turned and walked to the living room, listening to the front door opening and closing, and five minutes later the door opening and closing again. He walked back into the room. "It's a bit hot," he said. "I think I'll leave it and go for a run later." She smiled and said "OK, took you a while to figure that out!""I checked the garden while I was out there. I think it needs more water," he replied, and with that thought went to the kitchen and poured himself a drink from the tap. "What to do..." he thought.
At about 2.30 she heard a bump from the garage. She glanced at her husband but did not seem to notice. She heard another louder noise. This time he heard and looked up from his iPad. "Ah... she said... it's those cats next door again!" She got up, stretched, and wandered out to the kitchen, running to the garage door when she was out of sight. She opened it gently and peered in. The woman was crouched down in the corner in the dark. She looked a bit of a mess, but her captor was glad she was alive.
She shut and locked the door, sauntered back to the living room, sat down and picked up her book.
played on the radio. Although they hated Billy Joel with a passion, neither of them commented or made a move to change the music. He glanced at his wife and thought, not for the first time, that he did not know her at all. For her part, she wondered when he would notice his lover was missing. She hoped for more noise from the garage to move things along. She was tired of pretending everything was alright.
She sat for a moment and got up again. He looked at her, wondering why she had become so restless. "Do you want to go out?" he said. "No," she replied. She walked out the front door and opened the garage. She walked over to the figure in the corner, took the mobile phone out of her pocket, tossed it over, and said "get out". She walked back into the house and sat down. It was for the best. She did not want to go so far she could not turn back. "Let's make dinner" she said, taking his hand.
The whole family had been cursed since the spiders arrived. They were not noticed until the daughter went up to the attic to look for some old school books. She had slammed the door in horror, there were so many of them. The father said, don't worry, they can't be as bad as all that. He went up with the insect spray, opened the door and sprayed. The next day he brushed the webs away with an old broom. Not a live spider was to be seen. He took the broom and the box of books down into the house.
The box of books from the attic sat in the laundry, forgotten. Tiny spiders crawled out, threw lines of web and infiltrated every room of the house. The family did not notice the spiders until they had become quite large. They were bigger than any spider they had seen, and fearless. The baby was found with a spider on his face. The mother screamed and flicked it off, squashing it underfoot. She picked up the baby and left the room, not seeing the spider pull itself out of the sticky mess and slowly walk away, leaving one detached leg behind.
Outside the cabin, the wind howled through the trees, while inside, the old woman's fire was nearly out. The cabin was dimly lit by candles. They burned low, flickering in the breeze that entered the cabin through narrow gaps around the door and around the poorly fitted windows. The old woman could hear the howling of wolves through the wind. She knew she would find their footprints all around the cabin in the morning, having come prowling through the night looking for opportunity. She rarely saw them during the day but still she worried when fetching wood for the fire.
Sometimes when I have imaginary conversations and what I am saying seems a bit dumb, a bit bogan, or using questionable grammar, etc, I try it out in the mouth of someone I respect. I imagine someone I know, who may have similar ways of speech or a similar background to me, saying whatever it is I am saying (to myself). Sometimes it sounds OK coming from them, sometimes not. I also used to feel after watching a movie at the cinema that I was one of the characters in the movie. This out of body experience could last hours.
It is alright for a while to do things on your own or to say you are fine to do things alone, but being always alone does not seem to be natural or healthy. There is always the assumption that being alone is a temporary state of affairs. To have someone to share things with, a partner in crime, to have a group of friends with whom you belong must be a wonderful thing. The art of belonging has always been a bit of a mystery to me. The world has always been able to spot one who doesn't fit.
He had the urge to clear the ground, to look out and see nothing. The house, inherited from his uncle, stood on a small rise the middle of vast untouched woodland. His uncle had let the woods encroach right up to the house and he found the air oppressive. He had always been fastidious. The haphazard nature of the natural world left to its own devices offended him. If he could clear the lot nothing would stand in his way of having a good stare into the middle distance, whenever he wanted. Firstly, he should look into what lay beyond.
She had to find the necklace, before they left the house. She had worn it two weeks ago at the reception for the Prince and Duchess. She did not put it in the safe when she returned home as she had been tired. She had stripped, put her clothing in the hamper, lay down and gone straight to sleep. She had not given it another thought until she heard they had to evacuate before the approaching bush fire. She ran from room to room, throwing things in a bag as she went, checking the places she may have left it.
He knew he must keep very still while he waited for the train. It was six o'clock in the afternoon and the heat had been relentless all day. The temperature dropped a few degrees as the sun went down, but it would be several more hours before the southerly change replaced the gusty westerly wind that had hammered the city since early afternoon. As the train approached the man he was being paid to follow walked to the edge of the platform. He followed the man onto the train, feeling less visible in the larger crowd. He took a seat.
There is such a thing as "imposter syndrome". I read about it this morning in a newsletter. I am glad to know it is a syndrome. I had a severe attack about three years ago, tearfully confessing to my boss that I felt like an imposter. Amusing! My job has become more complex and my role more senior, but I don't feel like such an imposter. I think the reason I feel it less is because I don't have time to think about it, being preoccupied by the unreasonably excessive amount of work I currently, and temporarily, have to do.
He wanted her job and it would be easy enough to swim out and take it. She had shown her weaknesses and he could exploit them. He would bide his time. If she drowned he was next in line. She had lately been tripping up. Just little things, but they all meant a fall esteem in the eyes of the eagles. She claimed to have eye migraines, but no one had heard of such a thing. It sounded like a poor excuse for the forgetfulness, the poor decisions, the mistakes. He climbed into his terrain gear and opened the portal.
James sat alone at the Sail and Anchor sipping a red wine. He was due to meet his daughter at six, and he was an hour early. He hoped he could make the drink last. She arrived just as he had decided he would have to fill the time with second glass. "Hello, Miss Kylie." He kissed her on the cheek. "Hello, Dad. What's this about then?" "I am 43 years old! Why would I jeopardize my life by a theft of this nature!" he said. Just out of a psychiatric facility, Kylie responded "It's OK. I have a plan."
Wandering along the usual path beside the creek, he turned a bend and stumbled upon an lizard sunning itself in the middle of the track. He stopped stock still to avoid scaring it away. Upon further scrutiny he saw it was an animal he had not seen before. It had a furry covering on its body. He crept closer and saw the animal had a fine down of feathers all over, thicker where the legs met the torso, where they were also quite colourful. He reached for his phone to take a photo, but it scampered off into the scrub.
Gonna get up early and go for a walk. The morning is a whole lotta time free that can be utilised. Usually awake by 5am or woken by the cat at 5am so might as well get up. Doctor said "run, run for you life" and laughed. It is pretty funny, ha ha. Bye bye youth and not having to bother about cholesterol. Good news that the liver and kidneys are fine so I can drink! For now, until they pack it in. It is hard work exercising while carrying extra weight. It is literally quite a drag. Let's see.
The summer heat is coming. The days are currently in the low to mid twenties with the odd day in the mid to high thirties. I prefer the cooler days. Summer will bring an end to those. Soon it will be so hot we won't know what to do with ourselves. It's OK to be at work in the air con all day. This year I have the chickens to care for on the hot days. I hope they all last the summer. They hold out their wings and pant to cool down. They like cool water to drink. Bok.
Of course everyone is saying "where has the year gone", including me. The years fly by so fast now I don't really think of it as a strange phenomenon. What would it take to slow them down. Nothing to do? Prison? Probably. Boredom is the big one. What adult knows what boredom is? Kids live it but then it disappears, or at least, for me. It will soon be time to put the Christmas tree up and to put the knitted Australian bird decorations upon it. I should knit some chicken decorations. Our Christmas decorations need an overhaul in general.
We bought a new Christmas tree two years ago, and Christmas lights. We should get some tableware, now Christmas is usually at our house. This year I would like to do a big overhaul and get matching lovely things, and ditch the random, sad looking crap that has built up over the years. By Christmas we will have our new pantry so that all the cupboard contents can be sorted and we know what we have. We will also hopefully have our new lounge suite! Today the old one was carted away. It is all coming together. A Merry Christmas.
It is the last day of the month. I did not turn the calendar over from October, for some reason. I thought I would wait until December and skip November. It is a calendar with individual wooden tiles for each day of the month, so there is some effort involved. I will wait, superstitiously, for the first day of the month before doing it. It is, as I understand it, bad luck to turn the calendar over prior to the first day of the month. I prefer the odd numbered years and the odd year of 2015 is almost gone.
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