becoming andromedous. I am reminded of life off Dana Point, in the fishing village of Cayucos, where my people were lobster lifters. As I may have mentioned elsewhere, lobsters love to be lifted and set down repeatedly and pay highly for this recreation, so most of my Portuguese relatives made good. A few did not; they couldn't progress from pilchard fishing, which brings only poverty and despair because there is no such fish. More recently I hear everybody has gone into boogie-boarding followed by luaus and pajama parties --for all of which I am now too old, disproving my Dana Point relatives' advice, "Geo., you can't leave too soon."
But I digress. Norma's immediate response to sustained pluie was alarm for crushed chrysanthemums, which she dashed out and harvested for display in a surrealistic section of our kitchen.
The wall mural is Norma's work. The red, much-foxed, oft-repaired French/English dictionary is crucial to our relationship. The bluish volume of Great letters is mine and rests upon The Monk And The Philosopher, which is jointly owned. These books reflect differences in our backgrounds. She studied truth, translation and everything nice, while I majored in flummery, tarradiddle and puppydog tails. In my defense, I thought I had entered a cooking school and should have suspected its motto: "You're only as good as the last person you fooled." But I digress.
Norma's picture returns us to our subject. She said nothing but her expression conveyed intense concern and alarm. I knew what she was thinking, WET THERMOMETER! Something about it reminded me of medical equipment.
"Colonoscopy find anything, Doctor?"
"Some plaque on the back of your teeth but your dentist can fix that."
"Well, I bet it left a big hole in my wallet."
"No chance, we took your pants off."
But I digress. Patterned objects resting upon surfaces of echoing patterns fascinate Norma. She remained in the rain to arrange this:
Wet pine cones collected on a wet table on a rainy day --an irreducible pattern from which I find it impossible to digress. To all, a pleasant December!
Your delightful observations always bring welcomed rays of sunshine to rainy days.
ReplyDeleteBy the way, I can strongly relate to flummery and tarradiddle.
had to enlarge that mural to get a better look at it...it's beautiful
ReplyDeleteJon-- Thank you. There is a pastry called flummery but tarradiddle always sounds like something that fell out of a land turtle.
ReplyDeleteDelores-- Relayed your compliment to Norma. She lit up!
Once again, I am flummoxed to find anything else to say in commendation and appreciation beyond the two excellent comments so far. But then, I did some of that for you many years ago. Carry on!
ReplyDeleteI want a surrealistic section somewhere. That looks lovely. And I applaud your indispensable Francais dictionary. I had a Swedish dictionary that I believe saved my marriage several times. Of course, being part Viking! I come from lobster lifters too. The other side made the butter. Lemons didn't come into the family for generations.
ReplyDeleteWillie-- You know what kind of day it's been and you were there for me. You were a stabilizer "many years ago" and you still are. Carry on indeed! I love you.
ReplyDeleteAustan-- Painting is a wonderful winter activity. Trompe l'oeil (or acrylic) is a wonderful technique. Anyone enthusiastic enough to spell "Viking!" correctly will have no problem with it!
Norma's wall mural is epic on a grand scale. Wow...
ReplyDeleteThis is my second visit to this delightful post Geo. I couldn't think of anything to say the first time so I went off and had a think. I like the colonoscopy joke. The mural is lovely. Oh to hell with it! I liked the whole thing. What's the point of holding back on how I feel?
ReplyDelete