Got the sweat going this morning! I decided that going to work at midday for a bit over an hour wasn’t enough of an excuse to avoid the treadmill. Did 3 1/2 laps at 6kms in this 2km walk. Now, I’m opening up yWriter5 and going to write a scene.
DPchallenge: A Manner of Speaking
I decided to do a little story for the current DPchallenge instead of writing another scene in my novel. The topic of the Daily Post Weekly Writing Challenge is: A Manner of Speaking
Edited, thankfully, before I go to bed. I just noticed the date of the challenge … April 29 2013. Oh well, my intentions were good. I’m not about to delete it. 🙂
A TALE OF TWO TEAS
I glanced at the clock, nearly two already.
I hurried to the fridge, took out the leg of lamb and plopped it in the biggest roasting pan I had. After dashing in some water, I shoved it into the oven, pleased to see the temperature on moderate. I wanted to have tea ready early, well before me mates got here.
I opened the Wellstood and had a gander. It was right for wood for a while yet. I went into the pantry to fill the colander from the spud bag. I tucked a pumpkin under one wing and plopped both things on the sink. I glanced at the clock again: too early to peel the spuds but I could wash them now. I did so, first fishing out the vegie knife from the drawer and throwing towards the pumpkin which I could chop now, too. Dumping the colander to drain, I reached for the chopping board.
A knock at the door froze me in my tracks. Who could that be? On the way to the door, I straightened my apron and combed my hair with my fingers.
“Celia?” I tried to sound welcoming but all my brain could say was what in blue blazes are you doing here so damned early? We kissed cheeks. I took the proffered plate of bikkies.
“I’m looking forward to this cuppa and chat with all youse girls,” Celia said as she sat at the kitchen table, looking at the stove. “Geez, Shirl, you haven’t even got the kettle boiling yet. A fine way to treat someone you invited around for tea.” She jumped up and moved the kettle over.
“Tea?” The penny dropped and Celia cottoned on.
She gave me an odd look. “You meant dinner, didn’t you? Tonight?”
I smiled as bright as I could, but, before I could admit it, the back door banged fair fit to wake the dead.
“Cooooeeeeee!” Rita loved to announce herself this way. She put a plate of butternut snaps on the table as we kissed cheeks. She glanced at the stove over Celia’s shoulder.
“Fair suck of the sauce bottle, luv,” she said. “You haven’t even got the teapot warmed yet.”
Celia winked. She wasn’t going to dob me in. I swept the spuds and pumpkin off the sink and hid them in the cupboard. I would have time to cook them later, after the girls had left.
The kettle sang as I reached for the tea caddy cannister. I mechanically went through the motions, all the while wondering how many of the girls I invited for tea would turn up.
I sighed.
I would never get the hang of calling tea bloody dinner. Dinner was is in the middle of the day.
Tea was good enough for me mum and dad, and their mum and dad, and it was is good enough for me.
Dripping wet all day
I deleted the awful photo I sent from my phone. It should have been a delightful image of raindrops hanging from cypress leaves. Just not enough light to do the thing justice.
Stuck inside all day, I thought I might do some writing. But no, housework appealed more. I cleaned the bench top in the corner between the sink and the stove. I emptied out and washed a half-dozen maccona jars. I had an urge to make my own toasted honeyed muesli some years ago, and it was yummy but had oil in it. The ingredients would be well past use now. The shredded coconut made me want to make coconut biscuits or coconut ice.
I meant to go on the treadmill, but I made up some tomato soup for Mr R first. And then I decided to have mine before exercising. Bad mistake. I got caught up on the internet instead.
I have managed to write 264 words, tacked them on the end of a scene I thought complete. I know I’ve said it before, I just cannot make myself keep going at scene’s end. I have to edit and fiddle then and there. Wasted effort if I ditch it later.
Now, I’m trying to decide if I shall do family history or write another scene.
Writing wins — for a change. 🙂
Christine R 
You must be logged in to post a comment.