How the Cookie Crumbles

An irreverant view of life after SIXTY-FIVE


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#BlogBattle 7 – Prompt: Shine

Find the Rules at Rachael Ritchie’s blog: http://wp.me/p7rsge-cB

Genre:  Folklore

Prompt:  Shine

Words: 700

See No Evil

COUNTRY LIVING HELD NO INTEREST FOR ZELDA, but she changed her mind after meeting Harvey. A red-haired free spirit, she jumped at the chance to attend a party with the well-to-do stranger. Well, they had crashed grocery carts and he apologized by buying her a coffee. Now, the idea was nothing but hard work.

No rain for months, dust stole inside though Zelda had wound the windows tight. Lost was not a place she liked. The gasoline level in the Dodge Dart hovered around a quarter tank. Where was that fancy house Harvey said to meet him at the party?

A thermos empty of water lay on the passenger’s side of the car’s bench seat. Her small purse leaned against it. A white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel numbed her hands but she paid no attention. Where were the farmers or cows?  The only living creatures soared overhead. What were they? Buzzards? No, not large enough. Crows? Why so many and nothing else around?

Zelda passed a dilapidated shack. Hope flared. She slowed. Nobody. Nothing moved in the crushing heat. Parched and sweating, she swallowed to work up saliva without success. The crows swarmed lower, beady eyes scanning the interior of the car as if on a mission.

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An enormous lump in her throat brought tears to her eyes. She unpeeled her grasp on the steering wheel and pounded it with the heel of her palm. Had she taken the wrong country road? What if she ran out of gas? A mere three or four hours of daylight remained. What if the crows surrounded her car? Creepy.

Like a shimmering mirage, women in long summer gowns dotted an expanse of velvet green lawn straight ahead. Men in black ties and fancy suits bent an ear to them, swirling filled glasses. A smile as broad as Saturday night replaced Zelda’s earlier sagged cheeks. A Victorian-themed party.

Zelda beeped the horn and turned into the long drive. No one took notice. Puzzled she beeped again, catching a glimpse of her glistening forehead and frizzy hair. She drove to the back of the mansion. Where were the cars? Too hot to think, she snatched the white purse and headed to the trunk for her luggage. “Whoa.”

A David Niven character studied her movements as if memorizing each one. Hands deep in his pockets, his eyes were sharp as a bird’s.

“Harvey. That you? Thought I’d taken a wrong turn. What is this place? Where are the other houses?”

Knees limp as cooked noodles, she remembered his slow smile from the one other time they had met. He snatched her bag. “Come. It’s cooler inside. Freshen up and we’ll dance your cares away.”

And how they danced, he the perfect partner, self-assured and charming. She did not remember how the night ended.

~ ~ ~

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By morning, the air had cooled. Zelda’s body ached in all the wrong places. The urge to stretch overcame her before she opened her eyes. She screamed but what came out was the yowl of an angry cat. She noted with horror how she itched from the scratchy grass where she had slept. Outside? In the grass? A compulsion to groom gripped her. She choked on her own black fur. Fur? But it does shine. I’ve gone mad, haven’t I? Where is the mansion?

The rattles and clicks of a hundred crows swooping and calling to each other broke the silence. To the uninitiated ear, it sounded like raucous laughter over a private joke. One called to another and they plunged like bullets for the skulking black cat in the overgrown field.

“Zelda. Come back. Has no one told you the love of money is the root of all evil?”

 

A mansion had existed one hundred years before. One sad night a meeting of magicians had pushed their luck too far. Someone changed a famous woman named Lady Noir to a black cat and no one knew how to change her back. The magicians dispersed. When asked, they had no knowledge of the lady’s whereabouts.

Every summer afterward, a handsome man invited an attractive woman to a party where the mansion once stood and she too disappeared.

End

© 2017 Tess and How the Cookie Crumbles

Images courtesy of Pixabay

 


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#BlogBattle – Week 62

Prompt:  Photograph

Genre:  Drama

Check out the rules:  https://rachaelritchey.com/blogbattle/

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Image by Pixaby. No  attribution required.

Broken

Shoulders curled, Marlene dropped a wobbly chin. “How has it come to this?” Leaning back into the kitchen counter, her voice dropped to a whisper.

“Shocking and a long time coming, but I’m not surprised—are you? Hey, this is a nice place. ” Alice peeked into the living room.

Marlene’s chin shot up, brown eyes bulging, accusing. “What are you saying? Not surprised.”

“Easy, sweetie. You have to admit Charlie has been mutating for years—even before you thought he might be fooling around.” Alice flicked pensive, Barbie-Doll lashes over her girlfriend’s anaemic complexion. Child-like hands dropped to narrow hips.

“Mutating.” She sniffed. “Good word. In equal parts, I’m tired of thinking about him and can’t stop. If I wasn’t eligible for the government pension… If my son hadn’t found this place and moved me in to help cut expenses… I don’t deserve this.”

“Nobody does, sweetie.” Alice reached for her sturdier friend. “The kids are grown and making their own way. You will too. The worst is over.” The women hugged; neither spoke. Alice pulled back. “Tea? Sit.”

“Remember the first little house we bought. Charlie was so house proud. Tore down and put up walls, painted, cleaned. And then… Marlene’s mouth quivered. “The babies kept coming and a prouder father you’ve never seen until…” Resolute tears drifted to her chin though she swabbed them with a shirtsleeve. “When did he begin to resent them? Us?”

“Hey. Change of subject—what did the discovery process shake out?” Alice grinned and helped herself to a sip of tea, pushing back into the kitchen chair rails.

“He’s ignoring e-mails, letters, and telephone calls. My lawyer says a court order will force him to hand over financials. Don’t know if he’s hired his own yet. Did I tell you Breann found a wad of bills stuffed into a jar in the basement rafters? I should have pocketed all of it.”

“What?” Alice set the mug on the kitchen table with a thwack. “You didn’t? Not like you—what about for decent groceries for you and Breann?”

“I mock-handed him the jar after I lifted all but $100.00 wrapped around strips of newsprint—I’m no saint.” She snorted into a palm. “Thought he’d have a stroke. Reminded him the stove didn’t work, the furnace needed replacing—it hadn’t worked for three winters—the ensuite toilet didn’t work… Thought he’d hit me. Grabbed the jar hard enough to break but didn’t, and slammed out of the house.”

“I’m your best friend. You never said. What an actress. I wondered why we met in spurts, in coffee shops—how did you stay warm?”

“Electric heaters. Expensive, but I wasn’t paying the stupid bills. The kids left one by one before the first winter was half over. Breann was the last.”

“What if he skips town?” Alice paced the narrow kitchen, her short legs stabbed at the floor like chopsticks at an empty plate.

Marlene shook her head. “He’s hanging on to the house, though it’s falling down in pieces.”

The other woman stopped, hands in her hair. “I’m amazed you hung in so long. What made you cave?”

Marlene rose to plug in the kettle again. Back turned, she shook her head, running plump, ringed fingers over the electrical cord. The silence stretched until the kettle’s noisy heating element sputtered. “I died a little after every lie and every calculated promise till I didn’t recognize him anymore, or me. The screaming fights—you don’t want to know.”

“I knew you were having problems—doesn’t every couple—why didn’t you say? Did you talk to anyone?”

“Yeah. The oldest, Cathy, the one with all the kids. Forcing my children out was the worst. I wanted to leave, but where could I go—no money of my own? Remember when Charlie, Jr. came out? I told you, right?”

Alice nodded, fading copper curls bounced around her creased, waif-like face.

“That man went crazy roaring this was no son of his. Tore up the house, broke everything in his path if it wasn’t already broken.”

“But Junior is his splitting image. What did he have in mind? Send the boy back?” Alice cackled and slapped her knee.

“Worse. My fault, he said. Wished my boy had never been born.” Eyes dull, bruised half-moons sagging underneath, Marlene stared into the distance. “Broke young Charlie’s heart.

“Computers saved me. I took classes at the library. Printed out reams of his chats and he still lied to my face. To. My. Face. My kids were gone, nothing in the house worked, only a microwave for frozen dinners. I’d had it. With only the clothes on my back, I took a cab to Cathy’s and her houseful. Where else could I go?”

“I’m starving. Anything to eat? You’re no mouse. What took you so long?” Marlene stuck her head in the fridge. “Not much here. Let’s order pizza.”

Lips compressed, Marlene gathered bleached hair, snapping on the elastic from her wrist. “Avoiding temptation. Sorry.”

“Oh? Expecting young Charlie for supper?” Alice opened cupboards till she found dinner plates.

“Don’t know. We’re free spirits. Wine?” Not waiting for an answer, she sauntered into the living room. Alice found wine glasses and pulled out her cell for pizza delivery.

 

“So, how is it on your own—I mean with Charlie, Junior?” Alice grabbed the wine bottle on her way to the living room.

“Fine. You bet I’m mad, though. This isn’t the life I’d pictured.” She snatched the remote and plopped into a chair. “CNN, okay?”

“Wait. Your couch, right? Coffee table. How’d you get them out?” Alice appraised the room and chortled.

“He changed the locks, but the kids and I broke in while he was at work. Took what I needed.”

Alice smiled wide. “Oh-oh. Trouble’s coming. Does the lawyer know?” She leaned to fill her friend’s offered glass.

“Funny enough, I have his blessing. No one suggested we were splitting up before I left. He locked me out. Simple.”

Alice poured what little was left in the bottle and tossed it off. I have a couple bottles in my overnight bag. “Girls’ night. Wait there.” She grabbed her bag by the front door.

“Use the back bedroom on the left, second door.” She heaved herself out of the chair, followed Alice down the hall, and gave her a tour of the rest of the house. Another bottle relieved of its cork, they settled back in front of the television.

Alice swung round as if struck by lightning. “Shh. Turn it up.”

“What?” Marlene sloshed wine over the back of a hand in her haste. She licked it up and thumbed the volume button until the sound blared too loud. She thumbed it down. “No way.” Mesmerized by the image on the screen, she tore her attention away and centered on her friend. Tears obscured her vision though she made no sound. Mascara streaked her cheeks. Alice set down her glass. Grabbing Marlene’s hand, she unpeeled her fingers from the goblet and set it down, too.

“Where’d they get that photograph? Wait. Cathy took it of her father on our 25th anniversary. I thought she’d burned it.” Marlene wavered and would have sunk to the floor had Alice not pushed her into the sofa. Mouth flapping without words, she turned her attention to the television screen.

The words tumbled out of the excited news reporter as if he had to tell it all in five seconds.

This just in. Police stopped a suspicious driver on old Highway 99 as his car wandered from one ditch to the other.  No additional traffic on the road at the time. Incoherent when apprehended, his blood alcohol level was well below the limit. On checking the car for drugs, a dead body—not yet in rigor mortis—was heaped like rubbish in the trunk of this man’s Mustang.

A close-up of Charlie in his best suit filled the screen, hair fuller by six years and eyes clearer and present.

“Crap. What about our divorce?”

Alice pursed her lips. “And your assets? He’s given you the shaft again, hasn’t he?”

“No way. I want a divorce before his case goes to trial.”

“Call your lawyer. Now.”

The End

I have been challenged by  Gary here, another #BlogBattler, to  capture the wife’s POV following Week 61 found here.

© 2015 Tess @ How the Cookie Crumbles. All Rights Reserved.


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Rosehips and the Good Ship

Forecast: 12°  Celsius and more rain. Actual: brief drizzle, mean, rough winds.

First stop: Photographer’s Lookout at Norris Point for a fifteen-minute photo opportunity. Across the water, we had a view of the World Heritage Site, Gros Morne Park and tablelands.

Devil’s roses or rosehips brought over from Devon by English fishermen. They grow everywhere and in abundance. In full bloom, their aroma is amazing. I first learned of ‘hips and haws’ at blogger, Julias Place.

From Bonne Bay, we took a two-hour boat ride. A crew member helped us on board. When my turn came, the sailor said, “We’ll need to confiscate your bag, ma’am.”

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I almost choked. My knees folded. Wasn’t I an innocent tourist in parts far from home? Darn if he wasn’t pulling my leg. He laughed and laughed even as he helped the person on after me. Humor in Newfoundland is visual. That’s their philosophy of life. They like to have fun or they’ll go nuts.

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With the aid of a bullhorn, another crew member explained about the rock formations we passed (the photos above). The angry wind thrashed and ate his words. Soon we put up our hoods and abandoned the supplied binoculars we used to better view the striations in the rock. One by one, we weather-beaten tourists disappeared into the bowels of the boat.

Inside, it was one basic room with rows of folding chairs surrounded by windows to watch the shoreline. A while after we were inside, rain trickled down the windows off and on. At the bar, hot chocolate and rum were on offer for $7.00 CAD. Cost be darned. I bet every person lined up. Some even a second time. They should have called that hot drink ‘heaven’ or ‘divine.’ I’ve forgotten the real name.

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While we warmed up, information about the surrounding water and tiny village continued. The captain came down to perform the Screeching in Ceremony. We swore allegiance to Newfoundland and acquired an Order of Screechers certificate. Only one person was required to kiss the cod for all of us.

“Good. Now that you are citizens, you have to pay taxes to Newfoundland.”

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Wait a minute. The guy playing the squeeze box was the captain. There were only three crew members. Who’s driving the boat?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X36gX0njZPQ

Getting Screeched.  Credit GypsyNester

* * *

Next on March 18th – Discovery Center and Lunch

© 2015 Tess @ How the Cookie Crumbles. All Rights Reserved.

For more related posts, click on Newfoundland / Labrador tab at the top of the page


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Popping in and Out (Post #450)

Hello, lovely blogging friends!

I’ve been held up doing the rounds since I started poking around a bit yesterday. Thank you for the lovely e-mails over the summer although I avoided my keyboard most of the time. I wasn’t home much and at times my laptop was broken under attack of one kind or another.

I confess the summer vanished much too quickly. Whoosh! You cannot believe the trying circumstances situations I found myself in time and again. Nothing like a little excitement to keep the old ticker going, or more likely, almost squash it like a plum.

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The top three headliners of my summer were:

  1. I got hacked (cost over $200 to clean laptop but no banking information lost and new cards now)
  2. The same tooth abscessed twice. After antibiotics, a week later, again. Had it pulled. Lots of problems afterwards. Ouches.
  3. Windows10 messed up laptop. Best Buy removed and now Windows 8.1 again. Desktop was okay, but Windows 10 messed that up yesterday.

I won’t bore you with the rest of it.

Some pluses were spending a couple days with one sister and a couple more in cottage country with all four sisters.

Now, I n.e.e.d. a vacation. My fourth sister to retire did so in April and when I heard her ‘thinking’ how to celebrate, I was in. Snap! Yeah like that and asked point blank where she wanted to go and I was coming.

We are going to Newfoundland and Labrador soon. Exchange rates for the Canadian dollar are heart-stopping and I’m glad Mary found something domestic. Sigh. A vacation is a vacation—no, she’s not paying… Maybe I should have negotiated that small detail.  *giggles* This sounds an amazing corner of Canada with mind-boggling views.

There you have it. I’ll be flitting in and out for the next week and a half and then take to the sky and away for a couple weeks.

I appreciate all of your welcomes and smiles. Feels like I’ve been away from home, but now I’m back.

When I come back, my worth ethic will change. Instead of clearing the decks (e-mail, blogging, commenting) first thing every day, I won’t get to any of that till much later in the day. I may not be a constant as before, but I plan to visit every chance I get.

What’s with WordPress making unwanted changes again? I don’t like Reader and I’ve noticed now one follows in Reader. Sheesh. Another thing: why makes the menu bar spastic and how does one stop it?

 


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#BlogBattle Week 12

It’s that time again. This week’s prompt is ...horde…

If you want to play, click below for the rules

http://rachaelritchey.com/blogbattle/

You’re A Lifesaver

This isn’t the life Gracie had pictured. The newspaper scrunched between her hands crinkled and grumbled, but not for long. She heaved the wad across the room and glared at the ink stains on her hands. Greasy fish and chips in newsprint or wrapped potato peels never bothered her, but the stink of ink on her hands made her queasy.

No matter her disguise, someone always found her out. Time to move again. She hated starting over and hated to think how many times she’d been uprooted in the past three years. Her phone vibrated in her jeans pocket. The number seemed familiar but not the name. She picked up. Damn, a breather.

“Wait, don’t hang up.” A male voice, whiny, wheezing.

“I don’t need whatever you’re selling.”

“Gracie, it’s me.”

“I’m going to hang up now. Bye.” Hate strangers calling me by name. She flicked her thumb to hang up.

“Wait, it’s me, Bob. Long time.” He forced a smile into his voice. “Saw your picture in the paper today.”

“Bob? You’re the last person I want to talk to. How’d you get this number?” She strode from the kitchen into the living-room, kicking the clump of print out of her way.

“Hear me out, will you.” He puffed and rasped into her ear.

“Answer me. Who gave you this number?” Gracie wound her pony tail round a hand, a nervous habit from her teens. “Bob? Tell me!”

“Don’t want to get anyone into trouble—“

“Who?”

“Your m-m-other?”

“Oh, you two are tight now, are you? No way. What lies did you tell her?” She yanked the handful of hair till tears sprang in her eyes and bit her lip, to not cry out. She released the hair. “What’s wrong with your breathing?” She prowled the living-room like a cat. “Not that I need to know, but you do sound peculiar.”

“I need a quadruple bypass but I don’t have the money.” A horn honked in the background and an eee-uuu eee-uuu of a firetruck screamed past, then silence.

Forehead pinched, she pulled the cell away and gaped at the screen, then brought it back. “Bob?”

“Yeah. I’m here. I needed a deep breath. So what do you say, can we make a deal?”

“How long’s it been? Five years? You tried fleecing me before the divorce and now you’re looking for a handout? This sound fair to you? She stomped into the kitchen and plugged in the kettle.

“Please, Gracie. You’ve won millions in the lottery and shared not a dime.”

“We were already divorced, remember? She slammed down a mug and ripped open a packaged teabag, her favorite, Lemon Thriller. The kettle whistled. She flicked the off switch. “How much?”

“I can be there in ten minutes.”

She frowned, nose wrinkled in distaste. “You know where I live? Oh yes— Mother.” Her hand sliced the air. “No. I’ll call my bank and have it couriered. Will two-hundred and fifty grand do?”

“You’re a lifesaver. I’ll pay you back. Promise.”

“No you won’t. Keep it. It’s yours.” Arrangements made, they hung up. Gracie rubbed her temples and removed the elastic from her hair. No point adding to the tension headache blooming at the back of her head. She glanced at the clock as a key turned in the lock. Right on time. Time enough to call her bank manager first. Punching in the number from her phone directory, she listened to her sister slam the powder room door and smiled. Girls will be girls.

“Bye, Don and thanks.”

Heloise rushed in. “Which Don? Your bank manager, Don? Have I news. You won’t guess who’s been hounding Mom—”

“Bob.”

“She called? That’s a surprise.”

“Nope. Bob did. I can’t believe she gave him my information. Phone, maybe, but my address?”

“She’s almost 90, Sis. Getting soft.”

“Which reminds me. How would you like to live in Spain for a while? Everywhere I go, a horde of vultures awaits. Three years I’ve played cat and mouse with photographers and needy humanity. Someone always wants something. And now Bob. Time to leave town and move house while I’m gone. You call the travel agency and pick something you like and I’ll call my realtor. The sooner we leave, the better.

“So what’s Bob’s story? Mom said he sounded older than her, gasping for air and all. She couldn’t wait to be rid of him. Afraid he’d die on her.”

“So, that’s why she caved. Huh.”

“Saw you on the front page again. You’re quite the philanthropist—the childrens’ wing this time. ”

“I can’t do anything without a big deal. Why can’t organizations keep quiet like I ask? Even beg.”

* * *

A couple weeks later, Gracie toweled off after a refreshing swim in the pool one evening. The villa was magnificent. Maybe I’ll never go home again. Heloise stumbled down the steps towards her holding a cell as far away as her arm stretched.

“What’s wrong? Is it Mom?”

Heloise nodded like a dashboard bobble head. “Mom fell and broke an arm and hip. She’s not good.”

“How fast can we get a flight out?”

* * *

The funeral took place ten days after the sisters arrived home. They attended with their mother, who had been ensconced in a state-of-the-art wheelchair. She’d insisted on making the service though pain showed in her eyes.

Bob died of a massive heart attack. A life-long spend-thrift and drinker, he’d partied hard with his new found wind-fall and so-called friends. Everyone marvelled he’d lived to 67.

The End

© 2015 Tess and How the Cookie Crumbles. All Rights Reserved.


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Day 21: Macau (cont’d)

I tried multi-tasking take pictures, scribble notes, and look around in an effort not to miss anything we passed. While taking pictures, I had a fear of dropping my pen and losing it. Pens are not left in hotel rooms for guests as they are in North America and my gel pens were running low on ink.

We arrived at the hotel and were dropped off as close to the south door as the driver managed. The check-in area was jam-packed. We were instructed to stand off the side. Our new local guide, Cheryl, and the French guide attended to our registration and room cards. You wouldn’t believe how fast the process took. Our luggage, already in our rooms Tower 2, room 1362, all we had to do was freshen up and the rest of the day was free. Unlike the Sheraton hotel the previous night, this one did not feature the glass wall between the bedroom and bathroom.

From our window (Room 1362, Tower 2), this was our view. Ugly. Cranes everywhere. On a site on the way to our hotel, I counted at least 10 Macau China State Construction cranes. Must be more hotels coming.

  • Sheraton Macau 3, 800+ rooms (the largest Sheraton in the world)
  • Has two towers: called Earth and Sky
  • Built on reclaimed land
  • Like a huge city inside
  • Huge reception area with half-dozen counters at Check-in each one roped off
  • Palm tree setting in sitting area off the check-in area
  • No passports necessary: this is visa-free territory
  • Huge casino across from check-in behind a wall
  • Huge Ralph Lauren Store, the first one off the lobby
  • Huge shopping mall off the lobby
  • Can convert money with local guide or at hotel (to Hong Kong money)
  • Steering wheel is on the right
  • Driving is on the left side of the road
  • Bus drivers have no problem making U-turns

Sue and I set off exploring. The first escalator we came upon confused me. There were two: side-by-side. Odd, I thought. Both were headed downward. The ascending ones must be on the other side. Sue laughed when I mentioned this. “Have another look,” she said. I had to concentrate. Not only do cars drive on the opposite side of the road here, and drivers sit on the ‘wrong’ side, the elevators run opposite as well. The up elevator was on the left where at home it would be on the down elevator.

This is the first time we had to find our own dinner. We explored the Food Court on the third floor.  Since we’d seen KFC, MacDonald’s and Starbucks in places already, we’d hoped to eat something North American (think burger or pizza). No such luck.

We decided to explore the Venetian Macau Hotel across the street. Taking an elevator in a different direction we crossed the street (without going outside) via an overhead (tube) bridge.

The street below the overhead bridge on the way to the Venetian.

The place is massive. Brand name stores everywhere. Six hundred of them. Lots of people but few customers buying up diamonds, exotic perfumes, or outrageous shoes. We were lost but found a map. A sales clerk selling make-up, although she spoke good English, couldn’t help us. Upon sighting a gondola in a canal, it was tempting to whistle the gondolier over but we didn’t. Finally, the food court. All Chinese food. Wait. A Fat Burger. Better not after the raw pork incident. Is that a Pizza Pizza? Nope the logo wasn’t right. We settled for pizza.

The Sheraton is the largest hotel not only in Macau, but in the world, and the Venetian has the largest casino.

Breaking News: (sorry for the commercial)

Macau Slowdown

~ * ~

Next on May 22nd: Macau, Day 21 (cont’d) on to Hong Kong

For more related posts, click on China tab at the top of the page

© 2015Tess @ How the Cookie Crumbles. All Rights Reserved.


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100-Word Challenge for Grownups

Click here to join:

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The prompt this week is the picture below plus 100 words.

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A Fine Sunday

“My granddaddy worked on the docks across there. You listening, Llewellyn?”

“Sure.”

“Where’s your mind at this fine Sunday?”

“It’s nothing.”

Zelma patted the dog. “Our one day off together and your mind’s someplace else?”

“I’ve sorting out to do.”

She backed away. “Like what?”

“Things.” He swiped a forearm across his greasy forehead. “The Rover car factory is opening soon and advertising for workers.”

“You don’t know anything about…”

“I already quit…”

“The Missus cut my hours, and soon I’ll stop altogether.”

“Don’t worry— Stop?”

“I have news. You’ll be a daddy before Christmas.”

“Impossible.”

“This ain’t the Bible.”

 

© 2015 All Rights Reserved Tess and How the Cookie Crumbles


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100-Word Challenge for Grownups – Week #174

Click here to join in

Prompt this week:  …all seven were just arguing amongst themselves… + 100 words

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Where There’s a Will

As Nurse Nancy dashed in, all seven were just arguing amongst themselves.

“We sell the house first.”

“I don’t agree!”

“Let’s auction everything—”

“You buzzed?” She scanned the silent bed.

Harry frowned; his siblings shook their heads. A thin hand rose, then flopped like a beached trout on the crisp sheets. Nurse Nancy rushed forward; the seven trailed behind.

“Mrs. Mitchell—Annie. What can I get you?”

“Water, please? And a bedpan?”

“Right away.”

Harry froze, paled.

“Your mother needs privacy.” Hands gesturing, she shooed them out.

“I thought she was dead—”

“You were wrong. Call my lawyer.” The voice intensified. “I’m changing my will.”

 

© 2015 All Rights Reserved Tess and How the Cookie Crumbles


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Guilin: Day 19, Part 2 – Out and About

Next stop South Sea Pearl Museum

Upon arrival, we were whisked through a five-minute presentation about the colour of pearls. Glassy-eyed, the husbands trailed behind. A runway fashion show followed with five formally dressed beauties displaying pearl earrings, rings, bracelets, and necklaces. Afterwards, we were whisked through double-doors into the salesroom with a flourish. The room was divided into three sections: good, medium, and best. One of the ladies in our group bought river pearls for 1,500 Yuan (about $250.00 USD.

Quick Facts:

  • Fresh water pearls are an irregular shape (not round)
  • Sea water pearls always round, only white, black and gold
  • Lots of iron in the water = black colour
  • Lots of copper in the water = purple, pink
  • Chinese females don’t wear gold pearls as they don’t look good against their skin colour
  • North Americans wear pink, white and black

The store glittered with enough brilliance to blind a stone statue. Hordes of sales staff—all young females—materialized out of nowhere. A sales assistant seemed to be available for every person through the door. The French group had arrived ahead of us and were already engaged in energetic persuasion. I wasn’t interested in pearls and wandered about, but returned to the front of the room where the husbands waited. An bar stool, facing the sales floor, presented an empty seat. I climbed on, a latte and wine bar at my elbow. Free? Not a chance. A convenient price list (in English) hung in full view. I’m grateful I wasn’t thirsty and didn’t bother checking out the prices.

Health Care:

  • A combination of Chinese and Western medicine
  • Western Medicine is faster
  • Chinese medicine has no side effects (so it’s thought)
  • You never want to drink the ‘healthy’ soup (I heard it’s worse than what ails you)

Lunch:

  • Corn soup (the most delicious from all others since arrival in China)
  • Chili and soy sauces
  • Rice with corn, pieces of carrot and egg
  • Celery and chestnuts, stir fried
  • Sweet and sour chicken with chunks of tomato wedges
  • Hot beef with green peppers and onions in a skillet (awesome)
  • Spring rolls
  • Bamboo chicken ( deep fried, on stick, spicy and delish)
  • Eggplant with tomato wedges and green peppers
  • Soft cooked (egg?) noodles with slivered red peppers and green (?) leaf and stalk vegetable
  • Watermelon slices
  • Tea
© 2015 All Rights Reserved Tess @ How the Cookie Crumbles

© 2015 All Rights Reserved Tess @ How the Cookie Crumbles

Today the plates are the largest we’ve had for any meal; bigger than a saucer and larger than a bread-and-butter-plate. Lots of oil used as in most all dishes and restaurants in China, but most delicious lunch I’ve had since arriving in China. Again, I’m stuffed, having scooped only one spoonful of each of the offerings.

After lunch, and for the first time, a liquor  was offered at 14 Yuan a shot glass (approximately $2.30 USD), but there were no takers. As well, a bit later, ice-cream and cappuccino were offered. Carolyn thought it was free so she ordered one of each. It turns out it wasn’t free. She turned it down and no-one else was interested either.

Jokes

When your wife catches you with another woman, you are completely finished.

If your wife likes to shop a lot, you are finished completely.

~ * ~

On March 20th:  No posting (on March Break)

Next up on March 27th:  Guilin, Day 19, Part 3 – Elephant Trunk Park

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© 2015 All Rights Reserved Tess @ How the Cookie Crumbles


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Wuchan: Day 12, Part 3- The Cruise Ship

A quick supper was offered shortly after our arrival on the cruise ship. Although, we’d been provided with a meal during our flight, I have no memory of what it had been. Salad is all I remember at dinner on the ship around 8:00 p.m. Most everyone in our group tucked into romaine salad because we’d been told food served on board was washed in bottled water. Our first non-Chinese food in 12 days!

No spirits were free on our first night, but local beer and wine were promised beginning with the next day’s lunch and onward. Of course, we could purchase a bottle of wine if we wanted one.

Soft drinks, water, coffee, local beer and wine would be gratis, as much as we wanted. Any alcohol, other than the local product supplied, had to be purchased. (i.e. Australian wine: Jacob’s Creek was $40.00 a bottle) Chinese wines are competitive world-wide and supposedly quite good. I didn’t understand why imported wine was on offer. Why not push their own top-of-the-line wines for tourist sampling and free advertising?

The Wine Market and Drinking Habits in China (not same as tour guide informed)

http://www.agr.gc.ca/eng/industry-markets-and-trade/statistics-and-market-information/by-region/asia-pacific/the-wine-market-in-china-opportunities-for-canadian-wine-exporters/?id=1410083148667#d

The Importance of the Yangtze River:

 

Sue had trouble opening our room safe. We advised the Registration desk and a young girl with limited English arrived. She wasn’t successful, but left for help. It took some finagling and at last, the man (non-English speaking) set the safe to rights.

Our room was a little cramped, but that’s to be expected and we’d lucked our with a balcony.

After our welcome, yet unexpected buffet, (I can’t remember anything but the greens and lots of vegetables), I asked one of our group if I he had a corkscrew I might borrow. Indeed he did. Meanwhile, I took a chance, (adventurous me) and asked at the bar  if I might borrow a cork screw temporarily. They gave me one. Remember the wine I purchased off Nanjing Road during our previous day’s shopping spree? It was good, considering the price of wine on boardindeed a bargain.

There wasn’t time to allow my wine to breath. Still, it wasn’t bad at $12.00 CAD (label name Dynasty, the other one advertised as decent, had been The Great Wall, I think). This is around the price we’d pay for a similar product at home.

I enjoyed two half-glasses before bed while typing up my China notes. Sue wanted to sleep so I cut it short. Other nights I’d been the party pooper; tonight was her turn. I would have liked to stay up another half-hour to complete my notes, but it had been a long day and I fell into bed. The ship had begun to move and I fell asleep.

For the first time since the start of this trip, I felt my cat, Lady Gaga’s absence and missed my fur ball. We’re only half-way home, and I don’t know if I can wait that long to see her. I wonder what she’ll do when I get home. Will she pout and turn up her tail, or come running for a hug?

IMG_0997

 NOTE:

I have been fighting with WP last night and the past two hours this morning. It kept freezing up on me. Now I have a headache.

~ * ~

Next on December 12, On the Yangtze River, Day 13, Part 1

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