Well, this is novel. I’m in my dressing gown, having my first cup of coffee as I browse through a couple of favourite places on my computer. Here’s a place where I’m challenged to empty my pockets and write a small story about the contents. Hmm…
Let’s see. They’re empty… aren’t they? Ohh no… there IS something. It’s a tissue. One solitary, ever-so-slightly used tissue. A flimsy and most unlikely scrap to build a story from, surely? And yet, memories are stirred, and like a breeze through autumn trees, ideas — like those gorgeous leaves, start to fall around me. Think I’ll take a moment to swish through them, as though I’m a little kid again.
There was that time Mum and I went to a morning movie session at her local picture theatre. A sumptuous morning tea, all home-baked by the local Red Cross Ladies auxiliary (or maybe the Country Women’s Assoc., who took it in turns back then — producing equally delicious homemade gear!), yes well, whomever — this ‘sumptuous morning tea’ preceded the main event — a BIG screen showing of ‘The Horse Whisperer’.
Being a ‘rescuer extraordinaire’ from time immemorial I was irresistibly attracted to EVERY animal pic. or story, none too traumatic for me! Heck, I’d fairly ‘teethed’ on my brother’s book of Famous Dog Stories when I was left as custodian to them and his dog when he enlisted in the Navy. On this day, however, the trouble was, having my head full of airy-fairy imaginings (as usual) left no room for the practicalities of bringing adequate mop-up supplies for what I knew would be a super sniff’n sob’n story for me.
When the shocking accident happened and the appalling damage to young woman and beast became apparent, the eyes filled and the sniffles began… in earnest. Despite imagining what was ahead, the agony was acute.
Mum saw my plight, fossicked in her pockets AND handbag, and came up with the princely treasure of ONE. WHOLE. UNUSED tissue. Phew! I blearily nodded and grasped it thankfully. WHAT a life-saver! In the flickering reflections of the horrific disaster, my dear old Mum’s eyes unmistakably muttered, ‘Ahhh… return of the Drama Queen!’
We survived the teary swim-through, my mother and I, with my puffy, now-naked-of-makeup eyes and that one tissue affording her what I viewed as bizarre and unfeeling enjoyment. She didn’t share with me for some considerable time, her pleasure in telling the story, embellishing it NOT a little… and always ending with —
“In my wildest dreams, I could not have imagined one tissue could hold SO many tears”.
Orig. Photo by Matt Ridley on Unsplash
Tweaking and stuff by Christine Larsen on her computer