“I’m back, dear.”

“Did you get everything on the list?”

“I did. Sure there were only five items. It wasn’t that challenging.”

“And you got everything?”

“Amn’t I just after telling you?”

“Well put them up on the table, so.”

“There y’are, eggs, butter, milk, bread…”

“What’s this?”

“I ah…”

“I said onions. One pound of onions.”

“Yer writing’s terrible, I thought, it said bunions.”

“Bunions is it? Ya feckin’ eejit. How can I make onion soup with bunions?”

“They were half price.”

“I don’t care if they were feckin’ free. Do you not know the difference between onions and bunions?”

“I do yeah. The one grows in the ground, the other grows on the foot.”

“God bless us, are ya mental?”

“I am not! Sure I was lucky; this was the last they had in stock. Yer wan even threw in the foot for ya, said it would add to the flavour.”

“Give me strength, do ya not realize how much extra work the foot is. Ya have to boil it up and strain off the toe jam and the nails before you can even get started. And then you have to take the grater to the bunions. ‘Tis hours of work, so it is. If you think I’m doing that you’ve another think coming.”

“Sure the bunion soup would be just as tasty as the other thing only meatier. Why won’t you take the bother and make it?”

“I’m a vegetarian ya daft git, a vegetarian.”

“So, no bunion soup, then?”

“That’s right, no bunion soup. Now go on back to the shop and get me them onions. Half price bunions. Did you ever hear the like?”

 

* after some consideration the author has decided not to illustrate this post.

Bunion Soup – Clo Carey January 2019

blog challenge South Shore Scribes NS @www.emilybowers.ca   @https://chasscribbless.blogspot.com  @https://contentinretirement.blogspot.com @https://www.facebook.com/groups/1470587219691626 #bunions #nonsensewriting #amwriting

Clarissa opened one eye and waited for the excitement to hit her. It was Christmas Eve. What delights awaited: The lighting of the tree, the sugar plums, the stockings hanging, Papa carrying her up to bed. But that was long ago and she was here and now. It was Christmas Eve and she was alone. She struggled to push off her covers and clamber out of bed. She was sure, if she could hear them, her old bones were rattling. Clarissa gritted her teeth. She would not be blue. Christmas Eve was her favourite day of the year but despite all, she could feel the black dog edging closer in the grovelling crawl that dogs adopt, thinking you can’t see what they’re up to.

“Be gone!” she said, turning her back on darkness and summoning happier thoughts. She would wear her blue empire waist dress with the puffed sleeves and lace trimming. It was blue to match her eyes; both faded with time, it was true but still perfectly serviceable.

Christmas Eve! She did wish that she was allowed more than one favourite day, like her birthday or Christmas itself, or New Years. Christmas Eve was what she had chosen and she was content with the memories of it even if she did miss the bygone days. Memories must not stop her from participating in these times. She would go to the shops and have a look around.

Mind made up, Clarissa donned her outer wear and took a tentative step out into crisp winter air. A fresh fall of snow blanketed the ground, the late afternoon sun bursting through to highlight the trees with twinkling sparks. Clarissa drifted on into first one shop and then another. She had forgotten her purse but it didn’t matter. She couldn’t buy; needed nothing. She just liked to watch and enjoy the frenzy of others. No one noticed her. They were all intent on their last minute purchases, grabbing and stuffing mince pies and ugly ties and candies and brandies into already over-loaded shopping carts.

Continue reading “Clarissa’s Christmas Eve” →