Our U3A Writers spent a busy April, responding to a series of daily Writing prompts. Here are some of their responses:
THE BABY GRAND – Corinna Turner
It sat there, glorious, dominating the room, reflecting the morning light coming through the bay window. Dark burgundy, rich, almost black with a high gloss. I had to get dressed to go to work but I just could not resist going into the room and touching it – my very own baby grand piano. Shivers ran down my spine. I couldn’t wait to play beautiful music on it.
Aunty Milly, bless her, had left me her baby grand piano and yesterday afternoon a specialised moving company had delivered it. The piano tuner was waiting when it was delivered. He almost drooled at the mouth when he saw it, and the rest of the afternoon he spent tuning her expertly, constantly making comments about what a wonderful piano I had.
When he finished he asked if I would like to try it, but I demurred, so he asked if he might play a couple of pieces on her and I agreed; it seemed only fair. I made a pot of tea and laid a tea tray with some small scones, jam and cream and after putting the tray down on the coffee table I relaxed in my comfy armchair and enjoyed his expert playing. What bliss. Now I just needed to learn to play more than Chopsticks, sigh.
PAGE – Anna Herrington
Well, hello there. I see you looking at me with a pen in hand. Are you going to write today?
Or should I rather say, are you going to attempt to write today? I know how many times you have sat there with your pen and failed to write on me. Even worse, I know the crap that you have written when you have gathered up enough courage to write. Word gets around, you know.
So, you think you are going to soil me with your unworthy writing? I am a clean, blank page. I deserve only the best, you know. No one wants to read what you write. You have not been found worthy.
If you think that you are worthy, I dare you write on me. Come on do it! Prove to me that you can write something that is worth reading. Prove to me that you are worthy of messing up my clean, blank state.
Ooh, I can see the fear in your eyes. You’re wavering. Soon you’re going to put that pen down and put me away. I can already see the excuses running through your mind. Maybe I should do the washing first? I have to get Mom’s papers organised so that I can go and see to her new bank card at the bank. Aha! An email just arrived. You’ll have to go and read it. It might be important.
Well, that didn’t take long. I knew you couldn’t do it.
SCOOTER – Daphne Ley
A scooter, of mobility genre, is my new Ferari . The only difference is its colour!
With me at the wheel , it corners with panache and rolls down the path with amazing grace.
Speed control, headlights, indicators, reverse lights and hooter are all there at the touch of a button. The brakes activate automatically when the four wheeled scooter stops. This is just as well as there is a slight downward gradient at the pedestrian crossing. Watching for the lights to change needs full time concentration.
I wonder whether you have heard of a dog walking at wheel. My trusty scooter is the wheel and Sasha, an exceptionally talented border collie, the dog. Of course I am operating the wheel. The first few lessons have been challenging, bordering on traumatic. As long as I have kept a regular pace so has Sasha.
A scooter can go cross country, a Ferari cannot. But there are challenges there too
We set out along the public path bordering the Medway River. Sasha was running free and my beloved toy boy was on shank’s pony. Stops were made to marvel at wild spring plants . Round one muddy bend the path sloped precariously down to the high tide waterway. Gnarled, arched tree roots broke the surface. My ambulant carer made light of the impediment.
“Just keep the motor running” With my heart in my mouth I did just that. Crossing accomplished, tears of relief ran down my cheeks
We travelled onward down the path, knowing that shortly a main pavement would be reached.
An uprooted tree put paid to those thoughts. Sasha leapt across and seemed perplexed as to why we were not following . Despite Jimmy’s herculean efforts, there was no budging of this arboreal blockage. I managed to turn on a level, albeit muddy patch. That gnarled, rooted, sloping patch had to be navigated once again.
I needed that drink!
PIZZAS – Liz Cerruti
My Dad who is Italian owned a bakery in the North of Italy – Domedossella a town in the valley at the foothills of Mont Blanc, the famous mountain on the Italian-Swiss border.
As a little girl I can remember the smell of the rising dough, it permeated the air I breathed from my waking moments till the dark of night when my eyes closed and my senses shut down.
I loved being the baker`s child, I always had friends who never went away empty handed. There was always broken cookies to be given away. The main delicacy from our shop that opened up on the main street, apart from the daily bread that was baked and bought every day, was the most delicious pizzas that found themselves on lunch and dining tables, throughout the little town. Every family ate Gino`s pizzas at least once per week.
My father had over the years perfected the ingredients of the thinnest pizza base. Gino`s pizzas had become popular with the neighbouring little towns as well. Some people just came for the pizza dough and then created their own masterpieces of delicatessen in the own kitchens, but a stream of people came for our ready-made delicious pizzas.
ICE – Love it or hate it ? – Bob McMahon
Freezing cold days in the middle of winter. Rain and snow, turning to ice. Slippery under foot and a danger to all – don’t you just hate ice?
Kids playing in winter, sliding down slopes covered in ice. A home made sledge providing fun for all – don’t you just love ice?
A frozen lake. Don’t dare step foot on it for fear of your life. One wrong move and it’s a frozen end. Don’t you just hate ice?
Ice skating – spinning and dancing on ice – don’t you just love ice?
Central heating broken; icicles on the window. Don’t you just hate ice?
A crisp white South African wine. Sample the cheese board; enjoy the sunshine, two lumps in the glass – don’t you just love ice?
First trip on the Titanic. Don’t you just hate ice?
An Eskimo building a new home – don’t you just love ice?
Ice – Fran Lombard
A moment of ecstasy: When I stretch myself out on one of Springfield Wine Estate’s comfortable deck chairs, under a big oak tree, next to their glorious handmade pond, with their precious three dogs Anna a German Shepherd, Leach and Feliz, Anatolian Shepherds, lying at my feet. I gently hold in the palm of my hand a glass of their world renowned Springfield Life on Stone wine. Then I slowly lift up the ice cubes from the bucket and drop three of them gently in my crystal wine glass and watch how those wine bubbles intertwine with the ice cubes as they surface to the top. It is almost if they just come up to catch a breath of fresh air before they sink down to the bottom. Nothing, but nothing can beat that moment of bliss when Ice meets Stone!
Nothing worse: When I drop my wacked body on a very busy coffee shop chair. It is hot and after a hideous day at work all I want is a glass of tap water, no ice, just with a slice of lemon. I make myself clear to the waitress that I do not want ice! Yes, I repeat myself twice, no ice please! There is no reason why I have to explain to her my preference of how I like my glass of water. Lo and behold the tall glass appears on the table crammed with ice cubes. Time after time it happens. Ice or no ice that is the question!