Delta40
12-30-2008, 06:02 PM
Please tell me if this projects a certain atmosphere/mood of any sort. I would be interested to know how it sits with you in these terms particularly. Thanks
I thought the wood of the door would have dried out and crumbled by now, but still it stood. In the afternoon sun, the yellow diamond cut glass was dappled even if it was outdated. I let the memories of the door slide through my mind, knowing there was little behind it to salvage.
I had left home a long time ago and now I knocked. That was the easy part. I would have to deal with the answers when the cracked wood and creaking hinges gave way and a familiar face appeared before me.
My Mother had lived here for the best part of her years, working and toiling like any working class woman would. I can’t remember a time when she lifted her eyes to enjoy a day for its own sake. There was always something that needed doing and she would get it out of the way so she ‘woodny have to bother with it later,’
Dogs barked and my Mother appeared. She seemed smaller or perhaps the world that I moved to was much bigger. She babbled that she was just about to hop into the shower – she was always in the process of doing something. The two Red heelers by her side were eager to investigate me and my Mother gave me strict instructions on how to proceed.
‘Pijou, Rusty, Settle doon!’ she barked. All three of us looked at her. ‘Whatever you do, don’t jump up or move suddenly, because Rusty will bite ye. Just be calm and he’ll be fine once he’s had his wee nosey.’ As soon as she turned her back on us, the dog and I had eye contact. I stuck out my tongue, the dog nipped my ankle.
A pot gurgled on the stove.
The ornaments lined up on the corner bureau and sidetable had little connection to the past. None were linked to me. Their shape did not drum up any distance memory that I could say ‘Oh yes! Did you remember when…’ There were no little figurines chipped or yellowed with time, for which I had saved my pocket money. I had bought a brown floral vase one Mother’s Day. It had cost two dollars at Fremantle Markets. I was so afraid I would trip and smash it on the way home. What a relief when we both got there in one piece. She said she loved that vase.
I looked around and saw nothing that belonged to her Mother. Her Mother’s Mother.
There were numerous fake gold plastic or bone china statuettes purchased from her trips to China. They decked each shelf and cranny. Fragile fingers, intricately carved. Coloured kimono’s. Whimsical Eastern expressions. Asian framed landscapes. It was like her Celtic threads came loose on the twill and a hand pulled them free from their home, to be woven into a different tapestry.
Some of it was cheap, which matched her smile. All sunny and bright but not genuine, like one of the landscapes they had haggled for at a Chinese market.
‘How you been?’
‘Och! Need ye ask! Everything’s the same as always with me.’ She raised her eyes heavenwards as if at any moment she would be struck down.
‘Nothing’s changed then?’
‘No!’ she replied ‘You know me. Still running round, getting nothing done.’
Whether it was yesterday or a year since I last saw her, she dumped me into a familiar zone.
‘No, I’ve been trying to get the dog trained. But och, its no good. As soon as I get back here, He doesny help.’ She pointed to the empty lounge room where my step-father normally sat. ‘The dog is so protective of me. I mean,’ she lowered her voice to an apologetic whisper. ‘It’s no the dogs fault really. He just wants to look after me but my throat gets so sore from shouting commands. I feel like I’m the one getting the training.’ She laughed at the picture of herself.
‘The instructor is quite bossy actually. To be perfectly honest, I’ll be glad when it’s over, just so I can get back to normal!’ She took a drink of her beer.
‘How much have you paid?’
‘Only $350.00’
‘And you’re faking it at that price?’
‘Och! It doesny matter! I just want it to end, so I can be left in peace. It was His idea in the first place. I’m the one who goes to the classes. Not Him.’
The sound of peace had a musical quality to it that I believed only my Mother could hear. What wonderful music it must be, I had thought as a child. I looked around this home, which was familiar yet strange. What notes resonated today that obliterated the past? The changing theme in the household. To be left in peace among the beautiful pictures and Chinese statuettes. The oriental linen and lace. Is that what she meant by peace? Each time I visited, her need for solitude, isolation, rest, leisure, freedom from pandering to the needs of anyone but herself was her main topic of conversation. Every route lead back to that.
‘What else has been happening?’
She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Just the everyday stuff. He’s been working a lot the past few months. He’s even had to hire an extra hand.’ The unspoken good news. This meant he came home late – peace, sweet elusive peace was within her grasp. However, no sooner had she uttered this one happy thought, than a familiar sound pulled into the driveway.
‘Jesus Christ!’ she exclaimed, ‘Is that Him already?’
While the four-wheel drive parked itself in the workshed, she stood up, put out her smoke and spat out a stream of broken sentences under her breath, shaking her head in wonderment between the last few mouthfuls of her beer. She grimaced at me, at the heavens, her shoulders sagging.
‘You wouldn’t credit it would ye.’
Before long, he burst in, black from a days welding on building sites. The dogs made a huge fuss. She shouted at them to be quiet. He shouted back that they were dogs, what did she expect them to do? His homecoming was excitable, loud, unsettling. The dogs’ jumping and barking ebbed to a guarded perimeter sniffing, then they left the room.
She bustled about, her smile matching the cheap Chinese landscapes they had collected over the years.
‘Hi sweetie. How was it?’ He ranted about some ‘****ing foreman’ or other and sat down at the table with the paper. She, all chirpy, made herself busy in the kitchen, slicing silverside, tomato, buttering fresh chunks of baked bread. The kettle boiled and she served him a hot cup of tea along with his sandwich. He grunted. She tacitly forfeited her place in the dining room to Him, who never even looked up from his paper. We moved to the family room, where sat more Chinese figures and the dogs. She got another beer, sat down, took a swig. Her face was transformed once more to He’s home early. Now I won’t have any peace look. We were silent. He coughed, chewed and slurped his tea so loudly that I mentally followed how his meal progressed.
Sitting in the family room changed how we communicated. A two seater couch and silence. Finally, her hushed observation of my forty years broke the ice.
‘I tell ye, I don’t know where the hours in the day go.
‘Have you heard from your sister in law Margaret?’
She almost crossed her chest at the mention of this name as if to say ‘Lord, give me strength’. She took another swig and lit a smoke.
‘She rang last week. Without a word of lie, I was on the phone for six hours.’
‘Six hours!’
‘I’m not joking. My ear was so sore. I dinny know how I endured it. No matter how many times I said “Margaret I have to go….” she just kept talking, like I hadny spoke.’ Her hands trembled. I noticed the cigarette quiver between her nicotine stained fingers. She took an anxious puff and looked helpless. Powerless.
‘What am I going to do?’
‘What time was it in England when she rang?’
‘I don’t care. I just wish she would stop making these long phone calls.’ In lowered tones she confided, ‘He doesn’t even talk to his sister.’ A barb of resentment was released into the air towards the dining room. Only the sated sounds of a working man at the end of a hard day could be heard. Whatever else my Mother felt, she let it sit like the tripe, milk and onions simmering on the stove.
‘You’re going to have to put down boundaries.’
‘Tch. I dinny want to hurt the woman’s feelings.’
We sat between thick curtains of silence. Her hands were shaking quite visibly.
‘I’m just so tired. Can I no be left in peace?’ Was she asking me? I had taken up some of that precious luxury like the oxygen her smoky lungs so desperately craved. When I left, would she relax or tackle something else that needed doing so she wouldn’t have to do it later? Had she amassed a mountain of fly-bys in heaven?
‘I have to go Mum. I’ve got other things to do.’ She brightened and rose hurriedly to her feet. The dogs prepared to escort me out.
‘Me too. I’ve got Edna coming over Monday and you know what that means.’
‘Yeah Mum, I know.’
I would spend time thinking I knew what it meant but actually, as I closed the creaking, dried wood door behind me, I would never really be sure.
I thought the wood of the door would have dried out and crumbled by now, but still it stood. In the afternoon sun, the yellow diamond cut glass was dappled even if it was outdated. I let the memories of the door slide through my mind, knowing there was little behind it to salvage.
I had left home a long time ago and now I knocked. That was the easy part. I would have to deal with the answers when the cracked wood and creaking hinges gave way and a familiar face appeared before me.
My Mother had lived here for the best part of her years, working and toiling like any working class woman would. I can’t remember a time when she lifted her eyes to enjoy a day for its own sake. There was always something that needed doing and she would get it out of the way so she ‘woodny have to bother with it later,’
Dogs barked and my Mother appeared. She seemed smaller or perhaps the world that I moved to was much bigger. She babbled that she was just about to hop into the shower – she was always in the process of doing something. The two Red heelers by her side were eager to investigate me and my Mother gave me strict instructions on how to proceed.
‘Pijou, Rusty, Settle doon!’ she barked. All three of us looked at her. ‘Whatever you do, don’t jump up or move suddenly, because Rusty will bite ye. Just be calm and he’ll be fine once he’s had his wee nosey.’ As soon as she turned her back on us, the dog and I had eye contact. I stuck out my tongue, the dog nipped my ankle.
A pot gurgled on the stove.
The ornaments lined up on the corner bureau and sidetable had little connection to the past. None were linked to me. Their shape did not drum up any distance memory that I could say ‘Oh yes! Did you remember when…’ There were no little figurines chipped or yellowed with time, for which I had saved my pocket money. I had bought a brown floral vase one Mother’s Day. It had cost two dollars at Fremantle Markets. I was so afraid I would trip and smash it on the way home. What a relief when we both got there in one piece. She said she loved that vase.
I looked around and saw nothing that belonged to her Mother. Her Mother’s Mother.
There were numerous fake gold plastic or bone china statuettes purchased from her trips to China. They decked each shelf and cranny. Fragile fingers, intricately carved. Coloured kimono’s. Whimsical Eastern expressions. Asian framed landscapes. It was like her Celtic threads came loose on the twill and a hand pulled them free from their home, to be woven into a different tapestry.
Some of it was cheap, which matched her smile. All sunny and bright but not genuine, like one of the landscapes they had haggled for at a Chinese market.
‘How you been?’
‘Och! Need ye ask! Everything’s the same as always with me.’ She raised her eyes heavenwards as if at any moment she would be struck down.
‘Nothing’s changed then?’
‘No!’ she replied ‘You know me. Still running round, getting nothing done.’
Whether it was yesterday or a year since I last saw her, she dumped me into a familiar zone.
‘No, I’ve been trying to get the dog trained. But och, its no good. As soon as I get back here, He doesny help.’ She pointed to the empty lounge room where my step-father normally sat. ‘The dog is so protective of me. I mean,’ she lowered her voice to an apologetic whisper. ‘It’s no the dogs fault really. He just wants to look after me but my throat gets so sore from shouting commands. I feel like I’m the one getting the training.’ She laughed at the picture of herself.
‘The instructor is quite bossy actually. To be perfectly honest, I’ll be glad when it’s over, just so I can get back to normal!’ She took a drink of her beer.
‘How much have you paid?’
‘Only $350.00’
‘And you’re faking it at that price?’
‘Och! It doesny matter! I just want it to end, so I can be left in peace. It was His idea in the first place. I’m the one who goes to the classes. Not Him.’
The sound of peace had a musical quality to it that I believed only my Mother could hear. What wonderful music it must be, I had thought as a child. I looked around this home, which was familiar yet strange. What notes resonated today that obliterated the past? The changing theme in the household. To be left in peace among the beautiful pictures and Chinese statuettes. The oriental linen and lace. Is that what she meant by peace? Each time I visited, her need for solitude, isolation, rest, leisure, freedom from pandering to the needs of anyone but herself was her main topic of conversation. Every route lead back to that.
‘What else has been happening?’
She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Just the everyday stuff. He’s been working a lot the past few months. He’s even had to hire an extra hand.’ The unspoken good news. This meant he came home late – peace, sweet elusive peace was within her grasp. However, no sooner had she uttered this one happy thought, than a familiar sound pulled into the driveway.
‘Jesus Christ!’ she exclaimed, ‘Is that Him already?’
While the four-wheel drive parked itself in the workshed, she stood up, put out her smoke and spat out a stream of broken sentences under her breath, shaking her head in wonderment between the last few mouthfuls of her beer. She grimaced at me, at the heavens, her shoulders sagging.
‘You wouldn’t credit it would ye.’
Before long, he burst in, black from a days welding on building sites. The dogs made a huge fuss. She shouted at them to be quiet. He shouted back that they were dogs, what did she expect them to do? His homecoming was excitable, loud, unsettling. The dogs’ jumping and barking ebbed to a guarded perimeter sniffing, then they left the room.
She bustled about, her smile matching the cheap Chinese landscapes they had collected over the years.
‘Hi sweetie. How was it?’ He ranted about some ‘****ing foreman’ or other and sat down at the table with the paper. She, all chirpy, made herself busy in the kitchen, slicing silverside, tomato, buttering fresh chunks of baked bread. The kettle boiled and she served him a hot cup of tea along with his sandwich. He grunted. She tacitly forfeited her place in the dining room to Him, who never even looked up from his paper. We moved to the family room, where sat more Chinese figures and the dogs. She got another beer, sat down, took a swig. Her face was transformed once more to He’s home early. Now I won’t have any peace look. We were silent. He coughed, chewed and slurped his tea so loudly that I mentally followed how his meal progressed.
Sitting in the family room changed how we communicated. A two seater couch and silence. Finally, her hushed observation of my forty years broke the ice.
‘I tell ye, I don’t know where the hours in the day go.
‘Have you heard from your sister in law Margaret?’
She almost crossed her chest at the mention of this name as if to say ‘Lord, give me strength’. She took another swig and lit a smoke.
‘She rang last week. Without a word of lie, I was on the phone for six hours.’
‘Six hours!’
‘I’m not joking. My ear was so sore. I dinny know how I endured it. No matter how many times I said “Margaret I have to go….” she just kept talking, like I hadny spoke.’ Her hands trembled. I noticed the cigarette quiver between her nicotine stained fingers. She took an anxious puff and looked helpless. Powerless.
‘What am I going to do?’
‘What time was it in England when she rang?’
‘I don’t care. I just wish she would stop making these long phone calls.’ In lowered tones she confided, ‘He doesn’t even talk to his sister.’ A barb of resentment was released into the air towards the dining room. Only the sated sounds of a working man at the end of a hard day could be heard. Whatever else my Mother felt, she let it sit like the tripe, milk and onions simmering on the stove.
‘You’re going to have to put down boundaries.’
‘Tch. I dinny want to hurt the woman’s feelings.’
We sat between thick curtains of silence. Her hands were shaking quite visibly.
‘I’m just so tired. Can I no be left in peace?’ Was she asking me? I had taken up some of that precious luxury like the oxygen her smoky lungs so desperately craved. When I left, would she relax or tackle something else that needed doing so she wouldn’t have to do it later? Had she amassed a mountain of fly-bys in heaven?
‘I have to go Mum. I’ve got other things to do.’ She brightened and rose hurriedly to her feet. The dogs prepared to escort me out.
‘Me too. I’ve got Edna coming over Monday and you know what that means.’
‘Yeah Mum, I know.’
I would spend time thinking I knew what it meant but actually, as I closed the creaking, dried wood door behind me, I would never really be sure.