A Christmas Tale of sorts or as it goes: Can I have some Figgy Puddin’, please?

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“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times” Charles Dickens

A Christmas Tale of sorts or as it goes: Can I have some Figgy Puddin’, please?

The year was 1845. I was about ten years of age and working as a stable girl. Our family lived and worked in Lord Hamilton’s manor house. It was Christmas time and as a gift for the servants, the Lord arranged a feast for the staff and their families.

Mommy had the children dressed in their Sunday best. My two brothers were complaining about the stiffness of the shirts. Starch was itchy and could cause rash, especially if one scratched the itch.
I had my favourite dress on and my younger sister was a bit jealous of the red and green colouring. She was wearing a plain blue coloured hand me down.

After all the fuzz and hassle with the wardrobe, the whole family was finally set to go to the main house and start with the Christmas dinner. Us servants would be dining in the large kitchen. Several long tables were brought in with extra seats as well. This wasn’t a large household. With around fifteen servants and their families, well not all had children and spouses, all in all around sixty people in total crammed around the tables. The two cooks had had their hands full with the preparations and naturally every one that could had chipped in.

But now it was time for celebration. Everyone was finally sitting down and getting quiet. After grace the noise level rose again. Food containers were passed around and everyone was filling their respective plates. After all, it wasn’t often we got to eat in this manner and variety.

After a while, everyone had cleared their plates and it was time for dessert. My favourite was the Figgy Pudding. If possible I opted for seconds. As I got my plate of the delicious substance before me, I licked my lips and dug into it with gusto. It did not take too long for the food to disappear from my plate.

My mom looked at me with a smirk. I looked back at her and passing my bowl I asked: “Is there any Figgy Puddin’ left?”

I was smiling widely, feeling exhilarated, when the bowl was passed back to me with an other helping.

When the final bits were eaten, it was time for the traditional sing along. The farmhand brought out his accordion and after the first few tunes, we all joined in. The evening was spent singing, chatting and finally picking up the tables. We all went back to our dwellings, thanking the Lord for the special meal.

Merry Pudding and God bless us everyone!

Just call me, Mrs Claus

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“Santa has it great. I buy all the toys. He gets all the credit.” Mrs Claus

Just call me, Mrs Claus

You may call me, Mrs Claus
Without applause
Doing my bid
Without one single payment of a quid
Yuletide
Without this, proud bride
Of Santa Claus
Would be, just empty banter
No kind of jolly
Or celebration folly
Neither for me
Or even, for you

A Visit, up there, to the famous North Pole

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O, how glorious would it be to set my heel upon the Pole and turn myself 360 degrees in a second!” Joseph Banks

A Visit, up there, to the famous North Pole

A quick trip
To the North Pole
A little hop and skip
To the beat of the drum roll

The elves busy at work
Their faces in a permanent smirk
No time for breaks or coffee
Not even a little toffee

The holiday season is upon us
Which has caused all the fuss
Be careful where you step though
You may end up in a pile of snow

Santa’s sleigh
Without delay
Flying over the river
Presents to deliver

Hitch a ride
In a blink of an eye
You’ll be landing
At the front door standing

Was it a dream
So it would seem
But then again
Life is but a dream

Going back, in time

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“When I was kid, my social network was called ‘outside’ “

Going back, in time

This is the work one of pure fiction. Neither polar bears nor reindeer were harmed in the creation of this literary process!

The year was 1924.

Longitude and latitude: Somewhere up north, thataway! The Finnish Lapland would probably be the most accurate location for this tale.

How old was I?

I guess I was somewhere between ten and twelve years of age. In those days, people were born and they died. No one really bothered with the record keeping. Lord knows there were plenty of us to go around.

Despite the fact it was close to midsummer, there was still snow on the ground. The reindeer and polar bears were roaming the streets while us kids were running around, having snowball fights. That is, during the minimum spare time we had between school, chores and work. Sleeping in those days was a luxury. Sometimes we had a full night’s sleep, sometimes the watch duty fell on my plate and I needed to stay up all night. Luckily, coffee had been invented ten years prior and we were all pretty much hooked on the sweet dark liquid.

Our housing for the winter months was an igloo, which the whole family constructed out of ice. Snow was used as plaster to fill in any holes between the blocks of ice. During the summer time, we had a tent like structure made out of bear and deer skin. Unfortunately all of us favoured the winter dwelling for one simple fact: The summer house stunk like a skunk. The choice of material was not a good one, but then, it was depression and all commodities were scarce.

The trip to school, either winter or summer time was made on skis and it was part to the exercise curriculum for all of us still eligible for the classes. A twenty kilometer trip back and forth was not a big deal and was building the strength and endurance nicely. This also came in handy for our after school activities. Some of us went to work in the coal mines, while others were herding rein deer or taking care of their younger siblings.

Each Saturday the Sauna was heated and all the family gathered into the cramped little room, heated up to eighty degrees. We were sitting all butt cheek to butt cheek in the nude on a wooden construct in the small dark room. Only the burning fire in the stove gave some lighting. As a luffa, a loosely tied bunch of birch tree branches with leaves on them was used. Out mother pummeled us with the concoction and me thinks she enjoyed it a little too much. Granted we children gave her grieve sometimes, so I will give her that.

Bathing for us then meant taking dips in the icy, below freezing waters. This, after we had first heated our body temperatures close to baking. Then we ran naked to the lake, where a large hole had been dug into the ice and plunged in.

All in all life was pretty ordinary and uneventful in my childhood, apart from the minor quirks.

Do I miss it? My childhood?

I would rather spend my next holiday on a labour camp!

It’s A Human… No, It’s A Drag Race after all!

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“We are all born naked and the rest is Drag” – RuPaul

It’s A Human… No, It’s A Drag Race after all!

This is Ixavier Lasloth coming live from the Galaxy near you!

Our news team is currently orbiting a small bluish rock in the farthest corner of the known universe. We are here to observe the supposedly dominant occupants of this planet they have named “Earth”. These people seem to be involved in something called the “human race”, although as to where and when the race will take place is still unclear.

We are here to observe the ritualistic behaviour of this particular species, whose skin colour is varying from a pinkish hue to darker brown shade or sometimes even red. Some of them are covered in a thick fur like layer, while others remain neutral and satisfied in their original skin.

We are in disguise to avoid any panic our strange appearance may cause in the inhabitants.

Upon closer inspection, we can clearly detect at least two distinctive sexes, but there may be more.

Although most of these creatures seem to be content in their existence, some of them rebel against the existing norm. These individuals have ventured to live their lives with their own set of rules and formed tight knit groups and living off the radar. These “outsiders” worship their heroes in an almost religious fashion.

This exceptional behaviour is the reason, why this reporter landed on this forsaken rock and decided to have a closer look.

After making contact with some of these “radical groups”, we were fortunate enough to get invited to observe one of their many rituals. The core group and their followers call themselves “De-rag Q-ueens.

We were invited to observe their masking ritual, reserved for the most elite individuals of the group. The “males” as we got to know them were performing an age old ceremony named the “drag race”.

Observing the ritual to a fault, there is a strict regime to follow:

The first step is to apply a thick layer of paint on the face. The next step is to add a head piece, which seems like a construct of some sort of animal hair. These headpieces come in every imaginative colour of the rainbow. To complete the transformation, a garment weaved with glittering items is pulled over the top half of the body. The feet are covered with footwear constructed from a leathery material and with an added feature, which seems to give the wearer more height.

When the total transformation from “male” to “female” was complete, it was time to “put on a show”.

The Q-ueens lined up and started walking in orderly fashion on what seemed to be a structure of wooden planks they had named the “cat walk”. A rhythmic beat followed by electrical lights flashing caused the Q-ueens to start producing sounds from their throats causing melodic sounds coming out from their mouths. This ritual was of a repetitive nature, where the melodies and sounds varied depending on the individual performing them. The “show” continued and the partakers managed to change their attire several times over before the ceremony was over.

All in all while observing this religious ritual in all its glory, this reporter found oneself caught in the moment; cheering and applauding at the end of the ceremony, which luckily was the accepted social convention.

While trying to get more in-depth information as to what the origin of this particular ritual was, I was fortunate to interview one of the elders among them. And the message, quite clear and directly quoted:

“We may be born naked, but surely the rest needs to be drag”
In this reporter’s opinion, this may be one of the more successful stories of Earth.

Until next time, this is Ixavier Lasloth, signing off!

Be careful what you wish for, you may just get it!

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“Not today Satan! Not today.” Bianca Del Rio

Be careful what you wish for, you may just get it!

Not another rejection! I was getting sick and tired of working my respective derriere off and for what? For nothing, thank you very much. No matter what I wrote, how I wrote or how many submissions I sent in, all my work got rejected.

“I would make a deal with the devil if I would finally get a chance!” I shouted out loud in the empty room.

The lights flickered and all got dark.

“Oh hell, not another power outage again!” I tried to feel my way in the darkness, but as I moved around, I realized I wasn’t bumping into any kind of obstacles, like the furniture or scattered stuff lying on the floor in my room.

Then I could see a bright spot in the distance. By instinct I started walking towards the light. When I reached the light, I noticed I had actually been transported to some place completely different. The surroundings reminded vaguely of some of the cardboard sets from many a sci-fi film I had seen. The place was surrounded by a heavy mist, like someone had gone wild with a smoke machine. Luckily I had taken my asthma medicine earlier.

I walked around and wondered whether I was dreaming or abducted by some funky disco loving aliens.

“Hello! Anyone home?” I shouted.

Then wooshing sound and flash of light and, there she was, standing before me in a catsuit like leathery outfit. She looked at me, clearly assessing who and what I was.

“So you would like to be famous?” She asked me.

“Who are you?” I was a not sure whether this was a dream or I had been set up by Candid Camera.

“Beelzebub.” She answered.

“Come again?” What the f..k? I was thinking this definitely had to be a set up.

She looked at me annoyed.

“You know as in Old Nick, Lucifer, the Tempter, Prince of Darkness? Ring a bell for you?”

I shook my head.

“Satan!” She shouted out loud her voice echoing in the setting.

“Ah!” I finally got it, “What’s with the decoy? Why not come right in front and introduce yourself like “Hi, I am Satan, nice to meet you!” I asked trying to lighten the mood.

She, Satan stared at me and I got a little worried then. My skin was burning a little. For what ever reason, I wasn’t sure.

“I heard you were ready to deal.” Satan stated matter of factually.

“Maybe,” I tried nonchalantly not believing my luck! “What kind of deal did you have in mind?”

“Well I can make you rich and famous and all that entails as.. What was it again you said you were, a writer?”

“Yeah!” So, not all knowing after all, I thought.

“Writer. Yes, well I have several of those, but if that is what you want to be then who am I to argue.” Satan responded, looking at me eyes flaming.

“What exactly would it entail? The deal I mean?” My curiosity was peaked, but this sounded too good of a deal to really be true.

“Well do you think you are any good as a writer now?” Satan asked me.

Motioning my hand in comme ci comme ça -manner. “Meh?”

“Well, despite your short comings, I can make sure what ever word fall from your pen or what is it you humans are using now, keyboard?”

I nodded.

“I can make sure it’s all gold and you will become a renowned writer.”

I was really hooked now.

“What do I have to do?”

Another woosh sounded.

“Simply put on them red slippers and click your heels three times!” Satan pointed at the newly appeared footwear.

I was hesitant, red wasn’t really my colour.

“I don’t know. Can I see that in an other colour?”

I could see Satan’s eyes widen and sure, there was smoke coming out of her ears.

“You dare to contradict me?” She was furious.

Oh, oh. I had angered the devil, not good. I was worried I might loose the deal. And red was fine. I could always accessorize and buy a red bag, maybe a matching hat…

“Fine! Don’t get your knickers in a bunch! I will put the red slippers on, no problem!” I slipped the shoes on one by one and pointed at them: “See! Chill out Satan!”

She grinned wickedly: “Excellent! Now click your heels three times.”

“Seriously?” I asked. I thought I heard that line in a movie some place.

“Do as I damn well say!” Satan clearly had anger management issues.

“OK, I will. Look, I am doing it.”

And with that said, I clicked my heels, one, two, three times. The lights flickered again. Everything went dark.

“Not this again! Been there done that, now bring on the light!” I shouted in despair.

Then the lights came on. I was back in my, room?

It wasn’t my room, not at least the way I left it. It was a huge room with nice furniture and all kinds of gorgeous glittery things around. I looked around in awe. Where was I?

I noticed a newspaper on the table. I went to look to find more clues as to where and why. My heart skipped a beat. The headline stated “Premier for ‘Dancing with the Devil in the pale moonlight’ written by the famous author, Gun Roswell”

I glanced at my feet. And, I was still wearing the red slippers on my feet!

“You have to be careful what you wish for. What you think you want, may be more than you can handle!”

Tuesday today is

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“It’s another day of the week, naturally!” Gun Roswell

Tuesday today is

The days come along one by one (usually the way they do)
It’s almost like singing a song (verse by verse moving along)
Today it’s Tuesday, when only yesterday it was Sunday (that’s how I recall it)
And now, it’s getting late, no matter how I hesitate, tomorrow will be here, I can feel it near (What do you know: It’s Wednesday and midweek, what a geek!)

Guess I need to stop worrying about Mondays anyway (Oh, did you worry before? Did not know that…)
Since the days keep on changing without my aid (Yeah, need a time machine for that!)
Why worry about some day, when there is always the next day (True, do like the Spanish do, manana!)
So, on this day of …ahem, Tuesday, I swear, not to worry about another damned day!!! (Liar! You know this promise or what ever is as good as the up and down going fever! You will never keep it, trust me, I know shit!)

Bring it on Tuesday, Wednesday and even Friday (Don’t forget Monday and something else!)
Every day, from this day on is my day (note to writer, how many times can you get away with the word “day”?)
I will start appreciating the here and now (Yeah, really! Like to see that)
And then, if not, nobody have a cow! (We already did! It’s there in the backyard!)

It’s A Human… No, It’s A Drag Race after all!

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“We are all born naked and the rest is Drag” – RuPaul

It’s A Human… No, It’s A Drag Race after all

This is Ixavier Lasloth coming live from the Galaxy near you!

Our news team is currently orbiting a small bluish rock in the farthest corner of the known universe. We are here to observe the supposedly dominant occupants of this planet they have named “Earth”. These people seem to be involved in something called the “human race”, although as to where and when the race will take place is still unclear.

We are here to observe the ritualistic behaviour of this particular species, whose skin colour is varying from a pinkish hue to darker brown shade or sometimes even red. Some of them are covered in a thick fur like layer, while others remain neutral and satisfied in their original skin.

We are in disguise to avoid any panic our strange appearance may cause in the inhabitants.

Upon closer inspection, we can clearly detect at least two distinctive sexes, but there may be more.

Although most of these creatures seem to be content in their existence, some of them rebel against the existing norm. These individuals have ventured to live their lives with their own set of rules and formed tight knit groups and living off the radar. These “outsiders” worship their heroes in an almost religious fashion.

This exceptional behaviour is the reason, why this reporter landed on this forsaken rock and decided to have a closer look.

After making contact with some of these “radical groups”, we were fortunate enough to get invited to observe one of their many rituals. The core group and their followers call themselves “De-rag Q-ueens.

We were invited to observe their masking ritual, reserved for the most elite individuals of the group. The “males” as we got to know them were performing an age old ceremony named the “drag race”.

Observing the ritual to a fault, there is a strict regime to follow:

The first step is to apply a thick layer of paint on the face. The next step is to add a head piece, which seems like a construct of some sort of animal hair. These headpieces come in every imaginative colour of the rainbow. To complete the transformation, a garment weaved with glittering items is pulled over the top half of the body. The feet are covered with footwear constructed from a leathery material and with an added feature, which seems to give the wearer more height.

When the total transformation from “male” to “female” was complete, it was time to “put on a show”.

The Q-ueens lined up and started walking in orderly fashion on what seemed to be a structure of wooden planks they had named the “cat walk”. A rhythmic beat followed by electrical lights flashing caused the Q-ueens to start producing sounds from their throats causing melodic sounds coming out from their mouths. This ritual was of a repetitive nature, where the melodies and sounds varied depending on the individual performing them. The “show” continued and the partakers managed to change their attire several times over before the ceremony was over.

All in all while observing this religious ritual in all its glory, this reporter found oneself caught in the moment; cheering and applauding at the end of the ceremony, which luckily was the accepted social convention.

While trying to get more in-depth information as to what the origin of this particular ritual was, I was fortunate to interview one of the elders among them. And the message, quite clear and directly quoted:

“We may be born naked, but surely the rest needs to be drag”
In this reporter’s opinion, this may be one of the more successful stories of Earth.

Until next time, this is Ixavier Lasloth, signing off!

dame-edna-everage-barry-humphries-taking-over-adelaide-music-festival

Room with a View

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“A place belongs forever to whoever claims it hardest, remembers it most obsessively, wrenches it from itself, shapes it, renders it, loves it so radically that he remakes it in his own image.” – Joan Didion 

mokki

Room with a View

We had been driving for a while, not sure whether this road we were on, would lead us to the right place. Everything was different now. What once were wide open fields and forest, had now transformed into a mini suburbia. It was difficult to navigate by only old images serving as maps for the familiar road taken some forty years ago.

“There, take a turn here!” I pointed out to the direction looking to lead to were I wanted to go.

The car swerved and after a moment, I started recognizing familiar landmarks, still standing after all these years despite the changes. The big boulder standing proudly at the very edge of the ledge. As
kids we use to play and re-enact our favourite TV shows, pretending the rock was part of an alien planet.

Driving further and deeper into the woods, the distances between houses were getting longer and soon I was able to see recognize some of the places long since forgotten. We had finally arrived.

Stepping out of the car I noticed the neighbours’ house was still standing on the accompanying lot, still as run down as it had been all those years ago. I wondered if anyone actually lived there anymore.

Looking at the empty spot where our home had been, I could still see some of the rocks which had been part of the foundation of the house once standing proud, laying scattered After neglect and abandonment, the run down building had finally been demolished.

I walked around in the tall grass, feeling nostalgic and remembering how it used to be. As I closed my eyes I am transported back to the old house, my playhouse, the house I was born in.

It was a warm summer’s day. I could smell the freshly cut grass and see all the flowers in bloom. The field surrounding the house was filled with yellow, the colour of dandelions.

As kids, it was really fun to blow off the seeds when the flowers had bloomed and were ready to pollinate. Little did we know we were actually helping the flowers to spread. They looked like skydivers as they slowly landed on the ground.

I turned and looked at my home, the raw wooden exterior, no creature comforts, such as running water or toilets. The outhouse was a little farther up the hill, covered by tall trees and bushes. Someone probably thought it would be a good place to hide it, so the onlookers would not find out the people actually went to the toilet in those days.

As I moved closer, I saw my grandmother sitting in the swing. She loved that swing. She sat there for hours on end, watching us kids play in the yard. I waved to her and continue inside. I was thirsty and I knew there was a pitcher of cool lemonade in the kitchen. In those days a refrigerator was a luxury and we did not have one.

To keep things cool, there were sort of holes or wells dug into to the ground, filled with cool ground water. The food was then put into a bucket and lowered into the hole. Our kitchen had one in the middle of the floor and it was handy especially during hot days like this one was.

The house itself was small, two bedrooms, a living room and the kitchen. There was electricity coming into the house, for lamps and such. And of course to the piece de resistance, the television. The only one in a ten mile radius. The neighbour kids and I used to gather in the house every Sunday afternoon to watch our favourite TV show, Thunderbirds. Even grandfather sat with us kids and watched the show in awe.

As I entered the house, I walked through a small foyer: It was really a tiny space between two doors before actually entering the inside of the house. When guests arrived, there usually was a queue waiting for entry into the house. Each in turn taking off their shoes, leaving them in the foyer and then entering.

I quickly stepped out of my clogs and entered the kitchen. The opposite wall was filled with cupboards and a sink. And of course no running water nor sewers. The long kitchen table surrounded by twelve chairs dominated the room. At Christmas and holidays we used to gather around it with family and friends.

I went to the “well” and opened the hatch. Hoisting the bucket up and taking one bottle. Putting the bucket back, closing the hatch. Walking to the cupboards, I took two glasses out. Satisfied I carried my items outside to where my grandmother was sitting.

After pouring the cool lemonade in the glasses and offering one to my grandmother, I sat down in the swing beside her. Letting the gentle swing and the warm summer breeze lull me into sleep.

After for what seemed an eternity, I finally opened my eyes and I was back in the present. The grass still green, field still filled with yellow dandelions, smiling at the warm memories of childhood and my trip back in time.

Adventures of Lilli the Cat (four)

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Posted in Caturday

“In ancient times cats were worshipped as gods;
they have not forgotten this”
Terry Pratchett

Adventures of Lilli the Cat

Photo Assistant

“Who is ready for their close-ups?”
The little assistant asked
As she the camera passed
To the photographer

“Snap snap”
The camera clacked

Voila: the little helper
Got herself in a picture!

photo-assistant