Daily Prompts | The Contented Crafter

My little house is usually toasty warm, no matter the weather – and the weather has been mild for the season. But during the night I woke up cold. Orlando came and snuggled up tight against me and purred himself and me back into sleep.

I got up this morning and the house felt cold. I turned on the heat pump and it stuttered and shook and vigorously blew cold air about the room. I turned it off!

I dragged the heater from my craft room into the living area and turned it on full blast. It still felt cold.

Though not yet light, I opened the curtain in the kitchen so Orlando could sit in his accustomed place and stare out at the awakening world.

In the pre-dawn light I thought I saw white rooftops through that opened curtain.

I blinked and looked again – snow.

Snow!

Snow??

It’s too early in the season. It doesn’t snow here until at least the end of July.

I want to switch places with Char from Lesie’s World .

Lesie’s World is Jamaica where it is always summer and doesn’t get icy cold like this – and I know there is no snow – I saw that movie!

Lesie’s blog is full of the colour and flavour of Jamaica……… most especially the post called A Likkle Literary Taste A Mi Culcha. Lesie’s blog allows me soak in the colours and smell the aromas and taste the flavour of Jamaica. When I wander around her Thrift Shop and read about her daily life I fall in love with a world so colourfuil, so vibrant and warm and so very different from mine…….

I don’t really want to swap places with Char, I want her to be there too, for many reasons:

I will need a translator, I’ve been practising my Jamaican patois but we all know book-learnin’ is nuthin’ like the real thing!!
She knows where all the cool places are
She knows the markets and the landmarks and all about mangoes ……
I like Char!

And though Char once expressed an interest in visiting my little country here near the bottom of the world with it’s odd wild life, this is not the time of the year for someone who lives in perpetual summer to make the journey – hell, even our high summer would feel wintry to her I expect.

No, it’s grey and cold and the weather is coming straight off the Antarctic Ice Shelf to our little part of the southern ocean and the snow is turning to sleet and the wild seas are breaking up our coastline and a favourite promenade walk is in danger of being undermined and swept away – and she hasn’t yet learned to speak our lingo!

These are some things every visitor should know:

New Zealand is properly pronounced ‘Neew Zillan‘
Leading statements are made as questions
Every second sentence has ‘eh?’ at the end
Lynn of Tawa is an historical cultural icon, if you can understand her you have a good chance of getting by – here is a link to a brief You Tube view, I suggest you turn on the captions:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v=ZZe4O7Ct8mo

Good Luck!

I’m on way Char – it’s a long walk but I’ll make it one day.

Long, long ago, in a land far, far away I entered a crowded lift, the hand of my four year old daughter clutched tightly in mine.

The only sound was the shuffle of feet and rustle of clothing as room was made to accommodate us. Eyes turned modestly downwards or reaching for unseen horizons the silent occupants waited as the lift doors swooshed shut and with a shudder we began our ascent.

Almost immediately the uncomfortable silence was broken by the piping voice of the four year old. Tugging on my hand she inquired intensely ‘Mummy, where do babies come from?”

The silence became focused. An unseen arrow of interest aimed straight at me, waiting for the answer to the unexpected question.

Instantly I became an internal jangle of question marks and exclamation points –

What? Why Now?? Really, already?? Oh God, what do I say here??

Pretending serenity, I bent towards my daughter, intending to say “Let’s talk about this later” but what came out instead was: “Where do you think you came from?”

The focused interest whispered towards the dark haired girl looking up at me. She turned her eyes down, frowned slightly and was quiet for a moment. The focus held its collective breath.

Then she smiled and responded clearly.

‘Starlight.” She smiled up proudly at me and as I stared silently back, the focused silence curled back on itself and settled with the smallest of sighs into the eyes and mouths of the inhabitants of the lift.

The lift juddered and stopped and the swoosh of the door opening returned us to the world. As we jostled aside to let some occupants out, an elderly gentleman ruffled my child’s hair and beamed down at her. “Starlight, indeed” he chuckled, “And you are an angel!”

I met my child that day in the lift.