New Blob

I am my brother's sister. I have started a new blob. This one will have only poems and essays and eventually, my one and only short story I which I wrote on Clipper Street in San Francisco in 1964. http://innochronologicalorder.blogspot.com

Wednesdays with Arlette

Woods Edge * Durham, North Carolina

I've been reading poems lately in prose format so I thought I'd write some prose in poem format:

the world is full of bad news

every day an onslaught

however

negativity is banished in the Shire

you will find no bad news here

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The last time I saw Arlette was on a Wednesday. I know this because we used to get together at her Woods Edge apartment on Wednesdays. We had established a Quiche Day as Arlette was the Queen of Quiche and I was the Queen of Talk. She'd busy herself for hours preparing our lunch and I would busy her with stories. Then while I ate everything before me on my plates, she would return the favor of storytelling. She was from France and two years older than I. She recounted the Nazis coming; the journey to England to become a parlor maid to a duchess; a marriage which took her to Brooklyn; the cancer death of her son after he had spent eight years in Hawaii without a visit home; and the early death of her husband. There had been a lot of tragedy in her life but she was just about the most upbeat person I had met. Her daughter was not interested in quiche or the seven course servings on duchess style china. Arlette and I were left to our own Wednesday adventures. She experimented with place settings and recipes to her delight. One day she concocted a specialty in my honor. When she announced what it was, I wondered how it would taste. It was wonderful. Spaghetti Leftovers Quiche. We listened to Jaques Brel or WCPE. She wrote out the words of my favorite songs in a beautiful script with French on one side and English on the other. I only knew her for a few months before leaving for my Western trek, first stop Roanoke. However, her stories lived on. Everybody's favorite seemed to be when she almost spilled the soup on the Prince of Wales. I loved her charming accent, her lovely pastel paintings of children, and her elegant menu. Sometimes I encountered her on her walks which were twice as long as mine and mine were certainly plenty long. This morning I found her phone number and called. Her response was as if I had been for quiche just last week. Her daughter was picking her up for an outing and we'd have to plan a get together soon. Tomorrow is Wednesday. Do you suppose?

~~~~~~~~~~~~

...may the blessings of little do-overs be yours...

~~~~~~~~~~~~