Allegra bent over her cauldron; piping hot steam rose causing her glasses to
mist up as the fumes turned her hair green and stained her dress a strange purple shade in the early evening
light. This caused her to peer even
closer to her cooking as the mixture
was bubbling away in the large copper pot.
She always made her concoctions at dusk on a Monday as it is the day
ruled by the Moon which entices the elves to come out in stronghold to help.
The elves ; Pepper,
Sugarplum and Apple were always there when she needed help. Pepper being the
eldest elf was very playful creating destruction in the kitchen and once she
managed to overturn the cauldron.
Sugar plum and
Apple possessed unique and extraordinary abilities, superhuman physical powers and
natural magical talents. This
particular evening as dusk fell Allegra was having difficulty making her
concoction come together. The preparation was churning into a sinister
black mess, smelt foul and looked like a heaving oil slick on the North seas.
Once a month she prepared her medicinal tea for the Count who
lived in the sprawling house up the hill and in return for her concoctions let
her live rent free in the little cottage by the woods. Her mixture included herbs, grasses, leaves and various dead animals
and insects found on her walks through the forest although depending on her amnesia the recipe differed slightly. She
always stirred her big wooden spoon clockwise as this was thought to be in harmony with the movement of the sun
and is linked to health and success.
She
prepared this tea for Monsieur le Comte to drink every evening at midnight, a time when the wolves howled viciously and
the moon turned green. He was
convinced that when he drank Allegra’s herbal teas he found a surge of energy in love, unusual sensuality, extra strength, and
prosperity . But lately he had been unlucky in love and
when he arrived at her front door
complaining that the concoction was not
helping him anymore he threatened she’d have to give up her cottage and leave
if things didn’t get better.
It
is a well known fact that elves can be unpredictable and tonight, Pepper, the
eldest elf was playing havoc with the flames of the fire that heated the
cauldron – flitting back and forth teasing the flames to follow her and run circles
round about, pulling the dogs tail
and generally causing the change of heat that altered the brew. Allegra, furious, worried and under threat
to be evicted was desperate as she turned her wooden spoon even faster .....The elves joined in turning anti
clockwise laughing and giggling, catching the fire flames, throwing herbs and grasshoppers
over their shoulders generally creating frenzy.
In a
fit of rage Allegra grabbed her eldest elf by the toes along with Sugar plum
and Apple threw them into the hot boiling cauldron – that will teach you she
screamed – and watched their sweet mischievous faces dissolve into the boiling
concoction which turned a dark petrol
blue.
“What
is this “ said the Count dipping a finger to taste then immediately bent over
to give Allegra a full-on kiss which released the elves and they spun and
danced away across the meadows.
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Eve's story:
It was such a beautiful morning, she was having tea on the terrasse and had to do so manythigs but she couldn't remember half of it. Maybe she was having dementia, amnesia the one disease which erases memories. She must see a specialist, one day! One thing she must do is put gas (petrol) in her car before anything else then what to do, go to the store get a few things, but what?
She'll see when she gets there. Must also change clothes, cannot go looking like an old hippie with holes in her pants. Maybe she should wear that blue dress, the new one, fairly new. Why did she buy the dress, blue wasn't her favorite color, oh well. She'll wear it and she will also take the dog with her He loves riding in the car and is so good. Maybe she'll look for something to cook for tonight, cooking wasn't her thing anymore but one must eat and try to stay healthy. But what a bore it is when one is alone, eating watching TV. Acutaly it is sad she thought, being alone, sitting on the sofa and watching these moronic shows on the telly but what else to do???
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Monica's story:
Chris was ready . This was going to be a dinner party to end all dinner party's. She loved cooking and was always well organized in the kitchen, with ingredients, timings and lists. Even the dog had an extra long walk this morning and had now been bathed and brushed and smelt delicious. Her beautiful expensive designer dress was hanging in the bathroom to get the small creases out caused by hanging in an over stocked wardrobe. The dress was a stunning colour of petrol blue and looked very flattering in all lighting.
The reason for this finery and planning of a super dooper dinner party was that James her husband was being promoted; he had been with the same accounting company for many years and promotion had been slow in coming. He was old school, not a high flyer was James, with a university degree he had done his qualifications the hard way. Night school both A levels and accountancy exams. He didn't really seek high flying promotion. They were a very contented couple, she was a class room assistant for mental and physical handicapped children, very caring and loving and the children loved her. They had a nice house with a beautiful large garden which was a passion they both shared. No children, it just hadn't happened they didn't make a fuss or seek assistance they were just very contented with their life the garden and each other.
Chris was so delighted for her husband and his forthcoming promotion, it had been a long time coming but then he didn't seek fame and fortune. The boss was coming of course with a very snobby wife and two worl colleagues with their wives. They socialised with one couple a litle more than the other young couple, often having drinks with them in the local pub or at each others homes, so it was even more important for Chris to get everything perfect.
So all was ready and time was ticking by. She glanced at the clock. OK she had plenty of time, just checking her ingredients for her special fish dish that was served over hot stones with a delicious sauce. The main course was beef Wellington. She chose this rather hefty meat dish for the men who all loved their beef and afterwards was baked Alaska. She had done this before and timing was critical and it looked so impressive.
"Oh no", she exclaimed loudly; even the dog jumped how could I have been so stupid, with the fish dish she made a delicious cucumber sauce and she had forgotten to buy a cucumber. There were other sauces she could have made or even not serve a sauce at all but Chris was determined this had to be a dinner party to end all dinner parties. So, grabbing her car keys and telling the dog to be a good boy and she wouldn't be long, they lived a little out of town and the nearest villae with any shops was about six miles away. The road was busy then it was late Friday afternoon, she was now rather stressed arrived at the shop and grabbing two cucumbers paid and walked back to the car. Except that she never quite reached the car crossing the road very preoccupied clutching her cucumbers ...bang! crash... a squealing of brakes like she had never heard, then blackness. She had walked across the road in front of a huge delivery lorry. The driver didn't stand a chance of not hitting her. The devastation he caused by trying not to hit her was indescribable. The bus shelter was flattened, shop fronts crashed into, shattering of glass then deathly silence. The sirens began, what a carnage. Chris was still alive and taken to hospital as was the lorry driver . He didn't sustain life threatening injuries.
Of course, the dinner party never happened nor did the promotion. In fact, James left work to devote the rest of his life nursing and looking after and bringing Chris back to life. She recovered well physically but the brain inury left her with a memory problem. Amnesia. The doctors were optimistic that it would improve over time when the brain had had time to heal but it would leave a lasting brain damage to her memory.
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Sarah's contribution:
I remember everything. Every little detail. I can't forget. I hear about other people losing their memory, complaining that they don't remember names, or faces, or facts about history, or whatever. I remember everything.
"Do you remember," says a friend, "how we ran out of petrol that night and had to walk to the nearest station, 5 miles, at 3 o'clock in the morning?"
Of course I remember; why did she remind me? What she remembers wrong is that we didn't run out of petrol, we had plenty of that. We hit a dog. He was totally crushed, a mass of blood and bones, and we were drunk, and when we tried to drive over it, the fur and whatnot got into the motor and stalled us. We couldn't move on. So we stumbled towards assistance, and when we got there, she crumpled into a nerveless heap and slept till morning. I dealt with it all, and when she woke up she had no memory of the incident, just that we had had to walk for miles and miles in the middle of the night.
There's this dress in the wardrobe. I should get rid of it. Because it reminds me of the night I told Jake I didn't love him any more, and he threw the drink in my face, and the low measured reproaches grew to nasty comments and finally to shouting and screaming, before he walked out and never came back. Yes, I should get rid of that dress, because I never wear it any more. But I would remember anyway.
I remember everybody's birthday, and it used to cost me a lot, but I've cut back spending on birthday cards. I say no, firmly, and walk past the card rack. I remember the kitten that got sick and died in my arms, when I was five, and it still hurts. I remember all the geography facts, and when someone says, do you know where Kabul is, I say of course, and the population is over 3 500 000 inhabitants. Every time I want to do something I remember my mother's advice, and my teachers' guidelines, and the story of my grandfather's failure, and I stop and ponder: is this the right thing to do? Or not? So many confusing signposts, and my own experience is lost among all these other guidelines.
I know cooking recipes by heart, so many of them that I never know which one to pick. I don't need a shopping list, but sometimes I get mixed up and buy things that I had intended to buy the week before but weren't on the shelves then and that now I don't need any more. I remember the exact shade of blue of the curtains in my childhood bedroom; that memory is nice. It comforts me, such a lovely shade of blue!
--Watch out!
-- What?
Too late!
When she woke up, they asked her her name.
She thought for a moment and said, "I don't know."
"Where do you live?"
She thought again, and again she said she didn't know.
"How old are you? Are you married? Do you have any children? What's your job? Where did you grow up?"
To all these she replied with the same empty answer, while something was gradually forcing its way up into her consciousness. At last she stopped them, and with a broad smile she said:
"I don't know anything at all. Except that this, this here, is something I have wanted all my life, something I have been waiting for. A new start, a clean slate! Blessed amnesia!"
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Geraldine's story:
She closed her eyes and felt her mind slowly drifting from her
tired-out body. Every day, after lunch, Amy
would let herself go for a small half-hour after her morning activities and the
light lunch hastingly taken.
And, it would be another chapter of her dreamed life, so different from
the burdened one she had been going through for so many years.
This morning, she had been cooking for the fourteen
guests her boss had invited in for lunch : they were to discuss the new
project of redesigning the garden and including a swimming-pool on the premises. She so damned well-knew she would never go
swiming and that it would only be more
work, having to clean it everyday, on top of all the other chores. She had been up so early this morning,
cleaning and cutting the vegetables, cooking the eggs and salmon, making the
mayonnaise and displaying all the wonderfully fresh dishes on the table she had
set-up on the covered terrace.
She had laid-out the blue
delft set of plates and dishes which
were perfect for a casual outdoor meal, and litt the petrol lamps rather than the candles
because it was still a bit windy.
Her eyes gently closed and she wondered : why is it they can all
swim and enjoy it ? where and when
did they learn ? How come if you are born on the right side of the street
you have access to so many things, can learn for years, travel around and chose
what you like !
Is it due to where you are born, the colour of your skin, your ability
to have high confidence in yourself, what your parents have passed on.. ..
Some of us coloured people do
manage to be a cut above the rest, but at what price ! and so much effort and we still never feel as
belonging to that world where everything seems so smoothe and easy !
Amy slowly let go and began dreaming again : she was in a huge
ballroom with beautiful polished parquet, an orchestra playing floor dance
music and couples swirling around under the glowing ceiling chandeliers. The music, the movement, the light and the
enchanted atmosphere made her feel dizzy for a while, and then the turned her
head and looked at this handsome blue eyed tall man stretching out his hand and
inviting her to dance. She felt so carried
away and started turning and turning and turning with her partner, to the sound
of the music. She felt good : her greyish
blue dress was
spining showing just the bottom of her fine brown legs and her blue ballerinas
matching her dress. Her eyes were
closed, the music faded away and …. A huge bark set her up to her feet
again !
It was Bob, the Golden retriever, barking for his afternoon walk she
would give him everyday after lunch… With a feeling of guilt, she sprang to her
feet to take to dog
for his daily trip down to the river where he would have a splash, and then
back home where she would brush him and make sure he had no flees or other
bugs.
Her mind went back to her dream : she knew it had been a wonderful dream, but was
it amnesia she suffered ? She could
never remember them, but as she felt
comforted, she knew it had been a good one.
And she longued for tomorrow to come again for her next little escape
that kept her going….
-----------------------------------
Annemarie's story
Now I realise that I was supposed to have all of you over for lunch today for writing club and I would have been cooking
a delicious seafood feast ( as Paula is enjoying a very different
festival in Basel- so no worries about Paula and fish!). And thank you
Eve for arranging lunch at Agnès instead.
I managed to get
'parole' from prison to come out for the meal as long I was back for
lock-up by 16h00 - or it's solitary for me.
However...John yesterday brought the wrong dress,
even though I had described very carefully - “green and navy stripes,
big pockets and if you can't see it you could look at hangers where it
might be hiding under another dress...What did he bring ? A short blue summer dress! I don't know if he just doesn't listen, is colour-blind or has amnesia!
Now he's just phoned and said he couldn't bring the right one as he had run out of petrol
in the middle of nowhere and just as he was phoning his mobile cut out.
So presumably he would now have to walk to the nearest house, hope
there was someone in and it would be far too late by then to get Thostes
and bring me to Epoisses.
Now , Jacky, I know I promised to
send my story, (which I have written and which John printed out)
but...just as he'd finished printing it he lost power, lights everything
- he doesn't think it was a power cut, more likely workmen cut through
something major cable as no one else in the village is cut off and
there was a lot 'merde, putain..' etc coming from the men working on our
electricity . Otherwise I am sure if he was nearer Thostes he could
have walked home and emailed it to you.
Well I know it sounds just like the schoolkid who, not having done his homework, told his teacher- 'Miss, the dog ate my essay' ...but in this case it's not my fault; John's walking
somewhere between Thostes and Montbard with my story so I am afraid you
will have nothing from me and I shall have to stay in clink, eat cold
over-cooked veggies in vinaigrette, and apple pap pudding.
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