Peppa

Before Christmas I stopped at my sister. They lived in small, completely renovated 1 bedroom apartment in the historical part of town. They had four year old boy at that time. Everything was in preparation for Holidays. There was a big laundry going on, in the kitchen the cupboards were scrubbed and all dishes washed, and she was also in the middle of baking Christmas cookies. Of course she had a couple of new recipes she had to try. In the bedroom on the bed stand there was a half finished crocheted doily - a Christmas present for her mother in law. I excused myself if I can go and wash my hands. I went to the bathroom. In the bathtub filled with water was swimming a good ten pounds size carp. The carp's color was already changing to the whitish grey color from chlorine in water. The carp was a part of traditional Christmas dinner.
"You have a fish in the bathtub."
"Yes, I know. His name is Peppa."
"Are you taking a bath together?"
"No, we take showers at Jarda's parents. We talk to him and Milan likes to play with him. He was full of leaches, especially around gills, so I pulled them out with tweezers. Now, he is clean.
I was in the hurry to catch a train, so I wished them Merry Christmas, and left. I stopped again after Holidays. The bathtub was empty.
"Did you make fish soup and fish fillets?"
"No. Milan cried. He loved him so much we couldn't kill him. So we put him into a shopping bag, walked to the river and released him. He swam away."
What did you make for dinner?"
"I fried wiener schnitzels."
I wished them Happy New Year. There was another train to catch. Copyright (c) Marie Neumann 2007

Cherries and elephants

Local farmer, John Smith, knew it's time to pick cherries. Early in the morning he filled his flat bad truck with baskets and crates and drove to his cherry orchard, where he had sixteen cherry tries. Cherries were the size of golf balls, dark red, crunchy and juicy inside. In ten minutes he filled fifty bushel baskets. He had to make ten rounds to bring all cherries to the barn, where his wife was sitting on the low stool sorting cherries: to the market, for canning, for jellies, and the best for herself, because she liked canning them also. In the middle of the orchard the farmer discovered three elephants hiding in the tree tops. He picked them up and brought them home to his wife. By the end of the day they put all the baskets on the scale and found out they picked one hundred tons. "John, I found three elephants among the cherries." "I know, they were hiding in the trees so well, I didn't see them among the branches." "What are we going to do with gray elephants?" "We will take them tomorrow morning to the market." And they did. By the afternoon all cherries were sold out, but nobody wanted to buy three pink eyed elephants, so they returned them back to the orchard. The factory canned all cherries and whole county made cherry pies for all year around. Behind the factory was a mountain of cherry pits. In the winter time all family, including both grandparents, one great, great grandmother, about thirty grandchildren, and several aunts and uncles, were busy making cherry pits necklaces, bracelets, dangling earrings, cherry beads, and other popular articles sold at Boscov's stores. Cherry pits made great stuffing for mattresses, car seats, neck supports and socks and delivered for health savvy customers in the health stores. Heated cherries could do amazing things. The story is based on Czech joke: Did you see pink eyed elephant on the cherry tree? No. See, how they hide well. Copyright (c) Marie Neumann Pottsville, 10/10/2010 POW! GROW

The end of the World

They were told the end of the World is coming. So they gathered in the basement and sit there. They brought with them food and water, blankets, pillows, flashlights and candles. They sit in the basement, holding their hands, and waiting. They are hugging each other, sitting in the basement, holding the hands, praying - and waiting. One day they walked out. The World is the same as was before. Copyright (c) Marie Neumann Pottsville, 11/25/2010 POW! GROW

Doors

There are always doors. Familiar doors
we use every day.
Coming in
and going out.
Close it quietly.
Some don't.
Some slam it shut.

There are doors
to tomorrow,
there are doors
to yesterday
and the doors
to the future.
Little flap doors
for the cats
and big doors
to the banks.

Doors with the doorknobs
and those with the handls
and the doors
where you have to
punch the numbers.

Door to the kitchen
and you think
you still can smell
tomato soup
you had for supper
yesterday.

Door to your parents bedroom
you don't open
when it is closed.
Huge door to the school,
when you are so small.
One day that door
closes behind you.
One day you own a key
to your first apartment
and it has your name on it.

The doors to your future,
the doors to unknown,
full of surprises,
we open every day.
One day you return
your card
to the door
you closed willingly
and open the door
to the quiet life.
You open it quizzically.
Here I come
my old age.

My neighbor died yesterday.
He had diabetes.
The illness which
will get you
soon or later
finger by finger,
toe by toe.
There is emptiness
and wet eyes
of his wife and children,
It was his last door
and now it's closed.

Copyright (c) Marie Neumann
Pottsville, 12/2/2010

Blue

To Alexa Little blue house and little blue river, little blue lady riding little blue donkey, holding little blue guitar and singing softly blues. Copyright (c) Marie Neumann Pottsville, 11/10/2009

"The Sun, the Moon and the Stars"

For Jan and Ashley Mother Moon is baking moon pies for her children stars. "Save some for father, save some for father, save some for father." "Father will get none." Children are gathering pie crumbs and throw them into the sky. "They are for you father Sun." Then hail comes. Father gets none. Copyright (c) Marie Neumann Pottsville, 2010 POW! GROW

Home

It's raining outside. I am lying on the sofa under the light of the lamp with the pink shade, wrapped in the warm blanket, reading a mystery book and sipping hot tea with lemon and honey from my favorite mug. The cat is sleeping at my feet. Copyright (c) Marie Neumann Pottsville, 15/10/2009 POW! GROW