Of A Cake For Every Season

guest Of A Cake For Every Season no rhyme or reason…….. By CatMac

If I were having coffee with you I’d bring a cake. I’d probably bake you a gingerbread which is my current go to recipe. It is a very simple cake but I love the stickiness of it, the unexpected spiciness of it, the buttery melt in your mouth richness of it. I would add some candles so it could be a belated birthday cake.

I would tell you that cakes and baking have always been very important for me. That I come from a long line of bakers and how proud I am that my daughter has followed in the tradition. We don’t make the same cakes though so she isn’t quite following in my floury footsteps. I’m a messy baker 😉

I would tell you how no sooner had my daughter got off the plane after an 8h flight at Christmas than she was in the kitchen baking cakes to take to her former teachers/my colleagues at school the next day. That’s my girl.

I would tell you about an Internet article I once read about an amazing lady who made a cake every day for a year and gave them all away. I would love to be that lady but am too lazy.

I would tell you that I used to prefer cooking to baking. I enjoyed the anarchy of combining any old ingredient and seasoning “to taste”. With age, I find the careful measuring out, sifting and combining of ingredients involved in baking to be satisfyingly soothing.
I would tell you that baking has long been a way for me to gauge my mental state. If I don’t bake, there’s a problem. However sometimes I can go into baking overdrive which isn’t necessarily a good sign either. This has recently been the case as I left a school where I’ve been teaching for five years and pupils who mean a great deal to me. I’ve been coming home from school and baking cakes for the next day’s farewell party and the next and the next…And that the slight saltiness in the cakes might not just have been from the butter.

I would tell you that baking has long been a way for me to share my Scottish culture. I was once asked to talk about my country by my daughter’s English teacher and baked over 100 pieces of shortbread to give to pupils. In over 30° C heat. And 80% humidity. The shortbread didn’t stay crisp and crunchy for long. The pupils didn’t seem to mind though.
the very best shortbread recipe

I would tell you how cakes have become an essential teaching tool for me. My first classes most years are “Show and Tell”s. I show a cake I’ve baked and tell my pupils how important baking is for me. I also tell them how lucky they are that I chose to talk about baking rather than walking. My smelly training shoes are a lot less appetising than my cakes. Then we have cake and juice. Sadly, none of my pupils has reciprocated with a “Show and Tell” cake. There have, however, been medals won at sporting competitions, necklaces bought by now dead grandmothers, bracelets gifted by older sisters now living overseas…..cakes break the ice.

I would tell you how I’ve run conversation classes for colleagues in schools where I’ve worked and brought in cake and coffee. In fact, I arrived in a new school a couple of weeks ago where I found some former colleagues who have fond memories of my cakes. And me, I hope.

I would tell you how one year I set myself the challenge of finding a cake for each literary work I taught. Our first novel dealt with the First World War “Regeneration” by Pat Barker. How better to convey the horror of trench warfare to my 16 yr olds than with….Trench Cake, I thought. It worked, the cake was not good. I explained to the teens that rationing, being in force in GB at this time, meant eggs were hard to get hold of so vinegar and baking soda were substituted as a raising agent. One boy told me that his mother baked like that and this brought it back to me that times are hard and I counted my blessings.How to bake a first world trench cake

Our next work was “King Lear” and I brought in an edible test for students…Eerie Eyeball Pops! And yes, they had read the play and recognised what scene the pops referred to.
eerie eyeball pops
I left these in the fridge to the last minute-30°C heat-and warned my pupils to let them reach room temperature before trying to eat them. A former pupil joined our class so I gave him one and he bit into it before I could warn him. Fortunately, his very expensive dental work held up.

Our last work was “Heart of Darkness” by Joseph Conrad and guess what? I serendipitously found a “Heart of Darkness” cake recipe. A delicious chocolate sponge with a ganache centre. Which I baked in a heart shaped mould, of course.
Heart of Darkness Recipe

I was disappointed this year to discover that all Hardy’s “Far From the Madding Crowd” inspired in me was….Shepherd’s Pie. I also drew a blank at Shaw’s “Saint Joan”. I had no idea what to bake but knew it would have to be burnt 😉

I would also tell you about a cake which I didn’t bake. I walk a lot and talk a lot. I met an old lady to chat with returning from my walk one day. I’d see her regularly pottering about in her garden and we’d have wonderful conversations. Do not ask me what about as she didn’t speak French and I didn’t speak Créole. But neither one of us believed in letting the language barrier get in the way of a good conversation. One day I saw lots of people outside her house on my way past and was happy for her that her family was visiting. I didn’t walk for a while and when next I passed by, her house was closed. I asked her neighbor where she was…only to learn that she had passed away. I had added her to my list of “lovely people to make cake for” and sadly didn’t find the time to do it. I will always regret this.

I would tell you that I usually give photocopies of my recipes with my cakes. I like to think that in years to come, when I’ve left this beautiful Caribbean island behind and perhaps even shrugged off this mortal coil, a former pupil will bake one of my recipes for their child or grandchild and tell the story of a Scottish teacher who baked. Wouldn’t that be the most beautiful way to be remembered?

I would thank you for inviting me for coffee and we’d eat our cake, at last. I’d apologise and comment that my cake really wasn’t as good as usual and I wasn’t sure what went wrong. We’d both agree that the world would be a much better place if only more people sat down to tell stories, drink coffee and eat cake together…..

Bio: Catmac

Baker of cakes, devourer of books, walker, talker, petter of cats and dogs and alleged teacher of English. I live with my concierge of a cat in the French West Indies. I would like to thank the lovely Beaton for inviting me to drink coffee with him
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~B

Thank you CatMac☻☺♥ you can find her Twitter

Of all the cakes The Heart  of Darkness cake is the most poetic…

I only just discovered her Birthday was a day before mine .. Happy belated birthday, better late than never and never late the better….. 

if we were having coffee we would be having a birthday cake ♥☻ because what are birthdays but an excuse to eat cake

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Of FITTING

guest

Fitting by Josie Mills

You and Me
walking down the beach
just after dawn

The old people
walk up the beach into old age
you say
while we walk the other way
eternally young
eternally holding the hour
of walking down the beach
just after dawn

A woman
wrinkled dark and beautiful from the sun
picks up trash
you bend pick up some plastic
put it in her bag
and rinse your hands in the sea

You smile and greet each passerby
while I keep within our world together
and the evolution of beach animals
marks on the sand

You dart and chatter
while I walk quiet and straight
content just to have your hand
so fitting in mine

♥♥♥♥♥

Bio:
I’m Josie Mills, and I’ve been writing poetry since I was around 10 years old. I have a degree in creative writing with a focus on poetry writing. I teach writing now at a community college. I’ve had poems published in the journals Snakeskin and Mantis among others.I live in Denver, Colorado, with my husband, two sons, and our cat Moe :-). I write the blog Open Mind Fashion (OMF) for fun: http://www.openmindfashion.com or http://www.facebook.com/openmindfashion

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~B

..and it happens to be her birthday today, Happy BIRTHDAY ♥♥♥ she wrote this piece awhile ago and I felt it had that je ne sais quois  for a birthday month and also February month of love ♥♥♥♥♥ 

also find her on Twitter for an interesting look at fashion tips for people without a closet full of money…

PS forever young ☻☺ 

Of My Father’s Watch

My Father’s Watch

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My father had a watch, a Seiko Kinetic automatic watch, stainless steel with 17 jewels. You know the kind you don’t wind up, and as long as you wear it regularly, somehow it self-winds, and ticks on and on and on…. It came in a black velvet box with a warranty card that declared a lifetime guarantee, I have always wondered how long a life time guarantee lasts, whose lifetime do they mean when they say lifetime guarantee…….

My father had a watch a Seiko Kinetic; he wore it every day from the day he got it, a Christmas present from some duty-free shop at some airport somewhere. I do not know how much it cost but I am sure it wasn’t a price one sneezed at… He wore it so much that the skin beneath it was lighter toned than the rest of his arm. When I try to remember him, I remember him wearing that watch. He never did but  I can imagine him saying to me “Son, a gentleman must always know what time it is, you do what needs to be done, on time, when it needs to be done, in time, and then after,  you can do what you want with all the time you have left , but first you do what needs to be done…”

The only time he was without that watch, was when my little hands were throwing dust to dust and everyone was crying.

My father had a watch a Seiko Kinetic, he made me a promise that when I could tell the time like a grown-up he would get me one for my birthday. But death, the untimely visitor came knocking, knocking down even the best laid plans, just like that….. If he could have given me a last present he would have given me that watch for my birthday; I dont remember if he was the sort of man to give grand speeches, maybe I was simply too young to have really known him or had proper father to son talk but if he could he would have said

“My son, we have only life, love and time in this world, The Creator gave you life, you can find love all by yourself and as for time I didn’t start the clock, no one can turn it back, I cannot give it you, only this clock to watch it tick away……..”

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I have a watch, a Seiko Kinetic, it used to be father’s now I have it and I watch it ticking. The hands of every watch, are clippers, trimming us away tick tock tick tock. The hands of time an illusion lulling us into believing we can tame time, control it even, but every second used is discarded,

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Discarded

rushing off

slipping from my palms,

through the gaps

in my fingers like a leaky jar…..

TIME

never stopping in this moment

 

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What happens

to all the seconds

tipped into the bin of the past?

Discarded

then gathered up into a tapestry of memories and history……  

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I have this watch, a Seiko Kinetic, I don’t know if they still make them like this because today marks the day I have watched it tick for 21 years, before that it was my father’s watch. I look at it and I ask myself how much time do we have, not how many hours or seconds in a day but how much time, do we have….

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……The watch keeps on ticking and it doesn’t care how much time we think we have because in the end, it is never enough, it always runs out….. That’s what gives life meaning to know that time runs out…….

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My father had this watch, this Seiko Kinetic, I have it now, I watch it tick and I make every moment count………….watch.jpg

~B

Of Fifty Strands Of Grey

Titanium pearl
Metallic graphite
Silver dusk
Ash black
All shades of grey and counting

                                       How many grey strands do I have in my beard?

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50 strands of grey that’s how many I counted from my beard before I stopped counting…… The thing about counting your greys…, you know how a witch’s spell is spelled, the way naming it makes it real, it is just like that.
From the day you look in the mirror and discover your first grey, then you pull at it, all nonchalant, thinking it’s a strand of linen or an errand fabric, that has no business on your person, only to discover it hurts when you pluck it (you never forget that day when you realise you are aging) and you count it ONE. You panic a bit and then eventually kid yourself into forgetting about it, that it was a special limited, one-time only freak of nature, a once-off.

Every morning you spend longer than you normally do, starring at your reflection not because you like the way you reflect….. and just when you relax and start to think, “Phew! Dodged that bullet”…. and then there were THREE and then NINE and then 27 progressing in some weird exponential curve increasing every time you count the grey ones…….

It’s all perfectly natural and happens to everyone at some point in time……. You age you get greys….. Except only when you get grey at a time way to early, I mean don’t we learn in biology 101 how you get grey as you age and die…. OH NO!!! Does this mean I am dying ?????Yes we are born then we die but in between all that, life happens..the thing is I am too young to die and too old to die young……..Its like having midlife crisis at half the age it normally happens… OMG quarter life crisis

I discovered my first grey(s) in my late teens when I was still struggling to grow the fuzz on my face that I called a beard….

I used to pluck out the greys with a tweezer, until I discovered that it is also like counting them, for every ONE you pluck a new crop of grey will pop up in an arithmetic progression that boggles the mind……. at that rate by Christmas my beard would have been so snow white, I could cast for Santa Claus minus the big tummy of course….

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Suddenly other people notice it too….. It is so cute(not) how someone will ask you “hey do you know your beard is grey?Erm oh really I hadn’t noticed…… Or “How old are you…?” It is so hard not to be insecure when you are self-conscious about your “uniqueness

And then someone introduced me to dye…. The beauty of synthetic colour…. For a while I had the vibrant rich colour as advertised on the pamphlet, but only for a week and some change and then would need to dye it again…. I was always careful not to swallow any dye, to avoid dyeing slowly on the inside you see… but I ruined more than one good tshirt with splashes of colour. This one time I accidentally dyed my beard a most curious shade of blue, the instructions on the bottle are in Chinese so, yeah that……. It was hilarious watching people trying super hard not to stare, stealing glances at me..

Ladies who never step outside without wearing make-up….. I get it now….
I even discovered a handy use for a mascara brush, well I think that’s what it`s called the one, some ladies use to brush out their eyebrows or is it eyelashes??, to look like maybe they were born with it….. anyhoo that brush is handy as a dye applicator especially when you are going for that pencil thin beard that looks like its painted on….2014-04-02 13.59.46.jpg
….But unfortunately just as the spell, as counting and as plucking, when the dye wears off, you wind up with even more grey (or maybe it seems that way). So eventually I took a leaf from page in my mum’s book….

My mum has had rich shiny Silver hair from the first day I became aware that this woman gave birth to me…

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She embraced the genes she was created with and carries her uniqueness like an armour; small wonder, even now, some people actually ask her what dye or tint she uses because her hair is that striking, she laughs and always says “I was born with it.” Her hair started going grey when she was in her teens and I guess oh those genes passed on to me…..2015-04-19 15.51.25.jpg
I shave and I trim but I don’t dye it back, I walk around with wisps of grey on my chin and I feel sophisticated. There is an old wives tale about how if you start to go grey early, it is a sign that you will die, a wealthy man…. Some people do a double take and ask me my age and say “aren’t you too young to look that old” and I smile and say “I have wisdom far beyond my age, I am simply an old soul remembering all the things I forgot…..
It’s still weird, when someone compliments me and asks what kind of dye I use on my beard, I am not used to being noticed I am normally a wallflower, watching, but am getting used to the shift from looking at, to being looked at…


Its my birthday today, I looked in the mirror and noticed I have way more grey than I used to but that’s ok, I’ll wear my grey like a badge the color of wisdom, I feel sophisticated ageing gracefully on my way to becoming ME

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whats a birthday but an excuse to eat cake?????

What is this, on my beard why that’s lil bits of wisdom far beyond my years.

~B

 

 

Of Coffee with Rats and cyclones

If you were having coffee with me I would greet you with a smile and ask you how you have been. Do you prefer tea or coffee, if tea; herbal or regular, if coffee; decaf or regular. Random question about the tea, would you rather have tea bags or tea leaves, and if tea bags tagless tea bags or ..tagged I guess with that string you dangle outside your cup and use it to pull out the bag. Maybe you are one of those who leaves the tea bag in the tea cup for that extra strength cuppa, do tell.
How have you been doing? I hope you have been great, remember when I told you that I had an unexpected guest, in the ceiling;(read my previous post) well it turns out I did not need to get an exorcist, there really were rat(s) in the ceiling, nothing sinister. I have had an interesting week trying to rid my house of the pesky rodents, I almost wished I had a pipe like the one the Pied Piper of Hamelin had and lure them away with a tasteful tune. Believe it or not I used to be in an Acapella musical group, I was the guy beatboxing the bass I didn’t sing just harmonised the melody.
If you were having coffee with me, I would tell you never to use that mouse trap that looks like a book covered with glue…. The mouse will escape from it and give you a nasty fright in the process, I named the one that got away Speedy Gonzales, you should have seen it execute perfect back flips and streak away fast as you please leaving me with nothing but a bemused expression. That’s when I decided to use a rat killing poison and bye bye Speedy Gonzales.
If you were having coffee with me I would ask you if you know whats worse than having a rat problem in your house? Its having a dead rat in the house, and you not knowing where it is; you know it’s dead because you can smell it, nothing living smells like that. You walk around the houe sniffing and sniffing hoping a rodent didn’t crawl and die somewhere inaccessible like in between walls and then all you can do is wait for the putrification process to end…. Fortunately I did find the dead rats, two of them, and buried them in an unmarked shallow grave in the garden, I did not say a few words only tipped the newspaper I had wrapped them into the hole and started shovelling the soil back…. Goodbye to the thing that lived in my ceiling and gave me countless near heart attacks…
If you were having coffee with me I would tell you about cyclone Dineo which caused destruction of property and loss of life. Being a landlocked country it is very rare for cyclones to ever reach us, in 1983 there was Cyclone Domoina in 2000 there was Cyclone Eline, seems it happens every 17 years….. Dineo is a common South African female name meaning Gift and some people were wondering who come up with names of cyclones, and also joke about it as they are wont to do to lighten otherwise stressful situations by laughing at them… There were jokes about how whoever broke Dineo’s heart or forgot her valentine’s present must make amends before she lands, with all the fury of a woman scorned.
Storms are named because it makes them easier to remember and avoid confusion in relaying warnings and other information compared to using only technical meteorological terms. The World Meteorological Organisation has alphabetic lists of Cyclone Names that are used each season, and if you must know the list is not made up of exclusively female names…..
If you were having coffee with me I would tell you that our president turns 93 on 21 February and my birthday is day after, so I wouldn’t mind if the president’s birthday was declared a public holiday. If life were a cricket match then I guess he would be 93 and not out, and is the ruling party’s candidate for the 2018 presidential elections; 37 years as president and not out….. He says he has been at it longer than anyone else and wont groom a successor because there isn’t an acceptable candidate at present ….
If you were having coffee with me, I would tell you that somewhere monkeys are getting married because its raining and the sun is shining……
Thanks for the visit and have an awesome week
~B

Of The The Thing In The Ceiling

Genre: Realistic Fiction

The sounds usually start when darkness comes, when I switch off the lantern and close my eyes to sleep. Night after night I lay awake listening to sounds in the darkness. It starts with a faint scratching noise as if a feral beast is marking its territory drawing lines that must not crossed except with those who have abandoned all hope. Then there’s the footsteps, footsteps; slow, cautious, and deliberate; pacing, as would a beast stalking prey. Finally comes the scurrying and squealing sounds of a chase….. I always reach for the lights at this point and flip on the switch for the bedside lamp, nothing happens, it is funny how for an instant I forget the lights have not been working ever since a storm took out power lines.

There is something otherworldly that lives in my ceiling, I hear it every night when I try to sleep “It’s only a rat” I whisper to myself. At least I hope it’s a rat and not the thing from paranormal activity….

Eventually sleep comes, the sandman takes me suddenly, pouncing, tumbling my restless mind away and down, spitting it out like a mangled rat in to a deep dark dreamless sleep.

Are they nocturnal animals, ghosts? Because when the sun comes up the sounds stop, without a trace…. I wake up in the morning and everything is exactly as I left it nothing to indicate the eventful nocturnal visitors. The ceiling looks pristine and white, freshly painted to cover the water stains left by the leaky roof from when it last rained. The brown stain looked somewhat like a cowboy riding a bull trying to lasso a sheep that looks suspiciously like an overgrown cat. Not many people could see this natural art, but then it’s not a precise art seeing figures in stains on the ceiling or shapes in clouds.

The met department just issued a flood alert, a tropical cyclone is coming, Dineo. Its curious how the most cyclones wind up with feminine names, guys it would appear don’t have scorn whose fury hell hath none.

A pet cat would be an interesting addition to the family, they catch rats, mice and stare at ghosts so that would be a win win situation, to deal with unexpected visitors… I need a hungry cat, a skinny one hungry for a meal, a fat cat does not chase rats, profound and simple.

The day always passes and I wonder where the times go, what happens to the time we discard into the past? Night always comes and with it, the sound.

I lay in my bed and I hear it scratching, nibbling away at important things in the woodwork of my ceiling structures. It has been growing the thing in the ceiling, I don’t know what it been eating but its footsteps are heavier and louder. What if it is expecting and soon there will be a rat infestation. The other day I think they invited friends for a sleep over, I could hear them scurrying around like twin toddlers on a sugar rush wreaking havoc and running amok. It was not a dream, a nightmare does not crawl along your leg in the dark while you are sleeping, neither does a ghost. There are rats in the ceiling, only rats and nothing more, except more rats if I let them.

I wake up in the morning, I look at the floor, and it’s got rat droppings that need sweeping. They chewed up my favourite bathroom rug, and doing unspeakable things on the sofa, they must go.

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I have been looking up ways of getting rid of rodents, they cannot burp so if you lace bait with bicarbonate of soda and they ingest it they get bloated and die, if you sprinkle some on the floor, it will stick on to their feet and when they lick it off, well, history. I even bought a rat trap, it looks like a book full of glue and then you leave it open, rats will walk on the glued surface and get stuck, seems simple enough, until you have to pry a rat off or stomp on it with cowboy boots.

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Lastly I bought some rat poison, the bottle says to mix with peanut butter, how do they even know rats even like peanut butter, but for the money they charged me they better know what they were talking about. I spent the whole day baiting every nook and cranny, tomorrow, its bye bye rats, if that does not work then its not rats I am dealing with its something else and might need to call…. an exorcist

I woke up in the morning and armed with a broom and my cowboy boots in search of rat causalities.  I wish I had a gun, but imagine trying to shoot one, not to mention the ricochet. There are tiny footprints on the places I dusted with the bicarbonate of soda.

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I will have to search for bodies no body wants a dead rodent decomposing in their house, I have seen this before its horrible. The only place left I haven’t checked is the attic, broom in one hand, and a flashlight I am going hunting. The rats are probably more scared of me than me of them but I fear the attic more, its dark and my imagination is ungovernable.

I found them, two dead rats in the attic after a bit of song and dance I managed to scoop them up and bury them in a shallow grave next to a rose bush in the garden; End of story, well not quiet the I also found a diary it has been around for almost century The Diary of a Freedom Fighter….

I lay in my bed and tonight there is only silence…..

The End

~B

BlogBattle Entry for this week prompt cowboy; Inspired by a literal rat in the ceiling while I was trying to sleep and Edgar Allan Poe’s The Raven and somewhat a continuation of the last story here….

 

Of Coffee On WashDay

If you were having coffee with me…… you would be in time to join me on my washday ritual. Washday for me comes every once in an assymetrical number of days, possibly weeks sometimes monthly there is no definite system, but usually the weekend before a week with events I want to look my best…… Happy Valentine’s day  ♥♥♥♥

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WashDay I circle it on my calendar in red over and over again and in case you are wondering, washday is not about laundry, it is a whole day dedicated to all things hair. I have twisted locks and you can tell by the length of my locks I am fanatic about it, you can call me Rasta B  

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First step is oil treatment or a conditioning mask, shampooing the hair makes it dry and brittle so first I pre-oil.

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After that the soap opera begins, detangling, anti-dandruff shampoo…. Lather, rinse and repeat until the hair foams freely and the rinse water runs clear. My eyes always wind up blood-red like I have been huffing paint; I have tried No More Tears Shampoo, but am not sure how much of it one must drink to stop the tears, though you start burping really cool bubbles. Sometimes when I run out of shampoo I use dish-washing liquid, and fabric softener as a conditioner. Some say it’s a terrible idea, some say its ok, all I know is it works except for an urge to want to wipe down dishes in the kitchen sink with my hair.

I am currently raving about a shampoo I bought from a street salesman. H e approached me while I was walking in town and said “Rasta Big Up, I promise if you buy this stuff you wont regret it” and since it cost only $1 I decided why not. He even gave me his number assuring me I would be placing a future order.

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I was a bit skeptical the bottle and label is unremarkable and the unscented gel shampoo smells is like detergent but I have to give it  a thumbs up a single palmful lathers up my entire hair and it doesnt dry it out. I think it has traces of conditioner and moisturiser in it. I’ll definitely be calling him up for my next fix.

If you were having coffee with me we would sit in the sun, and warm up after that soap opera affair as we wait for my hair to drip dry. One always hopes washday falls on a nice warm and sunny day.

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Next I section my hair into some sort of buns or is it bangs? I am not quite sure. Followed finally by retwisting all the new hair growth with beeswax; some oil and moisturiser.

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My hairdresser introduced me to this hair Ganjalizer Super Natural Herbal Hair Food. I suspect it has questionable legality issues seeing as the label claims it contains 100% Ganja also known as marijuana, cannabis, weed, herb, hemp…. People who sell it don’t display it and if you look like a plain clothed policeman undercover (i.e clean shaven; plain bald head) and ask for it they will tell you it’s out of stock.

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Ganjalizer

It does have the scent of marijuana and I think when you use it you might want to stay away from police sniffer dogs or areas where drug searches are conducted…. just to be safe. Common street myth is if you want your hair to grow luxuriously infusing marijuana seeds into your petroleum jelly and using that as hair food is the holy grail.

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If you were having coffee with me I would tell you about the acid test of successfully completed washday.

The Acid Test …. Walking downtown in an area where hairdressers and barbers are lined up on the pavement seeking out clients… If not a single one of them calls you and says “lets style or cut” or offer any service done on your hair then you know your hair is on point. Though sometimes just to fool you they might just call you…….

If you were having coffee with me I would ask you if a random hot person compliments you on your hair and then when you smiling and feeling yourself graciously trying to accept the compliment and then they suddenly say “By the way I am a hairdresser, here is my card call me sometime……” how genuine was the compliment they paid you or did they speak to you just to solicit for a potential client and would you call them?

Thanks for the visit do you have any hair routines and tips you might want to share? Have a happy heart day.

~B

Ps Some guys have washday too ☻☺☻

 

Of The Freedom Fighter’s Diary 

Genre: Historical Fiction


Preface


This Diary is a gift to Joshua Levi on day of his deliverance witnessed by Church and God on this 8th Sunday of January the year of our Lord 1889

Adore the Lord always
Sister in Christ

Val

Sunday 8 January 1888
GoT sAveD

jOSH

Monday 9 January 1888
My nEW nAmE IS JOSHUA

SIStEr VAL tEACH ME WrItE
Tuesday 10 January 1889
JEsUs sAVE

Wednesday 11  January  1888

JOSHUA JOSHUA JOSHUA JOSHUA JOSHUA JOSHUA  JOSHUA JOSHUA

Thursday 12 January 1888
VAL Is NICE

Friday 13.January 1888
THE QUICKs BrOWnE FOxs

Sat 14 January 1888
THE QUICK BrOWn FOx

Sunday 15 January 1888
SIN bAD

Monday 16 January 1888
THE QUICK BrOWn FOx  jUMP oVER LAZE DOGs

Tuesday 17 January 1888
THE QUICK BrOWn FOx  jUMPs oVER LAZy DOG

Wednesday 18 January 1888
I AdOrE God and sis VAL

19 January 1888
Sis VAL Cry I WrITE

Friday 20 January1888
I MAKEs VAL cry I sTop WriTe till beta

Monday 5 March 1888
I lEArninG MysELf

Tuesday 6 March 1888
My Christian nAme is JoshuA my other nAme cAn not spelled

Wednesday 7 March 1888

Fatha Bruno come give sweets

Sunday 25 March 1888

Fatha Bruno say Sin is Black and so are we till we are washed by the blood of Jesu. I must have invite others to be saved on Easter Service

Thursday 29 March

My Papa say must stop with white man crazy talk

Friday 30 March

Good Friday
For God so loved the world that he gave his only begot son

Sunday 1 April
Easter Sunday

fatha Bruno gave us communication

Papa say eating Jesu body and drink his blood witchcraft. Papa say The Man With No Knees come to our village and learn our ways we must learn theirs so tomorrow he send me his only son to learn.

Monday 2 April

Today is my first day at the Mission Society school. The missionaries come from far away to bring light to our darkness. To educate us from our savage way.

Today my father cry when I left the village he said Do not forget myself but how can I forget myself when I take myself everywhere I go.

My name is Joshua Levi and I am a student.

Friday  20 April 1888

I have been busy learning new and exciting things, I have not had time to write. I miss the village sometime.

Sister Valerie, she misses her home too, in England. She can’t wait until she goes back and that makes me sad and  I don’t know why.

Sunday 22 April 1888
Reverend Charles Helm visited the Mission Society Parish today. He brought gifts and medicines for the new clinic. He gave me my own mirror, a comb and a razor he said I must be groomed. Cleanliness is next to Godliness. We must strive to be like  God and learn his word and fear him,  that’s wisdom.

Monday 23 April 1888

I cut myself shaving. Rev Helm said he would teach me but he left early to go see King Lobengula.

Cleanliness is next to Godliness, sin is dirty and black.

No matter how many times I bath I can not wash away the sin I was born with.

My name is Joshua Levi and I am ashamed of my skin.

Tuesday 24 April 1888

Today is Sister Valerie’s birthday I said I did not have a present for her but she said the best present I can give her is to learn all I can and to spread The Word and be a teacher at the mission.

I wish I had a birthday too I don’t know when I was born my parents were uncivilized in the ways of the world.

Father Bruno told me dont need my old birthday I have a new one just like my new name I am no longer what I was. I was washed of my sins when I accepted Jesu as my personal saviour
My name is Joshua Levi and I was born on 8 January 1888

Wednesday 25 April

Rev Charles Helm says my grasp of English surpasses his expectations. If he closes his eyes he can almost imagine he is chatting with a carcass of Euopean descent.

A carcass a dead body of animal

A Caucasian is a white man.

The good reverend has asked me to go to my papa bearing gifts and supplies and tell him a company of miners want to be his friends they will give him vast wealth and power. Even King Lobengula is friends with them all he has to do is sign a simple treaty of agreement.
I am Joshua Levi and tomorrow I am going home.

Thursday 26 April 1888

The welcome I got is not the welcome I expected. My father said I have become a white man, I dress like him and I even talk like him.

“Son, you have forgotten yourself” that’s the last words he spoke directly to me. He refused the gifts, tore up the memorandum of agreement and spit on the bottle of skotch whiskie.

Malume said to me if I return to the missionaries my pa says I’ll be dead to him. But how can I not go When I go back I will be a teacher of a class of my own.

Friday 27 April 1888

Today I returned to the Mission Society.

I have informed Rev Helm of my father’s disposition. He says my father is a fool because only a fool refuses blessings.

“Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.”

I am Joshua Levi and I am the son of a fool.
Monday 30 April 1888

I am Joshua Levi and I am a teacher at the Mission Society school.
Monday 1 October 1888
“I am dying”

my father’s first words to me after five months of silence.

His hut smells like dung and herbals the sangoma says there’s nothing they can do.

“Do you accept Jesus as your personal saviour?”

Yes

“Take my father to the clinic”

He is given the miracle of penicillin

I am Joshua Levi and I just saved my father.

Tuesday 30 October 1888

Lobengula signed the Rudd Conscession with  Charles Rudd, James Rochfort Maguire and Francis Thompson, witnessed and translated  by Reverend Charles Helm

My father signed his trade memorandum with the BSAC

Tuesday 8 January 1889

I am one year old today I picked the name Joshua because I wanted to be a savior too, Joshua means Jesus in Greek. Levi is because they couldn’t pronounce my name

Ndzivalelano which means reconciliation.

Valerie is going back to England today, her year here is done, I’ll miss her but we are from two different worlds her and I.

I have just learnt that Rev Charles Helm misrepresented the contents of the concession but its a binding contract and this land is no longer ours, it was not mining rights alone we conceded it was All Our Rights .

John Smith Moffat says he will help us revoke it and fight for our freedom……

13 September 1890

“….the more of the world we inhabit the better it is for the human race…”

Cecil John Rhodes

The Pioneer Column raises The Union Jack on the kopje over looking Fort Salisbury

“Blessed are the meek…. They shall inherit the ashes, ashes, of dreams long dead”

I am Ndzivalelano and my bones won’t rest until what was mine is mine again

I am Ndzivalelano freedom fighter and war begins….

~the diary has no further entries only blank pages.
~B

This is a work of fiction, centered around key historic events in the history of Zimbabwe

Blogbattle entry

Of Coffee With Unexpected Things 

​If you were having coffee with me I would say “Hello February 🙌” because you see I am a February baby **hint hint**
Remember the last time we had coffee☕ in the rain ☔….  well it kept right on raining on and off; mostly on but it’s stopped for now, and out comes the sun☀ 

Although not before it managed to rain up a storm that felt pretty much like the end of the world as we know it, or a scene from Orson Welles’ War Of The World. 🌋There was lightning, ⚡there was deafening thunder, there was flooding, trees got uprooted, and the falling trees, just had to land on power lines, because when nature starts dishing out disaster it doesn’t go for half servings, so that pretty much took out the electricity for our neighbourhood. 

If you were having coffee with me I would tell you that Pastor Evan Mawarire of the #ThisFlag online movement returned back into the country after almost 6 months in self imposed exile in fear for his life, only to get arrested at the airport immediately upon return. When he left the country the judicial system had thrown out the state’s case of charging him with trying to subvert a constitutionally elected government on  a procedural technicality, not sure what they decided to charge him with this time and naturally social media is rife with speculation and conspiracy theories but that’s to be expected.
If you were having coffee with me,  I would tell you that the tea’s ready and when I say the tea’s ready, what I mean is that; the water has boiled and cups are in the kitchen cupboard, the spoons are over there… 

 The tea leaves are in the container for the powdered milk and if you take sugar, there is brown sugar in the old coffee jar. There’s powdered milk in the bottle for salad cream, just dont confuse it with salt, which is in the bottle for mayonnaise…. and there’s the bread 🍞 jam and peanut butter Help yourself. 😇😇

And I baked a cake 🎂 well it’s not ready it’s like you know that furniture you buy and it comes with a manual of how to assemble it in your house,  well there’s the cake. 

If you were having coffee with me, I would ask you, to “Guess what?” “What” you say.  I say “Guess” and you look at me with that eye that says you don’t like guessing games. OK fine I’ll tell you. The postman came to pay me a visit. He brought me a late Christmas card I guess that’s why they call it snail mail thank you Tara 🙂 it was unexpected…


I also got an unexpected email but that’s a story for another day. 
Thank you for dropping by have an awesome week. 

~B
PS Also something unexpected our house is haunted or a giant rat lives in the ceiling….. Spooky 🎃