"Hey, welcome home! You're early. Here, let me take this..."
He pulls a bag out of her hands and immediately pokes his nose in it. "What have you brought here? Ah, I see... doughnuts. I wanted to get these, too, but I didn't know where to buy them. So, how was..."
"Oh, give me a break. I haven't even taken off my shoes yet."
"Right. So, how was your day? I bought some liver for you to make. And that friend called, you know, the one that held a grudge for over a month, she needs transport to her doctor Tuesday and she asked me to drive her there but you know I've got that specialist then and can't take her and..."
"Please! Don't you understand what 'give me a break' means? I'm tired and I need to change and you assault me here on the very door as if your life depended on it."
"Sorry? What's wrong with you? There's something wrong, I know it..."
"The only thing wrong is your pestering me from the moment I open the front door! As if that madness at the office wasn't enough. And what's there on the table? Oh my, what have you done with the onions?"
"You said I could peal them, so I did."
"Yeah, but I never told you to dunk it in the middle of that liver. Damn, I'm supposed to slice it yet and they're all bloody and sticky."
"What does it matter? They'll be cooked together anyway"
"OK, now get off my way, will you please! I've got work to do... again."
Thursday, 31 January 2008
Cold Journey
I wrote this some time ago but since I don't seem to be able to come up with anything remotely interesting, and I've run out of photos to use, I'm reposting it...
Saturday, March 5, 5 p.m.
Right now we should be running out onto the court, beginning our warm-up for the match. Instead, we are stuck here, on the road, in the middle of nowhere. Standing still for about 12 hours already, the blizzard not relenting a bit. Limbs ache from all kinds of uncomfortable positions. Cold sinks in. The heating has been out for hours. And the wind... you could hear it, see it, feel it, taste it.
Friday, March 4, 7 p.m.
A dozen young tallish women embark on a bus, followed by a few men: a basketball team on a mission. Just as we reach the outskirts of the town, one of the men tells the driver to pull up. »Have you guys any idea where Split is? I'm off!« And he disappears into the drizzle.
Saturday, March 5, 8 p.m.
By now we should be out of the locker rooms, showered, refreshed, heading for dinner in the hotel. Instead, we haven't eaten for hours, all the food supplies gone. The cold gets unbearable, despair creeps in. We squeeze tight to each other, seeking some comfort, trying to preserve as much warmth as possible.
Sunday, March 6, 1 a.m.
Something is happening! Faint light from the opposite side, followed by a huge plough breaking its way through the snowdrifts. Rescued at last!
Sunday, March 6, 5 a.m.
Somewhere on the Adriatic coast, waiting for the petrol station to open. The wind is relentless. I'm awakened by my own chattering teeth. These last few hours before the daybreak seem endless.
Sunday, March 6, 11 a.m.
Reaching Karlobag, we are stopped by a road block. Black ice, they say. Starved, we try to find some place to eat. A nearly impossible task! The small coastal town is almost deserted out of season. Finally we stumble upon an inn. Yes, they can make us ham and eggs. The food is greasy and it tastes bad, but we eat anyway. They even sell us some waffles. Finally the block is removed and we move on.
Sunday, March 6, 7 p.m.
Home at last! We'll have to play that darned match some other time.
Saturday, March 5, 5 p.m.
Right now we should be running out onto the court, beginning our warm-up for the match. Instead, we are stuck here, on the road, in the middle of nowhere. Standing still for about 12 hours already, the blizzard not relenting a bit. Limbs ache from all kinds of uncomfortable positions. Cold sinks in. The heating has been out for hours. And the wind... you could hear it, see it, feel it, taste it.
Friday, March 4, 7 p.m.
A dozen young tallish women embark on a bus, followed by a few men: a basketball team on a mission. Just as we reach the outskirts of the town, one of the men tells the driver to pull up. »Have you guys any idea where Split is? I'm off!« And he disappears into the drizzle.
Saturday, March 5, 8 p.m.
By now we should be out of the locker rooms, showered, refreshed, heading for dinner in the hotel. Instead, we haven't eaten for hours, all the food supplies gone. The cold gets unbearable, despair creeps in. We squeeze tight to each other, seeking some comfort, trying to preserve as much warmth as possible.
Sunday, March 6, 1 a.m.
Something is happening! Faint light from the opposite side, followed by a huge plough breaking its way through the snowdrifts. Rescued at last!
Sunday, March 6, 5 a.m.
Somewhere on the Adriatic coast, waiting for the petrol station to open. The wind is relentless. I'm awakened by my own chattering teeth. These last few hours before the daybreak seem endless.
Sunday, March 6, 11 a.m.
Reaching Karlobag, we are stopped by a road block. Black ice, they say. Starved, we try to find some place to eat. A nearly impossible task! The small coastal town is almost deserted out of season. Finally we stumble upon an inn. Yes, they can make us ham and eggs. The food is greasy and it tastes bad, but we eat anyway. They even sell us some waffles. Finally the block is removed and we move on.
Sunday, March 6, 7 p.m.
Home at last! We'll have to play that darned match some other time.
Wednesday, 30 January 2008
Tower, come in...
Stil uninspired to write anything creative so I'll leave you with just a bit of foolishness...
Pilot: We're running out of fuel. Please advise.
Tower: What is your position? We don't have you on our scope.
Pilot: We're standing on runway 2 and are waiting for an eternity for the fuel truck.
Pilot: We're running out of fuel. Please advise.
Tower: What is your position? We don't have you on our scope.
Pilot: We're standing on runway 2 and are waiting for an eternity for the fuel truck.
Monday, 28 January 2008
Sunday, 27 January 2008
Saturday, 26 January 2008
Look at them!
Some move around, others stand still. Some are out in the open, others hide behind objects, yet another is walking into the picture and there, at the top, only a shadow remains. Some look friendly, others less so. But all are standing on thin ice with their webbed feet in water.
Looks a bit like human lives, no?
Friday, 25 January 2008
Sometimes...
...I feel like a helium balloon... one moment soaring up high, listening to the wind's tunes, talking to the birds, indifferent to the world below, the other entangled in a tree, empty and torn to pieces...
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