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> Home Made Tales, The journey
peter.howden
post 19th Feb 2020, 03:37pm
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A Simple Gift

Similarly to empty of words crossword, or jigsaw puzzle not yet attempted, along with other icons, the actual box proudly sits covertly on a shelf, in the old man’s working den, laying not exactly hidden, but certainly not in plain view for any Tom, Dick or Harry to see. It is shown daylight on special occasions, as well as when a need for an essential tidy-up, or room to be made for some other private symbol. The box is now not in pristine condition, as when first given, but the contents are in prime, and in original tact. Under these circumstances this package is often open, just to peek in with great designs to complete but stops short with memories flooding of the purchaser.

He is no miser, yet, before this present from a child, he secretly horded foibles, complete with missing complex emotions. A better state of mind is not compulsory but allows a wave of gentle reflections on life’s given magic, can easily be bestow, without having profusion of life itself. This simple gift revealed how he had been careless with family lives and passions, and obvious precious talents. This birthday memento is some thirty-eight years old, and now it certainly pleases him, while frightens him at the same time, as he is scared of the conclusion… if completed.

He presumes, fate deems if this poser was finalized, then the chance of seeing his child again, would not only fade, but disappear where all failed hopes go. Now and again, he carefully opens the bright cardboard box lid, takes out all the components within, cautious not to break the plastic covering, sealing it from age, or dust. Gently returns the items into the box, then with care…replaces the box back to rest.

This simple gift from his child, springs thoughts from a Robert Burns quote; ‘A man’s a man for ‘a’ that; ‘is there for honest poverty’ ; and for an unknown reason, his favourite ; ‘O Thou! Whatever title suits thee- Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie.

One last glance to the precious Air fix kit of a Porsche 935 turbo sports supreme car. The memory of the giving, followed what his eldest daughter said smiling; “Can’t afford the real thing right now Dad…but one day, Yes one day?”
-=-=-=-=-
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peter.howden
post 20th Feb 2020, 02:30pm
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Memories from an old Chronicle.
Dear Diary; 03/06/2011


Coming down for breakfast this morning, welcomed by pleasant smile of expectation, complete with enchanted echoing from behind my beloved’s eyes. This was broadcasting the arrival of the early daybreak banquet, added was the aroma of some perfume, disguising the usual kitchen whiff of pets, or the last evening’s meal.

This is when I made my first mistake, by enquiring if there was anything special going on. Shocked is not the word, but angered hurt may be closer, while she struggled to control obvious mixed emotions. My treasure closed her eyes tightly, then reopened them anew, speaking with a tense cold quietness, ‘Surely you have not forgotten? was her crucial question, although she could easily see, I was still in my own wee wonderland…me, the mad hare.

‘Remember’, she prodded, ‘When you betrothed your troth’

Struggling to come to grips with this newly born dilemma, yet, the dates did not tie up in this still half-a-sleep mind. I was about to use a teasing quote, “It’s was not the anniversary of losing my virginity?” but lucky for me, I decided to stay quiet, at the last moment. My lover looked so hurt, as if I did not care a fig, but low and behold I produced an Anniversary card, which in all truth, I forgot to post. I calculated it would win brownie points, by stating the post could not be trusted, this was too precious not to be deliver by hand.

I was taken aback by ‘She who must be obeyed’, exhibiting a magical twinkle in her eyes. We kissed; we cuddled, then in turn opened our cards, with smiles beaming up the dull kitchen. Just as I was about to replace the card, for next year’s outing, my true love utters in whispers, “don’t forget where you put it”

In her heart felt card… I wrote sincere lines, in hope it would forever keep us entwined;

Keep our love alive,

By surprises, we strive,

For decisions it takes,

Sugar-Puffs or Corn Flakes.
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peter.howden
post Y'day, 07:02pm
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JIM, 8 Ball ?

Jim stepped down from the train, instinctively understood he must be at the vital destination, at a specific time, yet…Jim doesn’t know why? Perhaps a sort of clandestine mission or more likely, a personal vocation. For all assignments have every movement carefully planned, nothing left to chance, for a purpose, or principle know only by his government agency.

This operation assignment had been riddled with unexpected delays, all sorts of hold ups for any Pullman, with interruptions due to overhauls on the line, while ‘Gandy Dancers’ repaired tracks, ‘Rail dogs’ switching clamps, just outside his destination shanty town. But now Jim was sure he would succeed finally.
He was well aware being a fish out of water so many times, however when things kicked in, it would be inevitable his pre training and guides from ever present clergy, would automatically follow its wake. Every stage had been minutely inspected and every error being accounted for, counter acted upon. Nothing was laid to chance. Nothing.

Being under no allusion, he would not come out alive. Was God out there, and what was the real purpose of it all? Would Jim gain a glance of heaven, or could it be Elysian field, though Jim preferred “Valhalla”, as he believed, with some justification in doing so, he had a touch of Norse’ blood, far down his hereditary roots. Tricky with this type of thinking just before the mission, could cause room for error, and Jim could not afford to make a wrong judgment. He had to display courage dignity right through to the end. So now was his point in time, his ultimate sacrifice for his country, his family, was for the good of all mankind.

Jim had practiced every step as a daily habit, so not to faultier on the day the button would send him, alone, soaring way past any conception reason could give, as ordinary minds would fail to fathom. Once that button was activated, no power on earth could cancel, or react the laws of nature taking over. Jim’s tiptop health was totally central to the task, and checks would take place almost up to the critical moment. It was seen as unrealistic, or even cruel to continue if he was not ‘A’ one, as the undertaking could well be put in danger.

His mind alert though his vision was blurred, as he stepped forward, atomisation had taken over, for he sensed being helped into his cockpit, strapped to his chair, his helmet placed carefully on, so not to break the delicate working wired into its frame. Jim even had a special hair cut so nothing would interfere with the final countdown. For a split-second, Jim’s mind wandered again for he did not eat his favourite evening meal, just in case he threw up but the mere exertion he was about to face. That would be embarrassing…such was his destiny.



Then suddenly, a blinding flash followed a massive surge of power, and an odious smell…. It was announced that Prisoner number 238956 was executed, this morning, in the Electric chair.
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