A Breakfast Vignette

It was Thursday so I had breakfast with a lion.

'MMM. Nuh one nee'bix please,' the lion said, examining a smudge on its polka dot tights.

'Do lions eat Weetabix?' By which I meant- are you sure you're a lion?

This prompted head scratching and a rumpled brow: whereupon the lion became a wolf, a howling wolf, who taught us all to howl.

(With a full moon scheduled this made so much more sense.)

A wolf does like a Weetabix, it seems; and making spiders from shadows and baking cakes.

We made the first cake out of a magnetic construction kit.
Delicious!

Comments

Geo. said…

I too spent the day with a 3-yr-old and deciphered the magic of Grandpa-Turbo, Iceman, etc. communications. As to food, I left that mercurial subject up to Norma. Kid likes crackers. All kids like dry salami. My daughter was the Weetabix kid --shows no ill-effects at 30.

17 January 2014 at 08:37

Lisa Southard said…

A day well spent! Crackers, salami and Weetabix- Little Granddaughter would approve. Grandpa-Turbo magic sounds awesome :-)

17 January 2014 at 23:32

Contact Pants Conundrum

There is weather today, I do note it: take a few moments to reckon the size of a cloud (big) and the frequency of rain (sporadic.) Centre of my interest though is a stack of magazines. Not the fashion kind. This is martial arts research. I'm not even sure what it is I'm looking for, but intuition calls loud. A range of old adverts skew some amusement. Contact pants, for example. Pants are not trousers where I come from. They are underwear. Professional contact pants: improved smirk value. But why would a person be likely to purchase a grappling hook and a lock pick set? For specialists and hobbyists only, the blurb assures. Guidance on the pheromone spray that attracts women against their better judgement? I doubt it works any more proficiently than the mysterious potion that defines your muscles while you sleep. But, then: I wonder is some sprayed on this paper? What was my intuition thinking, making this ghastly shout… Tea break time. There's a lot of words...

Back From The Future Blog Party

Another joint blog adventure- if you want to see who else said what the list of participants is here . The premise is this: 'You're up before dawn on a Saturday when the doorbell rings. You haven't brewed your coffee so you wonder if you imagined the sound. Plonking the half-filled carafe in the sink, you go to the front door and cautiously swing it open. No one there. As you cast your eyes to the ground, you see a parcel addressed to you ... from you. You scoop it up and haul it inside, sensing something legitimate despite the extreme oddness of the situation. Carefully, you pry it open. Inside is a shoebox -- sent from ten years in the future -- and it's filled with items you have sent yourself. What's in it?' Here's how I imagined it: Before dawn? Shadows outside, first forming. Sleep has gone, I don't know where. Coffee I can find. All the way from Machu Pichu, this fair-traded pack. Scissors are in the drawer, which ...

A Glitch Or Two

My Chromebook has been crumbling. It seems a little like dementia, this inability to upgrade its powers of communication, it makes me sad, even for an object. It's one of the reasons my posts here have been put aside, that and generally being tumbled by tiredness. I have saved up money for a replacement, also I have spent that money on trees and shrubs. I have two novels to sort out however, and this will be the reason I save up again. I don't stop writing, even if I don't tell anyone. In the meantime should you need a calm place to go, I have begun a substack account. Please do drop by. If the kettle crumbles we can make tea (or soup) on the firepit. Me on substack: Lisa Southard

Wishbone Soup Cures Everything

Search This Blog