What is Love? by Marie Sever

What is Love?

The dictionaries provide various definitions of Love:

An intense feeling of deep affection for someone; a great interest and pleasure in something.

What do I love?

My family, who are wonderful most of the time and maddening at others. I’m sure they feel the same way about me.

My friends who, as many have experienced, can only be seen over Zoom at present, but were there for me when my first husband died, and helped my daughter and me through a dreadful period.

Giving presents to people, carefully thought through and hoping I got it right, and receiving presents, many of which I can’t use, but smiling, saying thank you and donating to a charity shop. Love is not wanting to hurt their feelings.

My various pets over the years, despite my dog once eating one of the leather boots that I had saved up for months after recently starting work; the beautiful Siamese cats – mother and son - who would yowl in the middle of the night until we let them in because they wanted to come into our bedroom to tell us how much they loved us; my tortoises who kept escaping, the female never to return, and the male, Kevin, who came out of hibernation two days ago and is mowing down my crocuses and snowdrops as he insisted on coming out from his heat lamp to wander the garden in the sun.

The winter sun on a cold day, warming my face and giving a hint of better weather to come.

The first yellow flowers on my Hamamelis – aka Witch Hazel – that started flowering before Christmas and can still be seen through the sitting room window, followed by early daffodils, snowdrops and crocus, all heralding Spring.

Rain after a long period of dry weather, meaning I don’t have to spend hours watering our sandy soil.

All these appear to be insular, however I love to read in the media of kindness delivered by strangers to strangers. I adhere to the Random Acts of Kindness concept, and have done so from time to time. That makes me happy.

Love and happiness should go hand in hand. Done right, love towards others will result in happiness on both sides.

(first published during the Covid Lockdown: 26th February 2021)

Treasure by Marie Sever

The week after moving house Catherine finally felt she could slow down and relax a little. The retirement complex was only a few years old, and the gardens were well maintained, as good as depicted in the glossy brochure she retained in her capacious handbag. Looking out of the window at the manicured lawns and hedging calmed her further. So far, the people she had met in the residents’ common room were friendly.

To live here one had to be totally compos mentis. She had signed one of the many documents to confirm that should she be diagnosed with any form of dementia, then she would need to sell her compact flat back to the retirement village holding company and move to an appropriate care home. How she was supposed to organise all that if she’d lost her marbles, she had no idea, although she had been assured that if she didn’t have a Power of Attorney in place or suitable and trustworthy relatives, then a solicitor would be appointed, working with Social Services, to ensure she was looked after.

That’s a long way down the line, she hoped.

Packing up her three-bedroom semi-detached and selecting the furniture to go with her and arranging for someone to value and take away the rest had been hard enough. None of her furniture was valuable, but it all held memories such as when she saw the scars on the dining table from Kate’s drawings cutting through the thin paper, and then years later, Kate’s son Jack’s Lego kit assembly had further enhanced the surface with dents and scratches. The table’s surface then succumbed to grandchildren Rosie’s, Phoebe’s, Ben’s and Darren’s assaults with crayons, sharp biros and various assembly kits. Despite, or more likely because it was so battered and held so many memories, Catherine wanted to bring the table with her, however there was no room for it in her tiny apartment.

The writing desk her husband had presented to her had somehow been squeezed in, but the only place for it, stupidly, was the narrow hall where she couldn’t use a chair. But then, she rarely wrote letters now, and when she did, she preferred to sit in her armchair with a flowered lap tray on her lap.

So many things had had to go.

Freedom For Carl 'The Shooter' Jones by Marie Sever

Carl The Shooter Jones could hardly sleep for the excitement and relief. He no longer heard most of the night time noises of the others in his block. After 23 years his brain blanked out the moans and groans, swearing, crying, ranting and raving. Tomorrow, the 21st, he was finally due for release. At the age of 44 he would be free. Free to walk wherever he wished, see whoever he wanted and he was determined to go straight. He knew the world was a very different place to the one he left when he was incarcerated at 21 for robbing an off-licence and shooting dead the old woman behind the counter because she wouldn't give him the contents of the till. He hadn't even known the gun was loaded. Jimmy the Brick had thrown it to him when they rushed out of the van and he stupidly assumed it was just to frighten people. The judge and jury didn't believe him.

Not Belonging Any More - Donald's Last Friend by Marie Sever

In the waning hours of a presidency, Donald huddled in the Oval Office with his last remaining friend and pondered his final decisions. At that moment he felt as though he'd botched every decision in the previous four years, and he was not overly confident that he could, somehow, so late in the game, get things right.

‘No one appreciates everything I have done for the country, Herbert. Apart from you, they have all abandoned me.

Love by Marie Sever ... HTW on the theme of love

What is Love?

The dictionaries provide various definitions of Love:

An intense feeling of deep affection for someone; a great interest and pleasure in something.

What do I love?

The Secret by Marie Sever - for a week of crime writing from Hightown Writers

It sounds like a member of the household is downstairs. Or is it the rather strange Russian guest, a vacant looking, floppy-haired woman who needs to eat more often.  Her clothes hang off her like a dress on a broomstick. She appears not to speak English, so I haven’t had a discussion with her.

Mrs Major rarely has guests, particularly since her husband, the major, died almost six months ago. I don’t think they ever cottoned onto the hilarity of those around them when he introduced himself as Major Major. It sounded as if he were stuttering.

The Woman Next Door by Marie Sever - responding to Hightown Writers' 'new words' challenge

 

Vanessa paused on the halfpace to peer out of the window which gave her a narrow view of her neighbour’s back garden. Not the wisest place to curtain twitch as she risked Charlotte, currently baring her recently improved breasts to the sun, glimpsing her. There was no love lost between the two women, with Charlotte’s airs and graces making Vanessa feel belittled.

On reaching the bedroom, she was cheered considerably by the warm sun streaming in through the window, dust mites dancing, caught in the beam. The chair by the window was a welcome sight to rest her creaking joints, however seeing the cake plate discarded from yesterday, or was it nudiustertian? The tittynopes stale in the heat of the last few days.

Putting the plate on the floor, she picked up her diary and biro and wrote her thought of the day: ‘Why on earth does that silly 65 year-old woman spend money on annual cosmetic surgery in a ridiculous attempt to stay young?!’ Vanessa realised she had ended the sentence with an interrobang, which she did regularly, as life and people still truly amazed her. She wondered if they would ever catch on in written speech. There would need to be a specific key on computers for that to happen. People used interrobangs regularly in speech, usually when astounded.

new words in bold

The vagaries of the English Language – how to trip up those learning English. Examples of words and sayings and pronunciation that can confuse. ~~~~

The Girlfriend by Marie Sever 

 A challenge for the weekend!

After reading Marie's story write a paragraph, or two, to continue it, making sure that you include some more homophones (words that sound the same but mean something different.)

Send your sequel to hightownwriters@gmail.com

Writing it like it sounds!

Sally slept late this morning. She normally rose very early but today being bank holiday Monday, the refuse collectors didn’t come. She pondered about how much she had to do today and wondered if she was right to refuse to use an alarm clock.

After a breakfast of prunes, she pruned a large rose in her garden.

Reflections on Human Feelings by Hightown Writers 'What About This One?' by Marie Sever

 'What about this one?' I asked my wife. Joan's shrug denoted rejection yet again. We'd been sitting at the laptop for well over an hour. I wanted to get in my Porsche and pop over to see Alec, my mate. But I have to sit through this interminable search on the internet. She'd been searching for the perfect chandelier for two months now.

When we won £126 million on the lottery I hadn't realised how drastically, and for me, unhappily, our lives would change. The house isn't even built yet but she's spent millions on the fittings. Do we really need solid gold taps in our en-suite? And why do we need ten bedrooms, eleven reception rooms, a pool, sauna and steam room and a lift? She's planned a room for every occasion - crafts (she can't make anything half decent); a home cinema;  an cavernous dining room; three sitting rooms and various other rooms whose purpose eludes me.

I thought winning the lottery would make our lives more comfortable. I gave up work which I soon regretted. Twenty-two years of leaving the house five days a week and seeing my wife only weekends and evenings morphed into being thrown together 24/7. I hadn't realised how much she irritated me. And I her I suppose. It took her only a few months to alienate my friends. 'They are too common.' If I see them it has to be when she is busy spending money. Whereas she sees her friends frequently, and no doubt showed off her designer clothes and diamonds.

Holidays now are in Mauritius and Cannes. 'Bournemouth? Why on earth do you want to go to Bournemouth?'

'But we go to Bournemouth every year. We like Bournemouth,' I reminded her.

'That was when we didn't have enough money for anywhere else. The world is our oyster now. Did you remember to buy oysters today? Celia and James will enjoy those tonight. I hope that chef and his team we've hired are as good as they claim.'

I pointed to another chandelier on a French antique web site. 'No, that's too big. The room has a low ceiling, and is only the size of a box room in a semi-detached house. You know that.'

Fifteen minutes later she shrieked, 'This one, it's perfect. Come and look.' I sauntered over and read the 27,000 Euro price tag.

'Yes, that will go perfectly in the linen cupboard,' my wife said with satisfaction.

(First Published in a Hightown Writers Anthology A Book of Delights 2016)

Stargazers by Marie Sever

 

'What planet is that?' asked a particularly spotty youth. Everyone laughed. 'That's the moon, boy. What are you, sixteen and you don't know the moon when you see it?' Angus's voice showed incredulity. 'Of course I know it's a moon, but which moon?' asked the boy, unabashed. 'THE moon, THE MOON,' shrieked a horsey looking woman. 'I can see why you've come to this group. You have a lot to learn. A child of three can recognise the moon. Where were you brought up?' Steeling himself, the boy replied, 'There are lots of moons.' At that moment the telescope fell over. Damian, another new member to the Stargazing group put it back up then showed the youth some of the images he had taken through his telescope at home. 'But,' persisted the boy, where I come from we have three moons, all much bigger than that puny little globe.' There was stunned silence. 'Pull the other one,' replied Damian, 'next you'll be telling us you are a Martian!' Hearty laughter assailed the boy's ears. But, thought DraygornZG29974#*H, they don't have Kryptonite and Archeltium here on this confusing planet earth, they all think they are of intelligent life, and what on earth is the point of Pokemon Go? (First Published in a Hightown Writers Anthology A Book of Delights 2016)

 'What planet is that?' asked a particularly spotty youth. Everyone laughed.

'That's the moon, boy. What are you, sixteen and you don't know the moon when you see it?' Angus's voice showed incredulity.

'Of course I know it's a moon, but which moon?' asked the boy, unabashed.

'THE moon, THE MOON,' shrieked a horsey looking woman. 'I can see why you've come to this group. You have a lot to learn. A child of three can recognise the moon. Where were you brought up?'

Steeling himself, the boy replied, 'There are lots of moons.'

At that moment the telescope fell over. Damian, another new member to the Stargazing group put it back up then showed the youth some of the images he had taken through his telescope at home.

'But,' persisted the boy, where I come from we have three moons, all much bigger than that puny little globe.' There was stunned silence.

'Pull the other one,' replied Damian, 'next you'll be telling us you are a Martian!' Hearty laughter assailed the boy's ears.

But, thought DraygornZG29974#*H, they don't have Kryptonite and Archeltium here on this confusing planet earth, they all think they are of intelligent life, and what on earth is the point of Pokemon Go?

(First Published in a Hightown Writers Anthology A Book of Delights 2016)

Wiring of Women's Brains by Marie Sever

What a pompous man. Sharon was irritated by some trumped-up 'Expert' who was pontificating about men's brains being superior to those of women. She grated the gears of her Ford Focus, her mind half on the radio and half on trying to find Little Snorting.

(Radio) 'Men are naturally better at reading maps and playing chess.'

'Huh!' she said out loud, forgetting to indicate as she pulled into a lay-by opposite a farm shop, a car horn sounding annoyance behind her. Driven by a man no doubt.