Skip to main content

Spoons




"Spoons," he says, "we're always short of spoons."

His hands swirl bubbles furiously about in hot soapy water, the dirty cutlery making music in the stainless basin. Muscles flex through his grey t-shirt and his jeans hangs low, skimming the floor, his feet bare.

I stand watching from the doorway, amused by his aggravation, slightly turned on by the sight of him in front of the sink doing dishes.
"Dishwasher, no?"
"No," he says, glancing at me over his shoulder, "I was just making Hot Chocolate for us, a quick one before bed."
"Company?" I ask, too lazy to form complete sentences, already in another world.
"I won't be long, you get into bed, I'll finish up here."


I  traipse off to the bedroom, the rubber soles of my fluffy slippers dragging on the wooden floors. I sigh deeply, today was good: long and lazy, slow and sublime.
I climb into bed,  it's still warm. The blankets are rumpled.
I jump out again - straighten - pull - tuck white linens, grab handfuls of scatter cushions making space...

The banging in the kitchen comes to a stop.
The lights are switched off.
He comes in carrying giant mugs.
"Careful it's hot!" he warns.
"Oh yes it is," I say teasing, but he doesn't pick up on the banter.
I hold the hot mug to my lips, look at him over the rim, making sipping sounds.
"I think I'll have a quick shower while it's getting cold."

He grabs a towel from the cupboard, in one swift movement discards his belt and  unbuttons his jeans, I look on, wishing he'd turn around.
He doesn't.
I sit there, restless, on edge, dying to get going.
I get up, check to see if I have everything ready.
It sits on the pedestal, sleek black, waiting to be handled.
I get back in, wiggle about, finding the best position.
I tug at my flimsy nightie.
"Nope, not right."
I shrug it off, opt for something more comfortable.
"Yeah, that's it."

I wriggle my fingers, snap cricks out of my neck and arch my back.
I hear the shower turn off, bathroom sounds seizes and he walks into the room, white towel slung low on hips, hair still damp.
"You ready?" he asks trying to lock me on.
"Game on!" I say, flicking on the TV.
The light casts shadows in the room playing on a caramel canvas.
He grabs drawstring pj's and jumps in reaching forward, downing hot chocolate in one gulp. He looks at me, a wicked smile spreading across his face, his eyes glinting steel.

"Let's play!" he commands, and I listen, here he is the leader, and I am happy to follow.
I reach for the controller, thumbs geared for action, fingers at the ready.
Press Play... 
The bedroom becomes a play station, and we, the characters at play...

My mother always said : "A couple that plays together, stays together."
My eye catches the multitude of scatter cushions scattered ridiculously about, "Hmmm, a good ole pillow fight." I make a mental note to stack all the heavy one's on my side.
"Baby's going down," I stifle an evil laugh, eyeing my unsuspecting playmate.
Much later, in the dead of night, we are both spent, from doing battle, from fighting wars, from play fighting!

We make a great team, he and I.
 I snuggle closer, in our playroom, two spoons together making sweet music.

Popular posts from this blog

Right here, Right now.

The wind whistles & howls, shaking up Cape Town ; waking her weary chidren.

Dazed I wake up for a second time, opening heavy lids to find that Monday had dawned softly. Ribbons of red are slowly beginning to caress the darkness as I stretch out lazy like a cat, lying in the middle of the kingsize bed, my thick winter frame engulfed by fleecy bedding the colour of candy floss.
"Sweet!" I utter out loud to an already empty house as soft light filters in through aluminium blinds making stripes like tattoos on my pale skin.
I should get up, but I am perplexed by the day which stretches ahead of me demanding nothing!
I'm at odds, not used to so much time on my hands, "busy" being my usual setting.

I'm beginning to like this new reality.
The ticking clock by my bedside sets a steady rhythm, as all around me the world is on the go, moving in circles. It's as if the world's forgotten about this one, tiny space. In my cocoon I groggily sit up, twisting m…

Storylines

Furrows deep and pronounced line my brow. I contemplate them,  willing them away, stroking them gently, each stroke meant to iron them out. I am their canvas, they are my storylines.

I seize my ironing, and listen to their tales.
I feel the cold to my bones!

Not the usual Cape Town cold I grew up with in the Southern Suburbs, but an iciness matching any day spent in Tewkesbury more than a decade ago in the UK.  The kind of cold that requires down feather jackets and knee-high fake fur boots.  The kind of cold that leaves sleet on windshields, and soup pots full.
Central heating!Pah! Our homes in Cape Town are ill-equipped for this kinda torture!
I hug my hot water bottle to me like a long lost lover, it's squishy, and pot-bellied and jiggles when I squeeze it. Raising the white mug to my lips, I slurp the almost scalding coffee quickly. My fifth cuppa and it's only 10:42am. Two bars glow bright orange at me. Mikey hogs the heater, and Georgie sits on top of the TV cabinet like a …

Jack of All

My professional life is marred by the ordinary.
By the humdrum thank you ma'am.

It remains puzzling, even in my semi-retirement phase.
I am not someone with an aversion to "success" or money.
I was raised to have a strong work ethic and I tend to show up, and I’m 100% tied-in to my endeavors. I've been at the receiving end of accolades and positive performance appraisals,  and I have over time broadened my scope of learning and my skillset, and I have tried to keep up with the times and technology.

Still...
Always in circles.
Round  & round.
Forward; then back to square 1.
Everywhere, but up.
Lateral moves and Plan B’s.

Hmmm…
Maybe I am a dreamer?
Maybe it’s because I’m the youngest sibling, the other one?
It could be because I’m fickle?
Or easily bored?
Or difficult?
Too demanding? Not demanding enough?
Too nice? Not ruthless in the least.

Yikes, maybe I think too much?
Maybe I should think some more!
Or deeper?
I could go back and make like Freud and delve into…