Hats.
Copyright
.
Don’t you love the symmetry of the whole creation? The way the felt wraps itself round the head, the organdy wings, the chiffon roses on one side? And to cap it all, no pun intended, the asymmetry of the bow and feathers in muted diamante. I thought Aretha looked absolutely fabulous at the Inauguration. She really put a feather in the milliner’s cap to use an appropriate turn of phrase.
Millinery is a dying art. There are only a few accomplished hat makers in the whole of the USA. One big market is among black ladies attending church who vie with each other every Sunday. The congregation always swells on Easter Sunday and not just because Christ has risen. You have never seen such magnificence of color, foliage, and extravaganza. These creations glow in brilliant colors atop wonderful clothes.
I am sure God is pleased with the display. I’m positive He’s into hats. After all He created flowers, didn’t He? I think instinctively He knew about fashion. Well, look at angel wings, swirling draperies, haloes. The Pearly Gates are nothing but entrances to runways in a fashion show. I bet He loved those wimples of the Middle Ages and I would bet again that His favorite person is not the Beloved Disciple John anymore but Alexander McQueen followed closely by Vivienne Westwood. I'd stake my Hermes cloche that in God’s private art gallery pride of place is given to those Cranach nudes wearing nothing but wispy transparent silk and all wearing dazzling triumphs of millinery.
A hat crowns it all; it complements the original creation. The one mistake God made was not to give Eve a hat. If she’d had one, she would have ignored that serpent and we would not be in the pickle we’re in today. THE END
Writings2/
Friday, March 27, 2009
Thursday, March 26, 2009
THE DEVIL
Copyright
THE DEVIL
My eyes agleam, I faced poor gullible Maureen. “Of course I don’t believe in the devil.” I said. “Who does nowadays except half wits who play the lottery and go to church?”
I pursed my lips. I had seen her in the lotto line that very afternoon.
Maureen quavered: “Well you never know, do you? I mean he (I chimed in with “or she”), well yes, he or she could exist”.
“Look Maureen” I said firmly, “have you ever seen the devil?”
“She wavered. “Well, no, but I did have a dream where I was chased by one with a long tail. I remember his large hands” She shivered.
“Oh Maureen” I said, “That was a dream about sex. Everyone has those sort of fantasies.” I smiled at her indulgently.
She looked relieved but then suddenly screamed out in terror. I knew why. I had swung my tail right in front of her. Poor Maureen.
THE END
(
THE DEVIL
My eyes agleam, I faced poor gullible Maureen. “Of course I don’t believe in the devil.” I said. “Who does nowadays except half wits who play the lottery and go to church?”
I pursed my lips. I had seen her in the lotto line that very afternoon.
Maureen quavered: “Well you never know, do you? I mean he (I chimed in with “or she”), well yes, he or she could exist”.
“Look Maureen” I said firmly, “have you ever seen the devil?”
“She wavered. “Well, no, but I did have a dream where I was chased by one with a long tail. I remember his large hands” She shivered.
“Oh Maureen” I said, “That was a dream about sex. Everyone has those sort of fantasies.” I smiled at her indulgently.
She looked relieved but then suddenly screamed out in terror. I knew why. I had swung my tail right in front of her. Poor Maureen.
THE END
(
CLOVER
Copyright:
CLOVER
“She’s been in clover ever since Valentino’s birthday bash in Rome. That’s where she met Massimo and it turns out he’s a prince. Of course princes are a dime a dozen in Italy but nonetheless she was impressed. She told me, ‘we are in luv’. Well, the way she said it! I thought one word: disaster. He is handsome, I admit. Well-,” she paused “-formed”. Her look told all.
“ He has that sort of hair that Italians have: dark, wavy, framing his even face, always groomed. Why we English can’t manage that I don’t know. Our Anglo Saxon genes probably make our hair grow in tufts and clumps, all coiffed by Mrs. Squeers. Anyway as I said, Daphne is in clover about it and has been for months.” Miriam paused. I looked at her. ‘Well,” I said. What happened?”
She looked smug, “You may well ask. My dear, and this is between thee and me, he has been married three times and two of the wives disappeared in suspicious circumstances.”
“You’re making this up.” I said.
“Yes” she grinned, “I am but it could be true, couldn’t it?”
She smirked at me. We don’t need words, Miriam and I.
I rushed to post a blog: ‘Heard on the grapevine’. Oh, I do like meddling. No one ever knows it’s me. My blog name “Enter Rumor full of Tongues” is very popular. Such a hoot when someone tells me confidentially something I wrote.
Well, what else have I to do? It passes the time. Anyway I hate Daphne.
THE END
CLOVER
“She’s been in clover ever since Valentino’s birthday bash in Rome. That’s where she met Massimo and it turns out he’s a prince. Of course princes are a dime a dozen in Italy but nonetheless she was impressed. She told me, ‘we are in luv’. Well, the way she said it! I thought one word: disaster. He is handsome, I admit. Well-,” she paused “-formed”. Her look told all.
“ He has that sort of hair that Italians have: dark, wavy, framing his even face, always groomed. Why we English can’t manage that I don’t know. Our Anglo Saxon genes probably make our hair grow in tufts and clumps, all coiffed by Mrs. Squeers. Anyway as I said, Daphne is in clover about it and has been for months.” Miriam paused. I looked at her. ‘Well,” I said. What happened?”
She looked smug, “You may well ask. My dear, and this is between thee and me, he has been married three times and two of the wives disappeared in suspicious circumstances.”
“You’re making this up.” I said.
“Yes” she grinned, “I am but it could be true, couldn’t it?”
She smirked at me. We don’t need words, Miriam and I.
I rushed to post a blog: ‘Heard on the grapevine’. Oh, I do like meddling. No one ever knows it’s me. My blog name “Enter Rumor full of Tongues” is very popular. Such a hoot when someone tells me confidentially something I wrote.
Well, what else have I to do? It passes the time. Anyway I hate Daphne.
THE END
SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE. word count 242
Copyright.George Holmes
SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE
“Have you seen that new movie, Slumdog Millionaire?” said Harold.
“I have” said Berenice grimly.
“Oh,” said Harold, “you didn’t like it then?”
“ I did not” replied Berenice, smoothing down her Jaegar skirt rather vigorously. “The government of Bombay-now they call it Mumbai-. I mean have you ever heard of Mumbai gin? Anyway, the government of Bombay should be ashamed of those slums. Blinding children to make them beggars.” She looked disgusted.
Harold said, “ Oh I heard about that before. It’s been going on for centuries. You remember those cripples in Cairo, those mothers with naked babies in Hong Kong. If we hadn’t given them cash we’d have been in the harbor. Do you remember that Tai Pak restaurant when we shared a table with that Chinese family? Oh, that fish was superb and cost us nothing.”
“Don’t digress, Harold, you wander off. And the film ended with a song and dance as if all in the garden were lovely. Well, it wasn’t lovely in my estimation,” she huffed.
Harold replied, “On don’t worry about it. It’s only a movie. Anyway they don’t blind the children completely, just one eye. Otherwise how would they see to get to the begging place?”
Berenice looked at him coldly.”Sometimes Harold, you appall me. How cynical can you get? I don’t want talk about it anymore. Fix me a large Campari and soda.”
Harold complied smiling to himself. A round to me he thought.
Copyright.George Holmes
SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE
“Have you seen that new movie, Slumdog Millionaire?” said Harold.
“I have” said Berenice grimly.
“Oh,” said Harold, “you didn’t like it then?”
“ I did not” replied Berenice, smoothing down her Jaegar skirt rather vigorously. “The government of Bombay-now they call it Mumbai-. I mean have you ever heard of Mumbai gin? Anyway, the government of Bombay should be ashamed of those slums. Blinding children to make them beggars.” She looked disgusted.
Harold said, “ Oh I heard about that before. It’s been going on for centuries. You remember those cripples in Cairo, those mothers with naked babies in Hong Kong. If we hadn’t given them cash we’d have been in the harbor. Do you remember that Tai Pak restaurant when we shared a table with that Chinese family? Oh, that fish was superb and cost us nothing.”
“Don’t digress, Harold, you wander off. And the film ended with a song and dance as if all in the garden were lovely. Well, it wasn’t lovely in my estimation,” she huffed.
Harold replied, “On don’t worry about it. It’s only a movie. Anyway they don’t blind the children completely, just one eye. Otherwise how would they see to get to the begging place?”
Berenice looked at him coldly.”Sometimes Harold, you appall me. How cynical can you get? I don’t want talk about it anymore. Fix me a large Campari and soda.”
Harold complied smiling to himself. A round to me he thought.
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