CREATIVE WRITING

Our Blue Bottles Writing Studio prompt this week was Bubbles in the Air. This was my story; A creative non-fiction about a close friend of mine, followed by a poem from another member.

BUBBLES IN THE AIR by Elizabeth Jane Pryce

A small plastic machine sat on the ground, pumping hundreds of beautiful large bubbles into the air. Childish laughter surrounded Zoe as she sat near the table drinking her tea.

The warm afternoon sun filtered through the lovely maple tree behind Zoe, shading her face, and making her feel drowsy. She slid further down on the lounger seat to an almost horizontal position. How lovely this is, she thought, before dozing off completely.

*  *  *

In her mind, Zoe still heard the whirl of the plastic toy machine and the child’s happy laughter. But she was aware of someone else in the background. It wasn’t Matthew whom Zoe dreamt about on most nights. At first, she wasn’t sure who it was, but then she saw it was Sue, her friend of over thirty years. 

Sue was one of the first people she had known when she moved to her present hometown of Bellingham. In the first year after moving from England, Zoe worked with The Parks and Recreation Center, providing English high teas for groups of ladies. They sometimes brought their husbands. Sue was one of the ladies who came to the tea.

Zoe smiled in her sleepy state. Sue had become a long-time friend. The first time Zoe visited Sue, she and her husband, Jim, lived near Whatcom Falls. There, Zoe met Jo, Sue’s dearly beloved dog. One night, after visiting Sue, Zoe accidentally reversed into the ditch opposite the driveway. She had not seen it in the dark. Sue had called her AAA company, claiming it was her car, covering the towing fee. 

When Sue and Jim built and moved to a big house further into town, Zoe visited many times. She watched the 4th July fireworks from their balcony overlooking the bay, when they celebrated Jim Birthday as well. She had helped Sue plant the large terracotta pots and pruned the Chinese wisteria draped over the front trellis. 

Sue and Jim lived in that house for twenty or more years. During that time, Zoe spent many lovely hours with Sue, especially when Jim was away kayaking. It was in this house that Jo died. It was a sad day for Sue. She never got another dog because of her limited walking ability. But Sue loved  Zoe for bringing her dogs when she came to visit.

As age, mobility, hearing, and eyesight loss began to bother them, plus the continual persistence from their children, Sue and Jim decided to move to Whidby Island or “down island” as the locals called it, to be closer to two of their four children.

Once Sue and Jim moved, visiting was more difficult for Zoe. It was a two-hour trip each way, and she could only make it there and back in the daylight during the summer months. Occasionally, Sue did come up to Bellingham, but after a minor fender-bender, she stopped driving. Then Zoe discovered that Sue would take the ferry to Mukilteo and do her shopping at Costco with her son every two weeks on a Thursday. So, in the cooler months, Zoe met Sue in Marysville for lunch and then they did the rounds of the antique and thrift stores; it was something Sue loved to do, yet she rarely bought anything.

As the years went by, Zoe tried to visit Sue at least once every couple of months. Zoe packed up the car and the dogs and made the trip, staying overnight sometimes two. Zoe often brought cooked food from home to make it easier for her friend. Sue loved to talk, and Zoe was quite willing to listen; Sue had done many things in her earlier life and traveled to many places around the world. The stories from China were amazing. It was fascinating hearing all Sue’s stories. 

*  *  *

Zoe sees her good friend of thirty-plus years surrounded by the beautiful blue and pink colored bubbles, Sue’s favorite colors. “I love you,” Sue says, her lovely, smooth face smiling down on her.

As Zoe slowly came awake, she saw her friend was gone, and all that remained was the little girl and the beautiful large bubbles. 

“I miss dear friend, thanks for visiting me in my dreams.” 

Later, Zoe received a phone call from Jim. Sue had passed from this life while sitting on the sofa, playing a video game with bubbles.

Bubbles by Debi Hanuscin

Her thoughts 

like bubbles

float

in the air. 

They bounce 

and sway

on invisible currents. 

Making soap beards in a bubble bath with her little sister until their fingertips were wrinkled raisins and it was time to rinse.

The plastic cups with built-in straw, perfect for milk. 

Making creamy bubbles before being scolded 

“Stop playing and drink!” 

Spinning dizzily with bubble wand in hand, 

until the little plastic bottle tipped the soapy mixture into the summer grass, ending the fun. 

The museum where you could make a bubble big enough to step inside

using just a rope and tray of soap. 

Staring into the pot, waiting for the bubbles to form, pasta in hand. Impatient. 

The tiny bubbles in her glass- the smaller they are, she recalled, the better the quality. 

They tickle as they slip over her tongue and travel down her throat. 

She pours another. 

And watches. 

The bubbles. 

IN THE GARDEN

MOLES, SLUGS, AND SNAILS

Those little moles, velvet coated with cute pointy faces, were the bane of my gardening life last summer. I have battled the mole hills in my beautiful landscaped garden, continually entreating them to leave my little piece of heaven alone. Every night, it seemed they came through my garden, creating sinkholes, turning over the pretty stones I had bought to prevent another cute pest, the squirrel, from digging up my bulbs. At times, it became an all-out war. I spent a fortune in time and money trying to do the “good thing.” One particular morning, those cute little pesky moles had the last laugh. I had cleared the surrounding area, found the hole, and turned the hose onto jet spray, ready to pour water into that hole until it filled and overflowed. Then, the hose nozzle broke. Water flew into my face, soaking me from head to foot in seconds. Once I was dry, I had to laugh, imagining those pointy faces cracking into a big grin. Even while I am pouring water into the mole holes, I think of the incredible stories of animals, Fantastic Mr. Fox by Roald Dahl, which I read many times to my children, and Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame, which I had read to me as a child.

I prefer not to kill anything, even slugs, until I feel they have left me no choice. Years ago, following the teaching of my church at the time, I took them down to an overgrown waste area and said, “I bless you. Now move on, and don’t come back.” But still, they multiplied. Finally, after I removed all my grass and put in a brick patio, the slug population slowed tremendously. But then, the snails showed up. I keep them to a minimum by walking the garden in the early morning and late evening, removing the snails and any empty shells.

In these colder days, the garden pests are at a minimum. Still, I am kept busy. I add my coffee grounds to the soil around my roses, blueberries, and hellebores. It keeps the slugs away, and I am hopeful the moles also. Eggshells are great in my greenhouse, but I have found that they garnered more squirrel action in the garden. My present job is repairing my colorful edging. The moles are part of the problematic slip and slide of the bricks, plus the general weather freeze and thaw that shifts everything. Such is the dichotomy of life in my garden. While it rains, I paint.

ART IN THE ATTIC

On rainy days, while Daisy is asleep, I go up to the attic (a clean and tall enough space to work.)There, I have all my art projects laid out for my attention. I am working on many different things at the same time! My biggest project is making 2×2 decorated poles to mark the ends of my irrigation. I have about twenty of them to make! I had to ask a kindly neighbor to cut the lengths first, then I put on two coats of paint. Next, I will drill a 3/8 hole in one end to take the rebar, then come the fun part. The decorating with cut-out pictures, stickers, and stencils; what I use is still to be decided. While the paint on the posts dries, I re-paint garden ornaments. I enjoy the varied creativity.

Have a wonderful day EJP