Pieces about an inanimate thing that has helped us through
“Here comes Lockdown. Am I prepared?”
Mayo by Peter
Food is always on my gaze.
Fruit and vegetables I will graze.
Teatime shall become a haze.
Sometimes a bit of a malaise.
Golly I love my mayonnaise.
Mug by Kate Bowman
I’ve had an extraordinary life.
She wakes up in the morning, takes me out of the cupboard, puts me next to the kettle. I can feel the gentle hum and vibration of the work surface as the kettle boils and steams. I’ve lasted longer than the kettles too! Tea bag in, hot water – that warms me up no end! Mmm.
Then my friend, milk joins me in a swirl and clank followed by two minutes of quiet. She counts you know, she likes her tea just so. Tea bag out and then sip, sigh, living room for a sit down and she takes two or three more sips. I can tell she’s enjoying it, she smiles, hums and settles on the sofa.
I do have a bug bear with her though. She doesn’t sit for long and finish the drink. She’s up and off to the next thing. She tips me over the edge of the sink, the rest of the tea comes out and then I am set down and she’s off to dress for her walk. I’d quite like to go on that walk, but whilst I have moved house with her, gone to work with her, I don’t get out on her walks to the park.
She loves her walks, comes back with a smile and flushed cheeks, bright eyes. I see her first because she comes straight to the kitchen for her second ritual of the day.
She makes another cup of tea in me.
Then, I am looking at the inside of the dishwasher, a metal box with water that comes out from arms. Sometimes it is straight up my insides- whoosh. Steam, noise and we all rock around together in the heat and moisture.
Beep, beep, beep. It’s over to Chris to take me out and put me in the cupboard. I’ve really got to know him as he listens to music and chats to his friends on headphones or to Mum.
I’m part of this family.
And me by Chris Burridge
Here comes Lockdown
Am I prepared?
What does it mean?
How can I get ready for this?
Weeks and weeks of two of us together
I’ve reduced the carers
Protective mother hen that I’ve become
Only one on a morning now
Here we go
Got to do it
I’ve got my drill
No idea what’s ahead for me.
It came, it went
He was still shielding
I was locked down too
New skills with my tools
Shelves, kitchen drawers,
Hall lights and onward.
My drill, my screwdriver
Just a minute, that’s not all
Chief financial officer
Didn’t I do well
He’s been my supervisor
And sous chef throughout.
Welcome technology by Liz Gregson
To my surprise during lockdown
I really appreciated my phone
Wherever I was I realised
I was not really alone
I used my phone to speak to Mum
She was ninety and very frail
Our chats helped when she felt glum
Words may say as much as mail
I took it on mindful walks
I photographed spring in all its glory
Blossom and trees coming into leaf
Became an evolving story
I photographed at leisure
Shared these images while walking
They gave family and friends pleasure
Pictures say more than talking
The Egg by Andrea Bell
A single cell, complete in itself.
A morning gift found in the coop.
Predictable but always surprising.
A reason to get up and get out.
Remember Tony Hancock’s advert?
No-one can got to work on one now.
It works for me though, feeds the neighbours in my little street.
Bringing me swaps and friendships.
Giggles and reassurances when we are all frightened.
The shells go around my newly planted salad veg to scare off the slugs.
Mindful afternoons spent baking. A new skill.
I find better recipes.
Lemon drizzle cake, ginger cake made with
Crystallised ginger, sultana cake with sultanas soaked in butter.
They rise so well but, a problem.
Not safe to share with neighbours.
We shouldn’t eat each other’s cooking, should we?
What a pity.