Christmas presents?
Does anyone want a perfect Christmas present?
This is that. https://amazon.com/Elephant-Talks-God-Dale-Estey-ebook/dp/B003ZUXXEM
In my novel, Kafka In The Castle, I gave Kafka a dream about a husky. Kafka’s dream, however, was based on the very true event which happened to me as I took a country walk.
In Kafka In The Castle, I fill the ‘missing’ diary entries from Kafka’s real diary. He either did not fill in these days himself, or he destroyed them. There are some estimates that Kafka destroyed 70% – 80% of everything he wrote. So it goes.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
24 December 1916
Dreamed I was in Amerika last night – playing with a Husky.
The dog was all white, and possessed an intelligent face. The shape of the muzzle made it look as if it were smiling – even laughing – and having a good time. It was free, and could do such things.
It did not speak, but that does not mean I thought it incapable of speech. I played with him, and because of his gentle persistence, we went running through the snow together. I chased him as he wanted, along a winding trail and through young woods.
I hid from him once, and he was much confused, his breath hard, and his feet scratching across the snow as he came back to look for me. I jumped out of my snow cover with a shout. He smiled at me, and he nearly spoke.
I looked for him, this morning, on the way to work. And then again, tonight, as I came up to the castle. Before I leave, I shall gaze into the Stag Moat from my darkened window. The snow there must be the purest in the city. If I see him, will I give chase?
(I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2021 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}DE BA. UEL
It’s the full moon before
Christmas Day
With a heavenly glow,
On the water.
I’ve often wondered if
The Star the Three Kings
Followed,
Was really the Moon,
‘Cause I bet those old
Translations
Were really buggered.
Any way, I have unfurled
Swaths of red and green
Sail canvas,
Down the side of
The Lighthouse,
To be festive for
Approaching ships.
And if
– if –
Anyone comes to visit,
I have a red riband
Necktie
For Paw, the cat/kitten,
Black as the space between stars,
With one white mitten,
To wear by way of
Jesus celebration.
I’ve tested him with it,
He doesn’t mind,
Though, by now,
He knows there will be
Extra fish in his dish,
Whenever I
Tie one on.
(I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2021 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}DE BA. UEL
If my cat/kitten,
Black as coal,
With one white mitten,
(I call him Paw)
Was not black as coal,
He’d be lost to me,
And to the ages,
In these drifts of snow
Covering Partridge Island,
After the storm,
From down the coast,
That left us so white.
I kept him in while
It raged,
Which he took to kindly.
But I let him loose,
The next afternoon,
Because a cat/kitten
Got to learn the
Ways of the world.
He took to the huge drifts,
Like a fish to water.
And when he tried to
Chase a rabbit,
I laughed myself silly.
And, (I bet),
So did the rabbit.
(I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2021 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report} DE BA. UEL
Alison Alexandra does open the door. She is met with a barrage of deep and alluring odours. They are rich and fresh and smooth and piquant, and every one of them inviting.
“Take these.” Emma Alice hands her a small metal ladle and a pottery cup.
‘What do I do with these?”
“Sample.”
“Try them?”
“Yes.” Emma Alice laughs. “Though I mix metaphors – go hog wild.”
Emma Alice removes the lid from the first ceramic urn. It is full of rich white cream. Alison Alexandra dips the ladle, and pours a small portion into her mug.
“Oh, that’s rich.” Alison Alexandra takes a final sip. “Rich and mellow.”
“Creamy?” Emma Alice laughs.
“Yes – exactly.”
“Cream from Jersey cows,” says Emma Alice. “It is always smooth.”
“Will you be selling it?” asks Alison Alexandra.
“We use a lot of it here. It’s a favourite” Emma Alice puts the lid of the urn back in place. “But we will sell the rest. Or trade.”
“Trade?”
“Yes. It’s much easier and more fulfilling.” Emma Alice starts toward another urn. “You have what they want, and they have what you want.”
“So you don’t have to produce what they already can provide.”
“Exactly.” Emma Alice lifts another lid. “Nor they for what we make. Time and expense saved on both sides.” She points into the urn. “Now for something different.”
Alison Alexandra dutifully puts the ladle in and takes a small portion of liquid. She pours it into her mug and puts it to her lips.
“Wowza!”
“What a word.” Emma Alice giggles.
“What a taste,” says Alison Alexandra. “What a difference.” She puckers her lips. “It’s not poison, is it?”
“It serves its purpose.” Emma Alice replaces the lid. “It’s whey – the liquid remaining when you make cheese from milk. It is used in baking, to temper other tastes.”
“But still.” Alison Alexandra gives a discreet cough. “You are pulling a prank.”
“A bit” Emma Alice takes off the lid of an urn from a higher shelf. “It will make this buttermilk seem palatable.”
“Oh, I’ve actually had buttermilk,” says Alison Alexandra.
“Have you?”
“I think it was touted as being good for digestion.” Alison Alexandra stretches to put the ladle into the container. “I did not take it for very long.”
She pours an amount into her mug. She takes a sniff before she takes a sip.
“I’d make the same decision today.”
“The whey didn’t wet your taste buds?
“Not by a drop.”
“Well,” Emma Alice taps the lid back into place. “Enough of the bitter, now for the sweet.”
“I’m going to get a treat?”
“Fine Holstein milk.” Emma Alice paces across the floor. “Straight out of the cow.”
“I like the bulk of a Holstein,” says Alison Alexandra. “They seem more solid with their black and white markings. ‘Moo! Moo! Get outta the way!’”
“The train engine among cattle,” suggests Emma Alice.
“They emote more purpose,” says Alison Alexandra.
“See what you think.” Emma Alice lifts the cover off a large urn.
Alison Alexandra can tell from the rich, warm smell of the milk that a treat is in store. She puts her ladle more deeply than usual, and brings it back as full as full can be. She pours it into her mug without a drop sliding down the side. She sips in the same careful manner. She looks directly at Emma Alice and grins.
“Moo!”
“Taste buds calmed?”
“Yes.”
“Little Miss Muffet trauma removed?”
“Yes.” Alison Alexandra exaggerates a startled look. “Why – were there spiders?”
“There are always spiders,” says Emma Alice. “They foil the insects. But I think none will dangle by your tuffet.”
“Oh, that would be all right.” Alison Alexandra scoots out the last drops of milk with her little finger. “I actually like spiders.”
To be at my most truthful,
“I was there first
Waiting for the bus.”
But then one crow came along,
And settled into a tree,
And then fluttered to the ground,
And then hopped upon the fallen leaves,
Making quite a noise, it must be said.
And I, of course, looked around,
And up and down,
Because I didn’t want any sorrow.
But within a minute of my searching,
Another crow settled into a tree
So there would be joy in my life.
Then it hopped and landed on the ground,
And made a fuss in the grass,
Which perhaps encouraged a third crow
To swoop and settle beside it.
So then I assumed a letter
Was coming to my door,
But then crow number four
Made a quartet
Just as the bus arrived.
Then all eight eyes
Fixed me with a stare,
As the doors swung open
And I paid my fare.
DE BA UEL
In my novel, Kafka In The Castle, I fill in all the lost diary entries that he either ignored or destroyed.
Today, on Facebook, there is a wonderful video from Prague Morning, showing a lamp lighter walking the length of Charles Bridge (in the direction of ‘Kafka’s Castle’), lighting all the lamps. Kafka made this walk hundreds of times (and I managed a few, myself).
The following is the entry I made of Kafka crossing the Bridge, and what he pondered.
Excerpt From Kafka in The Castle
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
29 August 1917
I strolled the Charles Bridge a long time tonight, before coming on to the castle. I have the feeling that the river air helps my lungs.
I also like the city lights reflecting from the racing water. And the occasional boat, lanterns stern and bow.
I have once or twice steered my own boat through the dark, the flickering light dripping through the gloom before me. If I could have reached the sea while it was still dark, I would have tried to do so. But I was younger then. And could breathe deeply.
Fantasy fuelled this escape, from my Moldau island and then along the Elbe, through Dresden, Magdeburg and Hamburg, to the freedom of Helgoland Bay. Further into the North Sea, if I wanted. Perhaps to Iceland, where I could become lost in the snow and white.
All this, from my perch upon the Charles Bridge, as I strolled from side to side, and one end to the other. My last smile reserved for the statues staring down on me.
Their stony expressions etched upon their faces, as are mine to me.
Link to Lamp Lighting story:
https://praguemorning.cz/lamp-lighter-on-the-charles-bridge-to-come-back-after-two-years/
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