Morning all and welcome to Thursday morning. The sun is actually out. I have no idea if it plans to stick around for the entire day but I am glad to see it. I am even happier to see that my tomato plants were not completely squashed by the two day downpour. They are however thoroughly watered. I believe they might have come through the deluge alive. I am so excited. As last year all my tomatoes sizzled and fried in the heat no matter what I did, I am hoping for a bumper crop this year. But no counting tomatoes until they are jarred. Is everyone ready for the morning writing prompt? Fingers wiggled and warmed up? Timer at the ready? Fantastic, let’s get to it then.
Oh, there is so a hidden room behind that wall. I have no idea what’s behind it though and I will be thinking about it all day long.
Thursday, May 6th: The fly crawled along the wall.
The fly crawled along the wall. I watched it wondering what it thought. Did it like this wall better than others? Did it appreciate the differences or did it not even notice them? This wall was, from a distance not to dissimilar from other walls. However as I lay here looking at it, I began to notice some differences.
It wasn’t smooth for one thing.
Oh someone tried to make it smooth and they probably had some skill in that area as sections of it were perfectly flat. They blended with the other walls. However this wall had patches that were not quite as perfectly smooth. It looked as though the plaster was mixed in a hurry and not as well as it should have been, parts of the solids not melting into the liquids as well as they should have to form a smooth paste. If you looked hard enough you could see where the plasterer started with completely mixed plaster and then ran into the less than perfectly mixed stuff.
For some reason, he kept going instead of stopping to remix the plaster.
Most of the texture was buried under layers and layers of paint. The paint gradually filling in around the texture, rounding out the bumpy bits so they were hardly noticeable. At this point I estimated the walls had at least twenty layers of paint on them. In the corner near the heat vent, the central heating managed to pretty much steam a section up so a small flap could be lifted. The latex or the upper coats kept the paint from earlier years together, making it a flexible bit instead of allowing it to flake off. You could look at the cross-section and see the layer cake of colors applied to this room over the years.
I wondered if this room received more paint over time because of the texture and if the rougher sections had more layers than the rest of the walls in an effort to cover over the poorly mixed plaster of yesteryear.
Downstairs the argument raged and I winced as something metal was thrown and collided with a solid object.
‘Tea Kettle,’ I thought. ‘Hitting the wall.’ I hoped it was the metal stove top one rather than the electric one. We rarely used the stove top model anymore and only kept the stove top version around because Christy thought it aesthetically pleasing and a necessity in case of power outages.
‘One should always be able to make tea, even without electricity,’ she declared in its defense.
The fact that the stove itself was electric and would be out of commission should the power go out was immaterial as far as she was concerned. I didn’t mind the kettle, I just thought it took up too much space when I was cooking. I saw no reason to leave a decorative element on the stovetop while I was trying to use it to cook.
The argument below was why I was seeking sanctuary in my small room at the back of the house. It was safer here, and if not quiet at least not as noisy. Experience taught me to stay well out of the firing range, of both physical and verbal shots, when the arguments spewed forth. Lately they had been coming more often and everyone knew something would have to be done soon. Of course no one knew what. And so we each spent more time isolated in our rooms as the battles raged below. It was only through such extended alone time that I began to see the difference in the wall and wonder what it could mean.
Ten til Midnight 