How often do we say “I wish I could be a fly on the wall” ? Absurd? I don’t know about you, but I have thought of that fantasy many, many, many times! Admit it, you must have too :) While this is absobloominlutely impossible in real time, even if you put on one of those Halloween fly costumes … yes you will look like one but will that fly be able to fly?
So you are left with your fantasy in which you can drift in the air, doing loop-de-loops, swoop down on cakes left open, circle the rim of pots of jam and irritate the heck out of a human by jumping from cake to jam, jam to cake while she, armed with a rolled-up Los Angeles Times tip-toes to the most recent landing spot, raises her arm and plans to squash the target only to have missed again! So here is an absurd story I cooked up. My first…ever.
Rasp Berry wanted to enter her secret jam recipe in a cooking contest sponsored by the Life is the Berries jam company. Her neighbor, Lingon Berry, an equally good cook also entered the same contest. They both made a superficial gesture of being excited that they were in the same contest in a “may the best person win” kind of way. Secretly each wished the other’s demise.
Rasp kept hinting at her “secret ingredient” which would easily send her jam sailing to the front of the line and make her the undisputed winner. She enjoyed throwing out false clues to Lingon who would then spend entire nights trying to figure out what it might be. The only sure thing she could tell Lingon was that she would be making a special trip to get this ingredient two days before the contest, because it had to be fresh.
With the contest only two days away and Lingon at the end of her rope, she decided the only way to find out was to stalk Rasp as she set out on her trip. She had to be careful not to be visible, so after consulting Brunhilda the local witch she asked to be turned into a fly so she could follow Rasp wherever she went and into the tightest of spots.
The dawn of the next morning saw Rasp Berry leaving her house with a hooded, red cloak and a small basket, with a small cup in it, over her arm. She walked fast, with her head down and thought she better hurry lest she met one of the neighbors and had to answer too many questions about the early hour of her sojourn. Lingon did not care. She just flew merrily behind Rasp, sometimes leaping in front of her, at times buzzing furiously around her cloaked head and once even landing on her nose to Rasp’s irritation.
They had left the neighborhood now and were coming up towards the small Buddhist Temple and Meditation Center which had beautiful bamboo groves, stone benches and a lotus pond. But Rasp was not interested in any of these. She kept going until she came to a small patch of flowers and setting down her basket she tried to lift the pollen off the delicate stamens. But every time her fingers tried to accomplish this delicate task, she would crush the stamens and lose the powder because it would get all soggy from the juice of the stamens.
“Aha!” thought Lingon, “So that is the secret ingredient.” She danced in front of Rasp’s face and buzzed loudly in her ears every time she tried to obtain the pollen. “Damn this fly! Why is it picking on me? I wish it would leave me alone. I have to get a pinch of this pollen for my jam.” Suddenly loud cries of “Hey lady, what are you doing? You cannot pick any flowers! This garden is private!” . The monk who appeared a few feet away was visibly perturbed and there was no peaceful way for him to express his displeasure…not in these circumstances he thought. Rasp was so startled that she lost her balance and crushed the flowers, except one. She struggled up, turned around and ran . However, Lingon bringing up the rear, buzzing and swooping and having the time of her life lingered a while in the garden. There was only flower left there now and Rasp was desperately thinking of how she would return tomorrow to get the pollen. “I will just break the flower and bring it home and then get the pollen … it will be sort of fresh.”
Lingon had only an hour left before she would turn back into a human. “It’s now or never” she thought. She flew back to the flower patch and slowly drifted and soft-landed on top of the flower and nestled deep inside its petals, wiggling her wings till they were covered with the pollen, collecting more than a pinch because some might fly off on her journey home. She flew gently, coasting most of the time with the precious cargo clinging to her legs and her wings. Landing on her kitchen counter, she hovered over the open pot of cooling jam. Shaking her wings off she safely deposited the pollen and moved away from the pot. In a few minutes she turned back into a human, whistling a happy tune.
There was a loud knocking on her front door. It was Rasp! “Is something wrong?” asked Lingon.
“I was just wondering if you had some extra sugar and … what’s that yellow stuff on your feet?!”
“That? Oh that’s just some spilled mustard powder. Clumsy me.” “Well did you get your secret ingredient?” asked Lingon innocently. “You said you were going to get it fresh today.”
“Almost did” Rasp said gruffly. “If it weren’t for that pesky fly that caused me to lose my balance and fall.”
“What fly?” Lingon asked, very concerned.