Monday August 20th, 2012

The exercise:

Write about: the angel.

Happy to report that everyone (eventually) showed up to pick up their produce this afternoon. Not only that, but I also managed to get an order out of the restaurant!

Now I just have to deal with harvesting it.

Anyway, it is getting late and I have already gotten tired, so let's get on with the show, shall we?


His halo is a little crooked, and more than a little dusty, but it's there all the same. Floating above his head... well, lurking is more like it. A constant reminder that he ought to be doing better than he usually is.

I've seen him use it to open beer bottles, to hold his iPod when he goes jogging, and once I even watched as he used it as an impromptu laundry line.

Not quite what it was intended for, I imagine.

I'm not sure what I've done to deserve a guardian angel like this one, but I can promise you that he's wonderful motivation to make whatever changes are required to ensure that he considers his work done so that he can move on to his next rescue project.

I'd feel sorry for whichever sucker is his next assignment, but I'm sure I'll be too busy being happy that I'm finally rid of him.


Greg said...

Congratulations on getting your customers all under control and the orders all sorted out! And I hope the restaurant order proves fun to fulfil :)
I like your guardian angel, he sounds rather entertaining to watch (obviously I'd not want him as one of my guardian angels!). The idea of the halo lurking is pure genius too!
Tempted as I am just to point you at Anneliese's Angels on Protagonize (part of the Morbid Orphanarium story) as a reminder, I'll think of something new.

The angel
The East Wallingford Thethpianth, christened by the sadly lisping but still famous actress Moira Macavity, are delighted to announce that they have finally found a backer for their intended production of A Thtreetcar named Dethire. Moira has frequently expressed her wish to stage the famous play but to change the setting from the American South to the modern American ghetto, and with the arrival of an angel, as theatre backers are known, her dream has finally come true.
"Thith is tho ekthiting!" spat Moira when we attempted to interview her, so we wiped ourselves down and interviewed her angel instead. He insisted on being nameless and wearing a paper bag advertising Milton Stilton's Mayoral Re-election campaign over his head, but told us:
"Moira's idea of moving this classic play to the American ghetto is simply sublime and I'm sure that it will draw the crowds in and transfer to Broadway. Obviously with that lisp she can't play the lead, but I'm sure that there will be divine intervention and she will, literally, break a leg before rehearsals start."
Which is kind of a shame really, as this reporter for the East Wallingford Gazette was quite looking forward to hearing the howls of "Thtanley!" coming from the Projects.

Anonymous said...

i will resubmit this piece i did for my own blog,
i think i submitted it here before as The Message, but for those who haven't seen it, here it is under the original title, Dandelions and Angels...

I was driving through the countryside yesterday and saw an angel. It was unexpected. Well, it wasn’t a metaphysical angel. It was a real one, well - maybe not real; if you happen to believe in angels then only metaphysical ones would be real to you. This one was physically real and, thus, metaphysically unreal. Confused yet? I am. This one was made of wire and fabric and was erected in someone’s front yard - a field, actually, because we’re talking farming country here. It was as unexpected an apparition as the appearance of any angel might be. I thought it was cute. ’Angels mean messages’ - I tucked that little crystal shop wisdom snippet deeply inside my brain’s filing cabinet and enjoyed the rest of the drive.
We changed drivers so I could read whilst riding shotgun. I opened up Kindle on my iPad and resumed reading Tom Sawyer, a classic by Mark Twain. The words “garden angel” leapt out from the screen. 
That song by Police, ’Synchronicity’, began rolling around in my head, adding music to the angels flying around in my cranial filing cabinet.
Last night I turned on the TV and The Simpsons were on. I haven’t watched that for a long time. I kept watching when I saw Lisa digging up the skeleton of an angel. They started seeing the word everywhere - even cartoon characters were experiencing synchronicity. I wonder if they hear the Police song in their heads, too?
This morning I opened up a competition magazine I bought that day. I don’t always get them. Inside the back cover (yeah, I’m one of those people who read mags from the rear) there was a picture of a baby doll called Little Angel. I kept turning pages until I reached an article entitled, He Thought I was an Angel.
The Police song sang louder.
In addition, I saw two instances of dandelions this morning. Dandelions are a symbol a psychic once gave me many years ago. When I see them I take notice. One dandelion was a picture in the magazine and the other was the word used on a writing blog I participate in some days (noted here as ’dwp’).
’Angels mean messages!’ the crystal shop wisecrack shouted at me.
Hm, with Uranus squaring Pluto soon, two eclipses this week, a retrograde Neptune and Venus in rare occultation with the Sun, maybe I shouldn’t just stand up and pay attention, maybe I should be saluting or something.
’Strange things are a-foot’, a cliche surfaced from one of the file drawers in my grey matter.
Okay, I get it, but what’s the freakin’ message?

Cathryn Leigh said...

Interesting takes on the prompts all. though I wish I could help, I have no idea what the message is either Writebite. :}

The (Littlest) Angel

I don't know how old I was when my parents told me I'd had a brother. He died of a genetic disease a month before I was born at the tender age of 18 months. What I do remember is that they read this book “The Littlest Angel” to me. It was all about an Angel, who was little, not just in stature, but in age, and how he was forever losing his halo, chasing it all over the Kingdom of Heaven. But in the end it didn’t matter, because he was till very much loved by the creator, and was given a very important job to do in the end.

I can’t remember what that job was, but I do remember, that the Littlest Angel was forgiven all his mix ups by the good Lord, who loved us all.

Thinking back on it, I wonder if that book might have been more therapeutic to my parents, than it was for giving me comfort. Now that I have my own kids, whom could have suffered the very same fate as my brother, should my husband have been a carrier as well, I can understand a little better what my parents might have gone through.

While my brother may not be the Littlest Angel in Heaven – he is in a better place, and maybe, he has been watching over my shoulder, doing big brother things – like making sure I don’t get in with the ‘wrong boys’. How else could it be that I found my husband in boyfriend number three?

Marc said...

Greg - ah, I do enjoy a good entry to the East Wallingford Gazette :D

Though I'm quite intrigued by this mysterious angel who seems to be quite intent on arranging, or perhaps more directly taking care of, a broken leg...

Writebite - I do remember it from last time, but I'm happy to read it again :)

Cathryn - that book sounds like perfect therapy for your parents. The fact that it also doubled as a good story for you was I'm sure a nice bonus.

Carrie A Ryman said...

I love it, the very idea of an angel who uses his halo to open beer. What a hilarious concept.

Marc said...

Carrie - thanks, glad it tickled your funny bone :)