Some questions answered and George Clooney, continued.

Google Analytics tells me that this blog has had 628 visitors up to date, for the month of November. Not big on commentary you lot, but I understand that, this being a series of random things that probably don't form a whole. For some reason, though, my snippet of a story yesterday elicited a flurry of e-mails. Even a phone call or two.

~ Thank you ~

So, to answer some questions:

No, Mister Clooney is not my favourite actor. I'm more of a Boy Next Door kind of girl.

I saw Up In The Air one night in March and this little story popped into my head as I later lay in bed. Eventually I got up to write it. (Another sleepless night ...) It was a gift for The Lip, who remains a great fan of George Clooney.

Yes, I do have more stories. There are poems too. And recipes.
 

The photo was taken on the way to Beira, Mozambique. I need to go back there some day.

Movie most enjoyed this year? An Education.

And Roy: thanks for the offer. I'm flattered. But I'm taking a sabbatical. For now.

George Clooney and the Unseen. Part Two.

Although I never considered George Clooney to be mating material, my friends and family all teased me mercilessly. I tried to tell them how I felt: He is not a good-looking man. He is a bad, no, atrocious hunter. He is way too tall. He walks funny. He calls me Addle.
    But they carried on and so I learnt to smile and ignore them. The previous faded man who had visited us, was known of only because of the outlandish pair of pants he had left behind, and the mark of his height on the wall of the fane. We as a tribe had little curiousity or wish to know more. The children followed George Clooney for a few weeks, mainly because of the novelty of it, but when that wore off, he was mostly on his own. I could see that this bothered him inordinately. I guessed it was because of his lost life of celebrity and that he missed having an entourage. The men tried to teach him, but his hunting skills remained poor. The women giggled behind their hands when he approached.

At night in the hut we would lie at opposite sides, facing each other. In the morning we woke at the same time and talked about our dream. George Clooney could not understand how we could dream the same dream together. Often we would continue a conversation that we had started sometime in the night, in the middle of a dream. It left him mystified, but also filled him with delight. After some time, once we had become comfortable together in our dream world, he showed me what it looked like in the jungle where he came from. I was enthralled by the high structures and moving machinery. The amount of people in those dreams was staggering. It was a big surprise for me to see amongst the faded ones, some that were drenched in a kind of glossy darkness. There was a dreadful odor in those arid tree-poor places, filled as they were with all these bleached and tarry people. Some nights George Clooney would meet others in my tribe for dreams. But mostly it was just him and I.
    When the cool rains came, we moved closer at night. I knew without him saying so, that I was also not attractive to him. We shared warmth as cubs would do. Between us was a bond like that of a sister and a brother. It was better, because we were not born to it, but had chosen it to be so.

Written by Lily Turner, March 2010. Conclusion to follow.