Word of the Day – sibilate

Definition of sibilate – verb [sib-uh-leyt]

1. to utter or pronounce with a hissing sound.
2. to hiss.

‘I’m going to make you mine,’ she sibilates in my ear. I can feel her breath tickle my neck, and the soft slender curve of her body is warm against mine. I close my eyes. I am already hers!

 

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Hero

‘Hey, Dad,’ the boy said.

‘Hi,’ his father said, standing from his chair to embrace his son.

His father was a tall man, solid, with hands as big as baseball mitts—hands that had picked up his little boy and thrown him a million miles into the air, watching the tyke laugh and flail with glee before catching him. The boy smiled, remembering, and the man smiled too, perhaps with the same memory surfacing in his mind. There was safety and security in his father’s arms, a love expressed through action, and that had made up for all the absent days, the boy reflected.

His father’s smile was easy and his expression genuine, yet his hazel eyes were deep and serious and watchful as though every movement came under scrutiny, and maybe it did. His voice could command a room, if required to do so, and those large hands had been known to silence a disrespectful few, if also required to do so. He was old fashioned, moulded from old fashioned values and a man true to his word. This earned him the respect he required but it was his kindness and integrity to do right that made him a good leader and a hero in the boy’s eyes.

Excerpt (novel) – The Wish List – Grant Ackermann

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Word of the Day – interloper

Definition of interloper – noun [in-ter-loh-per]

1. a person who interferes or meddles in the affairs of others.
2. a person who intrudes into a region, field, or trade without a proper license.

She knew from the moment she met her that the old woman would be nothing but an interloper in her son’s marriage and that wasn’t a part of her plan.

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Tuesday Trivia

Which author’s books include Coming Up for Air, and Homage to Catalonia?

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Sanctuary

The boy entered his room and smelled the pot-pouri his mum had left in a bowl on his chest of drawers, an attempt to rid the dank odour of sweat-filled socks and shoes that permeated his room. He felt cold air prick and touch his skin, coming in from the window his mother had also left open, and yet there was still a welcoming warmth and comfort that greeted him from being in his space. This was his room, his sanctuary. He looked at the poster-filled walls of sporting heroes and pop stars and wondered fleetingly if it was time to remove them. Wasn’t he too old for such things now? Then his eyes moved to his Avengers action figure set, where they stood poised and ready to protect him at any moment of peril, and decided that no, he wasn’t too old yet.

He moved to the window to look out into the green backyard with rising blades of grass stretching to the fading pink of sunset and took a deep breath. Another gift to be savoured, he thought. He stood at the window for a long time admiring the sky as the pink turned to purple and then to grey and then to dark-blue. He inhaled another deep breath of fresh air, feeling the coolness enter his body, and exhaled a thank you out to the universe. He could do this. He could reunite his family. He could do what so desperately needed to be done. He closed the window, dropped his bag at his feet and flung himself backwards onto his bed.

Excerpt (novel) – The Wish List – Grant Ackermann

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Word of the Day – tump

Definitions for tump – noun [tuhmp]

1. British Dialect. a small mound, hill, or rise of ground.
2. British Dialect. a clump of grass, shrubs, or trees, especially rising from a swamp or bog.
3. British Dialect. a heap or stack, as a haystack.

He hoped they wouldn’t suspect the tump in the middle of his garden to be as suspicious as it was … a buried coffin.

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Word of the Day – schadenfreude

Definitions for schadenfreude – noun [shahd-n-froi-duh]

1. satisfaction or pleasure felt at someone else’s misfortune.

He hadn’t seen her for many years and revelled in the schadenfreude that time had had on her appearance. ‘That’s what you get for dumping me,’ he thought.

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A Cross to Bear

On the days when loneliness appeared and entered her world, drowning away her strength and clarity, as it seemed to do more often these days, she would surrender to the tears and question God. Why was she to suffer like this? Hadn’t she done enough to serve Him? Hadn’t she been a good disciple and served her Lord dutifully ever since her first church visit? Well … most of the time, she conceded.

She remembered her father leading her by the hand while she craned her neck at the enormity and beauty of the church, the large colourful windows, the high ceiling, the way the light floated in like fairy dust to settle amongst rows of filled wooden pews of men and  women dressed in suits and frocks and hats. Yes, her pale-blue dress that hung to her ankles was stiff and starchy and whooshed and rustled when she walked, but she felt like she had fitted in, like she had belonged. But where was her hat she had wondered, looking up at her father whose eyes stayed forward and his expression stoic. This she reminded herself to ask mum later. Being four years old was not too young for a hat, she had decided.

Her father led her to a seat in the front row under the watchful eye of Mrs. Myrtle, who sat facing her from the first seat in the choir, while he went off to fulfill his duties as an elder of the church. Mrs. Myrtle looked as wicked as a scarecrow with a voice as rough as a cement mixer, but sang her heart out in the choir as if the day of judgement had arrived and her effort could earn her a place in the kingdom … and perhaps it did.

So why now was she being punished like this, even after a lifetime of heartache? This was as Father James had preached at almost every service, “Her cross to bear,” and bear she would. What choice did she have? She sighed and breathed out, willing her strength to return. She would fight, she had to. Yes, the cancer was spreading but she would be damned if she would let that control her.

Excerpt (novel) – The Wish List – Grant Ackermann

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Tuesday Trivia

Who collaborated with his daughter Lucy, in 2007, to write the children’s book George’s Secret Key to the Universe?

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You & I

It was one of those days, you know … when you wake up of your own accord. Not with the sound of a noisy alarm clock beeping its high pitched tone into your ears, or a screaming baby needing your attention, or stern tones of a wife wanting you to help with whatever she needed help with, but with the soft chirping of birds flying freely outside the window; the night making way for another day—a day without the grind of your day job. The house is silent.

Your morning cuppa goes down a treat and you can smell the jasmine you planted last spring, airing its fragrance around you as you stand on the deck outside admiring your garden. All is still and peaceful. The perfect morning.

The sun begins to warm you and you feel carefree. It takes you back to your teenage years, before the manic of life took its hold on you. You stand and stare, enjoying the peace and tranquillity. The good old days.

Then you hear the crying coming from her bedroom and you are brought back quickly. You wait momentarily to see if it stops. It doesn’t. You make your way to her. You’re soon joined by your other half and together you tackle the morning duties—feeding, cleaning, caring and the like—but the crying still doesn’t stop. By afternoon, your temper starts to fray like a severed rope, and comments from the other side seem to push you closer to the edge.

‘Don’t feed her like that. Don’t hold her like that. No, you’re doing it wrong. The doctor said you should …’

Eventually it gets too much for you and you lash out, soaring your voice above the crying to be heard, saying things that eat into the integrity of your marriage. You yell accusations, casting blame on her that she caused this. You can’t let her have the last word, so you yell louder until your tone is unrecognisable and your eyes glare with determination. Then that moment, the moment that defines who you are, stares you in the face and taunts you, daring you to make that decision … Today is the worst day of your life.

*  *  *

I woke when I heard her crying, as I did every morning. Simon was already up, which was unusual. He normally slept in and I tended to Lily. But he came in from outside, coffee cup in hand and met me at her door.

‘What were you doing?’ I asked.

‘Just thinking,’ he said.

It struck me as odd that he was up. Simon only ever looked after Simon. But I was happy for the help and I needed him now more than ever. His constant absence meant I needed to spell things out to him about looking after his sick daughter. He was a fish out of water at home and generally not happy.

It wasn’t long before we started to argue about stuff, the usual kinda stuff. Lily kept crying and our arguments intensified. I just wanted him to understand what I went through everyday. I needed his help and support and not only on the weekends.

Lily’s crying increased in protest of our arguing and then … Simon seemed to change. His face red with fury; his voice hoarse from yelling abuse; and, his eyes fixed on her. I tried. With God as my witness I tried. But I was too slow. I knew the reality of our home situation was a lot for him to deal with, along with his work, but who would have thought he’d—

I miss Lily.

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