The Lava Trolley: September 2009

The Lava Trolley

Or is it the lavatory???

...Either case, this little nook on blogasphere is the natural dumping ground for the sort of crap that erupts
when you find a wee Chink in the Britworks...

But hey, I promise you this is steamingly hot shit...which is probably why it's all looking a bit brown!


06 September 2009

Oldies but Goodies


I was browsing through some old files the other day, and found a message that I had posted on a very old website of mine (this was long before blogging became mainstream). It was actually more like a forum than a personal site, so there were quite a few contributors. I've lost much of the poetry and prose that used to be on there, but here's one that I'm glad I managed to hold on to.

None of the writing from the section below is my own, but it made enough of an impression on me to find the story worth sharing.

I'd first read it in a women's magazine called Cleo many years back. The February issue in 1996 to be exact, so it had all your usual Valentines' Day blurb. However, instead of your average Editor's Letter, a simple love story
(with few embellishments) was written, and it proved far more effective. To this day, it remains one of the most moving tales I've ever read, and never fails to unlock the floodgates. Eating wasabe or chopping onions are only second to this, which explains why I tore the article out and stashed it away as a keepsake.

I'm not the most romantic person in the world, but every now and then I lapse into such behaviour...I suppose I wanted desperately to believe things like that could happen, and thought that if I held on to it long enough, I just might find true love as well. It took two years for my 'good luck charm' to work. Still, better late than never!!

I know it's not quite the right time of year, but love flourishes in all seasons anyway, not just on Valentines' Day. Anyhow, you bloody well better like it, 'cos it took me awhile to type everything, with my tear ducts working overtime even before I finished the job.

Perhaps you ought to have the Kleenex ready as well.


From the Editor:

Let me tell you a story I once heard - a Spanish love story. I don't know whether or not it's true - I'd like to think it is - but I'll tell it to you anyway.

Many years ago, when the sun burned orange all day and the night was wet with the smell of green moss and summer, two young Spanish lovers met in a little fishing village. Each day they would walk barefoot along the great winding dust road, and they would buy bread from the old merchant with a crooked smile. They would sit beneath the old olive tree and talk and laugh and warm their faces in the sun. It was beneath this olive tree that Pedro first kissed Esmirada.

They shared their dreams with each other - Esmirada wanted to study art in Italy and one day become a famous artist. Pedro spoke of becoming the wealthiest man in Spain. But they were young. And when the time came for Esmirada to go off and study, she refused to leave.

Her love had grown so strong, she told Pedro, that she feared leaving him for even a moment would surely destroy her. They held each other beneath the olive tree and they wept.

The next day, Esmirada waited for Pedro on the hill above the dirt road, but he never came. Nor did he come the next day, or the day after that...

Esmirada was heartbroken. Although she searched for Pedro for many days, she never found him. She wrote to him. He never replied. Devastated, she left for Italy.

Esmirada studied for several years and became a sculptor. She sculpted many fine pieces, but her most cherished creation was a replica of the old olive tree she knew as a girl. She eventually became famous, and at her first big international exhibition, the olive tree was sold for a large sum of money. The design was so special that many art collectors wanted Esmirada to create olive trees for their own collections. But she never sculpted another one. It was a one-off, she said.

Forty years passed, and Esmirada retired a wealthy and successful artist. She had married, had many children and lived in a beautiful house. Sometimes, she would think back to those warm afternoons under the olive tree, and from time to time, she would wonder...

Then one day, she received a letter. It was from the attorneys of Pedro Bandida saying that he had passed away. In his will, he stipulated that all his property would be left to her. Attached was a short letter that read:

"To my dear Esmirada,

I became what I always dreamed I would. I am a man of great wealth, perhaps even the richest man in Spain. My fortune is greater than any man could dream of and I leave it all to you - my one and only true love."

So Esmirada made the trip to Spain.

She travelled to the little fishing village and walked barefoot along the great winding dust road. She bought a loaf of bread from the old merchant's store, but the old merchant had long since died. She sat beneath the old olive tree and turned her face to the sun. And she drank in the air.

Afterwards, she got a driver to take her to the address she had been given. Before her stood a beautiful mansion. She entered, and finding the palatial home full of Persian carpets and ornate paintings and gold trimmings, she felt her heart break for the second time.

Esmirada was greeted by a man who told her, "I am the brother of Pedro. I am sorry if you have made this long journey in search of wealth. My brother was a foolish man, and you have obviously been led astray. He did not own this opulent home - I do. He was a poor man with no money. He invested what little possessions he had many years ago and now, all there is to show for it are the contents of this box."

And the brother showed Esmirada to a tall cardboard box sitting in a corner of the room gathering dust.

"But he said in his letter that he was a man of great wealth," Esmirada whispered to no one in particular.

She opened the box, and found a note inside. It read:

"To my dear Esmirada,

To experience true love - whether it is long-lasting or just for a fleeting moment - is to find eternal wealth."

And it was signed:

"From the world's richest man."

The note was attached to a sculpted olive tree that had once belonged to a poor Spanish man who had sold off all his worldly possessions to buy it more than forty years before.

Enjoy this month's fabulous Cleo love special.

- Gina Johnson


I was also going to post stuff from the other files I've found on my system, but then decided it best to just leave you with this...

...For now.

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