This is in response to the “Five photos, five stories challenge” issued by Tonya at Four Generations Farm Girl:
Post a photo each day for five consecutive days and attach a story to the photo. It can be fiction or non-fiction, a poem or a short paragraph and each day nominate another blogger for the challenge.”
This quirky little man has been in our family for as long as I can remember. I think he belonged to my father, who had a taste for quirky objects, but where he came from, where he was made, how he was acquired, those are questions that will probably never be answered. He was never really on display – I think my mother wasn’t too enamoured of him – but I have always had a soft spot for him. I suppose I share my father’s low tastes in this.
His lower jaw is attached to his upper mandible by wires, so he is always ready for a chinwag. My earliest understanding of human biology came from him, with the discovery of how the jaw works. As a small child, I was convinced that most of the articulations in the human body depended on wires: I had seen inside the head of a sleepy-eyed doll when her wig had come off, the two eyes connected by a wire and moved by a weight. It seemed plausible enough that our own eyes worked in a similar manner.
This little fellow also has quite a deep cavity in the top of his bald head. My mother showed me what happened if we put a double layer of wet blotting paper at the base and scattered a few mustard-and-cress seeds over it. Seeing him with this “hair” I realised why he was always laughing: you just have to smile back at him.
He had never been thrown out after my father died, but relegated to a spot among “bits of junk” that my mother was one day going to sort. I found him, squeezed in between plant pots in the back porch, looking very dirty and scruffy. I felt sorry for him, who had been a character of my childhood, and after giving him a good soaking in detergent took an old toothbrush to clean out the corners.
My mother smiled when she saw him, and allowed him back into the house. Yesterday, I bought some salad cress and suddenly remembered how he had looked all those years ago, with his “curly hair” (I think we also once grew chives for straight hair, too). Yes, this is cheating because it hasn’t grown on cotton wool or blotting paper inside his head, but it does recreate “the look”.
I’m nominating my granddaughter who hasn’t blogged for some time, in the hope that this might get her going again. Over to you, Sweetheart, at The Tea Conspiracy.