A Peaceful Settlement
The Rosemary Bed & Breakfast is not a tourist attraction but a people attraction. They come and go in an ordinary manner; quiet, unhurried and rested. A clear sign is how one doesn’t feel compelled to sign the guest book by the reception area. But you’ll be glad if you did because it is there you find that Hugh Jackman prefers poached eggs to scrambled, and how the actress from Cider House Rules “loves waking up to the scent of freshly cut grass.” Her owners are also very ordinary people. If one could only illustrate with the bread basket and converse in terms like rye, linseed, wholemeal and sourdough; multigrain and barley loaf; the spicy fruit and cinnamon stick- we’d find that the owners are the normal crusty white loaf. Not that they aren’t made for anything great, because everyone loves the crusty white with their soup or some crumbly cheese. But compared to the people of the world like Hugh Jackman, or the young chambermaid and kitchen hand, they are a notch less aesthetic.
If “aesthetic” could be used to describe them. They don’t like being known as ‘employees’ of Rosemary only because they already see themselves her hands and feet. But unlike her owners, Eve and Leah have their own voice. Perhaps it’s because they are only seventeen and have yet to seen the world. Even the Rosemary cannot keep the aspirations of the young within her pastel walls or hydrangea hedges. Placed alongside each other with no other companions to jest with or strive (remembering that the owners are more or less very neutral parties), the relationship can either be exciting in the sense of a pillow fight, or less restful, without the pillow. Eve and Leah’s was none of this. Though not less cordial than a nod in the morning, both instinctive knew they weren’t best pals and kept out of each other’s way. It could well be that Eve is the taller brunette and Leah is a petite strawberry blonde; or that one loves running through the sprinklers in the morning, the other finds nothing more challenging than analyzing music scripts. However, as the omniscient narrator, I must tell you that these differences are mere trifles to the very stuff that makes them similar. In fact, they are very much in essence both the nutty rye.
One particular chilly morning, a time when the dew is ripe for the fairies’ collection, the girls finally came to face with each other with a little more than a perfect courtesy. It all happened when Eve stepped in for a glass of water and left the scrub brush on the floor beside the kitchen counter. Of course the story goes that she forgets to retrieve it and when stepping in a half hour later, finds Leah humming and scrubbing the stone floors. Now some of us shudder at having to sweep the floors inside with an outdoors broom, tea towels to wipe tables, or even water flask to contain milk. For Eve, it is beyond all natural order to see the bathroom bristles hit kitchen stones; she glared from the doorway at Leah, willing the scrubbing girl to look up with her gaze. And yet the unaffected girl continued humming to canon in D, dipping the scrub in the hot soapy water, washing a square of stone, dipping, sudding; not a beat amiss. In fact, she maintained so at peace in her haven that Eve, too, became distracted with her own sense of calm.
Some time passed before Leah finally finished the corner and looked up. Seeing Eve, she jolted and blushed from the intrusion.
“Sorry I hadn’t noticed you. Did you want something?
“Me? Oh no. It’s just that… well…”Eve stutters, “Oh it’s nothing.”
“Oh alright then, I was just about to ask if you had left your scrub brush here. I put it away while to wash these floors.” And moving quietly to the sink, Leah drew another brush out from below.
The Rosemary Bed & Breakfast is not a tourist attraction but a people attraction. They come and go in an ordinary manner; quiet, unhurried and rested. A clear sign is how one doesn’t feel compelled to sign the guest book by the reception area. But you’ll be glad if you did because it is there you find that Hugh Jackman prefers poached eggs to scrambled, and how the actress from Cider House Rules “loves waking up to the scent of freshly cut grass.” Her owners are also very ordinary people. If one could only illustrate with the bread basket and converse in terms like rye, linseed, wholemeal and sourdough; multigrain and barley loaf; the spicy fruit and cinnamon stick- we’d find that the owners are the normal crusty white loaf. Not that they aren’t made for anything great, because everyone loves the crusty white with their soup or some crumbly cheese. But compared to the people of the world like Hugh Jackman, or the young chambermaid and kitchen hand, they are a notch less aesthetic.
If “aesthetic” could be used to describe them. They don’t like being known as ‘employees’ of Rosemary only because they already see themselves her hands and feet. But unlike her owners, Eve and Leah have their own voice. Perhaps it’s because they are only seventeen and have yet to seen the world. Even the Rosemary cannot keep the aspirations of the young within her pastel walls or hydrangea hedges. Placed alongside each other with no other companions to jest with or strive (remembering that the owners are more or less very neutral parties), the relationship can either be exciting in the sense of a pillow fight, or less restful, without the pillow. Eve and Leah’s was none of this. Though not less cordial than a nod in the morning, both instinctive knew they weren’t best pals and kept out of each other’s way. It could well be that Eve is the taller brunette and Leah is a petite strawberry blonde; or that one loves running through the sprinklers in the morning, the other finds nothing more challenging than analyzing music scripts. However, as the omniscient narrator, I must tell you that these differences are mere trifles to the very stuff that makes them similar. In fact, they are very much in essence both the nutty rye.
One particular chilly morning, a time when the dew is ripe for the fairies’ collection, the girls finally came to face with each other with a little more than a perfect courtesy. It all happened when Eve stepped in for a glass of water and left the scrub brush on the floor beside the kitchen counter. Of course the story goes that she forgets to retrieve it and when stepping in a half hour later, finds Leah humming and scrubbing the stone floors. Now some of us shudder at having to sweep the floors inside with an outdoors broom, tea towels to wipe tables, or even water flask to contain milk. For Eve, it is beyond all natural order to see the bathroom bristles hit kitchen stones; she glared from the doorway at Leah, willing the scrubbing girl to look up with her gaze. And yet the unaffected girl continued humming to canon in D, dipping the scrub in the hot soapy water, washing a square of stone, dipping, sudding; not a beat amiss. In fact, she maintained so at peace in her haven that Eve, too, became distracted with her own sense of calm.
Some time passed before Leah finally finished the corner and looked up. Seeing Eve, she jolted and blushed from the intrusion.
“Sorry I hadn’t noticed you. Did you want something?
“Me? Oh no. It’s just that… well…”Eve stutters, “Oh it’s nothing.”
“Oh alright then, I was just about to ask if you had left your scrub brush here. I put it away while to wash these floors.” And moving quietly to the sink, Leah drew another brush out from below.
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