Give Pizza a Chance

“Pizz-a 

please sir, 

mine with 

cheese sir…”

“They sing it like that – the two-tone thing?”

“Yes - sounding like the fire truck from the Safety Department. It’s funny.”

Tara Lapine-Frost was telling me about the girls at the Snow-Warren home. I had to smile and the reason was clear to me.

Tara’s time spent recuperating there had had an effect upon her. There was Nigel, of course, attending to her every whim. His daughter Lisa has really taken to her, and the warm surroundings provided by Chris, Charity and their children had shown her what a loving family life can offer. Even Bernard – Chris and Nigel’s dad – has entertained Tara with his periodic visits from the cottage at the end of their garden.

Her anecdote about the three girls was simply an example of the subtle change in her attitude. I had no doubts that the independent, efficient, clever, slightly scary bunny was underneath, but the Snow-Warren family had worked their magic upon her. And it was likely to continue.

She had recovered from her leg injury in the snow fields of the Atlantdian mountains and I’m happy to report that she no longer needs to use a cane. Although she has supposedly moved back to her house at the north of Mellowdene County she doesn’t spend all week there - at least two days a week she spends still living in the Snow-Warren household. She’s also continued the visits to our house for chats with Cecile and me. Today, Cecile was visiting Emma Furbanks so it was just the two of us chatting.

Which brings me back to the pizza conversation.

 

 

“I’ll tell you what else is funny,” said Tara. “The sudden discovery of pizza by Lisa and her cousins. As you know, I’ve been to various places around Sylvania and I’m used to pizza being an established food item. I find myself smiling at the girls’ enthusiasm.”

I sort of understood. We’d only had a dedicated purveyor in Mellowdene for two years. Prior to that, if one wanted to buy pizza bases, one had to visit Christopher Appleblossom’s waterwheel bakery. It wasn’t a usual product they supplied, but Eloise Pickleweed worked there and would provide them upon request. With increasing demand I suppose it was to be expected that Eloise and her husband would open up their own premises.

 

Pickleweed’s Pizza Emporium was an instant success. A good location at the edge of the village shopping area meant it was ideal for the peckish customer to visit and purchase a custom pizza. 

 

 

A year on, and word of mouth meant that visitors to the village from elsewhere in Mellowdene County could share in the experience. Their only disappointment was that an impulsive desire to munch on a pizza slice would mean a long trek from their home to the village. When Hector Pickleweed proposed a delivery option it was welcomed immediately.

 

Now they have three motorised delivery tricycles. 

 

The first addition to their delivery workforce was Darcy Fielding’s cousin Alonso. He has some mechanical skills which was a bonus when keeping the trikes in good condition. Last thing I heard was that they were looking for a third driver.

Tara was watching me. “What are you thinking about?”

“Oh, not much,” I replied. “I was just thinking how Pickleweed’s has grown since it started up.”

“Are you one of their customers?”

“We sometimes pop in on our way back from shopping.  Brendan and Beverley consider it a treat. They like to choose the toppings and Eloise spoils them.”

“She does make a good pizza. I’m particularly partial to the variety of cheeses she uses. It’s probably my fault that I’ve made Lisa such a pizza fanatic. “

“Do you get deliveries to your cottage?”

“Of course,” she laughed. “I’m good customer. Always piping hot when it arrives, and Hector is a friendly chap.”

“Yes, he is. It does surprise me how they manage to keep the food so hot, even when it is taken to the other end of the county. You know we're related to the Cornflowers? Well, Wester Cornflower is an enormous cheese fan and he has remarked on that point.”

“It’s no big mystery, Jackson. There are shallow tanks built into the trikes and these contain crushed minerals from used coolsalt blocks. Small discharge units allow the trapped heat to be released.”

“We are lucky to have the Polaris family and all their hot and cold expertise.”

“True. I’ve had some interesting discussions with them about their work with minerals.”

Of course she had. Tara’s knowledge went beyond unusual plants. That was another reason that Nigel enjoyed her company – intellectual discussions on minerals and plants as part of his role as pharmacist played an essential part in their initial association.

“And what about Nigel?” I asked, following my thoughts, “Does he like pizza?” If the apparent change in subject puzzled Tara she didn’t show it.

“Oddly, he’d never eaten it, but I said he should give it a chance. Now he loves it.”

“That’s nice.”

“And you?”

“Oh, I like it well enough. Sometimes after shopping…”

“Yes, you said. You never have it delivered for an evening meal?”

“Not yet.”

o 0 O 0 o

The conversation came to mind later that day, and I suggested the idea to Cecile. It was well received. A telephone call to Pickleweed’s and Hector answered the call.

After taking the order, he told me the expected delivery time and then ended the call with a chuckle, saying “It’ll give you a chance to meet our new delivery driver.”

He wouldn’t elucidate further, but all became clear when the driver arrived. When Beverley showed them through, it was someone we knew very well.

“Rowan! It’s you,” exclaimed Cecile.

“I’ve always been me, Sis,” he said, winking at me. “I’m filling in as a favour. I was giving Alonso a hand identifying a fault with his trike’s engine."

 

"He knew that I’d spent years maintaining the camper van and he caught sight of me when I was picking up a pizza."

 

 

"He asked me to have a look at the trike as he thought he was missing something obvious. He was, but whilst he was fixing it they would be short one driver. And Hector had already had an idea about asking me.”

“So how long will you be filling in?” said Cecile.

“Who knows?” he shrugged. “Anyway, I’ve got to go. I’ve got another delivery. Eat up whilst the pizza’s still hot.”

With that he was gone. 

 

“He’s got a point,“ Cecile laughed. “Let’s eat.”

o 0 O 0 o

 

 

o 0 O 0 o

 

 

 

 

 

Sylvania Takes a Breath

I am often surprised by my children. This is usually due to Brendan but occasionally Beverley manages to raise my brows. The latest surprise was in relation to Mellowdene Day. For those that don’t recall, this annual tradition is to highlight the things that make us grateful. Every few years there is a formal event but mostly it is celebrated within families, often supported by school projects and similar. Beverley’s choice this year was slightly unusual.

“My gratitude project is going to be about the Pause,” she said.

“Paws?” I replied, raising my arms.

“No daddy,” she laughed. “The Pause. The ageing thing.”

“Oh.” I wasn’t sure how to react. Granted, I hadn’t given it much thought, but an inexplicable glitch in time’s progress wasn’t an obvious subject for gratitude.

 

Perhaps I should explain. It may be, after all, a purely Sylvanian thing.

Legend has it that, from time to time, there are periods when Sylvanians stop ageing. It isn’t permanent but when it occurs no-one is sure how long it will last. I understand it doesn’t happen often. My parents and grandparents didn’t encounter this phenomena and it had slowly become little more than a fairy tale. As I said, an apparent legend – until it happened to us.

We’re not sure exactly when it started. We know Russell had learned to walk and had started to attend nursery, so it was some time after that. Nobody noticed at first. I’m not sure how long it was before some folk became aware and the conversations began. Our age bands weren’t shifting. Years passed, but crittizens remained the same age.

Of course, we are Sylvanians. No one panicked. A few researched the legends and it became common assumption that it was a temporary thing that would conclude whenever it was ready. Life goes on. The “Pause”, as it became known, was just part of life. In no time it was accepted and, if not forgotten, then ignored in favour of day-to-day activities.

I don’t think the Sylvanian Research Group have a scientific explanation for the Pause. I don't think even Aristotle Treefellow knows. Those with a more spiritual leaning say it’s something to do with the land itself. Rowena Moss’s sister – Morwenna Deerheart – is interested in mysticism. As she puts it, “Sylvania is taking a breath.”

 

It’s as good a reason as any. But that didn’t explain why Beverley thought it was a subject for gratitude. I asked her for her reasons.

“I know people don’t think about it anymore,” she said. “We get along with our lives and that’s fine. But we are incredibly lucky and I think we should be more grateful about that.”

“Go on, pudding. I’m listening.”

 

“We get more time to enjoy our age bands, more than any generation in living memory. Babies can enjoy their innocence and the love of their families. Children have longer to have fun, longer to learn things, longer to spend time on tricky school stuff until they understand it. Parents can enjoy their families longer, spending time with their children before they grow and leave home. The same goes for grandparents. We should be grateful for all this.”

She had a good point. One of which I was in danger of forgetting. Minor concerns such as wondering when Russell would eventually start talking were nothing. We would enjoy our families whilst Sylvania was taking its breath.

 

o 0 O 0 o

 

Note: If you're wondering about birthdays, so were we at first. Most choose not to use the passing years as indicators; I once heard a child say, "It's my eighth birthday tomorrow. That will be the fifth one!" That sort of makes sense - imagine a fifty year old child - although that's an extreme example. From the scant records, a Pause won't last that long.

Some others won't let the Pause spoil the chance to celebrate significant birthdays. If you remember Horatio Seadog avoiding a Howlaree in one of my earlier tales, he knew that many of his canine acquaintances would still mark the years and celebrate his ansept with gusto. How could they miss such an opportunity? 

That's why you'll rarely hear me explicitly refer to someone's age. It's too confusing!

 

o 0 O 0 o