The Home of Tomatoes

George aka King George was George. You could tell he had been George since he sprouted in Bulgaria; to the moment he was picked by wife Milka in Greece. Back in those days, George always wore white T-shirts and matching budgie smugglers- an extra inch of fabric passed them as shorts. George began each day as a blank canvas, allowing his profession to shine in the brightest of reds. He was always covered in tomato. Even Milka’s friends turned up their noses when she pointed out the man of her desire, suggesting that he was ‘dirty’.

George’s umbrella was innocent. It was clean of any advertising jargon or horror film slime. It felt far more nurturing than the opposing umbrella across the road at The House of Tomato. In fact, everything about George’s stall felt warmer; the assistance button, the lawn, his open shed full of tomato production, alongside he himself- the man- George. Even the slightly overpriced empty cucumber bucket felt warm. Cucumbers one wouldn’t mind paying an arm and a leg for.

home of tomatoes cucumber

Confident bucket pricing, alongside well nurtured grass & welcome rose bush

home of tomatos

Clear instructions for assistance

What makes someone a home in comparison to a house varies. Tomatoes aside. Some housed in houses never seek home, yet some in homes undeniably feel housed. If a home seeks another home does that make them a house with a mask or a fence sitter? There are no instructions for homelife; nor any feng shui rules. A little curiosity is all it takes to become an executive interior designer within your own abode. Who’s to say the feeling of home is the same for George as it is for me?

A stray bicycle caught George’s attention before my own, and, without hesitation he grabbed my arm. Saving me from a ‘would be’ collision. Midway through all the commotion- when my bike awareness decided to spring into action- the bike looked as a passing butterfly. I knew it was a bike, yet somehow bike/human crash was not on radar. It’s not that everything is butterfly drifty, but when it is -it usually is- when it’s not it’s snot. If George, sorry King George- the name he clearly told me he preferred- wanted to look heroic, touch me, or just acted out of sheer care for his customers is unknown.

‘give me one second, I be back, you wait, yes?’
‘yeah’

George with his left eye sty and now noticeable limp, rushed off to the adjoining shed to grab something. Upon his return, he delicately placed a gift for me on the edge of his shop front home. A cucumber.

IMG_9497

The photo is a little blurry, sometimes acts of kindness can have that effect

Don’t you know- I heard it though the tomatovine

that King George’s tomatoes are mighty fine


It’s taken 6 months before I felt to stop at the other side of the road to gather this story. I’m sure I purchased many- a- tomato from many- a- market during that period, mostly in tins, as raw tomato during winter doesn’t fill the stomach brief. Another feeling based scenario. It’s interesting because this ‘Home of Tomatoes’ is on the side I pass almost every day, whereas ‘The House of Tomatoes’ rests on the latter.

When I am out of words, I delight in other pursuits. When I am inundated with colour, I spread it. When monochromatic states convert eyes into blinds; I go within & see what’s on offer. When I feel shy, I tend to retreat. When I feel open, I tend to share. There is no fiction here. For onlookers change in weather is usually judged accordingly. It has always been the most debilitating thing in my life, and in turn crippled my desire to be me- many a times. Just because there is rain, doesn’t mean there is gloom, nor does the emergence of sun determine smiles. Bums mean poo as much as comfortable sitting; they are also gorgeous in song. Judgement is one thing that has always poked my heart the wrong way. I try to understand it a little better each day, or more so just accept it from a compassionate viewpoint, and, in that regard this home is feeling more at home, within this temporary worldhome.

17 responses to The Home of Tomatoes

  1. you know it’s real friendship when a guy with a sty fetches a cucumber for the lady he just touched while presenting you with a press and no push, yes?

    • Jessie Martinovic – Author

      I’m a little in the air with your philosophical approach today Mike, but yes he seemed a lovely man. I can’t wait to have cucumber three ways; especially with tuna, tuna & cucumber are such wonderful companions on the palate.

      I noticed the change in ‘fract/on’ was it always like that? Clever

      • That was philosophical, I thought it would be funny but it wasn’t. :).
        I was bored yesterday and started watching videos. On John Lennon’s “Imagine” video it said “this is not here” above the door he and Yoko walked through. So I changed my description to that and played with the title and came up with the /

      • Jessie Martinovic – Author

        I’m really simple when it comes to jokes, or comprehending anything really, so sorry about that Mike!

        Ah ok, sound lovely- change is as good as change is as good as 🙂

  2. Yes indeed Jessie, even an unripened tomato will ripen in a darkened paper bag – although it does help if there is a banana* in there. 🙂

    * assists ethylene gas production.

    • Jessie Martinovic – Author

      I’m unsure what you are agreeing with here Hariod? Sorry, I must be a little slow today haha

      But yes that scientific banana fact is something I have heard of before 🙂

      • Ah, I was being a little oblique, but I was referencing your closing paragraph Jessie, and in particular – “It has always been the most debilitating thing in my life, and in turn crippled my desire to be me – many a times.” So, I was imagining you in a debilitated state and likening that to the unripened tomato which simply needs a little time and the right environment to open out and ripen. The banana could be anything or anyone who lightens the mood with their ethylene of good naturedness.

        H ❤

      • Jessie Martinovic – Author

        haha perfect. It really does test strength, and for the type of way I choose to live & express myself criticism is kind of inevitable. But hey, it’s a good day or G’day as they say here in Ozzie Land 🙂

      • Few societies really value artists; although perhaps unsurprisingly, the citizens of poorer nations tend to moreso than wealthier societies I have found.

      • Jessie Martinovic – Author

        An interesting topic indeed. Luckily the world has sandwiches in order to rest and digest fillings or lack thereof!

  3. I must comment more…you write very well indeed. So note to self ‘don’t just read but comment’ especially on blogs worth reading and Lord knows there are so many that aren’t!

    • Jessie Martinovic – Author

      Thank you Mike, it means a lot. But I take what I am given and you needn’t feel obliged to comment, a like suits fine. Although I’m not going to lie when I say, I have brewed myself a night coffee and the fingers seem to want to tap dance now, thank you

      • Then tap dance you must! Given that edge of the surreal you have ’tis an art form that must be obeyed…don’t do what I did years ago and spend too much time thinking only to discover later you’ve forgotten what you were thinking about!

      • Jessie Martinovic – Author

        I told my friend I wouldn’t mind having a small, miniature person on my desk to yank me back down to earth. I seriously get lost sometimes, actually a lot of times

        Don’t worry, thinking is quite rare, here

      • Yes, I’d have my fictional muse Svetlana as my small person I think…I could probably get her a job in a fairground in her spare time…then again we could form a team…become accomplished burglars…she could crawl through the locks and pass me out the keys. Bingo, a life of crime!

      • Jessie Martinovic – Author

        I’d have someone called ‘there- there’ so I could pat them on the head and say ‘there-there’. But crime sounds a good dime!

      • Still sold out of ink like yesterday…a bollocks moment I feel. I rather think your ‘there-there’ would go down a bomb on little kids birthday cakes…whereas Svetlana would likely sit at the epicentre of the roulette wheel in a seedy gambling club. Either way there is a fortune to be made…just need the little people. I recall the Victorians saw lots of them!

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