Odd bods and solving murders in Zululand

Am I an undiagnosed Autistic? I have all the signs ... messy house, I prefer my own company, don't like social interaction.... actually avoid it if I can. I disappear into books or painting or writing for days at a time. Now I can hear you all saying that I am not autistic because most people associate autism with hating to be touched ... wanting my own way during childhood games ... not making friends easily ... and not making eye contact as well as hating loud noises etc. Well yes, I am all those things. And wow, I did have a really bad temper. I could throw a tantrum as good as anyone! Not that it was something to be proud of ... but rather it was a way of saying "No one is listening to me." I still have those nightmares when I am beating on someone's chest yelling "Let me be heard." Usually when I feel ignored. I have become aware lately about the way autism has affected some people that I love and can now see so many of those signs in myself. I was lucky as a child that I was surrounded by friends that accepted me for myself. If I didn't want to play their games, it was fine. If I was being all bossy ... well that was fine too. No one put labels on us. None of us were called weird or strange, although looking back, there were definitely some odd bods in our group. Society has changed. No, so many eccentrics around. No, Mrs. Antonowitz with her umbrella smacking people over the head ... today it would be called assault and she would be locked up. It is quite sad that these real characters would not be allowed in today's world. Okay, some of them were really really odd. There was the lady who would sexually assault anyone who was crazy enough to enter her home to fix her forever broken fridge. Or the couple who would set married men up for an encounter with "poor" Mrs. X. And when the man had his pants around his ankles, her husband would jump out from behind the curtains (camera in hand, but if there was film inside was debatable) and threaten to tell the wife (of the victim) unless a tidy sum was produced. I suppose it was their version of prostitution. How do I know this all went on behind the facade of suburbia, well we lived next door to Mrs. X and down the road from the broken fridge lady. We would sit around our dinner table and listen to the news like any normal family ... followed by Mark Saxon and bed by 7.30 pm come rain or shine. Dad or Mom would mention in passing that we should not be alarmed if the X children came over for a visit because their parents were busy generating extra finances in their unique way. No judgment. I suppose there were other strange people in town that we did not know, who did even stranger things. I know our family were considered odd in our own way. But odd can be good.

This week our childhood friend, Sheryl, died. No, she wasn't odd. Goodness me, she was one of the most normal people you could meet. Kind too. I was a few years younger than her and remember her as this shining light of a person. Not that her life was perfect. She married young and her husband was killed in a bar brawl very soon afterwards. That could not have been much fun to still be in your twenties and be a widow. I suppose we all have our challenges. When Barry was diagnosed with cancer of his eye and had it removed, a few friends commiserated with me and said how difficult it was to live with a man with one eye. I didn't think it was much of a trial. One eye or two, he was still the same man. Okay, he now can't watch 3D movies and hitting a nail is more difficult, but on the whole, he is the same now as when he could see out of both sides of his face. Our eldest daughter died when she was a baby ... not pleasant, but it makes you aware of the blessings you do have in life. Okay, I could write a list of all the things that cause us to re-evaluate our lives, but on the whole, what would I do without? A one-eyed man or no man? Never having been a mother to a little baby girl ... or never having a child at all. No. I am happy with my life. Sorry, I know, each January I sing the same song. Enough boring me stuff ... I will now go on to say much more entertaining stuff.

I have been researching a new book or books actually. One is a murder story. Who should be the main character? And I immediately thought of my great aunt Helen Bell. She reminded me of Agatha Christie's Miss Marple. What fun. I could have her dashing all over the countryside solving strange murders in exotic places. Realistically Auntie Helen seldom left Empangeni and to my knowledge never solved any mysteries, but she deserved a life of excitement and fun. She spent her life looking after her ailing mother and helping her siblings in their businesses. If you ever wanted to find her, she could be found at Maythams cash store or Bells ... or at home. One day I asked her why she didn't have a husband of her own and children to fill her life. She looked me right in the eye and said something like "War is a bugger." I was mildly shocked at the language ... although there were times that the adults in my life did 'educate' us children with expletives that would blister the air. But it was not common especially from Auntie Helen. I stood there with my mouth open and wanted to know more, but she never did tell me. Maybe her lover went away to war and never came back ... or maybe ... well no, that is all I have. One day she wore her bras cutting right across her chest and I asked her why she had not dressed properly. Again the steely look and a reply that shook me. "I don't care how I look because no one else cares." Oh Auntie Helen, you deserve to be the hero of my books. You will solve crimes, brave scary situations and be the victor of them all. I promise you. I will give you a vicarious life that will make people look at you and really see who you are. Never will you feel that a badly situated bra is inconsequential. You will have young men falling at your feet in adoration. You will have to swat them off with a broom. And your daytime job? Well, I haven't got that far yet. Great Granma ran a finishing school for young ladies in Empangeni (not exactly the hub of culture, but with an endless supply of farmers daughters wanting to be ladies of class.) Maybe Auntie Helen was the roving ambassador for the school? Who knows. Auntie Helen the hero of my life.

So what am I going to do in 2018? Much the same as 2017. Have I made any life-changing plans? No. Do I care? No. As we remove the baubles from the Christmas tree, the glitter from the carpet and the fat-inducing food from the cupboards and the jigsaw puzzles put away for another year, we will take a big breath and wait to see what life has in store for us. Knowing that we can survive the worst if we need to ... after all we have done it all before. Come on 2018, we are ready for you. Or if not really ready, at least well-fed enough to survive for a few weeks without food.