Security Alert

We returned this week from some time in Australia. Aaah I hear you say, 'Why didn't you invite us?' Sorry folks. Maybe next time. So there we were at the airport and I never look like my passport photo. In fact, when they took the original photo they suggested I do a bug-eyed look because my eyes are so pale that they were not showing up on the new modern e-passport. I expect the usual thing at the airport security desk of the person double checking my face against the photo with a slight frown on their face. The automatic thing where you stand and look into a screen just doesn't work with me. But this time they thought I looked suspicious and put me through the x-ray machine. Lift your arms up high ... mmmm ... no, can't do that. One arm lifts up easily, but the other one has a frozen shoulder thing going on and is too painful to lift higher than my ear. Apparently, that too was suspicious, so a frisk was done. Thank goodness it was not the type of frisk with the rubber glove in a closed room. The security officer asked why I had wasted their time by not lifting my arm up high. Really? I said that I had a frozen shoulder .. seriously could not remember the medical technical term for what I have ... and she looked at me like I was telling this big porky pie of a lie and said 'Frozen shoulder? Never heard of that excuse before.' Do I really look like a drug smuggler? She was middle-aged and all I could think was that I hoped she might get a frozen shoulder some time in her life and that she too may be stopped at security and given the third degree by an obnoxious person as her payment for being so mean to me. Oh dear, I am supposed to be kind and forgiving if I am a Christian. So there you go, failed again! Repentance thy name is Pat.

A few years back Barry got really ill one Winter. Shivering and shaking, sniffling and aching all over. We had no money for electric heaters and our wood had been consumed. Two men came to visit. One richer than the other. Mr X, the richer man, was kind and concerned. He admonished Barry for not having a roaring fire to combat the chills. The poorer man .. Mr Y, didn't say a word, but half an hour after they had left he returned with a trailer load of wood from his very own wood-box. He epitomised generosity. Not that Mr X was bad, he just really didn't notice anything about our circumstances. He had never been where we were and so he did not recognise the signals. This reminded me of a dinner we were invited to in South Africa. Our friends raved about the good value for money you got at this particular hotel on the Natal coast. We joined them and took one look at the menu only to realise that what they thought was good value was bankruptcy for us. A single plate of food was what we would pay for a whole week's groceries. But being young and stupid we didn't say a word to our friends. We ordered a small plate of food between the two of us and when they proceeded to order plate after plate of delicious looking food, we sat with grumbling stomachs. They kept on saying 'You should try this .... it's so tasty/delicious/scrumptious etc.' We smiled and said 'Oh no, we are not really hungry. Thank you.' Barry often said that it was a wonder anyone could talk because his stomach rumbling was so loudly. But our friends did not have a clue.They were not bad, but they too had no idea of what it is like to be poor. Two hours later we drove home to fill up on peanut butter sandwiches and to survey the devastation the small meal had done to our budget.

So now when I see someone in need, I am quick to put my hand in my pocket and see how I can help. I was standing in the supermarket a short while ago when I saw an opportunity to offer this assistance. The woman in front of me counted her pennies out onto the counter and then said to the checkout lady that she would need to replace the chicken she had planned on buying. I thought of the poor hungry children in her home eager for a nice hot meal of chicken and opened my wallet. With my hand filled with notes and my heart filled with compassion, I took a step forward when the lady said 'I can either buy the chicken for dinner or some smokes for myself. I will have the cigarettes thanks.' Wow, my hand stopped moving and my wallet was shut in record time. Think speed of light! Was I wrong? I mean the children in that home would still be hungry ... a child might go to bed with a grumbling stomach whether the mother smoked or not. Who was I to judge? This decision worried me for ages. Repentance again.

Why am I talking about Repentance today? Well, it was Easter and there was chocolate. Need I say more? I ate too much of the treats and now when I get on the scale I know I need to repent. Seriously repent. We stopped at a Chocolate factory near Melbourne, Australia.The aroma ... aaah. The delicately shaped tasty chocolates. Sprinkled with gold dust. Aaaah no. Get thee behind me Satan. I was really good. I avoided the desserts in the cabinets, I only had a small taste of the buttons and I was feeling so very self-righteous at my good self-control... but I am sad to say it was a little bit of good after a lot of bad. And now all I dream about is chocolate desserts floating on clouds calling out 'Just a little bit would not have hurt. We love you and taste so good.' Someone once told me that if you eat nuts that your cravings for chocolate will abate ... and no, I don't usually crave chocolate ... but Easter is my nemesis.

I remember our parents buying us a dark black chocolate egg decorated with royal icing flowers and how it took me a day to eat it.... and my sister Jane would hoard hers for weeks. I would look across the bedroom at that uneaten egg and lust. Yes, lust for just a small corner that I was sure Jane would never notice. Sadly this love has been passed on to my youngest granddaughter. Her bag of easter eggs died a quick and horrendous death as she chomped through the bunny's ears and through the body in double quick time. She was already unwrapping the bunny as she still frantically searched for more and more booty. Her mother took away the bulk of the eggs and placed the four bags (one for each child) in the fridge. Only to have the older children complain that their hoard had been raided by little fingers. Evanna has discovered how to open the door and reach up to ferret out those eggs she imagines her siblings will not miss. But they do. Oh yes, they always notice the stolen eggs.

Well, folks here is wishing you a fabulous Spring or Autumn. May the weather be kind, may you be earnestly engaged in being kind and generous, but beware of dipping into your wallet and guard your Easter eggs well in case I do a bit of sleepwalking and raid your own personal hoard.