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I pride myself on my great memory of my childhood. But it all came about because of a trauma at age four. I did not react well to it and started sleep walking and talking, hiding in cupboards and my behaviour changed quite dramatically. At that age I didn't have the vocabulary to tell others what had happened or how I felt. As the year went by and I realised that I would have to find a way of coping on my own, I started to 'harvest' memories and gather words so that I would never be in that position again. It was at age five that I ran away from school ... yes, a rebel without a cause if ever there was one. But I didn't want to be 'controlled' by others anymore. My year of 4 became the year that I forgot. The memories of that year vanished as a way of protecting me ... except that I still remembered the trauma in flashes of memory and always will. And life began at five. You know people say that life begins at forty. Well they are lying. I think that by age forty we have figured out how to handle life and so thereby our lives do begin there. But I was an early starter. Can you imagine my horror when my sister asked me last week if I remembered the Zulu rhyme that we sang as we tickled for ant lions ... and I couldn't remember. I Googled, I went down rabbit holes on Google until all my research ability had been mined and sieved and found wanting. No memory of 'Kommetje kommetje manje ..' remained. (Sorry about the Zulu spelling) I pondered if that Year of Four was at fault ... had the memory of that song been filed under that time span? I found out that ant lion is called Intuthwane ibhubesi in the Zulu language ... and yes, a tiny light did shine for a moment in my brain at the word Intuthwane ... but then it flickered and faded. Now I was lying awake at night worrying about this conundrum ... the Americans call this small insect a Doodle bug but even their songs had no 'aha' moment for me. If I pushed my brain to its limit it would default to the Zulu version of 'One two three Mummy caught a flea.' Noooo I cried. Get out of my head. My family are not big with leaving large sums of money or jewels to inherit ... but they are great on rhymes passed from one generation to another. Aaah maybe I should ask my 92 year old auntie Kay. But how to get hold of her is another matter completely. Cousins that are computer savvy seemed the answer. And yes, I did get an offer of help to contact my aunt. Yay. Maybe the puzzle will be solved. Or maybe even her memory will have failed her? Let's hope not. I wait with baited breath for her response. Now all I can think of is the fancy English version of Twinkle Twinkle little star running around and around in my head. This inheritance of rhymes will be the death of me.I had a dream this week about my recently deceased husband. He has appeared to others in dreams over the past few months, but never to me. Which caused me to complain bitterly ... well inside my brain I complained. I had been having some issues with a person who shall remain nameless ... and thought 'this is the time for Barry to manifest himself in solidarity with me in my time of need.' Hah. No such luck until this week. Did I received wisdom and long in-depth conversations? No. I was walking through a Heavenly mansion with hoards of tiny critters that had once been my earthly pets surrounding me. Silk worms and white mice and even a snake or two came to greet me. Where was Barry I asked. 'Oh he is renovating your mansion.' And yes, he was up on a ladder painting a wall. He didn't even say hello. When I woke up I sat there for a moment considering what this could all mean. Was I such a difficult wife that even a Heavenly mansion was not up to my standards? Looking around my simple home, I can't see the sense in that line of thought. Anyhow, I then wondered if when we get our Heavenly mansions, will Barry have to share his with me ... or me with him? Will he enjoy spending eternity with cats and mice and snakes and silkworms? So I mentioned this whole concept to a friend and said my belief is that when we get married for eternity that we become one ... so our psyche's will be joined and Barry will enjoy animals as much as I do. She looked at me, shocked. And said, 'I have never heard that before.' What? That I might have to share my mansion with my husband? No, apparently what she was shocked at was that we might become one ... a unit ... a joint venture ... a dual personality maybe? Oh shucks that was the least of my concerns. Here I was concerned about Barry and his pet deprived childhood having to take on my menagerie and she was worried about being one. Well, each person has their own ideas of life in the hereafter and I cannot think of anything more ideal that being at one with Barry. He definitely completes me. I become a better person around him ... sadly I don't know how he feels about the whole issue because he was too busy renovating a Heavenly mansion to my exacting standards.

I have been taking Apple Cider Vinegar and Flax seed oil drinks most of my adult life. A shot of one part each keeps me on my toes. I have no idea what it does for my insides but apparently health pundits swear by the drink. I used to have it with honey but since I have had diabetes, I have simplified, simplified, simplified and got used to the spine tingling effects of ACV and Flax seed oil au naturale. Sadly this health swirl is not good for all. I had my shot glass on top of the dishwasher ready for inclusion in the next wash ... but walked out without putting it inside. So when I came home from shopping, I had a casualty. Yes, a cockroach had committed hari-kari in my glass. There was barely enough left over dregs to drown a gnat but somehow that cockroach had managed the impossible and died tragically. What does that say for the benefits to me? Okay, it means I need to get rid of the cockroaches in my kitchen ... agreed. But if an indestructible cockroach could die while partaking of it, maybe I should stop, desist and immediately throw out my so called health stuff. I love a cube of crystallised ginger with my movie watching. One night as I passed the treat to Barry, he said, 'So what health benefits does this have?' Heck, how should I know? Does it always have to be healthy? Had I inadvertently given him the impression that I was snacking on them for my health? Should I lie? Or just laugh it off? Which is what I did. I said, 'Nah, it just tastes nice mate.' We had a good giggle and both helped ourselves to another one or two. I have been thinking of trading the crystallised version for the 70 % chocolate coated ones in deference to my diabetes ... maybe next year when I become rich and famous? Our town has a knock off bell at 5 pm ... and it has just rung. So I will bid you farewell and happy memories.