Creamy serendipity

It was the week before Christmas and shops were packed to the gunnels and yet, there I was, shopping cart at the ready and standing in a queue. People were jostling and no one was merry, Grinches and Scrooges galore in the store. I reached the checkout and someone must have bumped me because suddenly, with a gush and a sploosh, my bottle of cream decorated the floor. I tried to warn fellow shoppers of the slippery goop, but there were many who were oblivious to the danger. I called to the shop worker to come help me clean up. I am suffering from gallstones and have for some time, so pain doesn't allow me to bend down and the worker decided to place shopping baskets around the mess. Many people stepped over the baskets and into the puddle, so many people then left trails of creamy footprints across the shop floor. So many. By now my pain meds were not up to scratch and it took all my energy just to stay upright and clutch onto the shopping cart. Using said cart as a walker, I waddled and shuffled off to the car. The cream never got replaced because there was no way I was going back into the fray for a silly frivolous addition to the dessert spread. Do not be concerned because there were plenty of goodies for us to eat. Nothing traditional this year at all. No Pavlova, no steamed pudding or fruit cake. We chose instead to eat cheesecake and melktert (custard pie) and some yummy chocolate puffs filled with cream. Did I ruin Christmas shopping for the people in the shop? No idea. It's that whole butterfly effect or chaos theory. Edward Norton Lorenz theorised that great moments in history are often the result of small pivotal actions causing larger consequences. A butterfly flapping its wings can be the catalyst to a tornado. A missed train means one person is saved from disaster while another is lost. Stories abound of the Twin Towers and people turning back for important documents left at home, and not getting to work until after the devastating attacks. In the grand scheme of things, was I a pivotal moment for someone else's saving or loss of the Christmas spirit? My husband's grandmother was Norah Gudgin ...a gudgin is the term used for the hooky thing you hang a gate on. Without a gudgin or gudgeon, the gate would have to be lifted and lugged into position. That small piece of metal smooths the way for a farmer to open the entrance to a field with the least amount of effort. Can I claim that my spilled cream was a butterfly, or a gudgin? Absolutely. American tribes believe that butterflies signify change and hope, transformation and new life, comfort, hope and positivity. While others believe it is a gateway to the people who have died. A way of communicating with loved ones. If a butterfly flutters around you, it is supposed to mean that loved ones are sending messages from Heaven. Especially yellow butterflies. We don't have yellow butterflies in our area, only Monarchs. Which are as close to yellow as we get here. Looking at butterflies as they fly around the garden always gives me a feeling of peace and relaxation. Well, that is until my furry murder kitty decides that it is the fun toy of the moment. On Christmas eve, the furry murder kitty brought me 3 dead mice and a very vocal and alive bird who attacked me as I was trying to save it. FMK (furry murder kitty) then proceeded to curl up on my lap and purr. She was obviously happy with her effort to give me a small gift for the holiday season. While I was chasing said surviving bird, it scuttled under my bed and, oh my goodness me, FMK had obviously done this before because there were wall to wall feathers of various hues. I turned around to remonstrate with FMK and she rolled over and demanded her tummy be tickled. What other great deed did I do to deserve such devotion? Not much really. I did gift a container of petrol to a stranded motorist ... but that would not have impressed FMK. I think she is pleased with me because my gallstones are forcing me to be couch bound more than usual. I sit there reading, watching or even sewing for most of the day, with brief forays to odd places around the home. And FMK loves me sitting and doing nothing. As a child my mother would take me with her to capture butterflies. Bright, iridescent splashes of colour fluttering through the African air. Did you know that butterflies need a certain temperature to fly? Their muscles do not contract at lower temperatures. In the mountains, butterflies are often black or dark blues and purples. This allows the wings to absorb the heat and stimulate their muscles for flight. If you see a butterfly sitting on a warm rock, it might just be refueling its energy stores. They are ectothermic (cold blooded) they open their wings right up so that they can suck up as much warmth as they can. But of course, there are the rebel butterflies who use the undersides of their wings to warm up. Just to prove us wrong in thinking that all butterflies are created equal. They close their wings and then lean over slightly, so that the wing can face the sun. And if that isn't enough, then they shiver. Yup, movement causes heat as any good scientist will attest to. Butterflies shiver to create the heat their bodies need. Suddenly I am craving a trip to Butterfly creek. I am making a journey in that direction later this month and might have to stop off for a bit of butterfly magic. My father taught us to sail on a small dingy in Richards Bay harbour. Great fun and good times. Now that I think of it, there were gudgeons on the boat, which were affixed to the transom. Okay, I am just joking, I am not au fait with sailing terms. But yes, gudgeons are used on boats. The first time this particular hinge was called a gudgeon was in the 15th century and it was called a goujon by the French. I wonder what the farmers and sailors called it before that? Or did they just say "That hingey thingie that connects to the doo dah." Anyhow, the French decided to give it a name and the word developed from French to English and into my own personal history. The origin of words is fascinating. Authors since time immemorial have added their own particular twist to languages. Shakespeare is credited with 15 words that we used in our vocabulary. Bandit ... Critic ... Dauntless ... Dwindle ...Elbow (used as a verb) ...Green-eyed (as in jealousy) ...Lackluster ... Lonely. etc. How on earth did we manage without these words? Unaware ... Uncomfortable ... Undress ... Unearthly and Unreal. Good old Shakespeare the Bard. And of course, Roald Dahl's words are fascinating but totally weird. Lewis Carol gave us chortle. Pandemonium from John Milton and Serendipity by Horace Walpole and Utopia by Thomas More. In fact Shakespeare is supposed to have added 229 new words to the English dictionary and Thomas More a whopping 630 new words. Charles Dickens was no slouch and added his snobbishness to our lexicon. Aah, joy to my world, the words are flowing. The new year is upon us once more and the time of reflection looms large. Did I achieve my goals for 2022? Did I even try? A significant number of friends have died during the year. Some suddenly and others totally expected. At the beginning of the year, was there some inkling that this would be their finale? If they had known, would they have done something different? Sent a message to a relative who had become estranged or taken that cruise they had dreamed of? If I had known that they were not long for this world, would I have made the effort to phone or chat? I can't change last year and can only hope to do better this coming year. If you get a random email or call from me, just know it's because I saw a butterfly in the garden and decided that today I would be a positive pivotal point.

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