Memorable moments

What do the medical people put into these antiviral tablets? Bitter aloe? with a touch of really bitter aloe? I cannot get the taste out of my mouth. Yuk. The instructions are to take all three tablets at once. Well of course they will tell you to do that, because if you took them one at a time you might discover which pill is the bitter pill to swallow. And I have a few more days to go on this medication. Can't wait to get my taste buds back! The bitterness lasts all day and all night no matter how much tasty food I put into my mouth and we all know that with Covid, the greed for food is non-existent. Oh well, if it keeps me from rocking off this mortal coil too soon, then so be it. My doctor, Marina, has been phoning twice a day to check on me. My son pops his head around my bedroom door to see if I am alive a few times a day and as I have had all my jabs and stuff, I have high hopes of a full recovery. My daughters drop off goodies for us and I have a lovely warm home to incubate in. But, true to form, I have spent the midnight hours planning my funeral. Even with all my preventative measures and kind people around me, I struggle for breath as the cold of the night descends. I have an oximeter stuck to my finger and a watch that records things like blood pressure etc on my wrist and, as I watch the fluctuations on the screen, I think, "Should we have finger food at the wake? Or go with the 'bring a plate' vibe?" I know of 5 deaths in my immediate community in the past week and my grandmother said things always go in threes. So, midnight madness me thinks, am I number six? But, no, seriously, Covid is awful. I am not making fun of all the deaths and grief caused by its destructive force, but if I don't laugh I will cry. And no one likes to see me do the ugly cry. Trust me. My body aches, my muscles too, taste buds are tripping the bitter fantastic and I am watching Netflix and Disney Plus by the bucketload. Yesterday I watched 'The Personal History of David Copperfield' and a doco on Lady Gaga. Yes, I have an eclectic taste in movies. Heavy on the documentaries and light, very light on the shoot em up, scare em rigid and chase them up a tree genre. (In Afrikaans that is known as Skiet, Skop en Donder.) James Bond is in the 'heck no' pile, but strangely Jason Statham movies make my list. Go figure? I watched 'Chickenhare and the Hamster of Darkness' and 'Doctor Strange' and enjoyed both. Where to next? I think a nap is in order. I only woke up at 10 am, so, should I put off my nap until closer to bedtime, or be radical and nap right now?

When I think of friends and family from my past, I remember the good times. The running on sand-dunes, the water fights and the Koeee game of catch. Mrs. Payne's home made ice-cream and Auntie Ivy's music playing. Auntie Mary Hillestad's garden of delightfully exotic plants, her Christmas cake and even Alec Spratt's handing us each a single banana when we visited them. I remember the smell of the comics from Bozas Tearoom and hot bread from the bakery. Searching for jumping beans on the riverbank near town and screaming with delight as the beans jumped and jiggled. The only take-away restaurant I attended with my parents was on Durban beach front with its meat pie and gravy. The stop in Stanger for spicy samosas on our way home from a day in Durban and the miles of sugar cane. Cutting a piece of sugary cane to chew on while we walked to visit friends. We chewed the pulp until there was no juice left, spat it out and then ate another mouthful. No candy, or lollies or sweets for us, just thousands of acres of sugar cane. Free for the taking. The trick was always to avoid the snakes and the cane rats and sometimes the skunks and the anteaters and often the Nduna (caretaker) of the field. Wielding his machete (ucelemba, the Zulu word) he would warn us from taking too much at a time. A friendly reminder to be respectful of other people's property. The monkeys wrecked more damage than us kids did. How can I not love my fellow travellers through my memories? I sometimes embarrass people by telling them that I love them now as much as I loved them then. And that I will continue loving them. I was happily married with five children when I met an old flame many years ago. And I wanted to hug him for the emotions he engendered. The flashes of sailing on a yacht, the laughing over a meal, the wind in my hair and so much more. But I didn't hug him because he would have thought I was weird. Our cells, our body, our DNA is twisted around strands of memories. Instead I asked him how his life was going and if he was well. We nodded politely and went on our way. There are people whose names I have long forgotten, but still remember the time I spilled soda on their new car, or being paid for a job with a magnum of champagne???? Really, was that exchangeable for actual cash? The Hippy era clothes I loved to wear. The time spent walking along the contour path behind Table Mountain in Cape Town with my husband. I almost want to go back in time and ask the person who named these two landmarks in Africa to give them more exotic names because they deserve something better than being called a Town or a Table. Walking through Bo-Kaap and loving the brightly coloured houses of ancient Malay slaves. When we die, that is all that will be left. The memory of us in the minds of others. Some will deserve a Wikipedia page and others maybe not. Our presence will linger in forgotten Facebook pages and on the Cloud somewhere ethereal. 60 million people die every year. And I don't plan to be part of that statistic for 2022. Heck no, I have memories to foster in grandchildren and nephews. I have words to write and places to go. But, perhaps, I will wait until I have overcome this virus before I venture out?

At night the sounds of the world go still and I can hear the birds in the gully next to our house. The other night we heard a bird call we hadn't heard before and I thought longingly of my father's telescope. My father only had one eye, so binoculars were superfluous. I would put that beautifully crafted telescope to my eye and peer into the leaf mold only to realise it was night time and I would need night goggles to see the bird. I thought, "Yeah, I will buy me some of those online." Totally forgetting that my credit card has vanished, again, and I will need to clean the whole house to find it, again. I went online and discovered just what I needed. But do I really need it? Or is it just a want? And do I go with the cheap version or the app for my phone that promises to do the same thing? Not sure how that would work on the long vision requirement? Do nocturnal pig hunters buy them from the local hunting and fishing shop, and therefore should I venture into the very manly shop and ask for advice? Will they think I am some crazy white lady that can be taken advantage of? And, realistically, is knowing what bird is making that sound worth all this hassle? Probably not. It could be a kiwi? We all know it is a flightless bird and therefore cannot go North for the winter. Aah now wouldn't that be nice? I dislike travelling, so that is not going to happen. I have more chance of winning Lotto than flying to some exotic location. Not that I have any chance of winning Lotto because I have never bought a ticket. Did I ever tell you the one and only time I won a prize at a fete? I must have been nine or ten and I bought a ticket at the table for a crocheted shawl. Never expecting to win it, but I did. I gave it to my gran. It was actually quite beautiful and I thought my gran deserved it more than I did. She had won a walking talking doll a few years prior and gifted that to my sister Jane and myself. The doll was the same size as myself and I remember actually wearing the doll's dress.