Remember, remember the whole of November

Yesterday was 40 years since my oldest daughter died. Always a tough time for me. I had no one to turn to for comfort. Barry was grieving in his own way by making stuff with wood, nails, and string. He was an active relaxer and needed to be doing 'stuff' to cope with life and tragedy, no sitting listening to a woman crying. My Mom sent her cleaning lady round to clean my house ... and my Dad went jogging. Me, well I sat in a corner holding my daughter's little dress in my hands and trying not to sob in front of my two young sons, who were totally confused about the situation. That night we took them outside and showed them the stars in the sky, saying that one of those bright blobs of light represented the life of their little sister. It might have helped if some idiot hadn't told them that their sister was in the freezer for the night. A few months later my one son started having nightmares that if he opened our kitchen fridge, he would see his little sibling laid out between the butter and the cheese. You always get stupid people around death. One relative told me I must have done something evil for my sins to be visited on my child in such a horrible way. Another one said Colette had not had a proper baptism and therefore was damned for eternity to wander the halls of hell. And another one blamed us for naming her Colette because of it being associated with the death of an actress. Really?

We flew to Cape Town for Christmas that year and as we walked into my in-laws home, MIL started weeping hysterically and telling me that she was distraught and it was my duty to comfort her. Ignoring her, I went to the kitchen and prepared my two sons a snack and then more histrionics as MIL said I was trying to starve her in her own home because I had not prepared her a plate of food. Oh my goodness me, bad bad memories of that time. How did we survive? No idea. Day by day, moment by moment. Lots of tears on my part and lots of macrame hangings on Barry's. I could have done with a friend or two to cry on their shoulders, but I have never been good at making friends and well, boo hoo and all that. Life sucks at times and we have to survive somehow the best we can. Usually, I feel Colette's spirit around me at this time of year, but not this time. Maybe she is saying that 40 years is long enough and I should take a concrete pill and toughen up? 

We are in the process of buying a house. I put down the deposit, Chad is paying a chunk of the mortgage and Nix is paying the rest. A three-way split of ownership. But first I had to sell my old house and move out. Which I did with lots of sleepless nights and guilt, of course. But the deed was done and the new owner has moved in. That was not the end of the saga. I had left him a small herb garden in a pot to enjoy. But irate phone calls later he was demanding I come immediately and remove my 'junk'. Junk? Herbs are not junk. When I arrived to remove the offending items, the herbs had been thrown unceremoniously on the ground and the container was lying on its side. He wanted things removed that I had forgotten were there ... like the cupboards in the garage that Barry had used as a workbench. But again, not to his liking. But we did it. My husband's cousin and I lugged and chopped and moved stuff until my eyes were popping out of my head with fatigue and my muscles ... yes, I do have some, were aching. No idea how the cousin is feeling. He has only recently had back surgery and really, really shouldn't have been doing all that lifting and moving for me. But well, when needs must and there is no one else around, you bite the bullet and get it done. At the moment, I am residing with Nix at her home until the title deeds come through for the new property. Yay for family whose generosity allows me to crash for weeks at a time. As to the man who has bought my house? I told him the guavas are delicious and the mulberry tree is full of fruit and he looked at me like I was mad and said, 'Don't know those fruit and I will not be trying them.' Well then, may the bird's feast on your fruit trees and may you stay sour and grouchy all the days of your life. Ooops sorry, I should be more forgiving, but those poor herbs are still calling to me from their dusty grave.

This coming week is my wedding anniversary and last week was my birthday. Definitely a month full of celebrations and memories. Today I taught a mini-class at the high school. How to make a pinch pot out of clay. They giggled, they didn't listen much. Thank goodness for one young man who was a star and produced a decent mug at the end of it all on his first go. Most of them looked a little bit like potatoes. But you smile and do your best to help where you can. I go back on Tuesday for clay pinch pots number two version. I took samples along for them to look at and touch. I downloaded images of interesting shapes etc... and no, nothing sunk in. How do educators do it every day? I suppose the odd student who enjoys your class is the payment you receive for your hard work? 

Did you hear that New Zealand has been invaded by peacocks? Well, I presume there were a few peahens too. The news interviewed this man who spends his life traveling around shooting the birds. He makes their meat into sausages, polony, etc and feeds his own family with the meat. He sells the feathers to weavers who use them to enhance the cloaks they make for ceremonial dress. He says he shoots in excess of 600 a season. Now, who would have thought we would have a peacock problem in New Zealand? I remember living on a farm in Zululand and our Pyrenean mountain dog taking off to harass the peacocks on Mrs. McIllrath's farm down the road. She would phone and complain that he never caught them, but took great pleasure in chasing them round and round her garden while she chased after them all with the rake. Where is a camera when you need it? That might have made it onto Funniest home videos and I could have earned a nice little bonus. They make the most awful noise and pretty as they may be; they are a pest. Peacocks are thought to be good luck by the Persians and are often engraved on royal thrones, etc. They eat as much as 1/4 of a sheep. Farmers are not fans of the fowl because a family of peacocks can eat their way through a good portion of their paddocks without any relevant benefit to the bank's balance. I saw a white one a while ago and they are gorgeous ... and did you know that a peacock can change into a peahen? Really. Anyhow, enough about silly birds and let this silly bird take herself off to have lunch.