Sunday, September 25, 2022

Chapters 1: African Moon & At the End


Tomorrow she will go on with her life …

It’s a hot day in Cape Town but a woman holds the vigil at a window overlooking the beach. She has repeatedly dreamed of a sailing boat, a lost soul perhaps, entering upon silver streaks on the water. Is this merely dreaming or, as she believes, a vision?

She will watch, she will give it this one day and night, and then go on with her life, and waiting with her is Barney, her beloved dog, and Fantasy, her snooty cat. Man, a girl and her fur babies get hungry while waiting for something to happen, and yet her instincts keep her there … watching … waiting …

Lattice 3 from Latticework: 14 Lattices from Space and Time


 

SHE LEANS ON her elbow, chin in hand, and stares out over the bay. The sun is bright on the water and the sun worshippers are out in full force on the narrow strip of beach, their colourful umbrellas and sunshades drawing the eye.

Bronzed bodies languish amid reddening skins. She, however, is uninterested in people silly enough to burn to crisps in such heat; she watches the water intently, staring through the hot silver stripes upon the waves.

Twice now she has dreamed of the yacht and both times the images were so real she can no longer ignore it. She sees sails dancing upon a beam and with it there is a feeling of sadness. Such sadness that she is in tears when she awakes.

She will look and watch until she either dies of eyestrain or something happens to prove her night visits are more than dreams. Or, she thinks in amusement, she will die of starvation, just sitting here.

The screams of frolicking kids rise up to reach out to her through closed windows, but she barely hears them. The drone of a jumbo jet overheard faintly rattles the glass and is then gone. The subdued sounds of slow traffic vying for right of way along the crowded street do not even register, and neither does the periodically jarring siren of an angry driver leaning on the hooter. Her mind is engaged in the soothing notes of Mozart at his absolute best.

Barney snuffles at her feet, gives a loud moan and thumps his tail resoundingly upon the wooden floor, and then sees that his mistress is not about to budge yet. He releases an exaggerated yawn and sinks to the floor with a long-suffering sigh. The great big fur ball is asleep in seconds. Lucky sod.

She leans down to scratch him behind his ears and then props her chin up once more, all without taking her eyes from the water. At least Barney adores Mozart too.

Alex did not. Alex thought loud rap was music, the louder the better, and scoffed at her love of classical music. She kicked him out eventually, more because of his musical tastes and his love of inflicting it on others, than for any other reason.

He was a distraction for a while, but not enough to warrant putting up with that noise. The peace after his railing mode of departure was worth billions. And Barney hated Alex; what more proof did a girl need? Barney, for heaven’s sake, puts up with Fantasy, her I’ll-take-you-on-hell-on-four-paws Himalayan cat. That is saying something for Barney’s nerves.

Mozart delves into his famous clarinet concerto and she feels her body relax. Out of Africa indeed. That is African sun out there, although in cosmopolitan surroundings.

Cape Town on a hot day. Sun worshippers and cell phones, bling and gourmet treats. It could be the French Riviera, for pity’s sake. Karen Blixen would turn in her grave, for certain. Karen Blixen probably never dreamed of a modern sailing yacht.

AFRICAN MOON



We should all do the best we can with what is given us,

so that one day we too can look back and say,

‘I lived a good life’.

 

At the End is an insight taken from FingerNale Tales and tells the story of a woman looking back over the years of her life.


I NEVER THOUGHT I would get old. It comes as a surprise to sit here at age ninety. Really it does. This, for me, is merely a number, for I do not feel nine decades old and, despite those sets of ten and the various injuries sustained over their progression, my body tells me it is a lie.

Is my mind as sharp as I believe? You be the judge of that. Base it on these ruminations, perhaps.

Let us see. I remember being lowered headfirst over the font in church and having water sprinkled upon my head. My mother in later years told me I was three weeks old.

The time I skinned both my knees after slipping on wet paving - I was eighteen months, and put up quite a racket. Another tumble, this time from my tricycle - two and a half years old. First day at school. High school. First boyfriend. Tenth boyfriend - he was the one I married, at age twenty-two, bless his now departed soul.

I recall every birth also, four of them, two boys and two girls, although I doubt a mother ever forgets, no matter how old she is, no matter how old her children are either. Unless you are unable to remember.

This is not a maudlin trip down memory lane, though, and I am not about to discuss those diseases that befall some of the aged (and sometimes much earlier than old age). My point is, I do remember all of it, and I believe my mind is as sharp now as it was when I juggled job and studies.

Do you agree?

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