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.
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?
