Wednesday, 2 June 2010

Lost Mojo

Ever since that never to be forgotten phone call I've kinda been lost. I remember immediately after walking around aimlessly saying 'I don't know what to do' over and over again; making and receiving phone calls from various family members and friends; phoning travel agents and booking flights and bus tickets; going to work to try and block it out; packing without a plan; doing grocery shopping without a list for those staying behind; sleeping but waking tired.

Since then I've been to Rusty's hometown in White River, South Africa. With only a few days to go before the World Cup begins building work and road repairs are being attended to at a frantic pace. Shops are selling branded t-shirts and vuvuzela's at daylight robbery prices. In the midst of this madness my sister-in-law and cousins had arranged his memorial service and in the run up to this much dreaded gathering I was priviledged to meet many of his friends, and there were many! They told tales that made us laugh and cry, opened their hearts, and created many impromptu get togethers.

(My sister and I with his boots and camouflaged helmet, some poppies in a vase and a tin helmet with candle that was heartbreakingly put out at the end of the service.)

At the service there were (at a conservative calculation made by the stewards) not less than 200 people. As a member of the Moth (Memorable Order of Tin Hat), a military veterans organisation, the Moth(s) White River honoured him by hosting his memorial service in their hall, which it turned out was too small and many stood outside listening and paying their respects. His friends flew in from Belgium, India, UK, Afghanistan, Kazakstan, Georgia and all over South Africa. Those that lived closer drove up to 12 hours to get there. It was very humbling to see just what a big impression he had made on so many people's lives.

On the daytime flight going there I was once again awe struck at the beauty of a desert. The face of the Sahara changes every few minutes, from being able to see dried up river beds leading to dried up dams and the dust storms. Then on the journey back home (an 11hr night flight) we flew up the west coast of Italy,

across the Swiss Alps,

via Rotterdam into Amsterdam where I had to wait 3 hours for a connecting flight home.

Now, I'm back home but my rhythm is gone. The ironing pile is getting bigger, my back is playing up, I'm having an arthritus flare up, last night I burnt the peas ..... how do you burn peas??? Greeting cards lie unanswered, ready to sew patchwork is just lying there.

Our four legged children are wonderful - their love just remains unconditional and the garden continues to grow while the sun shines. There are 799 blog posts to get through (well there was when I started this morning). Reading about everyone elses ups and downs and successes is helping in improve this sombre mood and BGT is on telly ... me thinks it's time to be entertained while drinking a big cup of tea Enman has just made me.

1 comment:

  1. Oh, love. You be gentle with yourself, y'hear? Take it easy and let that darling man look after you. xox


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