A melding pot

meld 1 (mld) v. meld·ed, meld·ing, melds v.tr. To declare or display (a card or combination of cards in a hand) for inclusion in one's score in various card games, such as pinochle. v.intr. To present a meld. n. A combination of cards to be declared for a score. [Probably German melden, to announce, from Middle High German, from Old High German meldn.]

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meld 2 (mld) v. meld·ed, meld·ing, melds v.tr. To cause to merge: "a professional position that seemed to meld all his training" (Art Jahnke). v.intr. To become merged. n. A blend or merger: "a meld of diverse ethnic stocks" (Kenneth L. Woodward).

http://www.thefreedictionary.com/meld

In the space of two weeks, our family has grown from a concoction of the Longs (which was confusing enough as a single entity) and then add in the Money's.... to now the Smith's... and as of yesterday the 2nd August 2012... the Balu's...


If we are to observe the great theorists opinions on the success of species, we have to acknowledge diversity. And honestly baby, if diversity is high on your priorities, we have it taken care of.


We have the great thinkers, the steady movers, the cautious (yet fun) individuals who ruminate on decisions and their plethora of outcomes, slowly dissecting and transecting the multitude of potential reactions (and in-actions), asking opinions, sitting on great secrets, slowly planning and rethinking, and then suddenly being daringly triumphant... Getting exactly the desired outcome due to years of observation and planning.


Then we have the quick movers, the "have to do or all is lost" movers and shakers, the ones who swoop in like gannets, diving head first, all or nothing resting on the single reaction or response, "Going Large" ... "Hollywood or bust"... in fact, being very "American" in the impulsiveness.. as well as in my personal opinion, acting on very appropriate (intimate and not blatantly obvious) cues and nuances that persuade or lead the "perceived impulsiveness".


And then on one side you have the emotional observers, asking every question under the sun, interpreting, categorising, summarising,interviewing, comparing notes, and yes,  even crying, versus the other pragmatic and logical (and slightly less emotional) observers who offer up old simple truths delivered in the form of well known cliches,  of "this is the time" and "it was bound to happen"...They are the controlled emotion, the private emotion, the sensible emotion, polar opposites of the first type of emotion displayed, the overly emotive emotional. Yet all can  of course profess and offer undying support and  encouragement for all..


So that is the emotional state (basically narrowed down for ease of navigation) of the family over these past two weeks. Of course  this is (as every other piece of information basically is in life) an opinion from one of the overly emotional observers.


What transpired in actuality was more of a careful dance of planes, trains and automobiles... Jordan arrived on Thursday the 12th of July at 12h30pm in Atlanta. He then stayed at the airport for five hours to wait for Kate to arrive... She thought he was arriving on Saturday the 14th... So big surprise for her. I ambushed them on Friday morning at 7am... and there are the dopey eyed photos of them as I roused them out of bed. Nothing says "welcome to America" than being ambushed by Bern, her camera, and her two screaming kids)... After a pretty rushed (yet fun) weekend the two love birds rushed off to Jordans other home, AKA La Verne California.

What is it exactly about La Verne that makes Jordan feel at home? I think a major thing that keeps him  coming back is the comraderie he experienced with his friends during the "most free" time of his life. He escaped the clutches of the Pretoria Boys' aerie and flew the coop, just two months before his standard nine exams, to arrive mid year in one of Southern California's most sensible  little towns...He got to ride a bicycle to school, assimilate into the culture of hoodies and jeans (not bashers and pinstripe blazers)... And I think for the first time in his rather serious life, he got to be a kid. He played in the drum line at school. He grew his hair long and fuzzy. He got to chat to all the single ladies. Become a hard working, 4am barista at Starbucks, as well as had natural and free relationships with the people around him, that didnt occur because they were all stuck in School House (the boarding house he was in at Pretoria Boys). http://www.boyshigh.com/index.php?page=briefhistory

My mom worked night shift at Foothills Presbytarian Hospital and I know that meant Jordan, age
17, was at home alone on those nights she was a couple of miles away at work. Home was a one bedroom apartment in a gated apartment complex. More like duplexes, not as scummy as the apartments I have seen here in Atlanta. The one bedroom apartments in 2007 in California also cost more than my mortgage on my 3 bedroom house with just under 1acre garden costs in Georgia in 2012 by about $400 per month... So he wasnt left in the lurch. He was as safe as anyone could be if you think about it.

But what I think is significant, is this kiddo had been in such a controlled and regulated environment at School House. To be alone at night must have been quite a relief. Because I know (and I have felt this too) that you can be totally alone in a crowd, just it takes effort to block out their noises and shenanigans etc, and to tune into your own personal reverie...But when you are truly alone, and you can sit on the couch, drink a cup of tea whilst you put your feet on the coffee table, and only hear the echo's of your singular voice echoing off the pale cream stucco walls, that you attain a certain level of perfection, the kind that really nourishes the real you, yourself. Who you are. Where you are going. And where you need to be.

So like I mentioned before, Jord would take off before 4am to be the barista at the Starbucks... then he would go to high school.... He even went to prom... From this side on the east coast, it looked like a movie. He was attaining all the 'milestones' set by movies like American Pie... (because as I have learnt, most American life is accurately portrayed in the movies...especially the terrible comedies...)... It was like he picked up momentum. Fueled by a desire to have every 'normal' childhood experience, condensed into the period of like 20 months.

So whilst he was there he met and made some pivotal friends, the quintessential California family. Moms ironically from Kaapstad... Dad is of Spanish descent... They fit into the picture the same way a beautiful palm tree clings to the landscape in a coastal photo. Like they were innate, like they always had been a part of his existence. Like apple pie and ice cream... And a grande mocha frapp....

So I think wherever Jord goes on his serious side, Kyrgystan, Afghanisan, Germany, Virginia, Texas, he is California dreaming, of the summer sunshine, and that main street in La Verne where if you drive and keep your eyes open, you will find someone you know, or someone you know who knows someone you know, and you can all hook up, have fun, light hearted, spontaneous... just a high time and a brief reprieve from "The Everything Else" that pays for his vacations...

Meanwhile, back in Georgia, a very scared Sukhi and Auntie Anti arrived here from England. Sukhi was scared for a couple of reasons. I think he told Antoinette that he was anxious to meet my children, and I think that was one aspect of his anxiety that he could at least share with her, and use her silken words to caress or quell any lingering fronds of dis-ease... So I met them on a Thursday night at about 9pm. I had my hair done on the other side of town and I was actually alone (major feat in my life)... And I slipped into my parents house for some lasagne and some face to face conversation versus facetime.

Sukhi is the most congenial of sorts. He is an absolute doll. He has these large expressive eyes and a beautiful flashy smile that he uses in tandem with the eyes, and a series of brow furrows to put you at ease... and to most importantly, make you laugh. He is funny, witty, and absolutely devoted to my sister.

His devotion also meant he traveled en route with a giant princess cut engagement ring, and underneath all the fun and games, he had a serious question to pose to my parents. So I was given the task of subterfuge and on Friday night I whisked my almost narcoleptic and fedup sister to five different shops in 'search of a bikini'... what actually happened at home was Sukhi had "The Talk" with my parents... And she returned home, unawares of the shenanigans... exhausted, with a new blue bikini. tee hee.

On Saturday we set out for Tybee Island GA. My mom drove Ant and Sukhi... And Kurtis drove myself and the girls. We did not travel in convoy as we liked to keep driving at different paces.

Tybee was not exactly what I imagined. Now the condo that I had helped my dad reserve was on the higher end of the prices for the area. I chose the area due to its close proximity to Savannah Georgia (I wanted to take photos of the plantation houses, which in fact never happened as I was far too busy being a beach bum, due to the insufferable heat and humidity)... As well as that my neighbours at home all vouch for the area. It was also approx 320 miles from home, so a 5 1/2 hour drive, on open highway. Unlike the drive to Panama City or the Gulf of Mexico on those windy little roads...

So we arrived and we were instantly gridlocked in tourist traffic. I had been told that Tybee was sleepy. What I saw was hoards of cars, pedestrians, etc, no parking, paid parking, parking meters, surfer dudes, junk surf shops, bars bars bars, and oh my stomach absolutely fell, the condo had been described to me as beach front. Just I didnt know it overlooked the main parking area for the beach. I saw a parking area in the photos.. Just I thought that was the condo's private parking area... So on Saturday and Sunday the place was slamming, hot and busy and frenetic. By Monday (thank God)... it was blissful, quiet, etc... And the rest of the week continued in a more blissful manner... with Friday night being busy again...

The houses around the beach were called "Shotgun" houses for the most part. Shotgun means if you opened up the front door you could see the whole way through the house, like they are narrow and long. Many of them were raised up on cinder blocks, I assume to avoid flooding. Some were ratty and derelict. Some were pristine and snooty. All were haphazardly sandwiched together in a colourful beach tapestry, the sand dotting and decorating every corner and every surface. Rusted pipes. An unused jacuzzi and pump parts leaning against a fence.

Yet our condo was lovely on the inside. In the garage area, the metal door had been rusted by the elements. When we parked and traipsed up to our first floor condo, we were very apprehensive. We entered through the patio door.  There were large square tiles on the floor, two perpendicular sliding glass doors, which then opened onto a large L shaped balcony. They put four unusually high rocking chairs on the patio... as well as a six person glass table with chairs.. and a wicker basket for all of our beach toys, goggles, etc. Inside was an open plan kitchen, living room and diningroom. Three bedrooms and two bathrooms. Directly from the kitchen sink you looked out over a travertine island (we decided it wasnt marble), across the hardwood floor, onto the balcony, and then to the ocean where you frequently had these huge container ships pass by... Just in front of the balcony, healthy strong palm trees swayed in the ocean breeze.

Sukhi had at this point, given the ring to my mom. Antoinette had been "rummaging" through the bags. This had made him nervous....

Shannon had also seen pictures of the ring on his iphone and asked if it was for Antoinette. Sukhi said it was and that Shannon was not to tell... And Shannon then asked "what was in it for her?" (not to tell)... ha ha... extortion... a game for the whole family to play...

On Monday night, Jord and Kate arrived at about 1am from California... So the next morning everything was a lively mass of more bodies clamoured about in the kitchen, more bodies bustling for the beach, and more bodies wearing bling.

My brother had proposed to Kate on Laguna beach in California... And she had said "Absolutely"... Which leads us to the next question? Who is Kate?

I had felt jilted because I was supposed to have two days with my new sister in law to be before they went to Cali, but since Jord arrived early, I didnt get to have her to myself... boo hoo....

Kate is 22 and actually went to the same primary school as Jordan... And that is where the whole story began... But separate her from Jord and you have this articulate, intelligent, soft and beautiful person, a very sensitive person, she almost reminds me of a little butterfly. But a butterfly with boxing gloves. She can stand up for herself. The main thing that overwhelms me is that even though she had so much going on in her life, she gave it up, to go and move back to England to work nights... to basically be on my brothers beck and call for when he goes back to Germany from Afghanistan. Shes basically put herself in a position where Jord is the protagonist and she is the supporting role, simply because "She knows she will get to her goal, even if it takes 10 years"... I dont see a huge overwhelming "eid" in her... For someone this beautiful and this capable, you expect to see selfishness or unbridled ambition... But instead she is genteel, genuine and absolutely beautiful inside AND out...

My dad then arrived on Tuesday night, also at about 1am... So beside the fact that we rode jetskis, walked on the beach, and on the pier. Beside the fact that we swam in the sea, someone was stung by jellyfish, and that we ate too much food...Besides the fact that there were pink sunsets, crashing waves, an airspace full of pelicans, gulls, and the blackest night sky punctuated by a waxing crescent moon... The main themes of this holiday were acceptance, change, flexibility, and everybody just trying their best to be courteous, gracious, and to all get along.

Such a glorious way to meet and get acquainted with a new sister AND a new brother...

PS: Ants proposal? Thursday August 2nd 2012... At some time Sukhi (who was acting rather odd that day) took her out to Liberty Island. And I dont know what was said, exactly what the interchange contained, or how it was done, or where... But instagram had a photo of a freshly manicured hand, and a flawless blue/white diamond, and a giggling gerty, effervescent with surprise spoke to us in a sing songy voice via skype... And poor Sukh just looked so relieved.

So on behalf of my dad and I, we would like to say we have proof we CAN keep a secret... :)

Private letters, twin to twin.

Private letters from my uncle and my dad, identical twins. Just wanted to keep them here for posterity.

From Bobo February 5th 2012 3:09am after being reunited with his twin brother for a brief holiday. They were apart for 4+ years.  My uncle (who is blind) is plagued with insomnia, exasperated I am sure by the fact that he is in perpetual darkness.

My Dearest Stirling and Diana

A week ago all things looked alright?  (*smile)  I had bags of time to handle the final event of my packing, organising my paperwork, shoring up my inner belief that I would see you again? 

What a surreal moment and what a weird way of handling a twinship. 

Yet, (*smile) I am firstly a twin, connected to you and your home in an amazing way. 

I am also an individual and .. must run along and carve out my own life and purpose.  What a privileged position to be in and I would not have it any other way. 

We are competitive people and we need space to perform.  Yet we have remained very close, and I praise God for this?

Yet, I cannot tell you how painful it is ... just the thought of not being physically connected to you. 

You know Stirling I can still feel your loving hug you gave me at the Atlanta Airport. 

Your excitement, your giggle and your hurried way in trying to assist us with the luggage and ... our overdue connection. 

Gee, what was it 4 year and 10 months? 

Please God his favour and mercy rest on us right from the start and ... we meet again very soon.  (*smile)  And, do not have all that unnecessary e-learning to do!

I just love being in your company.

Hering you laugh; Listening to your frustrated attempts to make our stay as perfect as you would want it.  But life is not perfect.  We have to sleep, eat and even energise ourselves and ... handle our own dreams. 

I still hear you advise me on so many a level.

My swearing; My people management; My career and My selfish habits?

Oh yes, I loved just driving around with you. 

As I type and reflect over the different trips we made it makes me so sad. 

I loved sitting there next to you and hering you manoeuvre the car; park and bounce back with excitement. 

It reminded me so much of us working together. 

I can still remember you asking me if I liked your car?

“Not bad hey, and still a 6 cylinder?”

Gee, it has been so cool.  I tried to go to bed but my mind was so full of brilliant and colourful thoughts.  Thoughts and images that only a twinship from the Living God can harbour. 

And, yes, I did sob bitterly about leaving.  I told Sandy I had better get up and drop you all a line?  (*smile)  How would you know if I did not tell you all?

Oh yes, I so loved our morning walks.

We walked off in a mature way like we used to train for Comrades.  Sure, we are older and our legs and muscles do not carry us like young men.  (*smile)  But we were game and ready for those two or three laps. 

What was it 18 minutes for each lap and ... why not 1 hour?  I could do it again and again and ... still be topped up with your fellowship. 

Do you remember our early morning coffees?

Some at home and some at the Dunkin Donut?  (*smile)  Do you remember, my first ever omelette in a rap? 

Oh yes, All our meals and your generosity.

You have tried so hard with so little resources to make this such a memorable trip. 

I leave very touched and very topped up.  I leave very broken and very proud that you are my very special brother, Stirling. 

And, I know I got on your nerves.

Yes, I know I am a hand full.  I know my disability has made things tougher.  I know I would have so loved to have been housed just down the road.  But I leave to go back to Ireland and continue the plan God started with me in 2007.  (*smile)  Gee, how I wish it were so different?  How I pray his mercy and his favour will dwell richly on both of us and ... we reunite very soon. 

Do you know Stirling next Saturday night I will be in The Yellow House in Cobh. 

I will have my guide dog, Zagger to hold and to love. 

Oh yes, I have someone in a four footed twinship who will for a short while take your place. 

Yes, I have Sandy who will try assist me diminish the huge heart ache I have with our separation. 

No doubt, Sandy will faithfully hold me; accommodate all my wishes ... but you and I know we are twins on two very different journeys. 

Twins who will obey God’s instruction and calling and ... go humbly on our way.  Doing, professing and declaring his word and his life in our homes and our work. 

I want to thank you for a wonderful time.

I want to praise you for what you have achieved.  (*smile)  Working in a teamship with Diana Rowena and it was so awesome to see her so well and happy. 

I want to praise you and Diana Rowena for the way you have handle the adversity you both had and in days gone by.  The pain, the loss and the ... embarrassment. 

I pray 2 Joel 23-25 in and over your lives. 

·         May you find that job career that rewards you.

·          May you be able to enjoy your family and encourage your Grand Children by being a superb role model.

·          May your personal health blossom and not hold you back.

Oh yes, I so enjoyed being at Curtis and Bernadette’s house.

Seeing those MMA athletes handle their fight.  (*smile0  In a strange way they encouraged me to continue my fight and of course the pain of our pending separation. 

Oh yes, I look forward to being in the pews at Free Chapel and ... getting God’s instruction.  The balm of Gilliad be doubly anointed over us and our families.

Let us both fight like MMA warriors to connect soon. 

As I said I can still feel your caring hug and your loving hand shake from little more than a week ago? 

I won’t say ‘Good Bye’ ... but ‘Fare well’ and ... God’s richest blessing over your life. 

Stirling, You will always be my special brother who I love and treasure all the days of my life.

I invite you and Diana Rowena to The Yellow House and .. may you soon feel my hospitality at Cork airport?  (*smile)  What a brilliant and exciting thought!

All my love and devoted affection.

Bobo

And then my dads' response to his brother also dated February 5th 2012 at 12:42pm

Hi Hagarth,
Firstly thank you for this beautiful email. I will treasure it with all the other wonderful memories of this amazingly busy time we have had together. The beginning of 2012 will always be a date to remember.

I must tell you, you still unwittingly motivate and inspire all those around you. I am awe struck by you ability to press on with your blindness and your very exacting and demanding job at the same time. It so hurt me to see you struggling through those 40 hours of McAfee tutorials that you and Sandy worked through. It was brutal. It so reminded me of your early days of you, being blind and learning braille. Gee you have come along way. Graham and Eileen would be so proud of you. I am also very amazed at Sandy. As a partner she is really so dedicated and a God send. I am so encouraged by how our God works. It is incredible who he puts in our path to help us on our journey called " life ". It is not the rich or the most able who help, who quickly jump in or step forward to help. It is only those with a big heart who do. She assists and partners you with every fiber of her being.

When I was with you at Kurtis house watching MMA. Di text me and asked me how I feel about saying goodbye? I must tell you I am a little uneasy as I don't know the future or where or when we will meet again. However I am just going to ask the Lord for strength and like you dive into work as a big distraction.

I want to thank you for all your love and high praise. I don't deserve it. But I have always felt closely connected and thank you for all your love and mentoring. I would not have grown as an individual without you pushing and exhorting. I think as a person you have endured much pain and I love the way you, pick yourself up, dust yourself off and fight on. Know I love you and thank you for all the assistance you have given me. I ask you please to keep walking with the King. Jesus is our only hope and in Him lies our future too! Know that I will be praying for you and your house hold. I ask you to do the same. I too can't say goodbye. So know I will wish you much joy, happiness real prosperity and health and until we meet again. I love you my brother!

Please thank Sandy and I wish you both much joy and happiness. May all your dreams and goals come true. May your problems evaporated like mist on a hot Summer's day. Be strong remain built up in the Lord and go reach for the highest Star. I know you still have much to achieve and many to encourage and inspire.
All my love and affection.

Polypolar?

I came across an interesting problem by pure happen chance. That it involves an innocent child is an absolute misfortune. But why it resonates so deeply within me is because I think if anyone (anyone) were to be labeled with some type of problem or disorder, that should be me.

I found out that a new friends son was diagnosed with bi-polar disorder at the age of four. I had heard of these diagnoses being made on tv or in far and distant places, in Dr. Phil-landia... By obscure and blurred moms who have no impact on me personally. But to have this beautiful new friend of mine's son going through something so intricate and difficult really put a limp in my otherwise brisk walk through this week. It was like I suddenly had a lead manacle attached to my appendage, gnawing at me with gnashing teeth of disbelief and doubt.

My dad is one of the most hilarious people around. Whilst speaking about bi-polar disorder in the past, he has brought up the concept of polypolarity and its something we just laugh about. Laughter is always such a beneficial way to circumnavigate otherwise tricky conversations.

So I did some Dr McGoogle research last night, pulling up the pages of the DSM-IV manual and then reading around in circles, this definition vs that definition etc, and learning about the four different types of bi-polar disorder (yes there are four types, I, II, Cyclothymic and Not Otherwise Specified)... and then I fell on the common characteristics and traits in bi-polar children.

Look, the thing is, I am not a doctor. I am also not a parent of a child who has had any major issues (Praise Jesus for this)... But whilst mulling through these expansive lists of definite symptoms of bi-polar in children (babies!!! They are innocent babies!!)... I can't help but wonder if our society wernt so rigid and categorised, would there be such a need to define our kids in such a methodical and specific way?

Honestly I have almost all of the characteristics of bi-polar disorder. So does my dad. I would also say my dads twin brother has it too. We have what I refer to as delightful eccentricities... Number one sticking out would be that we are what I call wordsmiths. Yet psychiatrists would label us with speech impediments such as Aphasia (substituting the correct word with a wrong word, like a Freudian slip that happens frequently. The substituted word may have a similar sound or consonant or vowels...)... or perhaps this is a Clang Association disorder... Making up nonsensical rhymes full of alliteration or assonance or both... Yet I prefer to say I have the gift of the gab? Everyday Health.com says my neologisms are a sign of a psychotic phase... So what if the Jabberwocky makes perfect sense to me? Disorganisation...Disambiguation... Sorry if you're too slow to keep up with us?

Which leads to grandiosity.... We just happen to think faster than you. But we would never say we are BETTER than you... Grandiosity is another 'hallmark' characteristic. Sorry I painted my whole house, made three birthday cakes,  single handedly catered a wedding, was the wedding photographer, went to work, made chicken picatta from scratch for dinner, had a lovely thought provoking conversation with distant relatives on skype and bathed the kids, cut their nails, dressed them in their matching jammies and now I am playing with my pet chameleon Emilio whilst all you did was serve a frozen entree to your family. I call that jealousy. *wink*

Sorry I talk your ear off. And when youre not listening I am on facebook and Skype. Thank you God for new ways to be in contact with my people who love me despite my supposedly "manic" tendencies.

I could go on all day. With similarities and real life personal myself experiences...

But the main point I want to make is how much of this is our true selves, our true identities, that society is trying to dull down, to hide away, to make us more neat and more orderly, to put us more into little mental confines... When we are beautiful and bright and sparkly. And dare I say it, unique...

How do they know what it feels like to be me. How to they know what I am supposed to be? My God made me with his own hands. He formed me in my mothers womb. He made me perfect. Why change perfection? 

Right in front of your nose...

The thing about friendships is often times you are blindsided by otherwise blatantly obvious truths. You could even think the truths are about your friends, or perhaps that is where they originate. But the reason that they resonate so deeply and so dis-harmoniously within your core is because perhaps your friends flaws tell you more about you, than they do about them.

I have some of the most strange people as friends. But I wouldn't have just anyone as my friend. You have to be special. You have to be vulnerable. Real. Emotional. Fragile. Honest. And I have realised, flawed.

The flaws strike me down like a knife in my consciousness as I am on the way to bed. I'm tired. My eyes are closing. Yet I have to write this before my feelings dissipate into the nothingness of all things lost in the midst of the mad scramble called life.

We are all just eking our way through this life. We take two steps forward, one back, one to the left, one to the right, end up in our original spot, rethink our position, retreat, go into hiding, lick our wounds, summon up the courage from somewhere within our being to try again, to put ourselves out on the line again. To put our lip gloss on and to pretty our hair. We break down the high walls and we drain the moats around our hearts.... We allow another in. We allow ourselves to love again. To forgive. To be loved. To dream that maybe this time it will be how it is supposed to be. We drag our children through this exploration with us. We think that they are growing up, but meanwhile we as the parents are the ones suffering from exponential growth in the humanness department... All the time whilst trying to maintain that we have all things under control.

So often times I am struck not so much by what is said. But by what is not said. The careful omission. The wry smile. The vacuous silence tells me about the fear of judgment. The fear that their choices will not be accepted or that their authority will be tested.

The major thing it tells me about myself, is that we are all so similar. I sometimes think there is nothing such as an authentic thought. That everything we have ever felt before or even said before has already been felt and said a million times before, so what is the point? The point is our flaws connect us. They make us part of the collective. So your separation is only an illusion. Better out than in.

The Illumination Station

Often times I am overwhelmed with itchy feet. I don't know if it is the weather, the perfect blue of the sky, the white of the Dog Wood blossoms... they all scream "beach cottage" to me. I want white wicker chairs, adorned with blue and white tidal themed thick cushions. I want Biggie Best, the thick cotton canvas fabrics, stylised crab and gulls leaping up out of the surf. I want hermit crab pincers held aloft and their beady eyes leering at me from the sea foam. I want to be shin deep in the sugar white sands of the gulf of Mexico... and the six am PINK sunrises that take your breath away. I want discarded mussel shells to be thrown at my toes by an angry sea that never sleeps.

There is something in the muted fractal light, something contained within the way the shore laps its ebb and flow, something about the sprawl of sand, the way the earth appears to drop off on the horizon that intoxicates me.

I think I love monotony, predictability. The lull of repetition. The constance of the expected. I think that's why I love the sea...

So I can't wait for our date on the island with the family. In fact, it couldn't come any sooner... 

The fearless belief in humanity.

My sister and her boyfriend just came back from a fantastic safari in Tanzania, that included not only a stay in a luxury resort and a sunrise champagne hot air balloon ride... but also game drives to the crater where they saw almost everything, zebra, lion, cheetah, elephant, hippo, baboon, ostrich, rhino... And then several bird species as well.

What is so glorious about the whole little game drive (safari), whatever you want to call the experience, is that we were raised in South Africa.. (just two countries south of Tanzania)...and yes whilst we did the whole African thing on a daily basis, my sister has lived in London in the UK for 8 years... And her boyfriend is from the UK, born and bred... and although he has traversed the globe, this was their first 'African' experience.

Most foreigners kind of get this whispery hush tone to their voice. Almost like a joyful little secret, when they whisper "Africa". It becomes almost this mystical realm instead of a very real place of mud huts, donkeys, chickens and naked children. Normally their eyes get rather large and round and you can almost see the whites when they lean in to find out if you did indeed travel to hush hush "Africa"... And then the next question is "did you go on a safari?"... and are there really lions that live right there next to you?

But since my sister is actually as African as they come, I expected she would enjoy the little rendezvous and be happy, joyful, gleeful and simply revel more in her boyfriends first time experiences. And whilst his delight and curiosity about the continent were to be expected, what was not fully anticipated (perhaps it is blocked out for fear of the smell of Jacaranda blossoms in the gutter on a rainy day causing a crushing lump to rise in your throat, the heart palpitations, the vertigo and the swirling, and feeling so lost and far away from home....) was how moved my sister was by the whole experience. And how it simply yanked at her heartstrings to be at home in the mother land with the familiar sights, the familiar tastes, and no matter how rancid, the familiar smells....

On our first skype since their return my sisters boyfriend just wide eyed and innocently proclaimed his absolute adoration for the people that he met, the tour guides, the drivers, hes given them his card and number so when they come to London at least they will know someone. I mean he was smitten. And then my sister, more jaded and brazen, perhaps a bit hardened by having the rug pulled from under her feet more often by these dashing and charismatic African people... had to say "well in honesty, it will be very hard for them to do so with the exchange rate... Its just so expensive".

And that I think just sums up Africa. If you want the epicenter for diaspora it is Africa. Immeasurable wealth in the form of gemstones, natural minerals, oil, gold.. the wealth in the form of these beautiful people... Con-men  up the whazoo.... People who will look you in the eye and smile whilst their 'cousin' carries your couch and tv out of your back door (another first hand experience)... My American husband had to be dragged out of there by the heels of his feet... He was so in love with South Africa. Its like on True Blood where you get glamoured... You start searching for the spirit of the great heart... You yearn for African skies...

And whilst we're all looking at photos of a pride of lion sleeping in an acacia tree on facebook... and checking out the cost of return tickets on delta.com... trying to needle and worm our way in like addicts, just needing one more fix... the rest are all desperately building life rafts, trying to get out.


Email from Ant sent 03-26-2012

Hello People

I know I don’t email you all nearly as much as I should but that way
you know when I do I have something important to say. As you know,
last week Sukhi and I were away in Tanzania. Every year Colt runs an
award scheme called The Inner Circle for those who performed well and
take them on a trip somewhere. I wasn’t nominated but two friends from
the group we socialise with were so Sukhi and I were special by
association.

We got on an Air Kenya flight from Heathrow which smelt like Kenya and
was about the same temperature and flew to Nairobi. From Nairobi we
flew to Kilimanjaro where we then had an hour’s drive to our hotel
Mount Meru in Arusha. I can’t begin to tell you how good it felt to be
back in the motherland, forget South Africa – go Tanzania! The people,
the drivers, the food, the hotels were all just amazing.

The next day we left the hotel at 8am on a 4 x 4 safari drive to the
Ngorongoro Conservation Area which has the largest concentration of
animals in Africa. Sukhi could not believe how much land and bush was
around. For me the vast open landscape felt so familiar yet so new
after 6 and half long years of being away. Our driver Robert was very
knowledgeable and stopped to tell us information about the place we
were at or the animals that we saw. We stopped at the crater which was
like something out of the Lion King but in real life, as the trip went
on we would find all the characters Simba, Nala, Timon and Pumbaa and
sing Hakuna Matata. After checking in at our hotel and having lunch,
we then went to a local Maasai School in Irkepuusi Village which is
one of 52 in the area. When we were on the Air Kenya flight, I saw a
cute, fat, black baby and I half joked with Sukhi that we should do a
Madonna and adopt one while we’re in Africa, I say half joked because
when we got to the school I wanted to give all these kids a bath,
clean new clothes, feed them and love them. They formed two lines
which we walked up while they sang to us and then watched a
performance from the choir and a parent. Colt built them a computer
centre and donated 10 solar powered laptops so we showed them how to
use the laptops, we were shown around their small empty classrooms and
the kitchen where the kids are fed porridge in the morning, one of
their two meals a day. The kids walk 10km to school, a further 2km to
get water and another 10km back home to their mud huts yet they are
happy, sing and dance. It’s easy to forget how fortunate we are. This
experience was actually one of the highlights of the trip. Most of the
group were very touch and there’s been discussions with our CEO to
come up with sustainable long term support. Some people from Amsterdam
were saying that there are more bicycles in Amsterdam than people and
when bikes with flat tyres are parked up for a certain amount of time,
the local council puts a tag on them before destroying them. There are
talks in place to see if we can use those bikes, repair them and send
them over. That evening we sat in the bar at the hotel drinking Crater
Blue cocktails and Kilimanjaro beer (if you can’t climb it, drink it
is what one of the drivers Jerry told us) discussing the experience so
far.

The next day the game drive or safari as the Brits call it continued.
The driver stopped and told us to look at the cheetah. Even with the
binoculars, zoom lenses on the cameras it took about 10 minutes to
find the spot on the mountain he was talking about – how did he drive
and manage to see it? As we watched more 4x4’s joined us and as we
were discussing moving on, the cheetah got up, looked at the cars and
casually started walking down the catwalk ever so elegantly. It was
like she waited for just the right amount of attention before putting
on the show. She walked down the mountain, marked her territory on a
rock, rolled around and walked down straight passed our car – if we
stuck our hand out of the window it would be gone, that’s how close
she was. We saw lions and cubs, elephants, rhinos, and everything you
could expect before having a picnic buffet lunch in the middle of
nowhere. The heavens opened up, thunder roared and we got a bit
drenched but the sun came out shortly afterwards.

One evening we were treated to a traditional Maasai performance at
sunset. At first we couldn’t see the dancers and one guy from the
group thought it was monkeys making the familiar
lelelelelelelelelelelelelelele

lelelelelelelele sound. It was great,
just great. We had a very long drive on the dirt roads to the
Serengeti – the drivers called it an African Massage and I just wished
I had taken a sports bra. We stopped along the way at look out points
and to use the hole in ground. We stopped at a Maasai village, got
shown around the huts, I’m still confused as to why the buffalos are
so well fed and yet the village cows look gaunt. I forgot to mention
the head banging zebras, when they walk their heads bop and it looks
like they have ACDC playing in their ears, when they stop they rest
their heads on each other’s backs – head banging must take it out of
them. On route we saw 4 lions in a tree next to road, truly
spectacular. There was one drama queen in another 4x4 and apparently
she had a temper tantrum and demanded to get out of the car – what a
silly cow. Another fascinating thing to see is how the wildebeest stop
and stare at the 4x4’s when you drive past. We were joking and making
up comedy sketches as to what might be going through their minds.

Bilila Lodge in the Serengeti was an amazing hotel. The chalets are
designed like tree houses and as well as having your own private
balcony, the bath has a framed view of the Serengeti. The main pool is
an infinity pool that backs onto a watering hole so while you are
splashing about the elephants come and drink from the watering hole
not far from you. That night we went for dinner in the bush followed
by more dancing which even the drivers joined in. One of the big
mafuta ladies pushed Sukhi out of the way with her bum and made me
“shake, shake, shake” with her which was hilarious. We sang Jambo,
Jambo Bwana all night long. Back at the hotel I got violently ill from
the malaria tablets… I was having muscle spasms, vomiting and when I
did try sleep I wasn’t sure if I felt nauseous in my dream or real
life and then started panicking about how I get out of the mosquito
net in the pitch black quickly if I need to. It was not a pleasant
experience and we were up at 4:15am for a hot air balloon ride which I
desperately wanted to do. Fortunately the event organisers gave me
pills for all of my ailments and I made the sunrise/ balloon ride.

Donald from Indiana was our pilot and he has been hot air ballooning
for 40 years. Its surprisingly so smooth and you can get so close to
the hippos. It was truly delightful and apparently it costs £800 per
person because you can only go once a day in the mornings. After the
balloon ride, Robert our driver took me back to the hotel so that I
could rest while Sukhi and the rest of the group had champagne
breakfast and basked in the sun by the pool. By the evening the
stomach spasms were more sparse, the nausea had subsided but I was
still scared I wouldn’t make it to the bathroom in time. Regardless it
was our last night and I was going to make the most of the gala dinner
followed by a disco. The waitress that evening was explaining the menu
and told me that there was “food for the Indian people”, I think she
was talking about the curry haha.

On our last day we relaxed by the pool and reflected back on the
experience. We left the hotel for the last time, drove to an airstrip
where we went on a 16 man plane. When we landed we had another hour
drive to Kilimanjaro airport – they don’t have any cashpoints yet they
have electronic finger print readers haha. We then flew to Nairobi
before flying home.

I reckon the whole trip must have cost Colt about £5000 per person but
it was truly amazing. Sukhi absolutely loved it and is convincing the
Balu’s to go next. Since arriving back on Wednesday, I only managed to
get a doctors appointment today at 3pm to see what I should do since I
stopped taking the malaria tablets – good old NHS strikes again!
That’s all the news I have, 264 of the 1429 photos are on facebook.

Next stop, Ansbach Germany with Sukhi, Mommy Long, Airman Long and
Kate!!! Can’t wait! Roll on Easter.

Lots of love

The African Dream, Anti

xxx

My second born daughter.

The funny thing about parenting is how much you always hear that the first child will change your life, the first child will be the one you take all the photos of, any subsequent kids will just get lost in the fog like the poor Duggar kids (yes I do pity them...honestly how can you have intimate relationships with that many children? Sure... have five kids... but 25?)...The first child is the Glory child. The sun shines out of the first child's delicate little derriere... And believe me the sun shone directly out of Firsty's perfect little behind... And for four and a half glorious years she was the be all and end all of mother dearests affection... Until mother dearests affection was actually not divided... but multiplied with the birth of another daughter (maybe the Duggar people think their love is also multiplied and not divided... totally other point to ponder... but not right here and not right now)...

I expected, from what everybody had said about having another child, for the first everything's, first smile, first giggle, first time she recognised me etc, first tooth, first pony tail, first Christmas, first everything to be just a little bit lack luster compared to the glorious First child's first... And I have to say that honestly it wasn't... The second time around every little milestone and every little step in the right direction was equally as precious as the first time... Yet totally, 180 degrees in the opposite direction, different.

You can argue the difference is because its a different child, born 4 and a half years apart, in my case, two separate c-sections on two totally different continents... They have different personalities, different temperaments, different everything therefore the experience should be totally different. Right? But I just keep feeling the reason that 'it' (the whole experience) was different was because I was so totally different. And I have another nagging feeling that poor First Child got the total short end of the stick. Where as lucky languishing Second Child got the full benefit of an experienced and less anxious parent who had at least known that she had a 1 for 1 score going for 4 and a half years before the second kiddo came... so she had to be doing something right. Its like a house plant. If you can keep one alive, the second one is easy, right?

My adorable First was born to an unwed 24 year old mom... who had to borrow money for bottles and formula when her milk didnt come in. I tried desperately to breast feed for 3 days. Day three, the pediatrician said this kiddo needs some formula. I had cracked and bloody nipples, no milk, so Firsty got a bottle of Nestle Nan and we never looked back. Firsty didnt have a crib. For the first six weeks of her life she slept in a carry cot that my aunt so kindly loaned to me. Firsty was lucky enough to have a car seat as the hospital gave her one... and her maternal grandmother bought her clothing from Debenhams and Mothercare... and her paternal grandmother bought her diapers and wipes. Mother just smiled and pretended she knew what she was doing. But she was clueless. Babies were supposed to hear their mothers' heartbeats and just calm the hell down (correct?) like puppies do if you put a clock in their basket... No... I found this out the hard way.

Father found out the hard way that maternal grandmothers little dog would eat his sandwich the second he had to deal with a screaming two week old...leaving him foaming and spitting at the mouth... Of course there was no food in the house. We were broke and we had a newborn. he he he. WORST combination.

When Firsty was six weeks old we boarded a plane and came to the USA. Father was gloriously happy to be back home but Mother was 100% lost ... But it all kinda happened so fast... Only about two years into it was I able to say boy that was difficult. For about the first two years I was only concerned with faking it until I made it...

So my dear First. Was I the parent, or were you? Because it seems that we grew together. I tell her that now a lot you know... I'm so grateful for her... and grateful to her. And she is a little bit cocky and has a little bit of an attitude... And I think I let her because you know like all of this around us, all that we are, the family etc, we became that, we made that, BEFORE Secondy came along... In the beginning it was just Her and I... She was at times all that I had.

Now the Second child... Wow... She was born into an already established Marriage. Mother and Father had been tied to each other for four years by then. We had met in 03, and she was born in 09. Plenty of time to get to know each other, to buy cars, and houses, and paint nurseries... and go to Michael's and buy Noah's ark decals for her room... And to buy a crib and assemble it... And get the Peg Perego stroller that mother wanted... (and still loves to this day)... Secondy had a stockpile of diapers set aside just for her. She even had a wipe warmer bought for her by the paternal grandfather... Her name was put on the wall in four inch tall cut out whitewashed wooden letters... and her car seat was installed in the car... C-section booked, Father booked time off of work...

So I got to have the parenthood experience happen all over again. Completely different this time. Totally planned. I knew what choices I could make. I chose to bottle feed again (to keep it even steven even though I could have breast fed this time...)... And in some ways it was totally harder, just the double work of two totally different age groups... but in other ways the baby days were really easy. And I guiltily say I perhaps enjoyed them more because I could relax more. I was at home more. I wasn't living in a crack town apartment. I could hold the baby and then watch my eldest ride her bike in our perfect little cul de sac... I mean like the epitome of suburban Americana... Red white and blue flags outside of the houses. White little mail boxes. Neighbours waving to each other and visiting each others houses.

So my 'baby' now will be three in almost exactly two months time. She has a slight case of malaise tonight... I just went in to check on her. Shes sleeping soundly underneath a delicately embroidered comforter that her paternal great grand mother made for my First born... She saw her bed tonight and told me "mommy it is boo-ti-fool"... And I am just touched by how endearing she is at this age... and how special this is that I got to do it twice.

So come to think of it... Maybe I answered my own doubts about the Duggars... If each and every single child they had is as important and unique to them as my two are to me... then who is to say how many they should have in the first place. Just I myself have had to put a cap on how many bio kids I am going to have... And that limit was two.....

Although we are looking to adopt a brother if anyone has a spare brother that they are willing to part with :)

The love of a sister.

For me, the word sister means "Your first true BFF and the ultimate confidante"... The older I become, the more meaningful and special the word becomes as I now have an almost 29 year relationship with my God-Given and thus ultimate BFF.

My BFF doesn't even live in the same country as I. But she has a solid relationship with not only myself, but my spouse (he adores her)... and now my two daughters. Furthermore her significant other is such a shining light into our lives. We totally see him as an extension of her... And he, like her are just lovely in so many complex and even at times, simple ways.

It is totally conceited to say that I have the best sister in the whole world, but I am going ahead to say it anyways. From the time we were little, she was with me, sometimes super glued to my side in what I could only have then called an unwanted closeness. I was the glorified older sister, and she was the baby. I think I spent a lot of time tormenting her, annoying her, and my favourite past time, making her cry. I wholeheartedly admit that I was a cruel and conniving elder sibling who could not tolerate sharing my mommmmeeeeee with anyone.

I was like the coyote constantly setting up the traps for the road runner. I framed her at every opportunity for my evil doings, one thing that gave me great satisfaction (at like the age of 7 or 8, I base this off of the house we lived in then) was the moment she got into trouble and I got to be the "good child who is just being delightful"... (I do believe I did have horns under my hair)...

Regardless of how antagonizing I was as an elder sister, my sister grew into a decent little person. She was funny and kind, and she was the best company although I was loathe to admit it. She was very different from I. At Easter I would eat all my chocolate bunnies in a day... then want more .... where as she could save hers for months on end... And often take pity on me and share hers with me. Same would go for pocket money. As kids she saved every penny she got. I spent all of mine in a heartbeat.

I rode my BMX with training wheels until I was far beyond the acceptable age.... Where as she could fly around on the sharp bricked drive way on her little bike, legs churning and whirring when she was only bite sized herself... I couldn't climb a tree to save my life...where as my sister was always up one, often times wearing her patent leather ballet pumps... just monkeying around.

When we went to school I suddenly realized she was smaller than I. When she got picked on, I was surprised at how quickly I reacted. I strangled the school secretaries little brother, David, with his tie for picking on her....

Things that came easily for me, were harder for her. Like reading and writing. She had to struggle through it and work a lot harder for the things that I simply understood without even trying. Yet she was far more social than I and far more lovely. So I was always watching, observing, comparing, weighing up what was more fair, what was more work. And I do believe she had a lot more work to go through, but I believe it had a total end in sight which has blessed her to this day. She is a conscientious, methodical and thorough worker... Where as I am slap dash, harried and sloppy.

As a teen she was always bailing me out. She was 2 1/2 years younger than I, but she was the more mature one. When we interviewed for waitressing jobs, the managers would always assume she was the elder sister. She always looked professional, put together, capable, dependable and rock solid. And all of those qualities are true. She knew most of my secrets (I don't even think I knew the truth in everything 100% of the times)... and she was my often times reluctant friend. She didn't dabble in nonsense or shenanigans. She was fun, daring, entertaining, but she was sensible. She had limits and restrictions of what she would or wouldn't do. I don't know where she got her sensibilities from... I can only assume it is from my mom.

My mother raised us that even though at times we could be each others opponents... that we were not to let unforgiveness or mistrust rule our hearts. She would force us to hug and to apologize. And whilst through out our lives together (especially in our teens) I would be the one normally grovelling and begging for forgiveness... my sisters Elvis lip would often curl up in a smile and she would cave. Shes just like that. Shes a far bigger person than I...

I still can't believe that we almost lost her. I still can't believe she almost failed to continue to exist. With that thought juxtaposed against all the pleasant and glorious and fond memories, and the planning for our memories for this year (her visit to Tanzania.... and then later on this summer to the beach with us on the Georgia Coast)... as well as with all of her (their) plans for the future... and all the sensibilities and thoughtfulness that goes into her every single moment and every single movement... I can only be brought to a place of humbleness and gratitude for the blessing and radiant joy at having her for my sister.

Closer than a brother....

Yesterday we said goodbye to my uncle Bo. He was heading off to Miami with his girlfriend Sandy after spending a blissful ten days in Atlanta with us. Logically we know he has his life in his own country with his own family and his own children and his own responsibilities, baggage, siblings, exes and spiel. But emotionally what washed over us was an almost tidal wave of devastation at the once again tangible loss for the life we once knew.  The distance between our lives now continues to ebb and flow in painful sodden pools.

When I grew up, Uncle Bo lived about 10kms away from our house with his then wife, and his two daughters. That was when things were right in the world. The phone rang early every morning, it was Bobo calling to speak to my dad. Often times we would intercept the phone call and make my dad wait to speak to Bo. I think Bobo may have been one of the first people who actually took the time to talk to us, as stumbling and bumbling kids are annoying on the phone, as conversation, as you know, is both an acquired art and a learned skill.

Prior to him living away from us, he actually lived in our caravan in our garden for a while.This was a perfectly normal experience for me. For Uncle Bo was also there on those times we took the caravan to Happy Wanderers caravan park, and then he, and my father, passed out in stretchers from sheer exhaustion after completing the Comrades Marathon together...I do not really have memories that separate them from that time in my life.

From the time I was old enough to walk around without my mother holding me, and old enough to have my own memories, I remember my own dad having a duality that encompassed not only his personality and his thought process and his emotions, but also physically and ever present here in this solid universe built of matter, gasses, liquid, etc... That in the human embodiments of the soul there were TWO of "him" walking around. Clones. Almost exact replicas of a single person. And one was called Garth aka Uncle Bobo... and the other was called Stirling, aka Daddy.

I speak of course from one daughters' selfish perspective of one of them... I know my cousins when they were very little and they would spend time at our house when their mom and dad were away, were only comforted at bed time, by my dad stepping in and pretending to be their father.... So abundantly evident that all of us, all five cousins, felt this same uncanny duality.

Beyond the normal and natural bond of monozygotic twins raised together, what lead to their even deeper fusion of their dependency on each other were a series of seemingly random and normal life time events. The boys were sent to boarding school a long long way from home from a very early age. I think growing up in the 50's, there is a certain harshness or even if you would like, brutality, that disassociated parents exerted onto their younglings.... especially when you were baby number five and baby number six (surprise!!) born to a 45 year old Catholic mom. You can imagine by that time... parents were aging, tired, and frazzled to have to endure the constant antics of four children. Then add in a surprise two. And well yes I am sure a good Catholic boarding school, full of discipline, old school values, sports and Latin  seemed like the best idea for the twins.

But in my opinion I believe even though they had a love and respect for their parents, they lost out on the intimacy that other children who are brought up close to their parents get to revel in. As a result, they bonded closer together, perhaps even closer together than they did in utero.Also featuring closely to them, fervently burned into the fibers of their beings were their siblings, three elder sisters and an elder brother. Remarkably close and cohesive, yet so incredibly random, each of them so dissimilarly similar...

An unfortunate military accident in Rhodesia later on left Bobo injured and sightless. This further solidified the twin bond of not only duty and devotion, but also of dependence and interpretation. Hes not only my brother, but I am his eyes.And yes of course not everything was happy like Tom and Nancy on their honeymoon, with such closeness and familiarity there comes a lot of friction, heat, contempt, and bickering. Constant arguing, shouting, incessant almost humorous swearing. But there is the underlying principle. We do not know what it feels like to be "them".

We are not even privy to half of the themness of them.  They almost do not make sense without each other. They share a common sense of humour, they find each others jokes or nuances the funniest. They pick and tease each other over minutia... yet their personal tastes are on the opposite spectrum. My uncle Bo was chastised heavily by my father this past week for choosing a jersey that contained polyester. My dad was almost hysterical at the thought of a polyester fibre touching his body. Yet my uncle calmly stood his ground and said he loved his new jersey.... My uncle would not keep quiet about his new favourite band the Alabama Shakes....Yet my dad couldn't wait to turn that crap off... But when my dad found  my hair in his ice cream bowl and came shooting up my stairs like a poisoned rabbit, complaining and performing loudly, my uncles girlfriend Sandy said "Wow Garth does EXACTLY the same thing!!!!!!!!"...


Ask which one is the kindest, and they will point fingers at each other. Ask which one is the better twin, and again the same will happen. They have given each other the clothing, literally off their backs. I don't know who was the dominant one, who lead and who followed. I think perhaps at different stages they alternated.

What was just amazing again to witness was their cohesiveness. When they are together it is like everything is sane and normal and noisy again in the universe. Yet their fates are to temporarily parted. For a reason beyond which we understand. But we know that He always has a perfect plan.

A late start to a new year.

Welcome in glorious and wonderful 2012. Welcome with a smack in the face, and an incessantly turning hum drum that requires loads and loads of special attention.

I worked through Christmas, worked through New Year. Had both kids at work (in-laws were overseas). Had a quiet-ish Christmas (my beautiful sibs were together in England for Christmas and in Ireland for New Years)...with lots of beautiful food and home made dye free red velvet cakes... and honey ham...and sausage stuffed turkeys courtesy of my Mama and Papa...

We had an abundance of blessings from our Heavenly Father in the form of special moments spent together, gracious company, manna from Heaven, contentment, peace, harmony and happiness wrapped up in fine Christmas paper, adorned with bright sparkling Christmas bows and Christmas kisses....

I spent about two weeks not really sleeping well after we had the dog put down. I missed my friend so much. I still do. I missed the way his tags (rabies tag and his name tag with my cell phone number on it) would clink together in the middle of the night when he came to lie near to me. I missed the way I would look out for him in the darkness as not to step on his toes when I went to the loo (he was always claustophobically close to me)... I missed the comfort from him. I felt it like a tangible loss when the aftermath hit me in the face. And it didnt occur to me that, that strange feeling was the grief of putting a faithful pet to sleep. Once I identified my sleeplessness it has been much better.

Also the husband and I bought another pet. He is called a Mambosaurus in Mambo's honour. Although he is non canine. He is a Yemeni or Veiled Chameleon. His name is Emilio. And hes just simply beautiful. Only once I had him in my hands on the car drive home, did I notice that his two front toe nails were missing. He is imperfect. Yet I could not part with him. He has been through one full moult already, we think hes about five months old, judging from the size of his casque (helmet). I hoped his toes and toe nails would rectify themselves after his moult. But alas. He is damaged. I hate that someone transported him in a rough manner and hurt him. He will NEVER be hurt at our house.

And now this week we have my uncle visiting from Cork. My dad and his twin are reunited. Lots of squabbles. Yakking. Giggling. Joking. Eating and prodding. Lots of familial banter. But ever the looming bitter sweetness of separate lives in separate lands.