Can Happiness Breed Deception?

Sheldon sat by himself and watched the other children playing outside. His mother was obsessive about neatness, tidiness, cleanliness and order. She refused to let him be a little boy, doing little boy's things. Roy, her ex-husband had finally rebelled after years of trying to get her to seek help for her obsessive disorder. He had finally realised that he had a life to live and he needed to disconnect from her.

Sheldon loved the weekends that he spent with his father and only wished that the judge had given his father custody but his social worker had explained that this seldom happened. It was a decision that an 8-year-old boy could not fight. So every second weekend he got to live. One school holiday a year his father would have sole custody for two weeks and those were the times that Sheldon lived for. Those were the times that gave life meaning. 

Fortunately, his mother had to go out to work to help make it to the month end. His father had been ordered to pay maintenance – something his father was happy to do because it meant that his beloved boy would be looked after. But it was only a small amount that his father could afford to give them

Very soon Sheldon learnt how to use the washing machine. He had asked his mom to show him so that he could make this one of his chores. In this way his mother never knew that he often came home from school with muddy, dirty clothes but with a smile on his face.

As he sat watching the other children in the road playing he counted his blessings.

One blessing was that there was always enough food in the place.

The second but probably biggest blessing was his friend Noah. Noah came from a pastor’s family but his family knew that little boys needed to get out and sometimes get rough and dirty. Noah lived two doors away so there was never any need for his mom to take him to Noah’s for “play dates”. He was also grateful that Noah’s home was sheltered by a very tall wall so even if his mom did just happen by she couldn’t see him playing in the back yard. Noah’s mom hated the deception but realised that she was providing a huge opportunity for a boy to be a boy.

As Sheldon sat watching he often caught Noah’s eye as he played hide and seek with the other children in the neighbourhood. Noah would often give him a small, almost hidden “thumbs up” and Sheldon knew that this meant that soon, the next day in fact, Sheldon would be with the gang.

Now why the archaic name Sheldon? Well, Sheldon’s mom had one little vice. She was a huge fan of the Big Bang Theory and her one hope was that the little baby that she held in her arms the day he was born would grow up to be a fastidious scientist so the choice of name, for her, was obvious. Roy had tried his level best to dissuade her but realised that small battles had to be surrendered if he wished to win the bigger battles. He just knew that he would do all in his power to make his little boy happy, no matter what it took.

And so Sheldon sat watching and waiting.

Waiting for school days when his friends would scoop him up and they could be boys together and he would answer to the name Don.

Waiting for the two weekends a month that he could enjoy a rough and tumble with his dad.

Waiting for the school holidays when he could run wild during the day, rush home and put his clothes in the machine while he had a bath and waited for his mom to get home to her pristine home and little, clean, angelic boy all nicely washed and scrubbed - waiting and looking out the window. She thought he was waiting to catch sight of her.

Sheldon gave a little smile when he realised that he had discovered a perfect way to live his life as a boy and yet make his mom happy. No thought entered his little 8-year-old mind that he was in training for a dual existence.

Archaic Times

Muriel stood up and brushed the crumbs from her apron. She had just finished her tea and was dreading the moment when her charge would wake up. But today felt different.

It seemed that Muriel had always been in service but now that her charge‘s finances had all but diminished she had become mistress of all trades in the enormous house that had once seen such splendour.

Muriel could remember the very first day she had arrived there. She was sixteen years old and her eyes were wide with wonder and fear. She had never seen a house that big or furnishings that expensive. She pulled herself into herself and scarcely heard her mother talking to the housekeeper, Mrs. Hawkins. She was petrified. She had just come out of the minimal schooling that her parents could afford and she was forced into work to help support her family. Her father was not well. He had worked in the coal mines in Johannesburg and had been taken over by “miner’s sickness”. He sat in a huddle in the tiny kitchen coughing until Muriel was sure he would either cough his lungs out or die of a stroke or heart attack. She didn’t really know her father – he had left for work before the household got up and came home dirty and tired and could not be bothered with the many children he had fathered.

Muriel was very scared. She clutched her little cotton bag that held all her worldly possessions close to her chest.

“Now Muriel, I want you to be a good girl and show Mrs. Hawkins that even though we are poor, you were brought up to have manners. Remember I told you that you would sleep in and be home on Saturday afternoon and Sunday morning?”

“Yes mommy,” she had replied biting back the tears.

It had been virtually unknown for a white girl to enter “service” in Johannesburg but the lady of the house was from England and looked disparagingly at any who did not share her skin colour. Muriel found this odd and yes, distasteful. Surely we are all the same? The aspect of apartheid had never made sense to her.

Well, the years had rolled by and yes she had been a good girl and had slowly risen through the ranks and as the money diminished newer members of staff had lost their jobs until only Muriel was left.

Mrs. Abbot, the boss lady, was now very old, fragile and forgetful and her son, Colin, had been trying to get her to realise that she could no longer stay in this mammoth of a house. It was too much to expect Muriel to care for her and the house so he had instructed Muriel to close up and not worry about cleaning any room that was not essential.

He was something very big in the world of finance, Muriel did not understand all that but knew that his job took him all over the world and he and his family had been forced to relocate to Switzerland as the main part of his company functioned there.

Muriel knew how to get hold of him at any given moment and she knew how to get hold of the doctor and Mr. Smithy who was a friend of the now deceased Mr. Abbott and she thought that he was a lawyer but couldn’t be sure.

So day in and day out Muriel would wake up wash, dress and start preparations for Mrs. Abbott's breakfast which she insisted on eating in the huge dining room. She would then go up to the only bedroom that was not shut off and help Mrs. Abbot to bathe and dress. She would then help the old lady down the stairs, seat her at the table, rush into the kitchen put the finishing touches to the breakfast, wait for the tinkle of the little bell that Mrs. Abbott still insisted on using. She would stand behind the chair while madam ate her breakfast. She would then whisk the dishes away and help Mrs. Abbott on her walk around the garden, listening politely to the old lady’s chatter.

Once she had settled her in the drawing room with her newspaper, Muriel would then rush upstairs tidy and clean the bedroom and bathroom, rush downstairs and prepare the morning tea which had to be served on a tray with a delicate tray cloth. She would again stand unobtrusively while Mrs. Abbott finished her tea. She would then bring her her needlepoint before taking the tray to the kitchen where she would wash the breakfast and tea things and tidy the kitchen. She would then have a brief respite before starting on the lunch preparations which had to be eaten in the dining room at the huge table which could seat 16. After lunch, she would help Mrs. Abbott up the stairs again and settle her for her afternoon nap.

Once she was settled it was skedaddle to the drawing room and give it a clean and then to the dining room for a clean-up. Mrs. Abbott had sharp eyes for all her years. Everything had to be just so. Then and only then could Muriel sit down and have her tea. This was a meal which bundled lunch, tea and a bit of dinner. Tidy the kitchen again and start dinner preparations.

The days seemed to stretch to infinity following the same procedure day after day, week after week, year after year.

Mrs. Abbott was a kind but exacting mistress. When she had finished her nap she would ring for Muriel to come up and help her down for afternoon tea which was followed by a little bit of television viewing and then dinner – almost the same procedure as the other two meals.

After dinner Mrs. Abbott would either read, watch TV or play solitaire before being helped up and helped to get ready for bed.

Muriel would then go down, set the house to rights, clean the kitchen again, sit down to a late supper and crash into bed.

But somehow Muriel felt that today was different. She felt it while having her tea. Somehow she knew she had to keep the phone handy, somehow she knew that she had to have doctor’s number ready to activate and so Muriel stood up, brushed the crumbs from her apron, picked up the phone and activated the doctor’s number. Her last thoughts were “49 year’s old! Where did my life go? Surely this is not it….”

* * * *

The doctor grew agitated as he heard nothing on the other side. Mrs. Abbott’s bell was tinkling and Muriel was greeting her father and mother as they waited to welcome her to the other side.

© Vera Alexander

Homework vs Life

I came across this in a Facebook post and it got me thinking. In essence I agree with it BUT…

We do not live in a perfect world. The world that is depicted in American 1950’s media. The world where the mom is at home preparing the evening meal for her family and the dad arrives home to find the children neat and tidy sitting waiting for their evening meal. And that evening meal is a time where views are exchanged and families get to know each other.

In our modern world everyone is inflicted with many distractions. Meals are more often than not consumed in front of the TV. Both mom and dad work so all too often meals are quick take away type meals.

Cell phones are a distraction that we can’t get away from. Life has changed and not in a good way. We are constantly feeling naked if our cell phone is not close by – the need to “be in touch” has become ludicrously anti-social. How many times have we seen people more involved with their phone than with the person sitting next to them?

Family values are changing – does this equate to the rise in gangsterism? Are kids getting more attention from their peers than from their families? We know that most kids seek attention – in any form. Good deeds or bad deeds bring recognition and peers exert so much more fascination than elders.

In series aimed at youngsters there always has to be that one kid who is bad and the screenwriters write their parts in such a way that elicits admiration.

There is so much in the modern world that interferes with good family morals so stopping homework (which I entirely support) is really not going to wipe away the degradation of general family life. We have to delve much deeper.

I remember a cartoon of St Peter and God surveying the world and St Peter’s speech bubble read “Time for a reboot?”

The Waters of Life

 In the time before time you floated in your own tiny private swimming pool.

Later on bath times were pleasurable. Sometimes you wanted bubbles and loved it and other times you refused to have bubbles.

Summers brought water fun but the water was contained either by a paddling pool or by a parent's arms.

As you grew the swimming pool gave you a safe shallow end but soon you were ready to explore the deeper waters but still within boundaries.

On the night of the 23^rd July you said goodbye to the boundaries of childhood and the strictures that the childhood waters brought. On the morning of 24^th you stood on the edge of the ocean which will be your life. You are dabbling your toes in this ocean. Don't rush to plunge in. Take time to savour each and every ripple that life will bring you. Explore each ripple before you decide if you want to follow it to wherever it may lead you or wait for the next ripple.

Enjoy the shallow waters for a few more years. Shallow waters where the people who love you will be standing waiting to give you help if you need it.

I will also be waiting on the sands ready to help in whatever way you need. I will be waiting to see just where the waters of life take you. Choose wisely and you will have a beautiful safe trip.

(Written for my grandaughter on the eve of her 18th birthday   © Vera Alexander)

Cantankerous old age

In my youth (Oh far too long ago!) I knew all about cantankerous old age. It was stereotyped in movies, cartoons etc. The old biddy rushing outside brandishing a walking stick at children who were basically just being children.

I hoped one day, if I reached that age, I would be different. Well first of all the old biddies from my youthful remembrances were a hell of a lot younger than I am now. And secondly, I am cantankerous in a totally different way.

I love young people. I find their views of the world very refreshing.so let them play make a noise and enjoy themselves. (One noise I do object to is screaming as part of play. My opinion is if you scream you had better be hurt or in danger.)

So now as to how being a cantankerous old biddy has affected me. I ask young people to:

Grow up.

 ·        Some people will like you, some people won’t.

·         Words can be hurtful but get over it for your own peace of mind.

·         Don’t worry about what others think

Experience the world

 Put that phone down for a while. (I am now living with my cell phone on silent. It started during my recent teaching stint at Open Air. You can’t use your phone while you are teaching so put it off. And being forgetful I suppose, I forgot to put the sound back on and I found how freeing it was. I could check it when I wanted and return calls and messages in my own time.

·Be open to new experiences, new sounds, new feelings

·Talk to an old person – they are just like you inside, outside is different but inside there is an 18-year-old dying to get out

My personal cantankerousness

It irritates me when I hear the slogan “Black lives matter”. Come on! ALL lives matter, whites, blacks, yellow, cats, dogs, birds and bees. I have a young (white) friend who gets upset when I offer this viewpoint and he says I don’t understand. I do understand dear boy and I have become more compassionate and more understanding the older I get.

I wish I could plonk some of the wisdom that time has given me into the heads of youth without destroying their youth and innocence. And yes I get cantankerous when I see them throwing away this wonderful experience that is life by doing drugs and crime.

I hate to see the state of the world:

·         The rioting

·         The crime

·         The protest marches

·         The lack of moral fibre

I hate the murdering of women and children.

I hate it that the youth are taking over countries without having the knowledge and sensibility to make things work.

I hate it that every day you hear of someone using established methods to commit crimes. The robbing of senior citizens, the robbing of governments. The latest thing that is getting me all cantankerous is that Uber drivers are now on the take to rob you and leave you stranded.

What a sad, crazy world we live in.

How did it happen?

How did it happen? When did it happen? Why did it happen? Where can we lay the blame? America? Well they seem to be leaders in most things so the blame will normally sit with one of their people. Some say Dr. Spock? I don’t know. I just know that I don’t like where we are right now.

We have to watch our words in case we offend someone. But wait does that apply to all of us? Or only to some? There used to be a phrase – thick-skinned. That had nothing to do with colour or nationality or gender. It meant that we were able to take words and not allow their meaning to disrupt our lives, not to allow them to make us seek retribution either physically or in a court of law.

We have to be careful as there are too many people around who have no respect for the law and the safety of the normal person. We can’t even really trust our police force – the people who are supposed to be there for our protection.

The criminal and law breaker has become immune – crimes are committed in full view of witnesses. Often the criminal will not even bother to cover their face. You can no longer be safe if you are careful you may just be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I feel sorry for the children who are led into crime by their caregivers – they don’t stand a chance.

I feel sorry for the youth growing up in this day and age. I feel sorry for parents who have to have a vigilance that I never had to have.

I congratulate the people who can grow up and grow normal in this crazy world of ours and I hope that somehow somewhere they will lift their voices and help set this world straight again.

I'm glad that my youth took place in a safe, warm, nourishing environment.

The forest

At first there is a silence and as the silence becomes deafening a tiny sound starts to reverberate. The heart of the forest is responding to the stillness of the sound. The trees realise that there are no humans around. No one to disturb the sound of silence or the sound of life. Just as the trees grow used to their inner silence other sounds start to awaken. The wind blows gently and the leaves of the fir trees start quietly swishing together.

A bird flies down onto a branch and quietly begins to chirrup. As there is no disturbance from anyone he lifts his voice higher and higher until it reaches the flock flying silently overhead. The flock almost come to a shrieking halt as the sound floats up to them. This is joyous, this is freedom. One by one the birds fly down to alight on branches and join their voices to the voice of the lone swallow. The night birds ruffle their feathers in their sleeping foliage and lazily add their sound to the rising melody.

The brook which flows on the edge of the forest seeps in the happiness around it and beginnings to chortle and bubble its way to the stream ahead. The frogs realise that the time has come to join in and they time their croaks to meld in with the general melody. The tree frogs slither out the water, creeping along like Gollum. They find a spot on the trunk of the trees and join in with their unique song. Squirrels pop out of their sleeping areas and become a silent audience to this midnight madness of the forest. Little dassies, feral cats and abandoned dogs slink closer hoping to be accepted. As they see that all are beginning to harmonise in song, sounds and life they relax and become glad to join the circle. Even the snakes slithering out of their homes realise that this is different. It is safer. This is what they have dreamed of.

Soon the jubilations start to quieten as the animals drift off to sleep exactly where they came to rest and the forest slumbers and is stronger for the peace it has experienced even if only for one brief night. As dawn arises, the birds start their morning chorus, the animals look around and are surprised to still be possessed of that beautiful relaxed feeling of the night before. Something has happened, there has been one small change, almost imperceptible but there has been a change.

As the daylight gets stronger the animals look around and wonder when they need to take cover from the hunters and loggers who daily spoil their homes and their harmony. But nothing happens. The wise owl thinks he knows the answer and sings amidst his hoots to tell his thoughts.

“Tawoo… It is the barbarian’s day of rest.” He nods wisely as he says “They will be back tomorrow so let’s enjoy one more day of possession of our forest.”

The other animals decide to accept the owl’s wise words and go about their business and play undisturbed by the fact that they have let their guard down and man may come at any moment to break it up. As the sun goes down the forest folk realise that they have been given a fabulous gift of one undisturbed day and all raise their voices in thanks for this blessing and then slowly doze off. Some are twitching with thoughts of what tomorrow might bring.

But joy of joys tomorrow dawns and the beauty of the day before is repeated. Soon the animals and birds and trees begin to hope that the new life has indeed begun. But none of them had ventured to the outskirts of the forest. If they had they would have been surprised to see small primitive homes being built to surround and protect the forest. They would have seen an elderly kind looking man (let’s call him John) who had at last won his fight against the marauders. Yes! He and his family had pooled their resources to protect this the last surviving forest on earth in the hopes of educating the greedy that humans cannot just go on their path of destruction, they need to protect what little resources are left. 

Man needs oxygen; trees need carbon dioxide so we can live in a symbiotic system and grow.

© Vera Alexander