A Merry Christmas noted

By fate we were late

We entered Christmas slightly in a demur and sober mood, crashing out the night before in the living room, I on the so-called sofa-bad hewn out of rock that each shift was a creak in body ache allegro, you would find more comfort in wincing. He on the rug that sheds its thread at peak alopecia, and I doubt it was any more comfortable, but when I woke up in the witching hour, I got both of us to the bedroom and the comfort of the bed.

The Christmas service had to be registered for as the church was only going to admit 250 worshippers due to Coronavirus precautions. It was to start at 10:00 AM and for all our early wakefulness and preparations, we arrived as they were finishing the processional hymn and found seats to the front left nave with a good view of the altar and the celebrants.

In the humanity of our frailties

The president was Reverend Michael Lapsley, whose storied life of priesthood and social justice activism included having both his hands blown off by a letter bomb sent to him by the Apartheid regime. The atmosphere was lively and solemn, the choir in full angelic voice especially for the Latin recitals.

The Sung Eucharist is quite conservative and traditional that when censer was filled, I thought of it as God’s shisha, for it smoked up like one was observing a full burnt offering, a sweet savour to the Lord as the Bible has usefully described that Old Testament sacrament. I could do without finding fault in things as the pamphlet had mean for meek in one of the carols and the Gospel was read from John when it indicated Luke, the Latin for heavens is Caeli, but it had Coeli, amongst other things.

At the end of the service, we posed for some pictures before stepping out to greet the ministers, going to breakfast, crowd watching at V&A Waterfront before returning home for Christmas dinner. It has been a wonderful and beautiful day; I hope you all had a beautiful merry Christmas.

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For the simple need to be heard and understood

If only I was heard

When I asked my line manager some 28 years ago that I wanted to attend an assertiveness course, he scoffed at me saying there was no way I needed to be on that course, that I was his rottweiler in tough negotiations and I was more than articulate enough to get my point across.

On reflection, I should have been allowed to attend that course for the simple reason that I might have learnt something about being heard when I speak and being understood when I have spoken.

If only I was understood

There is something missing in my communication, no matter how hard I try to convey a point or a situation, some of my longstanding readers read me through a prism of experience and provenance, it is rarely situational in the context of the particular time and place. Dare I say, they do not capture the zeitgeist and I am left making multiple attempts to be heard and understood.

In some ways, I am heard but not listened to, the hearing or the reading creates a kind of awe of the mastery of language, which might fail in the efficacy of meaning. Invariably, the myth that I am a good communicator is just that, a myth, because everything I have intended has been lost in the superfluity of delivery without delivering the message itself.

If only it didn’t have to be in a rage

I tried in at least three blogs to shout out my helpless situation for which I had concluded that I needed therapy, it did and literally fell on deaf ears, it became a soliloquy when I thought it was broadcast communication from which those who read my runes could reach out to me to offer support and succour.

I must conclude I failed in that simple task of asking for help, getting some time, and eliciting the latitude of patience to allow me to sort my head out. In the end, it all came out in a rage, seething rage, untrammelled with raw emotion and worked up in utter exasperation and helplessness. Sadly, we sometimes just need to hurt a little to know that the pain is real, the truth is bitter and maybe we might just see let the chips fall where they might.

References

Blog - Thought Picnic: Stuck on the absence of desire

Blog - Thought Picnic: In the struggle to resume as I

Blog - Please, be at ease with me

Please, be at ease with me

Fear not what you see

Do I ever rebuke,
Even as though a duke,
Or my words abrade,
And inflict like in a raid,
Seek I constant apology,
To be beheld like an effigy,
My lips spew criticism,
With all its cynicism,
Has one given no praise,
Just not to follow a craze,
Too difficult to impress,
Leaving some in distress,
Seen as quite impossible,
That I am unapproachable,
Many are my faults,
As deemed the assault,
A god I seek not to be,
Fear not what you see.

Thought Picnic: In the struggle to resume as I

A fog in the head

It is strange that only recently I wrote about being stuck on the absence of desire, I concept that might well be quite seriously misunderstood when it is seen as physical rather than a head and consequently a mental health issue.

Blog - Thought Picnic: Stuck on the absence of desire

There is no doubt in my mind today that I do need therapy, there are knotty issues that are affecting my flow, I cannot seem to get a grip on several things that I would have thought a few months ago would have happened without any need for encouragement or inspiration. I really do feel somewhat stuck that something radical needs to happen.

The therapies I require

Indeed, some physical therapy can come in useful in the form of spa treatments and a sports massage, however, fundamentally, mental therapy would reach down into the depth of what seems to ail me, a few sessions of psychotherapy and psychoanalysis, a professional helping me unravel the pall of infirmity that inhibits aspects of productivity and expression.

The catharsis of writing is not enough and though having a conversation with my best friend might have helped things a bit. In myself, my confidence is shaken and the kind of focus that appears as sure-footed maturity is not particular manifest. It is like I am at my most vulnerable when I need support and most misunderstood that places the burden of patience on others.

Seeing more of me

I have no idea of how much time I need to get back either to my old self or to arrive at a manifestly improved self, I am just taking each day as it comes, hoping that in the process things either fall into place or I find that essential support I need.

It is inauspicious that this is happening at a time when I am with my partner, and we have ahead of us some consequential plans. Oh, I can be quite moody if not boring, these are realities that probably need to be experienced and appreciated along with everything else people know about me. What I do not know is if my human frailties can find enough allowances in the frame of reference of those on whom I depend as much as they depend on me.

Then there is a responsibility that I bear in all this, the need for others to see the 'for worse' of me when they are distracted by the 'for better' at commitment, and feel deceived about all the components of my evidently fragile being and nature.

On a Tuesday, 56 years ago

Four days to Christmas

On a cold Tuesday morning, a boy-child was born, and for a manger, he had an incubator in which he lay for just over 2 months. Mary, the mother was soon back in the fields of work just after Joseph, the father had handled the hamster-sized boy and signed the papers to have the boy taken out of town. That is my nativity in a nutshell.

My heart is full of thanks and gratitude for the celebration of my 56^th birthday, and what a year it has been, but we cannot dwell on the difficulties and hardships when there is much to be grateful for, for the blessings and the grace to see another year, in warmth, with love, and buoyed with hope for the future.

Do not fold to old

Much as I am excited, a little voice of distraction whispers within that I always strive to interrupt and challenge myself about the possible, the attainable and the achievable. I have to believe that at 56, there is no barrier to adventure, new horizons, long-term planning, fresh perspectives, knowledge and new ideas.

Indeed, things are harder as youth begins to creep away into the distant past, nothing is impossible. Obviously, I have to lay out plans, things to do, things to undo, places to go, lives to impact, even legacies to build amongst the myriad issues of life. My health is good, I have worked to attain some fitness, taken precautions in the midst of a pandemic, applied my energies where they can be productive and profitable.

Thanks and more thanks

My very close friends, Kola, Funmi, Steven, Patrick, and Sola, have supported me marvellously, urging me on through the days to the better and the brighter, they are all so different and yet together in their relationships with me bring a kind of completeness into the things that concern me. Thank you.

My longsuffering siblings and even niblings (nieces and nephews) who all can supplant me as firstborn, not on a pot of soup like Esau, but in my demonstrated childlike demeanour, they give me such purpose, I am fulfilled. My aged parents being who they always have been, I love you all.

Most of all, I celebrate today again with the love of my life, Brian. You are my joy, you have persevered through these uncertain times of limitations, restrictions, and distance. I have truly been blessed with the incomparable companionship of an angelic being. You are the best.

I live like that there are not many tomorrows to come and as each day comes, new dreams tell of tomorrows I could never have anticipated with the hope and assurance that much more would be seen to laud, celebrate, and cherish. I am thankful for the day, today, the blessings, the prayers, the love, the life, and the joy it has brought. Faithful, my God is daily and always.

In the dark streets of Cape Town

All power is gone

I was preparing fish for our supper when the television suddenly went silent, checking what might have happened, it soon dawned on me that we had had a power cut. At a time, I thought it was one of those load-shedding events that have dogged electrical supply over the last few years, but this was unscheduled, it came out of the blue and there was no indication as to when power would be restored. [IOL: Technical fault causes power outages in Cape Town]

The seriousness of the power cut was such that I also lost mobile phone connectivity, the cell towers were down, and I was basically off the grid, domestic roaming gave no respite, there was nothing we could do. The restaurant we chose to visit could take no new patrons as the kitchen was under pressure from the consequences of the power loss.

It is quite consequential

As everything is powered by electricity, water kettle, the stove, the oven, the food steamer, and the slow cooker were out of action, if this power cut lasts for longer, we might lose food in the fridge and then the freezer. Whilst I still prefer the domestic arrangements of staying in an apartment rather than a hotel room for long periods of time, one might be inclined towards temporary hotel accommodation soon.

It is my birthday and as I am temporarily incommunicado, I will not be able to receive any greetings until I find myself back online.

Coronavirus streets in the heat - LIII

No scrubs

As I stepped out unto Main Road this afternoon, life began imitating a song by TLC; a scrub indeed, though sitting in the back seat popping his head out of the window, hollering at a lady as they drove past, a pesty attempt at a catcall as the lady somewhat delectable tried to ignore him. [YouTube: TLC - No Scrubs]

Too much of this happens, where men just think any lady that walks by is open for some sort of assault without any recourse to anything including the law apart from keeping to herself indifferent to the raucous around her with the hope she’ll be out of earshot before some animal instinct informs the man to advance into her personal space.

Skimping the heat

On the weather, a subject that you do not have to ask an Englishman to initiate conversation, I am close to melting point as I left home with temperatures close to freezing and until a couple of days ago, we were in the early twenties that some have terms unseasonably cool, now that we are breaching the thirties, anywhere to keep cool in the shade is what I seek. There is no air-conditioning here, they have a heater instead, in Cape Town.

Anyway, this seems to change the mode of dress, I am keeping in shorts, T-shirts and sandals, trousers would apply to church and evenings, the jacket has become optional and at most times unnecessary. As we left for church this morning, I could not help but notice that a lady seemed to have more material in her hairdo than on her shorts. Go figure!

Keeping sensibly safe

Again, we cannot ignore the pandemic, we are still diligently taking precautions, wearing facemasks whenever we are outdoors, social distancing, keeping away from crowds and enclosed places. Sitting outside if that is available at restaurants or as well away from people as possible.

Life however goes on, and it would seem they have a bigger problem in the UK than we have down in South Africa, we still have our temperature taken when entering certain establishments, asked to sanitise our hands at every opportunity and even have to register with names, telephone numbers and even addresses. None of that happened much in the UK, that is it any wonder that in our liberal quest for freedoms and liberties, the infection rates have been the highest in the UK for the past 3 days? [WorldMeters.info - Coronavirus]