Sunday, February 8, 2009

Sunday, dusting Sunday

Yes, long time no blog. Really, it’s not because I haven’t wanted to, you have to admit, the news of late has been rich with blog material, and as we all know by now, there are opinions to be expressed. Sadly, due to the abundance of work and other such, my spare time has been a trifle, sparing. So much so that there are days when I would happily send the little demonic device, aka the “crackberry”, complete with blinking red light, out the window into the Port of Spain harbour. Alas, the windows are fixed reinforced glass and they don’t open; seems like I’m stuck with it and all that it implies.

My house has suffered from a lack of TLC, this morning, afraid that I would be overcome by the rising tide of disorder, I set out to conquer the vast frontiers of laundry, piles of things, mysterious glowing objects in the fridge and the ever present rolling swathes of dust balls, Zeus fur and things I don’t even want to think about. Even I, not noted for being particularly a domestic goddess, cannot abide the disorder in the castle. Lest you think that I’m an absolute slob, keep in mind, creative writing is my shtick.

Anyway, the last straw was being unable to find some earrings that my brother bought me a couple of years ago. It would be extremely distressing to lose them knowing that they’d been safely tucked away…..somewhere. The search has been instructive. While going through my walk in closet, re-ordering the clothing, shoes, bags and general detritus of a working woman’s closet I came upon Teddy. He caused me to stop.

Teddy, now a mouldy, balding, seeping stuffing, stuffed toy has been with me all my life. He once was a rather handsome black and white panda, my first ever toy purchased by a rather proud grandfather returning from wherever it was he’d been working. We were one of the only two families to own a telephone in our neighbourhood back in the late sixties and most of the seventies. Young people today don’t know how easy they have it, in those days there was a waiting list for a phone and you had to bribe someone to get on it and then bribe someone else to get one, after that is, a wait of anywhere up to ten years. Then it sat in your house like a decoration until someone else connected you, maybe. Ours worked because Pappy was an important dude to his company and they made sure it did. But I digress; I am told that my Granddad, upon hearing of my birth via the all important telephone, flew back to Trinidad to welcome his first Grandchild, he came to the hospital bearing Teddy. He’s been my companion ever since.

As a child, weaned on Enid Blyton, the Brothers Grimm, Hans Christian Anderson and other sundry authors I had a pretty active imagination. I read voraciously from the moment I could put letters together to form words. I am still that way. Those stories were responsible for me getting up in the night to see if in fact Teddy and the other toys were having a picnic or balls. Haven’t caught them yet but am still holding out hope that one day I will. My home office is filled with hundreds of books and yes; I’ve read them all. My house has been a treasure trove for me this morning. Not for the things that I’ve found hidden away under other things. But for the memories they bring.

Those earrings bought by my brother are very special, as are all the other pieces of jewelry he’s bought me over the years. Not for their value as objects but of the love that came with them and the occasions that they marked. He’s a lucky sod my brother; he drinks wine for a living. True. Well, he does other things too like run a couple of restaurants, supervise a bunch of staff, that kind of thing, but he’s also the person who buys the wine. He’s one of those people who stand around, sniffing, swilling, swirling and spitting. He can tell you about the accents, colours, what hints are in there, admittedly I think that his imagination is bigger than mine; it’s wine, red, white or sort of pink, you drink it. Going out to dinner with him is always an experience but he’s a good egg and I love him.

Despite my work load and knowing that instead of writing this blog I should have been editing an article that must be in for publication by tomorrow, writing up the proposal for the official commissioning of two new offices, going through my consultants report, doing research for my own article due end of this week, you get the picture; I’m kind of glad I took the time out to tend to my house. It’s given me that space to breathe and to remember that my life is important too. While clearing out some bags I found a bookmark that I thought was lost, it says, “ I try to take it one day at a time, but sometimes several days attack me at once.” Now ain’t that the truth. Trick is not to forget that you can stop and smell the roses, or in my case, the aroma of garlic, fresh tomatoes, balsamic vinegar from the spaghetti and meatballs simmering on the stove.

Happy Panorama prelims Sunday everybody.


Gabriela said...

Lovely post... it always moves me when I read the beautiful things you write about your brother.

Kari said...

Big up Enid Blyton, for real.

Angie said...

u love goin tru stuff (a.k.a. cleaning) n finding old/new things... ah!the magic it brings!