Poignant moments

My mom gets a funny look on her face when she feels she's being 'naughty'...I happened to see a book that she's just finished reading and we had a little giggle. I adore this dear, sweet soul. The morning we left to go back to Gauteng, my dad woke up really early to make us our breakfast, setting the table, shuffling around the kitchen from 4am, really trying to make this special. He has battled to sleep for years but it doesn't worry him as he has an hours nap during the day. My memories of my dad, probably like most, are vague for a good part of my childhood. In honesty, I didn't have much of a relationship with my dad...but I remember the good things, like him carrying me on his shoulders as I was a dreamer and a somewhat weak and skinny little twerp and often used to lag behind, swimming till I was blue and him wrapping me tightly up in a towel and hugging me close to get me warm again, only to repeat the same procedure numerous times, helping him paint fences, patio furniture, make dog kennels (at least I think I helped him :o) ) bending over the open bonnet with him, trying to learn how to change a fan-belt and spark-plug. My mom has always loved lace and crocheted goodies...working a lot of it herself. This is the view from their window, but the lace valence makes the view...for me anyway.....just that little extra special....like its the frame that completes the picture. The little mirror, well that is super magnified for her to see the numerous little hairs on her chin which she laboriously has to remove every few days. The binocks....hell, they're as old as the hills...my dad uses them to survey the area......he often gets to see things in the adjacent park which, at his age, brings a smile to his face. My moms dressing table, the one which is now in one of their two spare bedrooms...the one she had as far back as I can remember. When they got another, this one went to my eldest sister, Colleen. It holds many memories for me. I suppose a pair of knickers is not the most appropriate picture to put on ones blog, but for me, this just typifies the simplicity, the realness of my mom, who she is, her age, all that she stands for, her femininity, her pride, her beautiful, gentle soul, .....its a simple reminder for me that she's alive and precious, she's here, and best of all ,she's my mom.

While at the Maritzburg rugby festival, we went to stay for a night at my parents flat in Doonside.

The older I get, and possibly, the older they get, I seem to be looking at them with a very different understanding and appreciation for everything that they have in the past and do, represent in my and my families lives; faults, failings, quirks, past and present gestures of love, all mean so much to me and was and is all part and parcel of the woman I have become....yes with faults, failings, quirks and gestures of love....all of my own.

I am a different soul born of different souls and yet all with loads of inherent behaviours and ideologies. I see them and truly love them, just for what and who they are, not only as my parents but as simple people with simple lives.......good, kind, loving and caring.

Does the past really matter if it has brought to the present, its own wisdom's and teachings and life-lessons that serve to somehow teach all through generations and genes, good, bad, happy and sad, traumas, every single experience in our life's journey....that we need to take and share as 'the elderly' one day.

I can choose a legacy of bitterness and anger that comes with having imperfect 'people' as my parents having experienced the hurts I felt as a result of their human faults and frailties, or I can chose the legacy of love and joy with comes with having someone...a mother and father, who accepted the gift of an imperfect child....ME...and raised me as best they knew how, in love, as best they understood it,.... as simple human beings, just trying to do the best they can. Being 'here' was not my choice but Gods and I am here because I was chosen to be part of this world, part of that family.....and I have a purpose and a mission that is not my own but HIS. He has put me here, full knowing that I have and will, make many mistakes in my life...and still, I am here.

I have yet to live up to His purpose...I often doubt that I will, for the cycle is continuing in me...an imperfect human, raising imperfect humans, imperfectly.