So Much!

And for all this, nature is never spent:
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things:

Gerard Manley Hopkins

Over here it has been a season of so much! The winter rains have fallen and fallen, the dams are full to overflowing, the waterfalls on the nearby mountains splash onto the tarmac. I can hear the water from the mountain running down past my house. And the wind has been blowing and gusting, at night the noise is often downright scary. It has been an extraordinary winter! And it snowed on Table Mountain!

And now it is whale season! And there have been so many whale sightings! In particular there has been a mom and baby visiting that are just so generous, we have seen mom’s face, and baby’s face, there are fins and tails and blowing. A veritable feast! And it is not stopping, such a joy to have these huge visitors coming and going.

We are so spoilt with sunshine here, we really noticed its absence. But even through the cold wet days to me it felt like there was so much emotion as well. And so much thinking! So much busy busy! My grandson came to stay often, so suddenly we were back to play dates, to taking him to sport, to watching Shaun the Sheep and King Julian. You know, in the past years there were long periods when we did not see him often, when visits were brief, and we do not take the luxury now of all this time lightly. And to me being the age I am it is becoming easier and easier to know that a day, an experience, a conversation, is precious.

I have written here of my much-loved cousin Joey and her recent death. Well, her eldest daughter was in my city recently and came to supper and she brought roses! What a happy visit that was! Of course we talked family, and memories, and regrets, and told tales of old times. You know, in my childhood, so many stories were told and retold. It was so nice to tell some of those old stories that this young woman had never heard, to tell her about the wonderful man the grandfather she never met, was. To tell her the funny stories about her uncle who died so tragically, so young. We laughed so much! We spoke of the sad times, those stories need telling too. Talking about them brings context, if not always understanding.

Also been thinking so much about my husband’s Parkinson’s disease. Talking to him about it. For myself I so recall his diagnosis which followed strangely on a bout of vertigo. Luckily his GP had already said that she suspected that would be the diagnosis, so we were if not prepared, at least primed. But one is never ready to hear it or believe it at cell level and adjustment is a bumpy ride. But here we are. There have been some very bad days. But he has this great attitude of living his life with the Parkinson’s. The Parkinson’s is a generally polite, but not very helpful, fellow traveller. He does, roughly speaking, what he has always done. Slower, stuff is harder, but this is his life. This is our life. We are lucky to be in old age when this crossed our path. We have developed resilience. Been through other bad times. And almost to our surprise there is so much joy, so much laughter. And there is singing! Singing helps with the soft Parkinson’s voice. Of course, we sometimes worry over what the future might bring, and then sanity prevails, and we remember that no one, whether they have Parkinson’s or not, knows what the future or even tomorrow holds.

For me also this has been a time of thinking so much about what life is about. What is it for? Why are we here? Why am I here? This question has popped up for me every so often through the years but has become clearer and louder as time went on. And I reckon the question is deeply personal. My job, my mission is mine alone. There might be a number of us with the same job, but responsibility is held individually as is the rest of one’s life. My behaviour is my responsibility. Whether I learn from experience or not is down to me. What is the same for all of us is that we affect the bit of the world we inhabit and the world at large with every action and we are accountable. We are our brother’s keeper. And listen, let us be tender and respectful. That is my job, and I have impeccable information that it is yours as well.

How many, how many, how many
make up a world!
And then I think of that old idea: the singular
and the eternal.
One cup, in which everything is swirled
Back to the colour of the sea and the sky.
Imagine it!

Mary Oliver