Falling through Friday

 

My puppies had their stitches removed this morning by a deft nurse. They were not in any discomfort or frightened, but had very odd expressions on their faces as they were swabbed and unstitched.

Had an email from my cousin telling me my father has been cremated — no funeral or memorial service — and the contents of the house and the property itself are being sold. Very matter of fact email — he is obviously disconcerted that I am the only family member communicating with him. My brother is drinking himsef insensible on a tropical island and my sisters seem to have simply withdrawn from any mention of my father’s death. Very much in line with family history –

 

Enough of that. It is cold and grey and I am learning how to paint  feathered wings, the feathered wing span of an African grey parrot to be precise. I once shared a holiday house on a lonely beach with an African grey parrot named Knuckles and this painting is a loving tribute. I am also including tea cups, a cupola birdcage and panicles of red and mauve bougainvillea in the painting, so it will look like nothing on earth. Tea cups are as challenging as gesturing hands to paint. My painted hands all have a look of “How did I get onto the Sistine chapel ceiling?’ because I can only do index fingers pointing or a bumpy fist.

 

My housemate is planning homemade hamburgers for supper with raw lamb she has ground herself, grilled over coals on a barbecue she has made with firewood she chopped herself. I think it will be raining cats and dogs by suppertime and I shall reheat a korma curry in the microwave to give us a break from all the DIY. In truth I am not sure our microwave works, I only ever use it to warm dog food and then only once a year or so. I prefer the neo-Luddite existence relying on a woodburning stove or gas burner.

I wish my sisters would talk to one another or to me. I wish my brother would stop drinking. Some days I am so homesick for  Africa up north I could howl. I hope my father’s ashes are scattered from a lonely mountain peak in the Nyangani range or the Chimanimanis. Steep granite peaks and domes rising out of rainforest, with the brilliant flame lily growing  amongst ferns and bromeliads, a landscape he loved with great passion. I miss it very much.

 

But one of my dearest friends is 19 yeasr sober today and I am sober today and that is enough for now.