Just got back from the doctor’s.
“Bad news, dear. I have terminal cancer; nothing they can do, not long to go, 2 months at best.”
She looked at me sadly, but then suddenly perked up, “It’s not all bad, you know.”
I looked at her quizzically, “It isn’t?”
She beamed, “Well, look at it this way. At least you have decent life insurance!”
I woke buried in ice, burning like hell. I told her to wake me up, but she didn’t.
I guess I should have apologised for the comment about her walrus butt, but she deserved it. Fish … fish … fish … is that all an eskimo husband gets after a day’s hunting? No, the seal is for Sunday when the TikMu family comes over. Groan.
It’s not burning any more.
It’s very cold.
Help.
Too late to say sorry, dear?
She rested her head against my shoulder.
“I am so tired.”
I stroked her hair, my heart heavy with sorrow.
“I know, my love. Just try to rest, ok?”
She sighed, then suddenly sat bold upright and looked intently at the print on the wall opposite. A child’s drawing, filled with flowers, people, sun, moon and stars around a blue-green earth. I looked at her, dreading the next moment. She got up, went to the picture, peering at it closely, tracing around the earth with her hand.
“I see it,” she said, “I get it.” Then she turned to me wild-eyed.
“Do you see?”
I wished I did, but I didn’t, and shook my head.
“You never do,” she said, disappointed.
But I did. I saw everything; the gradual descent of the woman I loved most in all the world, into this.
It was her, but at the same time not her.
“Why don’t you come and sit down?”
She looked at me, her eyebrows furrowed as if struggling with some immense internal conflict.
“I can trust you.” It was at the same time a question as a statement. Then she sat down again, resting her head as before.
“I’m so tired.”
My heart wanted to break into a thousand bitter pieces but I didn’t let it. I had to remain in control.
Where was that doctor?
~~~~
“We’ll take good care of her,” the nurse said.
My eyes filled with tears as they walked her away, past the double doors, to the inpatient psychiatric ward. I had visions of white, padded cells, screaming, mutilated madmen, and leering, rapist guards with brutal hands. Tears in my eyes, I turned to the nurse. I was losing control.
“She will be Ok?”
She looked at me, a kindly old woman, and touched my arm.
“She will be fine, you’ll see.”
But I didn’t. How could this be made better? How could the God we both loved and served allow this to happen? An age old question to which I knew all the hollow intellectual answers, but now it was mine, cutting brutally through my heart.
I walked out of the hospital into the chilly night. The stars twinkled brightly overhead around a kindly moon, but I found no comfort. Great sobs escaped from deep inside me, and I looked up at the hand of the Creator, and cursed Him.
~~~~
She was playing Scrabble with some of the other patients. I hadn’t slept a wink and hurried back to the hospital as soon as visiting hours permitted. I approached cautiously, watching, waiting. She looked up, her face pale and wan, her eyes unrecognising. I said hello, but she looked away.
“The medication is quite strong in the beginning”, said the nurse at my side. “Give her time.”
I left, never before feeling so alone, but suppressed my anguish. The kids needed picking up from school.
~~~~
She stood at the top of the stairs, just woken from a nap, and pointed accusingly at my mother who had been tidying up.
“I don’t want you in my house.”
My mother looked at me, her eyes full of hurt, looking for comfort, but I had none to give. I shrugged.
~~~~
The dream now seems over, the nightmare nothing but a painful memory. Thanks to the marvel of medicine I have her back, or least someone like her. I feared her at first, expecting IT to pounce at any minute and wreck our lives like it did before. How I hated that illness that toyed with her mind. But then I learned to love her, to really love her, not the soppy romantic promises of a young fool who vows for better or for worse but knows not what he’s saying.
But I haven’t quite forgiven God, I don’t think, but He’s big enough to take that, and if not, well fuck it – I reckon I’ve been prepared for hell.
Two guys, Cameron and Nyiko are sitting at their favourite bar, drinking
beer.
Cameron turns to Nyiko and says, “You know, I’m tired of going through
life without an education. Tomorrow I think I’ll go to the community
college and sign up for some classes.” Nyiko agrees that it’s a good
idea.
The next day, Cameron goes down to the college and meets the Dean of
Admissions, who signs him up for four basic classes: Math, English,
History, and Logic.
“Logic?” Cameron asks, “what’s that?”
The dean says, “I’ll show you. Do you own a lawnmower?”
“Yeah.”
“Then logically speaking, because you own a lawnmower, I think that you
would have a yard.”
“That’s true, I do have a yard.”
“I’m not done,” the dean says. “Because you have a yard, I think
logically that you would have a house.”
“Yes, I do have a house!”
“And because you have a house, I think that you might logically have a
family.”
“I have a family.”
“I’m not done yet. Because you have a family, then logically you must
have a wife.”
“Yes, I do have a wife.”
“And because you have a wife, then logic tells me you must be
heterosexual.”
“I am heterosexual. That’s amazing, you were able to find out all of
that because I have a lawnmower.”
Excited to take the class now, Cameron shakes the Dean’s hand and leaves
to go meet Nyiko at the bar. He tells Nyiko about his classes, how he
has signed up for Math, English, History and Logic.
“Logic?” Nyiko says, “What’s that?”
“I’ll show you,” says Cameron. “Do you have a lawnmower?”
“No.”
“Then you’re gay…..”
It came to pass long ago, when the earth was young and the internet a fishing term, that a baby boy was born to the farmer and his wife. The farmer was immensely pleased, as he had worked hard to build up his farm and needed a son to help him at his labours. The boy grew up quickly into a fine, handsome young lad of golden disposition, however it soon became apparent to the farmer and his wife that their son was bone idle. At first his mother attributed it to an artistic strain in their family, but since he did nothing but spend his days dreaming under the apple tree on the hill, they eventually realised that there would be no practical manifestation of his gift. Perhaps this is all a little unfair on the young lad, because whilst he had idle notions, he did sometimes show promise: like the time he thought to weave a 3ft daisy chain for his mother. He was however so immensely proud of this achievement that he kept the floral necklace for himself.
The years went by, and it was not long before his parents had passed away and the lad, now a young man, sat idly under the apple tree, contemplating what to do with his inheritance. The farm he had of course sold immediately as he knew not, and indeed cared not, what to do with it. The bag of gold sat heavily in his lap and he regretted having asked for quite so much.
An apple fell to the ground and rolled down the hill towards the road, and the young man in that instant decided to follow it and see the world that had not bothered him much before. He set off with a jaunty stride, gold in hand, dreams in his head, whistling a little tune his mother had taught him.
Not long after that, perhaps not even an hour, he began to feel hunger pangs and he wondered what he would do for food. It was quite a problem as he was in the middle of nowhere. In the distance however he spied a man sitting next to a cow, seemingly eating his lunch. He smiled, pleased with his good fortune, and ran towards the stranger. On arrival he greeted the man and asked if he could have some of his bread and cheese. The man looked at him with some surprise, no doubt wondering whether an exchange was to be offered, but since none was forthcoming and being a charitable fellow, he shared his lunch with the young man. They fell to talking, or at least the young man talked at length about himself, until he noticed that the cow was a milk cow.
“Sir, I don’t suppose you would give me your cow, so I can have milk the rest of my days and need not go hungry?”
The man replied, “Son, I have just acquired this cow through a trade and am not inclined to give it away.” The young man looked so downcast that the man continued, “However I did exchange some magic beans for it, and if you hurry you might be able to catch up with the youngster I gave them to. Perhaps he would give you one or two.”
The young man cheered up immediately and was about to run off when he thought, “this bag of gold will slow me down, I shall give it to the man.” So he did, and set off at pace. Nightfall fell, as it usually does, and he came to small cottage in which a cosy light shone. He knocked on the door and enquired if he might have lodgings for the night. The owner of the cottage, an elderly woman and her young lad were only too glad to have visitors, for it had not been a good day. Their only cow, Tulip, had been foolishly exchanged by her son that morning for a handful of supposedly magic beans. The young man made himself at home an regaled them during supper with dreamy tales. When they enquired as to his destination he said he was looking for some magic beans he had heard about.
“Magic beans?” cried the woman, “Not you too? How strange Fortune is. We have some beans lying outside our window which you may freely have, but I doubt they are magic. However it is late and I suggest we turn in and attend to this tomorrow.” They bade each other good night and settled down to sleep, the young man sharing a bed with the woman’s son.
Dawn broke, but instead of the radiant morning sunshine, a green hue shone through the cottage windows. At first the occupants thought that the world was about to end and fell to praying, but when nothing happened, decided to go outside instead and investigate. It will no doubt not come as a surprise to you that a gigantic bean stalk had grown overnight from the magic beans and extended many miles up into the sky.
“Let’s climb it!” exclaimed the lad.
“No, it is not safe.” replied the mother.
The young man turned to her, “Do not fret, you have been so kind to me. I will hold it steady while he climbs.” The reality was that he had developed over the years a keen nose for strenuous activity and how to avoid it and this bean stalk had strenuosity written all over it!
The lad clambered quickly, watched anxiously by his mother, and soon disappeared from their sight. They stood a while, but since chores wait for no one, the mother soon went inside to attend to them. The young man settled down for a nap under the leafy shade of the bean stalk. He must have slept for a good few hours because when he awoke the sun was past noon. He wondered what had awoken him, but soon heard frantic rustling as the young lad climbed down with a hen under his arm.
“Quick, quick!” the young lad cried. “Fetch the axe.”
Fortunately his mother heard, because the idle young man knew not what fetch meant, and detecting the urgency in her son’s voice ran out with the axe.
The boy reached the ground, gasping for breath. “Giant… hen… golden eggs… coming … cut it down!”
Seeing that the young man was not hearing him, and indeed had wandered off into the orchard to look for apples, he grabbed the axe from his mother and began to frantically chop at the bast of the bean stalk. A giant roar from on high only served to increase his pace and soon the bean stalk gave a violent creak and tottered mightily. A second roar was heard, this time more like a screech, as the bean stalk began to tumble to the ground, casting its gigantic clamberer to the earth, to his death, into the apple orchard, where a young man of idle notions wondered when his fortune would hit him.
If you are a familiar reader of such fairy stories, you will no doubt be wondering what the moral is. Well fear not, here it is: “Don’t you have anything better to do than read tales of idleness?”
Have you ever wondered what people are really like, what they think, what they do when no one is looking? I did, that fateful morning, and it was my undoing.
It was an ordinary Sunday, much like any other. Spring was in the air and I could sense a corporate reluctance from my flock. I had prepared a fairly decent sermon on Grace, intended to instruct and to encourage, but not many were paying attention. Even the normally attentive Harold Withington had dozed off in his usual seat, much to his wife Arma’s annoyance – she was very concerned about appearances. So I was glad to reach the end and announce the closing hymn.
The congregation rose with a collective sigh, and as it was preparing itself during the organ prelude it struck me: they were all fakes!
Mrs Andrews in the front pew, singing with arrogant shrills above the rest, excessively proud of having studied music at London Royal College of Music. Her husband James, whom I knew was having a torrid affair with young Maisie two rows back (obviously not during the sermon). Why even Harold, old saint that he was, had a gambling problem that I’d had to rescue him from repeatedly.
Yet despite this, they paraded like perfect little Christians, with impeccable, fine smiles, secretly looking down on each other, forgetting deliberately the great heights from which we all have fallen, and the immense price paid to get them back there.
So after the hymn I announced that no one was to leave their seats. It was time for detention Bible style. They sat stunned, looking at their old pastor, not quite sure what to expect.
I then started to pray, oh how I started to pray! I prayed that the Lord would deliver my flock from their sins, that they would mend their wicked ways, that they would learn to love each other, that they would care for the poor and so on. I sensed the congregation getting restless, but nobody moved because we were in the presence of the Almighty.
Then I stopped and we waited. We waited for the Spirit of God to move among us. Nobody moved. Nobody talked. At least until suddenly Harold started from his slumber and leapt up shouting, “Don’t Panic Mr Mainwaring, don’t panic!”
The congregation collapsed with laughter at the old Dad’s Army quote, and that was it, the moment had passed: God had spoken, or perhaps not. Who knew?
I hung up my collar and frock in disgust and walked out never to return.
They were All fakes.
This eighty year old couple were celebrating their 60th anniversary and the wife says to her husband, ” Honey lets get stark naked and sit at the dinning table and eat our dinner!”
As they sat at the dinning table the wife says, “Honey I am beginning to get very hot and very aroused!”
The husband says, “That is because you have your breasts in the soup!”
Young Son: Is it true, Dad, I heard that in some parts of Africa a man doesn’t know his wife until he marries her? Dad: That happens in most countries, son.
Its my birthday today. My wife has said that shes going to make it my most special birthday ever …
I wonder where shes going ?
A man told his doctor he wasn’t able to do all the things around the house like he used to.
When the examination was complete, he said “Now Doc, tell me in plain English what is wrong with me.”
“Well in plain English,” the doctor replied, “you’re just lazy.”
“Okay,” said the man. “Now give me the medical term so I can tell my wife.”
