GROUNDHOG DAY (MONTH, YEAR)

It’s 2020! Which matches neatly for anyone who likes their numbers mirrored or believes in numerical significance. I think I belong to that crowd ... like when I glance at my watch and see the time is 17:17 or 23:23. It happens so often I take it in my stride as one of those natural oddities. So far so good, or so meaningful.

But does anyone really experience a seismic change for the prosperous? And it usually is prosperity (or a pleasant change in the fate of one’s circumstance) that we are hoping the clock will provide on the twelfth beat of the midnight hour. Luck be a lady tonight. Lady, be lucky tonight. Be mine, lucky lady. Be mine, luck. And somehow sandwiched between one year end and one year start, we hold faith on an inbreath and release, eventually, into the real, once again.

What was real for you? For me, it was the influenza virus. How do you know you have the flu, asked the infectious diseases registrar in the emergency department. How did you know you had the flu, asked the immunology consultant on the ward, the next day. I can taste it, I said. It has a certain flavour, an aroma, a texture known to the memory of my cells. (They were listening to me, thinking, ‘Mm-hmm. Sure, kid, gal, woman. Whatever you say.’) Of course, I knew I had the flu because my nephew brought it on a plane from Singapore. I’m going to call you the NOD, I told him. The Nephew of Doom. Dang it Shai, thanks a lot, said the nephew of doom, taking it on his small chin. He made up for it by reading me several pages of Eva Ibbotson’s ‘Journey to the River Sea’. He read most of the book by himself, which pleased his aunt enormously. He knows about Eva. That she had The Lupus. He's not happy she died of it. But he understands she matters to me. I haven't introduced him to Flannery O'Connor yet... I'm not completely merciless.

One month has caterpillared across the seemingly endless bouts of coughing, fever, vomiting (oh, you know about the 'flu? I shall desist from further details)... my immunology consultant wants to see me again on Monday. Yesterday I had a heart monitor fitted to check on its speedy action (we in the biz call it tachycardia) and a few days ago, I had a ghastly paralysing attack of fibromyalgia. 

Dang it, 2020! To quote my precious nephew of delight. See, Raf? That works too. NOD. Nephew of Delight. Also, Nieces of Delight. All four of my delights are just that. 'Don't eat me!' they say. 'Cook me!' they say. 'Are you listening to me?' they demand. 'Copy me!' they command. Alright, 2020, if that's all you have in store for me, along with this writing m'larky, I'll take it.      

AND A SUNNY MERRY CHRISTMAS TO YOU AND YOU AND YOU

And then the end of the year is upon us. I don't know about you but I am not entirely heartbroken to see the end of this difficult year. Under the blazing Singaporean sun, I am letting go one month at a time.

In the concentrated heat, amid koyals and beetles, monkeys leaping in through windows for fresh bananas and the occasional languorous green snake, I eat and unwind my own coiled tense muscles.

In the midst of celebrating Christmas eve, the nephew and I contemplate a tired beetle, struggling to climb aboard a raft...  not dissimilar to me in the final stretch of this year. 

In his last hours, the beetle had two friends trying to build walls of protection around him. 

Later, at Christmas lunch under tropical sun, Raf insisted I eat with the upturned beetle beside me ... oh well, all part of the great merry go round of life. Merry Christmas everyone! 

LET'S PRETEND!

Let’s pretend that I don’t have fever for the first time in over a year. Let’s pretend that I am really a magical creature with super powers and this tiredness and pain are my pretend body. The truth is I can fly, and talk to animals and this sofa is a ship and this moment of this year, round with possibilities, will never end.  

At the bottom of my nephew’s bed at the top of the stairs of a house in Singapore, my father scratched around and found Paddington. (PB to those in the know.) He examined the red duffel coat and blue felt hat. And then went to his room, to bed. I nipped downstairs for a last cup of tea. When I returned, PB was missing. Since the nephew has been ruthlessly evicted from his room by his Aunty Shai, and is keeping his parents awake in their room, there was only one suspect.

 ‘I’ve never had a soft toy,’ said the thief. ‘I think I’ll keep him...’

At the local library, Rafael borrowed a book called ‘Let’s Pretend’: a book which I find extremely peculiar. To be three years old, and be able to distinguish between pretending, imagining for real, and the real, seems to be a feat of extraordinary mental prowess. No wonder the little dude gets so exhausted by the end of every day. He traverses three worlds at all times – two more than we do. He is a leopard, prowling between table legs, claws and teeth at the ready. He is pretending to be a leopard, escaped from the zoo, but is also a hungry boy wanting chocolate and ice cream instead of invisible chunks of meat. He is not a leopard at all. He is only a little boy. And not really scary at all.

In my suitcase at this very moment is a leopard suit. It is awaiting his birthday, but so far, just the thought that there is a leopard in my suitcase, unseen, has satisfied his imagination. Will the suit delight or repulse him? I shall report.

Meanwhile the niece and her grandfather embark on convoluted conversations at breakfast and lunch, and call out to one another at the top of their lungs. Some things are wonderful just as they are. No pretending required.

Today is Navroze - Parsi New Year. Happy Navroze to all of you, and may the rain rain, or the sun shine, according to your needs...

The Exalted One

I am in love, with a beautiful boy. His name is Rafael... and he is two days old :) Rafael means God has healed in Hebrew. In Arabic, Ar-Rafi means the exalted one, one who uplifts.

My darling Rafael,
I hope you don't mind, that I put down in words, how wonderful life is, now you're in the world... I also hope you don't mind that I was speaking on the radio today, and although I tried to restrain myself from raving about you too much, I did mention you once, twice, three times... and the radio presenter played you a song!! It was Diana Ross' 'Baby Love', which I hope you like, but even if you don't, famous on BBC radio at 2 days! Not bad eh?

Where was I? Oh yes...your perfect pink rose petal cheeks, your ability to sleep while your father's deep voice booms beneath your little frame, and his parents and sister croon at you via something magical called skype. I love you, little man. I knitted you a blanket and it is now winging its way to you.

Your besotted
Aunty Shai

(http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/p00fk5dt/Liz_Rhodes_28_03_2011/
from 2:20 onwards...)