the shizzle > the blog pile
Black Hole Sun......
fried:
I can't think of anything intelligent to say, nor can I ignore this thread...just keep writing.
Oldmanmatt:
Waiting....
Thursday...
It’s only tomorrow, might as well be a hundred years away...
Sleep came last night, finally, uninterrupted, deep; even the dream left me alone.
But, when I wake, the thoughts are back.
Constantly running through the events that lead to this point. They say that your life flashes before your eyes, in moments of extreme danger; when you think you’re going to die. I have been there, I don’t remember such a thing; I remember the voice.
There has been some news; it is good; it is hope.
The Surgeon (“Call me Harry. Look, here’s my card, any questions, anytime.”) has said he is happy to operate.
There had been doubts. There had been “Proximity to arteries and nerves”.
There had been hesitation....
There are many more questions...
I have regurgitated a life time, through my fingers, passed the keyboard; to the hard drive. There is more, far more than I can post here. Not every memory is painful...
There was Greenland....
There had been Ice diving, mountains, fjords. Fire lit nights, listening to Inuit hunters tell tall stories. Drunken revels with crazy Danes...
There had been The Politician....
There were three of us. Two of us we’re” his” babysitters, sorry, guides.
The Politician was on his honeymoon and though his new wife is full of life (she was a cracker!)And has spent her days in a wetsuit or boots; he has mostly read books or “Teleconferenced”.
Today, he wants to “do” the Ice Cap. We plan a short foray, just enough to give him a taste; cross a few crevasse (maybe he will realise how small he really is). Let him feel the silence.
We stop for a brew. It is quiet out here, the occasional boom as something moves deep below.
We are content, reverent; “He” wants to chat.
“I think I detect Military in your accents?” He has a distinctive, whiny, voice (you would know it well).
“Navy” I say. “Guards” says my partner (He really does have the accent too).
“But” says the Politician “You’re both so young, why did you abandon your careers so early?”
Normally, we enjoy chatting to clients, they are always awe struck. Normally, they get it. This guy is just irritating.
We could talk about Kuwait, Bosnia.... Hell... He wouldn’t understand.
I glance at my buddy, willing my eyes to say “you get this one, you’re more diplomatic”; he doesn’t need my prompt...
“Because” (in his best, plumy, upper crust), “Your fucking predecessor, made us redundant; you prick!”
The Politician would like to borrow the radio...
We watch the Helo, disappear. He was too tired, apparently, for the hike back.
We turn and begin the trudge back to the coast, giggling like school boys.
There will be a price....
It was worth it.
Oldmanmatt:
She re-built me...
Even as I’d walked off the Ice Cap, that sunny arctic afternoon; my ex was busy carving out her new life.
I didn’t know...
When I found out, I quit my job and rushed back to the UK. It was too late.
Tired of being left behind, tired of my adventures; tired.
I took the first job that came along. Dubai.
I was a shell, nothing inside.
From that meeting in the restaurant, she began to fill the shell.
We talked, late into the night; on long dawn drives to the mountains or far away dive sites. Her passion for adventure, for life; re-awoke my own.
We were married a year later.
We were married three times.
The first time at Holy Trinity, just friends and our parents.
I sketched the dress, her mother made it. She was stunning.
Our friends had organised a reception in their villa garden. We walked in under a tunnel of divers fins held at the salute. It was the best day of my life.
We were married again, a few days later, at the Romanian Embassy in Abu Dhabi. Just us (and a bottle of champers).
There was no avoiding it. She was Romanian, Orthodox, there would have to be the full show.
A few months and a great deal of planning later, we travelled again to her native mountains.
A Romanian wedding is something to see. To experience it, well; that is beyond description.
It is a beautiful, August, morning.
I travel with my family to her village. The house is decked with greenery; a huge arch of tree boughs adorns the gate. There is music and dancing in the garden beyond. I knock.
Her cousins will not let me in; I must pay them to get past. Inside, my family joins the dancing. They must distract her family, while I sneak to her room and try to steal her away. She is radiant, breath taking, we hurry out.
We are (of course) caught before the gate. Now we must face her parents.
We each in turn must beg them for forgiveness. I must ask them to forgive me for stealing their only daughter. She must ask them to forgive her for leaving them alone. Her father asks “Is this what you want?” It is quiet, stern faces all around. “Da” she replies. The house erupts in cheering and we must lead the dancing (and I must pay the accordion player, repeatedly).
We travel in convoy to the church, horns blaring.
Our God parents lead us to the altar (they will do the same for our two children, in the years to come).
It becomes a confusing, busy, whirling ceremony.
There are candles, crowns upon our heads; there is dancing round the altar. There is much kissing of saints, splashing of holy water.
There are vows.
The convoy moves on to the tavern in the town, an open air courtyard. Roofed around the edges (like cloisters) where the tables are set up.
There is food, there is wine.
There is dancing. Not the English traditional wedding stomp.
Arms upon each other’s shoulders, we whirl in concentric circles. Feet flashing, learn quick or be mown under. Lightning flashes on the mountain tops.
We cut the cake. She grabs a handful and smears it on my face. I return the favour. They are cheering and the dancing begins again. Even through the rain and pounding thunder, we whirl through the darkness.
Then she is gone.
Her cousins have kidnapped her. They send an emissary with her shoe and the ransom demand. Wine and lots of it!
She is returned. We dance and drink and spin into the night....
Late, very late, we slip away.
Together.
Oldmanmatt:
Music...
11:00 BST
I have to take this thing off shuffle...
There is still no news...
I’m trying to work, to focus...
Izzy strummed, that Hawaiian guitar, and I’m tumbling over the rainbow.
It happened yesterday, at the wall; when Delores wailed, cried, “In your head, in your head!”
I shall carefully select a new playlist.
It doesn’t take much, right now.
Oldmanmatt:
There is only one tumour.
They can cut it out, along with some of the Lymph nodes around it.
After that....
It depends on the Biopsy.
It is better than we had feared.
There will be more waiting...
It is a long way from over...
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