I’m pretty much out of inspiration at the moment – I blame this bitterly cold weather for my current bout of brain-freeze. I’m not used to single digit temperatures – they belong in Russia, where our double digit hot temperatures currently are.
So, I popped over to Plinky for some inspiration and the thought for the day there is:
You are a fly on the wall at your own funeral. What are other people saying about you?
I am not going to write a long, drawn-out post…just short’ish thoughts – all good though because I don’t believe in speaking ill of the dead.
The Minister: She wasn’t a really big church attendee, but she came from a family whose history is firmly entrenched in this town. She will be missed by many I’m sure.
Elizabeth: You know, she was a great friend. I loved her like a sister, but that bitch never did make me that killer chocolate mousse of hers. I waited over a decade! Did any of you ever have the honour of tasting it?
I am definitely going to miss our “have more wine” and “pink elephants” conversations. She came to visit me one Sunday morning and when I opened the door at ten in the morning, I shoved a glass of Cab Sav in her hand and we eventually finished two bottles. The revelations that came out that morning were interesting to say the least.
You know how we actually became friends? I grabbed her out of a guys arms at a party and dragged her to the bathroom to help me with my bra that was undone. The look on her face was priceless.
Rachel: She was the closest thing I would ever have to a sister and I told her that. I will miss her coming over on a Saturday night to affirmative shop in my cupboard for something to wear to the dance where Mark was playing, or how she would come over just so I could apply her eye-liner. It took months, but I finally convinced her to wear red lipstick, and it took even longer before the idea finally grew on her.
I am also going to miss taking the mickey out of her about how often the guys she fancied ended up batting for the boys. Once thing she definitely didn’t have was a “gay-dar”.
I never admitted it to her while she was alive, but the night she dived into the pool and cracked her head open, amongst other things, I got a terrible fright. I thanked God often for protecting her, that she didn’t break her neck that night; that the only reminder she had of that night was that scar under her nose.
We laughed about it afterwards, but it could have been so much worse…
Cousin Lara: The things I put her through! She was like my kid sister. I have many fond memories of her.
I taught her to ride a bike. And once she’d mastered it, I told her we could go swimming at the Point and gave her a bike to ride that Alec had built up out of pieces of other bikes. The thing was buggered. There was masking tape on the handle bars instead of rubber grips, no actual pedals, just metal bars and it had no brakes. We were hurtling down the road when she yelled that she couldn’t stop and I told her to ride into the pavement, which she duly did, going arse over kettle, over a wall, landing in someone’s garden.
I will never forget the look on her face after I sent her on a blind date, or the night we nearly burnt the house down, or the night her parents and mine went away for the weekend and I lifted her on a bike to the local wholesaler where we bought two tubes of those orange “cheese curl” chips and when I mounted the pavement, the chips landed in the main drag and she literally stopped the traffic to rescue the chips. Those were good times!
Rudolph: She was one of the first friends I made when I moved here. She would often come round to my flat at night and we would sit round the kitchen table drinking rum and coke (even though I knew she hated rum) or OB’s on a cold night. She laughed ‘til she cried the night I told her about how I tried to dry my wet veldskoene in the oven. When I moved back home to the Eastern Cape, we had limited contact, but when she did manage to visit, we could easily stay up the whole night, laughing and joking. Great sense of humour she had.
I loved dancing with her – and inevitably we would always end up dancing in the kitchen. “No house is a home until the kitchen has been danced in.” was something she always used to say, and you know what, there is some truth in that philosophy of hers.
I’m not the only one who is going to miss her, my parents will too. She was like a daughter to them. I know Mom would have been over the moon if we had married, but unfortunately she wasn’t my type.
Jessie James: I know that for a long time she hoped that something would develop between us; that she was in love with me…I loved her too, but she was too good for me. I would have not been able to give her the life she deserved. She accepted it eventually, but she never stopped caring. She was special.
Obviously I don’t think these will be the only people at my funeral, but I have to get back to work before Steve walks in and sees that I’m blogging. This is a topic I will do another post on at a later stage. In the meantime, feel free to post a comment as to what you might say about me if you were at my funeral.