Remembrance


 

Like Jesus, every human being has enough memories in his past to occupy his time and thoughts continually. It is not the remembrance of these incidents but the reliving of them that creates havoc in our souls. Mother Angelica
Read more at: https://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/keywords/remembrance.html

REMEMDER!

Main Entrance

Unbelievable! After 25 years, I am standing here, looking at the ruins of the rehabilitation centre.

The entrance is dilapidated. Seized with emotion, tears of affection roll down my cheeks. Deep within me, memories churn and tangle around. My thoughts are a vortex of anxiety, sadness, despair, and yet at the end victory.

January 2, 19 … Soft hands helped me up. The hands put me into the waiting vehicle. I felt tired, so tired and nauseous. I did not want to live. A soft voice kept on calming me down. The voice, soft and reassuring, kept on talking to me.

Up on the hill

It’s a long ride. Each turn made me feel as if  I were tumbling over the edge. Deep into the mountains and high on a hill the vehicle came to a sudden halt. The door opened. I fell out like a bag of potatoes from the vehicle. Again the soft hands and voice. People lead me into the building. It smelled of clean floors.  The smell of freshly cooked food sickened me. When did I last have a decent meal? I couldn’t remember. I had to get my bottle. What did I do with it? I got mad with anger. I trembled from head to toe. Strong hands took a firm hold on both my shaky arms. They took me through corridors and around corners. Suddenly I heard a door opening. In front of me a bed, a pillow and blanket. The hands pushed me down onto the bed. They left. I could not stop shaking. Everything faded away. I flopped, onto the bed.

Wall of single bedroom
Small room

Many days later I woke up. My head was still aching, but the shaking was gone. They transferred me to a dorm with eight other people. The room was airy and clean.  My roommates showed me systematically where everything was.

Dorm
Dorm
Down a pasage

I can remember that there were three wings each with passages and small single rooms and at the end of each a dorm with eight beds. The passages were divided into two wings, with a kitchenette and bathroom on both sides of the passage in the middle.The kitchenette had a kettle, some cups and a small fridge. We could make our coffee or tea which the hospital provided.

Small kitchen

There were small enclosures between the wings of the building. Inmates could sit outside and breathe fresh air. Everything was secured down. There was no opportunity for any escape.

Inside garden
Inside garden

As each person improved, they each gradually got more freedom.

A fully furnished recreation room provided hours of fun for the patients. Every person had some chores to do. Cooking, cleaning, gardening later. In the end, persons were led to live a better life again. After two years of rehabilitation, I could go back into the community, rehabilitated and well.  Clean of alcohol and drugs, and here I stand again, looking at the ruins of the hospital which I am going to enter in a moment from now. It hurts to look back at that time, but I am grateful for the soft voice and hands that brought me here that day twenty-five years ago.

Recreation room
Kitchen
Recreation room-lounge
Lounge
Lounge
Outside back door
Kitchen
Outside door
Outside back wing wall
Between two wings
Between two wings
Lounge outside door

I have taken all the photos. The hospital was locked and I had to take the photos through the windows.

Part two will be about entering the hospital and telling what could be seen, felt and remembered.

Motorbike experience: Memoirs


May 5, 2017. It’s write Easy.  Every Friday I join a writing group and write anecdotes from my past. We usually get six words for the week. We pick one word or more and write about it. My word was motorcycle.

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Some people, when they are young, love to show off by having a better motorcycle than their best friends.

My son, while at school was and still is a big motorcycle fan.

While in school he bought himself a field motorbike with his money selling newspapers. It took him two years to put the money together. It was a second-hand motorcycle, and most of the time he was busy trying to fix it. As soon as it was roadworthy again, he would go off with lots of noise and speed up and down the dirt track near our house.

He studied at the Technikon in Pretoria. After a year of using a yellow Austin Mini which I gave him as his first vehicle, he bought himself a black streamlined motorcycle.  He enjoyed to ride it. He even would drive the hundred and fifty kilometres home on the weekend to visit me.

Some years later he told me that he nearly killed himself driving down a steep hill. He drove downhill and lost control, ventured on the pavement, and almost bumped full on into a signboard pole which stopped him. He showed me photos of the brake marks on the road and sidewalk. Lucky for him that he missed it by a few millimetres.

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One of the first things my son did when he arrived in New Zealand he bought himself a motorcycle. He even bought a second which he tried to modernise his own way. He loved fiddling with the engines. Nowadays he is more into designing and making electronic boards which bring in some money to help pay the bills now that he has expanded his family.

Describing a person: Memoires


I described my mother and my father for my writing group in the local Library.

Both descriptions are of my parents in the hospital before they passed away.

My Father passed in 1994 and my mother in 2006.

Mum in hospital

Frail and bony hands were on top of the blanket. She taught us that you never sleep with your hands under the covers. Her handkerchief clenched in one hand. She regularly swept or just held it under her nose. Pale blue eyes looked at me in recognition. Eyes kept wandering up to the shelf where a toy husky looked down at her. “He winked at me. His tongue is hanging out, he smiled at me “came the shaky words. Her hair was sparse and bland. She looked so fragile. She never complained about pain and yet one could see it in her eyes. Her body was swollen twice as big as normal, from all the water caused by heart and also kidneys failure. The physiotherapist came, Mom wanted to show how strong she was. We had to support her; she could hardly sit up. She still asked:” Is it good enough?” She was brave until the end, not complaining about all the pain.

Dad in hospital

He sat in the chair next to the bed.Old and tired of the life. His hands clenched around the armrests of the chair. Those strong hands, which worked hard throughout his life, looked old and wrinkled. The oxygen pipe in his nose helped his shallow and irregular breathing. He was still fighting against the world and its many injustices. He could not make peace with circumstances. Surviving World War II in the Netherlands nearly totally had broken him. He even accused my mum of not loving him at the end! She was the one supporting him his whole life. He just did not trust or believe anyone. He kept on fighting against all will till the end.

 

Childhood: Memoirs


About my life and past

I  always wanting to please others. I can’t stand up for myself and say what I think because I don’t want to hurt others. This is how it still is today  I feel I am always coming last.

I can’t remember much of growing up, only small events come up and then go again.

The ” It’s write easy” sessions every Friday helps me to get closure in my life.

I always had someone in my life that dominated me.

First, it was my father keeping me away from enjoying my life as a scholar. The first years while we were living in Pretoria and then in Erasmia, a tiny “dorpie” (village or small town) at first was quite good. I had a few best friends at school. They even came to my home to play, and I could go on a Friday afternoon and play at their places. The school had only four teachers, and we all played and learned as if we were a big happy family. My school work was of high standard and I also enjoyed the after school activities like “korfball” * and athletics. In my last year in primary education, I was the best girl athlete in school.  

Then came the bad years. We moved to a “plot”**, away from anything. When I look back on those years, we lived a life of going nowhere.  I did not have any friends during my High school years. There was no opportunity to make friends. I could not take part in any after school events because my father did not want to pick me up afterwards. (I understand it was difficult for him, it was out of his way to pick me up) My school work did not go well. I can’t remember if there was time for homework at all.

We did not have electricity at home. We still used candles. I had to get up early, help my mother to milk the goats and then off to school in the school bus that took about an hour to get to school.  Coming back by bus in the afternoons, I had to look after the goats while they were grazing in the fields.

I got more and more lonely. Nobody to talk to, nothing. At the end I passed high school every year, I don’t know how but I did. Those years were very hard years.

I appreciate it that my parents looked after me that well. I could actually never expand my way or use my ideas.  I was always criticised no matter what I said or did.

 

*https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Korfball

**http://www.dictionary.com/browse/plot

a small piece or area of ground:

a garden plot; burial plot.

a measured piece or parcel of land:

a house on a two-acre plot.

 

Picture it and write: The key


Thank you goes to Ermilia, who hosts Picture it and write. Please click the link to read about the challenge.

https://ermiliablog.wordpress.com/2016/02/14/picture-it-write-85/

angel in the mirror

The prisoner looked up when he heard a soft flutter in the dark room. He could hardly open his swollen eyes.

A bright light shone on the opposite wall. He heard the rustle of wings. Slowly a white figure appeared. It was a most beautiful girl with angel wings. White as snow. She held a key in her hand. “I am leaving the key with you,” she whispered. On the lightened wall appeared a mirror with skulls on the side. The angle woman disappeared through the mirror leaving the key behind. The prisoner crept to the key. As soon as he picked it up he was lifted up by soft hands and taken through the mirror to a peaceful, far away field.

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Flash Fiction For the Purposeful Practitioner: Trustful eyes


https://rogershipp.wordpress.com/2016/02/12/flash-fiction-for-the-purposeful-practitioner-week-7-2016/

 

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http://publicdomainarchive.com/public-domain-images-black-lab-puppy-on-rustic-wood-background/

The opening sentence for the February 12th, Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner: “……. For the thousandth time, I promise you, it wasn’t me!” (Permission for this NOT be the opening sentence, but only a sentence included somewhere in your story….granted.)

TRUSTFUL EYES

Looking into her pleading puppy eyes made me smile. Fanny looked up from the bottom of the stairs. Nothing gave anything away that mischief had taken place a minute ago. Suddenly Jack, only four, came rushing in. All covered in chocolate. He stopped dead in his steps when he saw me at the top of the stairs. I put up a face that showed no amusement. Fanny wagged her tail in excitement. Jack stuttered: “Not me….no no.” He stopped and saw my angry face. “Mummy, it was Fanny……for the thousandth time, I PROMISE, it wasn’t me!” I could not help myself; I had to laugh at the picture of innocence on both faces. How could I be angry!

Sunday Photo Fiction: Circle way


Do you want more information on the challenge? Visit the following link

https://sundayphotofictioner.wordpress.com/2016/02/07/sunday-photo-fiction-february-7th-2016/

142 02 February 7th 2016

 

The highway to the harbour was all blocked! No one could get through. The accident happened so fast. Trembling and very faint Luke tried to escape the flames inside the vehicle. He had to keep calm. Someone tried to open the door at his side. Luke pushed while the person outside pulled. Suddenly the door gave way. Luke tumbled out. The rescuer grabbed his arm and dragged him away.

A helicopter was waiting for Luke a little way off. Quickly Luke was pushed into the helicopter and they took off. Nobody asked how he was or how he felt. Up in the sky and over the circling highway.

Luke, the ambassador of  No-where-land, had to be delivered safely to his country.

The speedboat waited in the harbour to take him home.

SPF

Picture it and write : Saved


https://ermiliablog.wordpress.com/2016/02/07/picture-it-write-84/

Visit Ermila for more information on the challenge.

mermaid-fins

Slowly the lovely girl emerged from the waves. She struggled to keep herself upright like all the strange beings on the beach. Looking down at where her legs were supposed to be: No legs, no feet! Nothing to stand on!

Suddenly a wave pushed her up the shore and out of the water. What should she do? She could not run back into the water, only a tail and no legs to balance herself.

Suddenly one of the two-legged beings picked her up. It had a calming effect on her; it put her back into the waves. She was so afraid that she would not reach the water in time. This creature saved her life. “I’ll always be grateful to you. You are blessed,” whispered the mermaid in the stranger’s ear.

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FFfAW week January 19, 2016. Absorbed


The intruders from outer spaces’ spaceship were impossible to detect by the human eye.

XQB the leader looked through the small porthole. What it saw was good, very good.

The reflection of the setting sun covered everything in shades of gold. All the buildings sparkled.

XQB reported to the mother ship that it was time to investigate.

It opened the latch. Its tentacles gripped the side and then slithered to the ground.

As soon as XQB touched the dust it started disintegrating. The golden soil started absorbing the fluid in XQB’s tentacles.

That was the end of the investigation. XQB was no more!

https://flashfictionforaspiringwriters.wordpress.com/2016/01/18/fffaw-week-of-january-19-2016/

Picture it and write: Enough is enough


 

fish-market

https://ermiliablog.wordpress.com/2016/01/20/picture-it-write-83/

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“This won’t work!  Enough is enough!” Allan thought when he saw all the fish along the shore line. He could see dead fish. Some were still wriggling a bit but that would not last for long.

Allan, who relied on catching fish for a living was very upset. He knew who were responsible for the killing. Healthy full-grown fish, that could have given him a month’s income, all gone.

Rumours were around town the last few months. People who wanted him out of business. Allan was a hard working fisherman. He had his own small fish shop in town. The big fish factory did not like Allen. They knew people loved his fish. The Managers tried to cancel Allan’s fishing permit. He was the only fisherman who could catch fish in the bay. The big company wasn’t allowed because their fishing boats were too big. They also caught more than their quota and polluted the sea around them by dumping the leftovers near the bay.

Allan was ready to sue the company. He took out his camera and started taking photos. He’ll use them as evidence. This time, it will be the end of those cruel people!