My Name is Vonita

I had the wonderful fortune of landing a part time job in my last year of school. I worked four hours on a Saturday morning for a local optometrist. Technically, I was not the best candidate as the receptionist position required the person to be bilingual (English and Afrikaans). In those days towards the end of apartheid South Africa, there were many people who spoke Afrikaans and Afrikaans only. Whilst I can certainly understand Afrikaans being spoken and can hold a basic conversation kindergarten level, I can hardly say I am fluent (or even sound half-normal speaking it). But good fortune prevailed and I got the job. As an aside, it was a life-saver. The four hours per week paid well, and covered all my university pocket money expenses, driving lessons, and part of my last years tuition. Without taking focus away from my studies.

The optometrist was a tall man. He also lectured at the local university. At that stage I attended a convent, had minimal male interaction (at all), and found him totally, completely intimidating. Being a man and all. And a big, tall, older one at that. And an important one. His wife ran the practice and she was the one who hired me. She was lovely. Grace personified. One of my duties was to make hot black tea, and lemon, and serve it to her husband in his office. I must have appeared as a timid little mouse. I hardly said a word to him, would deliver the tea and escape. One day I spilt the tea in the saucer. It happened just as I was about to place it down. I didn’t know what to do. I placed it down. He kindly gave it back to me and told me to bring a new one. The tea would would drip on his desk and papers and he couldn’t have that. I apologized, took the cup and saucer and returned with a new one. Unspilt. Dry saucer. Yay! (And I never made that same mistake).

I must have been working there for a good few months. One morning I took the tea into his office. He thanked me, but addressed me with the wrong name. Thank you, Michelle. Michelle was the person who worked there previously. In that moment, I managed to rise above my feelings of intimidation, and overcome my shyness. I thought to myself, just say welcome. Easy, then leave, exit the office. Instead I replied

You’re welcome. 

And. 

My name is Vonita.

Christmas Memories

Memories are made up of times and places. People and faces. Gifts and giving. 

I think back to a few of my Christmas’s and can recall where I spent them and with whom. Also marked by a few significant gifts received.

Here are a few that come to mind!

Aged 4 – Receiving my first-love doll (from my paternal grandparents)
Aged 5 – Old-fashioned radio from Santa 

Aged 6- Red bicycle with a coin taped on it’s seat (it got stolen later on)

Aged 9 – Puzzle from my aunt in a triangle box

Aged 10 – Walkmans with boney m 

Aged 13 – chocolate boxes from grandparents, and George Michael singing you’ve got to have Faith

Aged 20 – Receiving a necklace and mug from my polish boyfriend that now holds all our leftover coins (the year I was so in love, bless him) (also stolen)

Aged 22  – Gold cross from my father, the year my mother passed away (stolen)

Aged 36 – a silver necklace from my husband, the only piece of jewelry gifted to me from him (apart from my wedding rings)

Aged 37 – Pandora necklace from my sister, the year she spent Christmas in Sydney with us

Aged 41 – Book I’m still busy reading, All the light we cannot see

How Bizarre 

Back in the days of 1997, I was single and over the Easter weekend had nowhere to go. So I joined a couple of work colleagues, and we headed to the sea for a long weekend. They were both kinda crazy. Myself included. D had a convertible which we jumped into, and he played this song fullblast. It was a weird OTT weekend. 

This song takes me right back there. How bizarre!

Faded


Our hearts are filled with with stories people tell

Our vision infused with their lives and their love

And one day we find they have been taken from us

Leaving only memories as a faded note

That they lived and we loved them

For a short while they were alive as we are now –

Our own stories will touch younger hearts

As our hearts were touched when we were young

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/faded/

Magic Moments


Life is made of magic moments…

Souls

Somewhere in this world there is a soul connected to mine, surrounded by those that left a long time ago, wrapped in memories, and faces of those haunting my dreams, reminding me of their voice and presence, comforting me when I am most alone.

Ghost Kisses

image

Memories flood my being
Filled with love
With thoughts of you
With thoughts of all
That we’ve been through
And all that’s left –
Dark lingering remains
Are as ghost kisses
Upon my tired cheek

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/ghost/

Solitude

In the stillness
Of my solitude
All our memories
We lovingly made
Fill my mind and make
Me miss you more than
I can say

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/solitude/

image

Your Love is Our Guide

Twenty Years Ago

In Australia, as well as in South Africa, the Easter celebration is celebrated over four days, which means a long weekend for most people. In 1996, my parents were very excited to go on holiday to the UK. They left on the Thursday evening before Easter Friday. My sister and I would be staying alone for three weeks. We were both working by that time, but it was the longest time we would be left at home alone. My mother and I had been finding our way through some friction for the past few months. It was my first year of work and I had started as a graduate hire at a global IT company. I was struggling to settle in. And did not want to let my mother down, she was so proud of me and the degree and position I had got. I had bought her a pale blue sweater to take along on her holiday. She wore it on the evening they left. My boyfriend at the time was in a bad mood as the plan had been for him to take them to the airport. But plans changed! My sister had received a new car that week and wanted to go in her new car. So off we went to the airport. The five of us, my dad, mom, sister, boyfriend and myself. I could see boyfriend was upset. He had filled his car with gas and had gone out of his way to clean it and get it ready for the airport trip, which was now not happening. When we arrived at the airport we climbed out and said our farewells. One of the last words I spoke to my mother was, M is not happy because we didn’t go in his car. I can’t remember her response. We said our goodbyes and left. My mother had a heart attack while they were away, and I never saw her again. I received a birthday card and postcard from her a few days before she passed. And every Easter Thursday I remember my parents going on holiday.

In a strange twist of fate, the last time I saw my mother-in-law was at the airport too. It was the airport in Sydney, she joined us for our first Christmas here. But this was before the days of iPhones and I have no photos of her time here! Only memories.