I'm not sorry to see 2011 go



Last night my husband and I had a garage party for two. 

We carried the hi-fi and speakers outside, leaving on the lounge shelves a dusty emptiness reminiscent of a freshly discovered burglary. All our CDs went onto a large wooden tray and came to rest on the workbench next to two platters of carefully prepared snacks and a placement of tea-light candles. 

We scattered hundreds of tiny, shiny, colourful metallic confetti-stars all over the floor, but after the first balloon exploded in hubby's face I didn't want to blow them up either and we made do with a single, half-inflated blue one, which proved a hit with the cats. 

We prepared a bed on top of the Landcruiser in case of fatigue and our longest ladder was in place to climb onto the kitchen roof for the Waterfront fireworks sure to follow at 0h00.

It's funny how the older people on the block have the more powerful hi-fi so all the hip young neighbours were left listening to an unapologetic mix of eighties pop, swing, reggae, kwêla, ancient rock, some didgeridoo sounds, some SA legends ("My name is ZX Dan, I am a space man...") and even Liefling thrown in for good measure. The houses are very close together where I live. We don't do this often. Most of the time we listen to their sounds. 

In between dancing and munching and shivering down a shot or two of tequila we sat on the steps with our Shiraz and our Chardonnay under as many stars as one could expect to see in the inner city and decided to remember this year, not as the one sandwiched between Guillain-Barré and cancer with a filling of wheelchair shopping and paralysis; not as the one in which I got no work done and hubby very little; not as the year that our little family fragmented seemingly beyond repair, and not as the year that deposited two car accidents and an ongoing legal battle.
No, 2011 was the year I got to accompany yet another family member on their journey through the state health care system and in so doing finally learnt to set limits on what I do for others. I've struggled with this forever and maybe things had to be driven to an extreme before I could leave people to rescue themselves.


It was the year in which letting go of another - closer - loved one's outcomes meant I had to focus on Self because that's all there was left to do.  

It was the year that brought with it new motivation for research and together with fresh limits on caring for others I will finally have both time and inclination to read, read, read. 

It was the year we bought a sporty-type car that carries me across the Karoo so I enjoy the distance. 

It was the year in which my 97 year-old gran got up from her wheelchair and walked again. 

A year that brought deepened relations with other family members, unexpectedly. 

And above all, 2011 was the year in which I got to know a little dog that taught me how to love again, from the heart, unashamedly and unafraid, and how easily that love flows.

This year, the party will be at our house on 31 December. 

We may even invite some people. 

















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