JOY COMES IN THE MORNING

So I may declare that it is indeed true. Just when you submit and get closure and with fake bravery throw in that white thousand threadcount something, someone high up in the universe is having a good day and chucks you a favour. And in true the-gods-must-be-crazy fashion, it's not as random or far-fetched or poor administration related either. It is spot on and in the 'more than I could ever have imagined' cliche filing pile.

Like meeting Pierre the other day. I mean I'd met him a few times and he was always helpful and kind with a killer smile. I mean of the slow death, starting with the weakening of the knees and moistening of other parts variety. Extremely polite and suave, with something courageous and gentle and intelligent and determined and owning-me-without-buying-me Gorgeous. Anyhoo, back to the point. And allow me to say that even as I am reconfiguring my thoughts, I am not ignorant to the chick flick Thurday appeal of this here testimony. But true to the gods I will speak it as I see it and feel it and feel it and ... until the sun comes up.

So with my history of sordid relationships with a Trey bearing all manner of poison and an unburied hatchet between Magnet and Goalie, I was well past my rehabilitation phase as regards matters of the heart and other things that weigh upon one's well-being. But Pierre moves from a different frame of reference and is oblivious to most of the elements that freak me out and cause me to desperately over-analyse lots of things. He is confident and strong enough to be honest and blunt and unself-conscious and just plain REAL about loads of things that guys his age and planet are still battling with. He speaks with wisdom and insight and sensitvity without plakking it on too thick or trying to impress. (The impressions made on my spine and window-seat notwithstanding). No talk about happily ever after and respecting anyone in the morning and none of the hero-worshipping that invariably turns out to be Phase I of the hit-and-run power plays many of the same are accustomed to. He has learnt fast and hard that it is all about ME, ME, ME (quick tutorial from gardener helped immeasurably), but he lives it rather than says it. He makes me laugh and sing ... OPERA ...in the kitchen nogal ... and doesn't talk about my battle (ageing) scars and accepts that the lights are often off cos Eskom can be a killer with their mis-billing and not for any other reason. And when the lights are on, it's all good too.

So here's to the gods who proved that my wiring is faulty, that a Trey can be replaced, and that I can carry around my own joy and that champagne and Colgate do go together. That there is a man more endowed in so many ways, that listens to my mother's favourite song which was a hit in the 1950's (deafening Radio 2000 orchestra and all) and still sincerely calls it spiritful despite being obsessed with the likes of Beyonce, Ciara and Shakira. Who says that I bring joy to his world (I do accept that what people say about me has nothing to do with me, but the gods said I may take this one) and who has a voice I could wake up to every day. Note to self is that what we ask for is given, sometimes not in the exact packaging we specified, but sometimes infinitely better, bigger, stronger with the power to move us in unimaginable ways and angles. And the love we send out comes back but at times not from the person whom we've plied it onto cos they have so many cosmic items to tick off as well, and truth be told, we are all just doing the best we can. It's really not personal.

And while nothing human lasts forever, let's celebrate our personhood by sharing love and peace and chocolate cake.