â a woman of indeterminate agecomforting a small child, an adolescent boy eating rapidly from a bowl of cereal and a female teenager-type brandishing a piece of paper and clearing her throat rather theatrically. In front of them is a freshly dug hole that holds only a pitifully small shoebox.
âWe are gathered here together to mourn the sudden passing of our little Liebling Hanson, a member of our family for well over a year. Some might say that he led a useless life â he never travelled, never formed a relationship, never read a book, never even contributed to the day-to-day running of the household in which he lived. But, we beg to differ, because if a life is measured by the joy it brings to others, then Hansonâs life was full. Although his intellect was on a par with that of his namesake, and his horizons were limited by the gilded bars which surrounded him, his dulcet melodies filled our home with perpetual music all the more appreciated because he was the only member of our family who could actually hold a tune.
âAnd I must ask you â in reality what is a cage? Was Hansonâs cage essentially any different from mine, or yours? Is it not the truth that we form our own personal cages throughout life? Who amongst us can deny the existence of these quintessential barriers that yield not? Barriers such as peopleâs ignorance regarding body piercing? And just because Hansonâs cage was ready-made and visible does not make him fundamentally any different from you or I. So I say to you, my brethren, heed my words and do not judge neither man nor bird by the colour of his cage!
âNow it is time to lay poor Hanson to rest, time to say âAuf Wiedersehenâ. But as we leave this hallowed ground, I would like you all to spare a few minutes to reflect that whatever foul spirit or leprous disease entered our home at or around midnight last and struck down poor, innocent Hanson â itâs still out there!â (Reprinted with the kind permission of Ms Samantha J. Brown.)
TUESDAY
8.58 am
Amazingly enough I am actually early for work. I have buried the bird, fed the children, spent a fruitless twenty minutes trying to contact my sister, delivered Samantha to her friendâs house (where apparently she is studying for the first two periods), dropped Ben off at the school gates, taken CJ to kindergarten from where she will be picked up later by one of the other mothers and minded for the afternoon, accepted an invitation to a birthday party on her behalf, declined an invitation to a Tupperware party on mine and still managed to get to work before ⦠damn! Now itâs nine oâclock!
It was never a burning ambition of mine to work in a library, but this particular job virtually fell into my lap at a rather opportune time, meaning just as I was leaving Keith. The work itself is rather mundane, butitâs not far from home and it pays the bills. One of these days I am determined to decide on a career path. Until then, this will have to do. Actually, Iâm almost looking forward to work today. My day off turned out to be made up of one unmitigated disaster after another, so it will be rather restful to be able to think things through in relative peace and quiet. And if there is one thing a library is supposed to have in abundance, itâs relative peace and quiet. Besides, my best friend works at the library with me, and yesterday was made even worse by the fact that Iâve been unable to discuss anything with anybody. I want someone to tell me Iâm overreacting, that two new family members are something to be happy about, and that an ex-husband as a next-door neighbour is better than a feral chihuahua-cross with a penchant for human flesh.
Iâve known Teresa â Terry to her friends â for a number of years. In fact we first met just after Alex and I separated, but we didnât become really close until after we started working together. By
âWe are gathered here together to mourn the sudden passing of our little Liebling Hanson, a member of our family for well over a year. Some might say that he led a useless life â he never travelled, never formed a relationship, never read a book, never even contributed to the day-to-day running of the household in which he lived. But, we beg to differ, because if a life is measured by the joy it brings to others, then Hansonâs life was full. Although his intellect was on a par with that of his namesake, and his horizons were limited by the gilded bars which surrounded him, his dulcet melodies filled our home with perpetual music all the more appreciated because he was the only member of our family who could actually hold a tune.
âAnd I must ask you â in reality what is a cage? Was Hansonâs cage essentially any different from mine, or yours? Is it not the truth that we form our own personal cages throughout life? Who amongst us can deny the existence of these quintessential barriers that yield not? Barriers such as peopleâs ignorance regarding body piercing? And just because Hansonâs cage was ready-made and visible does not make him fundamentally any different from you or I. So I say to you, my brethren, heed my words and do not judge neither man nor bird by the colour of his cage!
âNow it is time to lay poor Hanson to rest, time to say âAuf Wiedersehenâ. But as we leave this hallowed ground, I would like you all to spare a few minutes to reflect that whatever foul spirit or leprous disease entered our home at or around midnight last and struck down poor, innocent Hanson â itâs still out there!â (Reprinted with the kind permission of Ms Samantha J. Brown.)
TUESDAY
8.58 am
Amazingly enough I am actually early for work. I have buried the bird, fed the children, spent a fruitless twenty minutes trying to contact my sister, delivered Samantha to her friendâs house (where apparently she is studying for the first two periods), dropped Ben off at the school gates, taken CJ to kindergarten from where she will be picked up later by one of the other mothers and minded for the afternoon, accepted an invitation to a birthday party on her behalf, declined an invitation to a Tupperware party on mine and still managed to get to work before ⦠damn! Now itâs nine oâclock!
It was never a burning ambition of mine to work in a library, but this particular job virtually fell into my lap at a rather opportune time, meaning just as I was leaving Keith. The work itself is rather mundane, butitâs not far from home and it pays the bills. One of these days I am determined to decide on a career path. Until then, this will have to do. Actually, Iâm almost looking forward to work today. My day off turned out to be made up of one unmitigated disaster after another, so it will be rather restful to be able to think things through in relative peace and quiet. And if there is one thing a library is supposed to have in abundance, itâs relative peace and quiet. Besides, my best friend works at the library with me, and yesterday was made even worse by the fact that Iâve been unable to discuss anything with anybody. I want someone to tell me Iâm overreacting, that two new family members are something to be happy about, and that an ex-husband as a next-door neighbour is better than a feral chihuahua-cross with a penchant for human flesh.
Iâve known Teresa â Terry to her friends â for a number of years. In fact we first met just after Alex and I separated, but we didnât become really close until after we started working together. By