Thank God it’s Friday

Just as well it was a short week this week (holiday Monday) as I had an attack of the blahs and the week dragged.  Probably adjusting to the earlier rising with Daylight Saving contributed to the feeling, plus ongoing altercations with young Donald.  He insists that he is still going to school, that he will not get a job and that I cannot make him do otherwise.  Just quietly, he is probably right, but if his intention is to go to school, then he actually has to do that.  I have told him that I am not intervening on his behalf with the school.  It is up to him to do so if he wants to try to talk his way back in.

Normally I ride my bicycle to work, or if the weather is inclement then I ride Jeffrey, my motor scooter.  Very occasionally I take the car, but this means that I must remember to keep shifting it through the day as there is a two-hour limit on car parks.  Thursday morning, I decided to drive as I was feeling tired and lethargic and also the weather was drizzly.  I was running rather late, so when I rushed outside to actually leave, I was not impressed to discover that the car was not in the driveway.  Nor was Donald in the house.  He had slipped out after I had gone to sleep and driven to Daisy’s house.  Needless to say I blew my top and left a very hostile message on his mobile phone.  At times like this I am beside myself with fury.  It’s that casual assumption that he can just take the car whenever he likes that upsets me.  I was also cross with myself that I had left the keys out where he could take them.  I shouldn’t have to hide them though.

The nice surprise for the week was receiving an email from a woman who I last saw thirty years ago.  We both met, some years before that when we both worked in a bar in Alice Springs.  K was only a couple of years older than me, but by comparison I was very innocent and naive.  She was the most overtly sexual woman I had ever met.  She wore skimpy skirts and low-cut tops, and her long hair, parted on the side seductively grazed those pouting lips.  As the male customers walked into our restaurant each evening, she would look them over critically and assess which were worth pursuing that evening.  Whichever man she chose, she usually got.  He didn’t have a chance.

K half terrified me and half fascinated me.  For some reason she took a shine to me and took me under her wing.  We were chalk and cheese but became good friends anyway.  We had many hilarious nights in the restaurant, and of course after work we would hit the town, living it up until the early hours and exhaustion hit.  I recall skinny dipping in the motel swimming pool at midnight, wearing sunglasses and our knickers on our heads as a disguise.  We probably kept half the guests awake with our raucous laughter and rude jokes.

She took me to my first bush race meeting, giving me more of a run-down on the men that were there than on the horses on the track.  It was their form that she was more concerned with anyway, though of course we did have a bet on the horses as well.  I recall when one famous Australian rock star, well known for his musical roles as well, hit town for a concert.  K took one look at the statuesque figure and said, ‘Duckie, I’m going to have him!’ and she did.  I gather it was a night to remember, for she said to me the next morning, ‘Boy, he wasn’t hiding behind the door when they were handed out!’  By her reports, he was very well endowed.  I think of that every time I see him on TV.

Although she had grown up in Alice, there came a time when she wanted a change, and she decided to move to Townsville.  I visited her a few times and still enjoyed her company although the relationship that she had at that time had brought about an element of more sedate behaviour.  Well, of a sort.

Something intriguing happened on one of those visits.  K and her sister had recently lost their father and were consulting a medium for some belated consultation with their parent.  There were unresolved issues from memory and they wanted to make contact with him.  This was taking place at the sister’s house, after which K and I were going out on the town.  At the appointed time, I drove over to the sister’s house to pick up K.  As I approached the back door, I could hear the conversation happening inside and deduced that the consultation was still in progress.  I didn’t knock, not wanting to create a disturbance but quietly opened the door, crept inside and sat down.

The man was talking in a focused fashion with his eyes closed to aid concentration or to better hear the voices I assume.  Suddenly, he stopped talking and went quiet.  He shifted in his seat and then started talking again.  He said that a young lady has just entered the room, and there is someone here who wishes to speak to her.  He described a young man who had died a short time previously and gave details of the death and my reactions to the news.  The description fitted a friend of mine, and he gave accurate detail of the circumstances and the impact on myself and the fact that I had sent a silent prayer to this friend.  I was told that the friend had received this prayer and wished to thank me.  Nobody in that room knew of my friend’s death, and I had never told K about it.  To say that I was rendered speechless at this encounter would be an understatement.  I wished later that I had thought to ask some questions, the answers to which only my friend and I would know the answers but was not quick enough.

K is now married and living a retired and settled life.  She had a young son (as a single mother) when I first knew her and now she has a granddaughter a little older than my son.  She always had a passion for animals and it seems that she still has a menagerie, with a focus on birds and parrots now – intelligent birds that are as demanding as little children.

I was delighted that she made contact with me.  I had often wondered what had become of her, but as she had married and changed her name, had no way of contacting her.  We shared news and photographs and promised to keep in touch.  She says that she has put on a bit more weight than she used to carry, but then haven’t we all?  In my mind’s eye though, I will still see the vamp that challenged and scared the pants off me when I first met her.  Can’t wait to catch up with her again.

2 thoughts on “Thank God it’s Friday

  1. Wow great post D. Sorry to hear about the ongoing ructions with Donald – gah! But lovely to hear about finding your friend again and amazing story about that medium. A woman I know lost her son to suicide not long ago and she has been in a very bad way trying to understand. She has recently been spending a lot of money visiting a medium over and over again and I feel very strongly that this woman is ripping off my friend at a time of great vulnerability. But then I think, it’s only money and if she is getting some comfort, well, it’s worth every penny. I know I’d be looking for answers under every rock if I were in the same situation. Your story gives me a glimmer of hope that my friend might be getting something more than empty words from her medium.

    • TM, I understand your concerns relating to your friend and the solace that she is seeking from the medium. I would be likewise worried that she was being taken advantage of in a very vulnerable time, but on the other hand perhaps it is also therapeutic for her, and she is able to debrief with someone who is an outsider.

      On this occasion, I was very skeptical when K told me that she and her sister were consulting the medium and was keeping well clear on the basis that they were consenting adults and so what they spent their money on was fine but don’t expect me to be involved. When the medium gave me his message therefore, I was totally gobsmacked, though still left with a lot of questions on the logic of it all etc.

      I have a friend now who is also a psychic, and does readings using cards designed by Madame LeNormand (psychic to Napoleon Bonaparte). She has done readings for me, but I think that there is a conflict there in that she already knows me and my circumstances, and so her interpretations are influenced by that knowledge. There was an occasion though some years ago when I lost a string of pearls. I had looked in all the likely places and thought hard about the last time I remembered having them, which was when I removed them one night and placed them on my bedside table. I concluded that I must have inadvertently dropped them into the adjacent waste paper basket and then emptied that basket into the wheelie bin. That bin of course had been emptied already that week. I mentioned it on the phone to my psychic friend, and she said that she would meditate on the pearls and see if she could locate them for me. Some time later she rang me back and told me to look in the pocket of the brief case that I used at the time when attending ceremonies. I declined saying that there is no way that the pearls could be in there but she insisted that I humour her and have a look. You guessed it – the pearls were there. Then I remembered. I had done two radically different ceremonies on the one day and had done a Clark Kent act, changing outfits in the toilet of a hotel. I had taken off the pearls and placed them into my briefcase and then forgotten all about it. After that, I guess I started to accept that there were some things that I couldn’t understand but that didn’t mean that they didn’t happen.

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