Nocturnal Wenchy

Dear friends and other interesting creatures,

Surprisingly, seeing how wonderfully balanced and zen I am today, I did not grow up with a white picket fence.

The fence was painted blue and white.  About waist height and had rose bushes planted along the fence. On the bordering walls grew sweat peas. I loved the smell of my Oupa Mike and Ouma Chrissie’s garden.  It was full of beauty and love. 

I did not grow up with my parents, although they were involved in my life.  Well,  until I was 11 when my father died.  Then life changed but this isn’t about that.

Although our house had many bedrooms, I did not have my own room.  I had a box.  Ouma Chrissie prided herself on her very clean, neat home so at night I put all my toys,  books and Dolly Parton LP back in the box,  into the brown cupboard which kept her stuff for fixing buttons or stopped your toes peeping out your socks.  You would never have suspected a child lived in that house.

Ouma Chrissie,  looking back, had some co-dependancy issues. She often said the day I was born, was the happiest day of her life, so maybe she just wanted to keep me very close. I slept on a mattress on the floor next to her bed. I held her hand until I could hear her heavy breathing and she was asleep. Then I would look at the clock that never seemed to move. I’ve never slept well.

While I characterise these formative years as happy ones,  I guess deep inside me, it left some strange shaped boxes.  Stuff.  I am obsessed with my stuff.  I’m want to be clear what belongs to me,  what others are not allowed to touch.  Things I do not want to use in case they get “finished”. We not talking the good dinner service here.

There has been many such items in my life.  I will take it out.  Touch it… and then I put it away so it can’t “finish”. I don’t want it to “end”.

I am not sure where or how I met Kevin Friedman.  Besides that his intellect is admirable and chatting to him challenges my mind, Kevin is  often the best dressed man in the room. There is a sincerity about him,  a vulnerability.  Should I be reading Jane Austen,  we could say Mr Friedman is not of my station. He will laugh and dismiss that statement. 🙂

Kevin is an artist.  A jeweller with flair. Doubt there is much in his collection I could ever afford but he would never make you feel anything but welcome and at ease.

Our Mr Friedman makes exquisite pieces.  Earrings,  necklaces,  broaches – you name it. It is all very unconventional and delectable…. It makes me dream of flying to NYC in a private plane. (I seriously wouldn’t know what to do with myself. 😁)

For my birthday last year in June,  some friends and family came together at my favourite pizza restaurant. Everyone paid for themselves as a party was not in the budget.  I invited some people whom I know must have laughed at the pay as you go concept but (wealthy people’s opinions of me are not my reality),  I was so happy when Kevin came, purple dress code intact!

I always make a gift wishlist and it is never a Caribbean cruise.  A pedicure would be nice kinda thing.  I had made reference to an item Kevin had made and said I would love “something” like that on my birthday wish.

When I opened a gift with wrapping that looked like a gift in itself,  I looked at him and said you didn’t have to do that!  He laughed and said “… But it is what you wanted!”  I’m big on tears.

Well, my @frankliwild original by @kevinfriedman is a special gift.  I unwrap it carefully,  I touch it softly.  Sometimes a tear… could be ever so near… and then I pack it away so that it may never finish. 

Thank you Kevin for who you are.  That you proved that real friends don’t mind paying for their own pizza,  but more than that… You always pay attention to my details.

I treasure your gift, your genuine happy eyes when you see me and I thank you a gift that makes me feel enough!

Wenchy

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