Love story 30 – Getting away
I didn’t understand why Husband-to-be (Anthony) was often so angry with me. Yes, I understood when I stuffed up the grapefruit marmalade, overcooked the roast, and killed the scrambled eggs (“Don’t keep stirring them, Jules, let them set!” he would snap.)
Years later, when he proposed marriage, he admitted that part of his gruffness during this period of time was that he was, indeed, in love with me too, but he was afraid of my youth, my ridiculous innocence and my beautifulness.
Inna’s moods were also unpredictable, because she was beginning to find the ordinary chores of the day too hard (she was in her mid-80s!) but didn’t like having to depend on me, so the dynamics were tricky.
I have a huge grin that has always come naturally to my face so it may well have been that grin that maintained the equilbrium. I don’t know, because, behind that same grin, I was grinding my teeth, and doing a lot of wondering.
On my bicycle, on the way to the farm every morning, I would sing hymns quite loudly but I stopped doing that too when I frightened some guys who were working on the road. Of course I stopped singing as soon as I whizzed past their astonished faces and, after that, I stopped singing altogether.
The sadness of Inna’s impending death, my mother’s grief over the death of Dad, and Anthony’s unpredictable attitude to me, settled onto my shoulders like a mantle that I couldn’t shake off and, eventually, I decided that I should get right away from this family.
Love story 31 – Miscommunication
I applied to do Nursing in Perth and was accepted.
Inna was half proud of me and half upset that I was leaving her.
Anthony didn’t appear to care, although one night when I was sleeping over while he went out, I tucked Inna into her own bed and went into mine in the spare room to read a magazine. I was supposed to wait, you see, until Anthony came home so that I could unlock the back door and let him in (Inna insisted that all doors should be locked).
Eventually I went to sleep and was woken suddenly by a loud tapping on the window to the spare room and, when I opened the blinds, I saw a very merry Anthony who shouted for me to open the back door.
So I got up and crept through the house (I didn’t want Inna to wake up) to the back veranda and let him in.
In the kitchen, he stood next to me against the warm Aga while the kettle boiled. I was very embarrassed because I was wearing a very old, flanelette nightie, but I still, somehow felt undressed.
“So, you’re leaving us again,” he chuckled, leaving me to do the coffee so he could sit down at the big, white kitchen table.
“Yes,” I said, hesitantly, giving him his coffee.
“And you’re going to be a nurse?” he laughed.
I suddenly became indignant and snapped, “You think you’re above me don’t you!”
Anthony replied (and I will never forget his words because he obviously mis-heard mine), “Maybe I am in love with you!”
I left him to have his coffee by himself, and went back to my bed with a little, mystified smile on my face, but, as I was leaving the kiitchen, he wrapped his big arms around me and the resonance of that particular hug lasted several years.
Love story 32 – Mouchoirs
Inna must have done some French lessons during her private schooling as a child because she would never refer to her ever elusive handkerchief as a hanky. Instead, whenever she wanted to blow her nose, she would ask me, “Darling, have to seen my mouchoir?”
Her walking stick was another thing that seemed to have a habit of walking off and having little holdidays in strange places like the corner of the pantry, or under Inna’s bed, or behind the washing machine in the washhouse. But Inna didn’t resort to French for that; instead, she would ask me, “Darling, have you seen my whatchamacallit?”
Once both of these items were found, Inna would often ask me to accompany her out to the fig tree and ask me to fetch the biggest, ripest fig at the very top of the tree. I would try – with her walking stick and a rake, or by shaking the tree, or sometimes by climbing it.
Sometimes Anthony (Husband-to-be) would witness these various treasure hunts and cast a bemused look in our direction. When this happened I felt super-hero abilities to find mouchoirs, walking sticks and figs, grow inside me at an exponential rate.
jmgoyder 
so enjoying this
I’m glad – thanks!
Very entertaining anecdotes, Julie.
The bad stuff is coming….
I love these snippets of stories..they are so beautifully poetic and you tell them so well.
Thanks! I’m going to gather them together like this and plonk them back on this blog just to confuse everyone and myself even more!
so beautiful and emotional!!
These bits weren’t hard to write but it just started to get too painful.
Beautiful.
Sometimes.
I can’t wait until you publish this book!
By the way – http://engagetheirminds.com (my professional blog – but don’t tell anyone!)
Wow – I am impressed – you are the one who should publish a book – two books!
Maybe you could erase that above comment once you read it?
Ha – too late – sorry!
These are simply charming. They made me smile.
I seem only to be able to write it in little bits!
But those little bits are powerful and dynamic.
Painful for me to read – not so painful to write – weird retrospective grief.
Life is weird. That’s probably why it’s so precious.
You are so right!
Thanks Julie, I was missing this part of the blog and I love re-reading the excerpts. Hope you are travelling OK. Jen
I have to see you guys next week re my work laptop – I will email you. Thanks for the great comment Jen! J
I love this story you’re sharing with us, Julie.
It gives me a warm fuzziness inside. It’s like all great love stories perhaps, but you tell it so well. There’s such innocence inside your words and yet, such… hmmmm…….can’t think of the right word. I don’t have your gift of word power.
Oh thanks Victoria – I guess putting in its own separate blog was an experiment that I have learned from – it needs to be back here, all warm and cosy – ha! J
I just nominated you for the Blog on Fire award! http://peacewithmylife.com/2012/07/19/goodness-gracious-great-blogs-of-fire/ If you’re too busy to respond, don’t sweat it.
Ah, perhaps you don’t know how I feel about awards – if so, your in for a surprise (a nice one, I promise) and thank you so much for the gesture!
I love the ‘miscommunication’ of love!
Yeah, it haunted and puzzled me for years!