Just Another Life

Retrospectively, I guess those were dark days of great enlightenment; knowing so much, we knew nothing at all; power that is knowledge wasted like gold in hands of a child.

Great Truth clashed with armies of lies in front of our eyes as if we were their audience. Perhaps some found it entertaining, but most of us missed we were there to act as judges; grant victory to one or the other. I’d like to think we would have made the truth victorious if only we were certain which one is which; however, it wasn’t as if they wore sport uniforms with their names on the back. Clouded vision, clouded decision and life too busy for clouds; our way of life was unsuited for the responsibility; we were doomed from the beginning.

By the time I was old enough to vote, as they say, I think most people could tell something wasn’t quite right, but we didn’t know why. Or, perhaps we did know why, but we didn’t know what to do about it. Or, perhaps we did know what to do, but we didn’t know how to do it or we were not brave enough to do it; it was easier to let it go and hope for the best, regardless how futile, how fatale that decision was.

“Gramsy darling, what are thinking about?” My granddaughter said as she approached, wearing that beautiful smile as if the day needed any more brightening. I sat outside on the bench, facing the lake, with pen and paper on the table in front of me, just thinking. She’s never lived in a world of concrete and skyscrapers, fierce competition, selfish individuality. She’s never been confused by so many inventions designed to simplify life, they only complicated it further. The air she breaths… Oh! I’m glad she’s always lived the kind of life we called ‘holiday’. In fact, the house where we live was originally built as a holiday getaway, many years ago, by people who were her blood relatives, yet even I never had a chance to meet. This young woman, mother of six, daughter of my daughter whom I love with my whole heart, and who’s love I could never doubt, has only heard about the world and time I affectionately call ‘mine’.

I sighed “It’s amazing that we’ve lived up here, as such a small community, for so many decades, yet there are still so many things misunderstood, so many things left unsaid.”

“There are?” She said sarcastically, knowing full well that there are. “Well, I can believe that. Do you want to tell them to me now?” She also knew I had a need to talk about them, set them straight.

“You’ll have to rush off soon to do one chore or another; I’ll forget how far I got…”

“It annoys you when you forget?”

“It does. Once upon a time I had photographic memory; all the languages I speak I learned before I turned fifteen.” Melissa knew this and I don’t know why I said it. If I was to be brutally honest with myself I’d say it is my ego that compels me to make remarks like this.

“Gramsy, don’t worry about that. Time is a taker and a giver.” She was always buoyant, and always will be.

I smiled to conceal my lack of response. I couldn’t tell her it felt like time took that which earned me so much respect and attention; same respect and attention I now craved so much. Overall, I was spoiled by fate, by life; I know that now even if I didn’t know it back then.

“What’s this?” She asked pointing to the piece of paper I was writing on. I gesture for her to take it and she does “Are you writing your thoughts?”

“It’s only a beginning.”

She started to read aloud.

Alma: “Zooch man! You look fat even when you’re sitting down.”

Zooch: “Cool, ha?”

Alma: “You’ve got to lose some weight…”

Mickey: “She’s right, man. Soon, it’ll be easier to go over you than round you.”

Zooch: “What? Are you people nuts? Do you have any idea how much effort I put into this?” He patted his round belly “How much meat and eggs and cheese, full fat, I had to eat to get here? Now you want me to go on a diet?”

Alma: “You know that’s not healthy; right?”

Zooch: “Neither is starvation and no one will ever catch me thin again; no sir! I will never be hungry again, even if I have to turn myself into a camel.”

“Gramsy, what is this?”

“That was one of the conversations that took place soon after I returned from London, after the war was over.”

“People starved during that war?”

“Yes, they did. And that was only one of the things they suffered, yet they came out of that horrific experience with a heightened sense of humour – that’s the real human strength.” I stressed, hoping she’ll remember me telling her how easy it is to be good when you live in a world designed to protect and respect goodness. It wasn’t always like it is today. I don’t know if she remembered or not, her face didn’t change.

“Zooch didn’t eat because he worried another war will start – he told us that later. He, like most other people at the time, was full of hope.” I said.

“Is the person there Aunt Alma?” Melissa said.

“Yes, that was her.”

My granddaughter smiled “Sounds like her; always worried about other people’s health. Who is Zooch?”

“Just someone I once knew. I often wonder what happened to him, to all of them…” As it turns out, when life comes to Heaven’s door, the only thing that matters are the people. I can no longer remember the things I craved to own, but never did, or places I longed to visit, but never did, or… The only thing I remember are people and I’ve been blessed there; I’ve known some wonderful characters.

“Was there a big group?” My granddaughter brought me out of my reminiscence.

“About twenty, all together. What you see up here now, is all I know now.”

“That can’t be true; you know your memories. Do you really remember it as precisely as this; word for word?”

“I can remember even the aroma of that period. That part of my life is etched on the surface of my brain, at the point where my eye looks inwards, and every time I close my eyes, or even blink, I see those days. You heard something about them, but that was before even your mother, so you don’t know the details that I know.”

“Well then, you must write them.”

“Only if you promise not to peep until I’m finished.” I tried to sound humorous, even though I was deadly serious.

“Ah, a true artist working on her masterpiece?”

“Masterpiece?” I don’t think a masterpiece can be created out of loneliness and inane desire to fix the unfixable. But then, is that really why I’m writing this? “I can only write it; you’ll have to decide if it’s a masterpiece.” I didn’t believe my own words, but I didn’t know what to say. Somewhere inside there is desire to say things I thought I’d take to the grave. Will I say them here; let my grave be empty of everything but myself and my own deeds?

“It shall be my honour.” My granddaughter said “And I promise to restrain myself until master calls me to herself.” She smiled again and got up “I’ll let you get on with that. Call me when it’s finished.”

I nodded “They are wrong, you know?”

She turned “Who is, Gramsy?”

“This new generation. They are wrong about my era.”

“Umm… I’m sure you can set them straight.” Another sarcastic comment, but what is she to say? As I watch her leave, I know she feels sympathy for me. We’ve tried to explain how things were back then so many times, in so many ways, but all to no avail. They think we were such simpletons, airheads, lost in our own imagination, confusing dream-world with reality. I’d like to think I’ve made my peace with their insulting views, but now that I’m on my own, with non of my generation still alive to talk to, I find myself escaping to the past more often than I did before. Perhaps I want to write it all because I’m bored with living it only in my head. I don’t know. There is no hope that my little story will make them see the truth. As it turns out, some things are too complex to be explained. I’ll just write my story:

Mickey: “There won’t be another war, don’t worry.”

Zooch: “Yeah I know, but I can’t think of a better excuse. I just love food, and I am cutting down. First morning eggs showed up on the market, and I could afford them, I bought fifteen. I didn’t think I’d be able to eat them all, but they are so good. And with a bit of pepper and onion and tomato; uh!”

Alma: “You ate fifteen eggs in one go?”

Zooch: “Best morning of my life. But the point is; I had only six this morning… Don’t look at me like that.”

Alma: “Like what?”

Zooch: “That! Let westerners who want to make it into Vogue starve, I just want to eat.”

“Gramsy! What are you doing?” Nora, my great-granddaughter was never far behind her mother.

“I’m writing?”

“Why?”

“Because I’d like to…”

“You like writing?”

“I’d like to tell a story.”

“Tell me!”

“It’s very long.”

“How long? Is it as long as daddy’s story about the woodchopper?”

“Longer?”

“No way, nothing is longer. I’ve never heard the end of that story.”

“Would you like to?”

“Umm, I don’t mind. What’s your story about?”

“It’s about my life; or one part of my life that happened long before you were even born.”

“Before I was born? That was very long time ago.”

I smiled. In Nora’s world six years is a lifetime. “It was very long time ago.”

“Gramsy, is she bothering you?” Melissa always had one eye on her children and another on whatever she was doing. “Amen, come and play with your sister!”

Amen showed up moments later at the table; Nora and I watched him run from the lake towards us “Gramsy is writing a story!” Nora exclaimed.

“Really? What about?”

“About something that happened to me long ago.”

“Is it about London?” Amen has always been strangely fascinated by even a mention of London.

“London is mentioned; but these things happened just after I returned from London.”

Amen paused for a moment then shot: “How did you get there anyway?”

“Well…” Amen sat down next to Nora who already had her elbows on the table and her face in her palms “…it took more than two days to get there…”

“Was it that far?”

“No.” They were both curious and impatient “…it took only two hours to get back…”

“How long were you away? A century?”

“What makes you say that?” This wasn’t the first time they confused me and I had to ask for an explanation.

“It sounds like you went on a horseback and came back in a time capsule.”

I smiled “No darling, I was away for only tree years, but I went through war and came back via peace. I went to London with a convoy that came loaded with boxes of food, and left with me; and I came from London on an aeroplane, like a tourist.”

“What did you do there?” Amen asked, almost at the same time Nora said “Why did you go?”

I decided to start with Nora’s question “There was a war going on…”

“Oh no! Not another story about war.“ Nora seemed to lose interest “I hate stories about wars; they always have death and bad things, and they are always very sad; there is nothing happy about wars.”

“I went to London to get away from a war and to study.”

“London wasn’t in a war?” Amen asked.

“No, not that war.” I said thinking back to all the wars that were fought at that time and since then.

“There were too many wars; why are there wars?” Nora was still young enough to posses all her child-like innocence and naïve view of the world.

“Nora, will you let Gramsy tell us why she went to London? You have to be more patient.” Amen was older and considered him self much wiser.

“Oh, okay!”

“If you don’t want to hear it, you can go and play.”

“No, no, I want to hear it Gramsy.”

“Alright then. My mum died about seven months after the war started; not because of the war but because she was unwell. Since it was very dangerous to be outside, we had to live in shelters, and I didn’t like that.”

“Why not?”

“It was quite boring.” I couldn’t tell them the real reason, which was the pain of losing my mother and all the people looked at me with nothing but complete pity. I hated it. It reminded me of my loss every day, as if I needed reminding. I just had to get away.

“Didn’t you have friends to play with?” Nora asked.

“I had some friends, and one of those friends told me about an opportunity to go to London, and since I was very clever back then, she thought I’d be accepted. So I applied, and they accepted me. That’s how I got to go to London.”

“Did you have good time there?” Amen said.

“I did. I liked my university, and I liked London…”

“Did you see the Big Ben?”

“Yes I did.”

Amen grasped “Danny told me it was the biggest clock in the world and that’s why it was called Big Ben. He said it wasn’t right to just call it clock, so they called it Ben, because it was more than a clock.” These generations have an obsession with anything to do with time, space and mind. I must admit, I admire them for that.

I shook my head “Danny has a very fictitious mind. I will have to have a word with him about that…”

“Why did you come back?” Nora didn’t seem to have any interest in some big clock.

“The war was over just before I finished my studies, so I no longer had any reason to stay.” In truth, I also didn’t have documents to stay.

“Were you happy to come back?” Amen said.

I paused. “I was happy and surprised; everything changed while I was away. Many of my friends left, so I didn’t know anyone. And the building where I lived with my mother, before the war, burned down, so I had to live with my aunt. Her apartment was very small, but she didn’t mind. I felt a little bad that I made such a mess in her home, but she never complained.”

“Was she very neat?”

“She was. She liked to have all her things just as she left them, and she had a great eye for detail, and if you touch anything, she would notice it.”

“Really? Even if you moved it just a little?”

“Even if you touch it at all.”

“Gramsy, why did you make mess?” Nora said.

“Because… there was no space and I had lots of books and souvenirs and all kinds of bit-and-bobs that I had no where to put except on the floor.”

“Mum doesn’t let me leave anything on the floor.” Nora sighed.

“Well, you have boxes and shelves and wardrobe, I didn’t.”

“You didn’t have furniture?” Amen asked.

“My aunt cut up all that can burn to keep herself warm during the war.” I’m sure I’ve said this before, but the kids would have remembered it and stopped me from repeating it to them. Perhaps I said it to another group of children?

“Didn’t they have trees?”

“They lived in a city and there weren’t many trees. It’s not like up here in the mountains where we have plenty of wood and we always plant more.”

“I don’t want to go to cities.” Nora sighed again, her eyes looking into distance.

“Kids! Leave Gramsy alone and go play; if you don’t have a game, I’ve got some chores you can do.” Melissa shouted from the window and the kids were up on their feet, ready to go and find a game of some sort. I love them dearly, but their questions leave me very tired. I don’t know why that is. “Gramsy! Are you alright? Do you need anything?”

“No darling, I’m fine.”

“How about a game of cards?” Melissa thinks I like playing cards and I don’t have the heart to tell her I only liked to play with Leila; so every now and then she takes time out of her full schedule to entertain me, and I pretend to be entertained; I love that she loves me so.

I turned to another sheet and began to write:

Leila: “May! May! Are you coming? I’ve set it all up half an hour ago.”

Me: “Coming! On my way! Just a sec!” – I don’t know how many times these words were exchanged. Eventually I’d come to find the table piled with snacks and drinks, and Leila sitting on one end of the sofa shuffling the cards.

Leila: “It’s my day, I can feel it.” – We didn’t gamble, but she liked to win anyway – “You will SO lose today.”

Me: “Let’s see.” I hardly ever lost.

I met Leila two years before the war started when I was moved to her class, which was two years ahead of my class. The worry of being accepted, especially since I was so much younger, did cross my mind on more than one occasion, but, as I walked into the classroom and looked around to find an empty chair, a girl with brightest brown eyes I’d ever seen said: “Hi! Are you new here?”

Me: “I was moved to this class from 1b.”

Leila: “Oh the genius. Yes, we’ve heard about you. Come sit with me.” I came “I’m Leila.”

Me: “May.”

The rest is history. While I was away in London I think I missed her the most, and my luck wouldn’t be my luck if she wasn’t the only person, aside from my aunt, who I knew and who still lived in the city after the war was over.

When I returned from London Leila worked for one of the foreign organisations in the field of reconstruction. She was constantly attending one seminar or another so it took time for us to arrange a meeting. I still remember the first time she phoned me: the phone rung and it was for me – I was so excited! The whole evening I thought about nothing but the call. And I could hardly wait to see her, tell her things we can tell only our very close and trusted friends:

Me: “I feel like I’ve walked out of a lecture and when I returned, I couldn’t understand what the professor was saying anymore.” Even though I was not particularly impressed with my choice of metaphor, even back then, Leila seem to understand my point. She knew I was referring to being back home; it didn’t feel like home at all. The place I found myself in was only a faint photocopy of the place I left. I remember walking through the streets of my childhood and there were very few things I could recognise. Many of the buildings were either missing or they were stripped to a bare minimum by fires, and the ones that remained and had living residents were marked by many bullet-holes, which made their walls look like graters. Trees were cut, grass was gone and the concrete that made the streets smooth was cracked and in some places completely missing. There were very few people on the streets and none of them looked familiar. Shops were either closed or practically empty. Overall, to me, it all seemed very hollow; nothing like the bright, lively city full of familiar faces I once knew. I felt like a refugee.

Leila: “Give it time May. You’ll figure it out; in time it’ll all be fine, you’ll see. You just need to learn the changes this place went through and then you’ll know what to do to fit in again. There are very few people in this city who’ve lived here for longer than three years, so you don’t know anyone, but when you meet people, you’ll have a much easier time fitting in; finding your own place. And the new residents are bound to fall in love with you just like the previous residents did.”

I smiled: “I just wanted to come home.”

Leila: “I know. And you have, you’ll see. How’s your aunt?”

Me: “Good, yeah; she’s good. She’s noticed my days have no meaning or structure of any sort. Yesterday she told me they got my favourite flower in the shop and that she was going to bring me a bunch, but then she thought I can come and get them; give me something to do.” My aunt worked in a flower-sop at the time; I’ll get to this.

Leila: “Oh man!”

Me: “It’s that bad.”

Leila: “Don’t worry. You’ll find your way soon enough. You’ve never sat in one place for longer than a few hours so this is a shock, but use the time to chill before life gets hectic. Look at me; work, work, work, by the time I’m done, I have to squeeze my own family in.” Leila took a sip of coffee. I thought she was going to tell me about her family, instead she said “She still has her routine I presume?” The question was with reference to my aunt. I don’t know how I knew that, but I did.

Me: “Of course.”

Leila: “How are you keeping up with it?” My aunt wasn’t the easiest of people to get along with; it was her way or arguments and sulking until it is her way.

Me: “Better than I expected. She comes home, we have lunch, then she goes to have a nap. I sit in the living room, afraid to make any noise otherwise she’ll wake up grumpy.”

Leila laughed: “Sounds like my grandpa.”

Me: “When she wakes up, we have coffee… and last night she introduced me to her favourite programme: Poignant memories. Have you heard about it?”

Leila: “Yeah, but I haven’t seen it. It’s about those who died on the day or the day before, and those whose death anniversary is on the day; right?”

Me: “Yeah.”

Leila: “What’s it like?”

Me: “It’s not a motion programme in any respect. They show a photograph of the deceased while mellow music plays in the background and a soft voice speaks the words written by the family and/or friends of the deceased. Most of the commemorations lasted about half a minute. They start with a short list of the bereaved, go on to funeral arrangements and end with prayer. Every so often Aunt made a comment about the person on our TV and wondered out loud whether she should make the effort to go to the funeral. You should have just seen the look on her face when she said ‘My programme is about to start’, she knew I’d judge her. Naively, I asked if there was such a programme about births.”

Leila: “What did she say?”

Me: “She said ‘No. What kind of picture would you have with that; all babies look pretty much the same’, so I said ‘But wouldn’t it be nice to know if someone had a child?’ just to try make some sense of my question. And she said ‘You can find that out just by being outside. Let’s not forget that you have a nine-month preparation period for a birth, so plenty of time to find that out. When you know someone is pregnant and then you don’t see her for a while, you just assume she had the baby and is too busy taking care of it to go out. So you either call her or ask around to confirm’. I felt like such a dummy.”

Leila: “You’re a dummy only for feeling like a dummy... I can’t understand the point of that programme either.”

Me: “It is weird; isn’t it? Sounds like death has more right to be paraded on our TV because it comes suddenly; like ‘element of surprise’ gives death advantage over birth.” Leila was silent “I’m more than a little worried that my aunt might just be addicted to death.”

Leila: “Your whole life can be altered just by the way you view death; however, I don’t think anyone is addicted to death. I wouldn’t worry about that if I were you.”

Me: “I know ancients didn’t see death as such a big deal the way we see it now. They saw death as a fact of life…”

Leila (shrugged): “That is what it is.”

Me: “That’s what she said. She said ‘Dying is the only thing you MUST do. For humans at least, everything else (with the exception of birth) is our choice; breathing, eating, drinking, talking, working, everything. Most of us would like to delay death for as long as possible, but eventually, it must come’.”

Leila: “Sounds like a fact?”

Me: “But doesn’t it scare you?”

Leila: “You want me to fear something that I must go through?”

Me: “Err… Not exactly, but… Aren’t you scared?”

Leila: “I’m scared of a painful death, but I’m not scared of death itself. I might be anxious to see what comes after and a little sorry for things I love but will have to leave behind; however, I might replace them with something better or I might be completely oblivious about the life I had here – I don’t know.”

Me: “You’re not scared of dying?”

Leila: “Life has so much more to fear, I don’t understand why I would be scared of dying more than living. In life you have choices to make, other people and things, you have responsibilities so on and so on and so on… What do you have in death? Are you scared of death?”

Me after a pause: “When my aunt said that about death I joked: ‘What about sleeping? Try not sleeping for a few nights and you’ll see that eventually you’ll have no option but to fall asleep.’ Her response to my joke was a very serious question ‘But what is sleep really? Is it a form of temporary death for the living?’”

Leila (laughed): “Are you scared of sleeping now?”

Me: “No, I’ve already done that and it’s quite nice.”

Leila: “There you go. Doesn’t seem like a big deal.”

Me: “But that’s because I know I will wake.”

Leila: “Do you?” I didn’t say anything “Don’t worry! No one is saying ‘Let’s rush to our graves’, but lets not let fear of dying prevent us from living.”

Me: “Oh no, I don’t think that’s the case.”

Leila: “Good! Face it: if we wanted to die, we could have accomplished that ever so easily; just walk out of the shelter and someone would have shot you. Staying alive was a challenge.” Once again I had nothing to say “There are many things we feel we have no control of… worrying for example. We all know worrying does no good what so ever and it brings all kinds of negatives, particularly for our health; however, we still worry and often it feels like you just can’t help it. But there are people who were born with the ability not to worry and then there are those who’ve learned that ability; from what I have seen, I’d say most of them accomplish this through full faith in God. In fact, it’s almost like a proof of their faith in God. I’ve seen people who hold their bleeding child in their arms, and as the child is closing its eyes, you can see they are in pain but they are not worried or angry or anything like that.” I felt like crying at this point “Anyways, what else is your aunt up to?”

Me: “Her work is the centre of her existence. She talks about the flower shop all the time. It was funny, last night she started telling me how they expect inspectors to come by and she said ‘We have to make sure EVERYTHING is in order; they are looking for any mistake just to take our money, they just want money. You know what they are like?’ and I was like: ‘No, I think that’s pretty much the only thing I don’t know about the shop’.”

Leila smiled: “Could you take over?”

Me: “This very instant. The other girl working there is called Mia, her brother is expecting a baby soon, her father died of cancer two months ago and my aunt is appalled by the fact that all this girl seems to talk about is her boyfriend, who may or may not be cheating on her. Harris owns the shop; he was in the army (that’s where they met) but he works for the ZSteel now. He bought the shop for the fun of it, according to my aunt. Ms Davis is the most complicated customer who takes flowers to her husband’s grave every Tuesday and she is very particular that ever leaf is in perfect condition. My aunt finds the whole thing weird since she doesn’t believe her husband is chained to his grave – what dead person, i.e. ghost, would just stick around their grave – and she thinks Ms Davis should just buy flowers for herself and let her husband come home and enjoy them with her…”

Leila laughed: “But! Do you know about working in the shop?”

Me: “Would you like me to go into details of how the bouquets are made, where the flowers grow, when they arrive, the procedure…”

Leila: “Enough said.”

Me: “How’s your job?”

Leila: “All is good. Not perfect, but… You can never add two positives in life; something always has to be a ‘miss’. And thank God my ‘miss’ is just work related. I look around and see so many people who’ve lost their whole family… I haven’t lost one member during this war. One of my closest friends, Alma, you’ll meet her…” Leila shook her head “That girl should get every prize this world can offer. Her whole family got together: aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, mum, dad, her twin sister, everyone; and they all moved into one house when the war started – safety, or whatever. When it got too dangerous and everyone started to leave, they joined this huge colony of people and started walking out of the town. Suddenly, gun shots were heard and bodies just started falling. Then other gun fire, Alma said within seconds everyone was down. She was shot in the leg and lost conciseness, when she woke up she was in a river of blood, her mum’s dead body was next to her and she heard voices. She just closed her eyes. When she opened them again, it was dark and silent. She crawled over all the bodies and hid in a house, then she smelt fire and realised they were burning all the houses so she started crawling up the hill into the woods. In the morning she watched those soldiers dig a ditch by the road and throw bodies into the ditch. Whoever had a pulse, showed any sign of life, was shot and then ditched. One of the men even asked where Alma was (she knew most of those men from before and they knew her and her family), one guy confused her with her sister and another guy said ‘We must have ditched her body already cause her whole family is here’. Four days later, Alma made it to the hospital here. Luckily, we live in a country full of clean water; if this was Africa, she wouldn’t have made it.”

I was breathing so much I felt like my heart and brain were about to explode: “What is she doing now?”

Leila (with a proud nod and smile on her face): “Alma is in her final year of Medicine. You could say she never left the hospital. One of the doctors realised she’s a very smart and talented girl, so he pushed her. He told her she’d make a great doctor and that one day the war will be over and she will have to fallow protocol; she worked with him during the war. So, he enrolled her into the university... Although... she finished her first and second year in a few months, so it’s not exactly as planned; however, I think she still did all that is required. If you ask me, she’s already a surgeon. But! Protocol must be followed now that Law has returned.”

Leila was a strange combination of emotional, and blunt to the point of brutality. She enjoyed emotional conversations about others and she always seemed to have something to say; and more often then not, that something which she would say, helped. However, she hardly ever spoke of her own emotions, and even when she did, her manner of speaking, even her tone, showed no emotion. I am sure many people often wondered if she felt any pain, if anything truly moved her. Knowing the good person that she was, I always believed she felt much more than she showed. I always trusted this belief even when she’d say things like:

“He is dead. Yes, it was tragic; yes, it is a big loss; yes, I loved him and I miss him; but he’s dead. How do you want me to say it? He’s gone forever. There’s nothing I can do about it.”

And she was very beautiful. The way she looked changed considerably during the three years I had not seen her; but the same soul was gazing at me through her eyes even when she wasn’t looking directly at me. Her eyes often wondered around, as if she was looking for something, but I never learned what. I don’t think even she knew what she was looking for or that she was even looking, but to me it always seemed she was on the lookout.

And she loved reality and being real and true; I believe she had dreams, even the ones that could never come true, but I also believe she had them well tamed. In fact, it’s more then a belief. She once said:

“I have no objection to dreaming so long as you know those dreams are only for the sake of entertainment. While you are dreaming, those dreams make you smile, the smile gives you some strength so that you can handle the reality, which you have to go back into and face. If you let yourself believe in some crazy dreams they become like a wild animal that will swallow you alive. And if you have dreams that can give you some direction, I consider that to be a bonus. But, more often then not, things work very differently in dreams than they do in reality, and reality is the one every human should be occupied with. If your crazy dreams should happen to come true; great! Consider your self luckier than a large majority of people in the history of human kind.”