I am no longer sitting on the edge of my seat. I don’t appear to be going anywhere tonight either. Although I may just climb into my jeep and head off to the deli and go grab some things to nourish myself with. I believe some of you call it comfort food. Today, I will call it a hefty rump steak smothered with a particularly strong and piquant peri-peri sauce along with side dishes of juicy garlic flavored potatoes and an adequate Greek salad smothered with olive oil. Not only am I exhausted, I’m famished as well.
And to make matters worse for tonight, I allowed my housekeeper to leave a little earlier than usual, poor thing. She is a nice old lady, extremely young at heart and fit as a fiddle. And guess what, housekeeping is not her chosen calling. After the last eight years or so of servicing my home and, on occasion, myself, you would never have guessed. She is rather good at what she does and is always impressively efficient. I have wondered, on occasion, why she has never bothered to pack her bags, once and for all, and just leave me. Officially, she is not a live-in maid. She has her own paid-for flat in town.
But, whether this becomes necessary for me on certain days, or whether she does this of her own free will, usually on a whim, she does spend an inordinate amount of time on my grounds. I do not mind at all. In fact, I rather welcome the sense of knowing that there is someone else’s feet pattering about the manor. I am never entirely alone. And I am certainly not lonely. She has her own adjoining cottage to preoccupy herself in. I was saying a few lines ago, that good housekeeping was not my servant’s calling. How she landed up with me was purely fortuitous and began from a sense of desperation on her part.
She was a migrant, to begin with. According to her official papers, she is a qualified school teacher. She has the diploma, still proudly resplendent in a glass frame, hanging on her living room wall. Yes, I do pop into her cottage on the odd occasion, usually uninvited. I told you I was rude. Nevertheless, I used to wonder what she does with herself in her spare time. Now, it has to be said that I have never barred her from doing this, but I have never seen a partner enter her front door. Perhaps she has a secret lover hidden away in her town flat? One never knows. Anyway, on one of my own whimsical visits to her cottage, I finally learned how she spends her time.
Now, initially I almost wet myself with excitement when I discovered what she was studying on my first discovery. She was studiously poring over a mountain of legal documents, all dated, while thumbing her way through a thick tome related to torts. And, no, she was not sitting to become a solicitor. It is just as well, I suppose, because, now that I know just how marvelous she is with books and words, and how finely acute her intellect is, she would have been a formidable opponent to me. She would also have been able to utilize her skills from her own personal experiences of life.
She was estranged from her husband at the time, also barren, so fleeing from her homeland was made all the more easier for her. She was not entirely heartless about this, as a family they had also discussed it, she acted out of pragmatism, and quite literally left her two old parents for dead. At the time, our country was not ready to accept two ageing migrants who would not be able to make any meaningful contributions towards our country’s economy. But my housemate was gleefully accepted. But to add more humor to her plight, her teaching diploma did not seem much use to Her Majesty’s government.
It was argued that her rudimentary non-native English speaking skills were not up to scratch, never mind the fact that a window of opportunity beckoned in regard to teaching hundreds of migrant children anyway. A practical and determined young lady she was at the time, so she proceeded apace to set herself up. Her first priority was to keep herself adequately fed and provide herself with reasonable accommodation. And it did not take her long to find a post. We made contact through an employment agency, and so here we are. Today she is doing her Masters in English through correspondence at one of our country’s finest institutions. She is also writing her memoirs. I read a few chapters from one of her drafts and can tell you that it is publishable material.
She has also not given up on her dream of one day being in a classroom, filled with willing students. Soon, that dream will become reality. She is also tickled about the novel. Yes, she would like to sit down someday and craft her famous literary novel. I dare say that she is likely to pull this off too, given the reservoir of material she has. And while we are about it, I may as well tell you that she spends most of her spare time blogging. I have seen some her material and can tell you that, here, I am simply out of her league. Her blog is literary in nature. She writes rather objectively and puts a lot of thought into her prose.
She is always mindful of her readers but at the same time is not afraid to mince her words on a particular issue that is tugging at her. In essence, she would have made the perfect human rights lawyer because she has that special ingredient that is missing from my own skill set. Now, I have to go now. I close with a note of concern, how will I manage when she is gone from my life, for good and for the greater good.