Grevous Gigha

Recently someone asked if I was aggrieved by something. Who, me? I was shocked and silently seethed that anyone dared to connect a word so gravely GRIEVOUS to my pure existence. Pondering the word I came to the astonishing realization that it was just that: Cowboys of mindless aptitude better not unleash wild horses that do not take kindly to grievous insults.

Aggrieved:

With the flavor of grievance in my mouth, I chewed a bit on it, rolled the sticky word over in my mouth and then spat out the drags of it. Disgusting! What an utterly disreputable thing to say to anyone - it spoke spirals of columns of a mind going gaga on all sorts of whatsitnots. One single mind that missed the whole point of another human being's thoughtful mind - causing an aggrieved case scenario of drama and relatively in orderly suspense with one significant word.

So when all my energy was drained by this mere thoughtless aggravation, I sat down to write a letter. It could go to the Pope for all I cared. As long as he took this serious misjudgment of character to heart, erase the mistake and apologise whether it took taking a sabbatical or visiting a Turkish mosque.

My letter stated why I thought he might need to re-think the inappropriate remark for a being like me to be considered grievous. There might be numerous reasons why he came to the wrong conclusion and perhaps he should consider the following:

Perhaps this annoying state of mind of mine, wrongly named grievous, had to do with winter. A soft syllable word with one little sting in the 'i'. Associated with inches of snow, icicles with frozen taps and washing machines, arthritic joints and goose bumps with in-grown stubs and in-grow toenails that hurt more like anything in the cold. Inadequate insulation with regards to house and clothing, scary creaks and bangs on the roof, objects flying and some even sparking dangerously in a panic manic-state of emergency set alive by a vicious storm - the Cape of Storms they call it for nothing.

Before the storm, the Devil and Van Hinghs did the usual sneaky stoking of clouds spectator thing on Devils Peak. One we have seen before and mostly ignore since it gets too much fear and attention than they deserve. We sat outside like most weekends, under a wide branched tree baptized the unfortunate name of Ruddie-Geoff&Gina. Sipped mellow merlot and Shiraz in an area of unlimited quantity and grape variety. Signs of a brewing storm went over our heads in the orange glow of early evening - unusually warm for that late in autumn. A mere few hours later The Devil and Van Hinghs added the final drop to the potion and a dragon like storm snaked onto the peninsula, swooping with a loud shriek over those who hid in and under their beds and broom cupboards.

So you see, I wrote, why I may have seemed aggrieved. Most storms don't make all people deliriously happy. As the ferocious wind hooted, howled and eventually ate everything in its way, I decided it would be better to go outside. Face its wrath and maybe it would go away then. I tell you, altogether it was a mean mess in and outdoors. The cats had no idea whether they should eat or sleep under covers and the dog thought that howling at the strange howls outside would make it all better, but it did not either. You should have seen the flickering lampposts boogie - none has ever managed to do that on Strictly come dancing. Not yet anyway. By then it was nearly too late to start drinking G&T as it only meant more thirst later on. I was shocked to see what was happening outside. Methodically the wind masterly peeled off women’s dresses and tagged along with it men like excited kites on strings. Oh it was something to see, or perhaps not.

To get back to the distasteful mention of the word with the gravitation of a mud clot...GRIEVOUS. Of course disastrous places such as Florida have it much worse, all of their trials and errors a big-much badder...bladder cursing issue (no politics mentioned). As for your accusatory comment about GREVOUS, It JUST SO HAPPENED that I stood outside in this whooping wind when it happened. I can swear I heard the Devil and Van Hinghs' mocking laughter going from alto to soprano above hysterical and at the same time garden chairs cart wheeled across the lawn... Then a really faint noise caught my attention. Creepy. Some more weeping and creaky sounds and I pulled my neck into my shoulders and only wished I had a tortoise shell right then - but the strangest feeling got hold of me: precautionary, second sight, dejavu or dejadead but something was giving way. Where did it come from? An eerily high-pitched splitting sound exploded to my right and above me. Just like Grieg and Puccini had experienced their worst wacko stages as the symphony crescendo, so did I when this big fat tree branch came tearing down from the molten heavens. WHOOSH!!! Astonished I looked down at half a tree inches from my frozen toes - Oh. Dear. Me.

Not grievous, no you got it all wrong. The exhilaration of such events...Let me tell you; the word grievous doesn't get near any such an ordeal. So, we survived of course and half the tree as well although it does not provide anything like the shade it used to; the cats used to love it. The day after the night of the shocky horror show I obviously sent the wrong signal out with regards to your o so grievous comment.

Ahh, as for the rest of my list of misfortunes, the bit that was erased somehow just as I pressed the send button the weekend before last weekend when the storm broke:

I was very nearly hit by a tree and in shock (understatement)
Grumpy but not grievous - the storm lasted a whole round 48hours
The storm fell a tree on the holy Sunday night (bad bad bad)
I nearly died of agony looking at the garden and 911 arrived at the wrong house
Too much good wine earlier on, left with cheap box wine
Cabin fever, dog fever and cat fever; claustophobia
Freezing my buttocks off and oh yes...
...an electricity failure was inevitable
Lots of rain, debris and squatter camps drifting our way...
Half a tree fallen, poor tree, in my yard alone
Fear as the end of the world hammered upon my roof.
Oven tripping the main switch - electrics/element/water problem?
Mobile phone STILL on battery strike, progressively getting worse
The Sharks loosing by one point against the bloody bulls (rugby)
Loosing the signal at the most vital points of the game...
Peeved cats fighting each other - empty wine box
Moping dog and me - mopping up broken vases and a decongested litter tray
No more in vino veritas - just dejathirst and desorehead
And nurturing a windblasted mother of a cold.
And remember, nearly topped off my head by half a tree...

Well then. Under the above circumstances it may then be considered purrfectly normal to get abashed when things and weekends don't go completely as one planned them, or um-hh???

It's Monday again and there's talk yet again of another storm on its way. Oh well, next weekend its us and a wacky wine weekend up country. Till then.

Yours slightly-aggrieved
Gigha