Morning has Broken: Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt ..

My last blog entry concluded by expressing thanks to my oldest friends for still being there.

Sadly a couple of days ago with a very heavy heart I attended the funeral of my first very best friend. Between the ages of 6 to 15 we were inseparable.

Long before the term 24/7 was coined that was us.

Annette and I. Me and Annette. The two of us.

We first ‘fell in love’ in 1968 - midyear in grade 2 at primary school. She was assigned to look after the new little girl. That would be me. She took the role seriously, from the very first day. Annette was really lucky in the ’really lucky’ world of childhood. She lived 3 houses away from school. Not from the front gate but from the big hole in the side fence. Near the arboretum. It was most firmly against the rules to go through ‘the hole’. And so of course for 6 years we did! Sometimes we even ran screamimg .. particularly when someone yelled snake!

Annette’s house was the stop-in point for me every morning and every afternoon and sometimes even at lunch time if we managed to sneak unseen through ‘the hole’. And on the days her mother worked, Annette and her brother came to my house to ‘be minded’. We spent so much time together we honestly believed we looked alike. But I was the brunette to her blonde. And she was fair skinned while I was always golden. And she wore glasses. I was always fascinated with this particular accessory and begged her to let me wear them whenever possible! She looked angelic, while I resembled a chocolate.

In all the hundreds of weeks and thousands of hours we spent entertaining each other we only ever fell out once.

When we weren’t at school we were at dancing. We danced away the years. Ballet, Tap and Jazz! We orchestrated lavish productions every lunch hour for our classmates. One particular year we were separated. She was in one class and I was in another. It was devastating. And even worse was that our cast was displaced! So Annette decided to put on her own production. I really can’t remember why but I was incensed! And I was even more incensed when I got word she was using props. PROPS!

Annette showed particular promise at ballet and on Saturday mornings was taken to a special ballet class. I was in awe of her and was almost as excited as she was the first time she went en pointe! I desperately wanted to go en pointe too! I desperately wanted pink satin shoes with long pink ribbons. But my mother wouldn’t let me. It was swimming followed by Brownies! I was never indoors. Is it any wonder I resembled a chocolate. Wearing flippers. With a love of belts, hats and bags. When all I wanted was a tutu.

So - Miss Annette was pulling out all stops with all her little tips gleaned from ‘special ballet’. My God – while my lot were singing the theme song from Gilligan’s Island her lot were Singin’ in the Rain and she was Debbie Reynolds. With umbrellas no less! Oh yes indeed behind that blonde angelic smile and those pussycat glasses was a fighter. Little did we know.

It was all on. Suddenly I became Calamity Jane and complete with holster and cap gun I was ready to ‘just blow in from the windy city’. Until the great finale was a spectacular failure when the cap gun failed to ‘cap’ and I wished desperately that I was whip crack away, whip crack away, whip crack away ..

That night at swimming club Annette’s mother and my mother had had enough. They demanded that we both hug and make up. And so we did. It was all that easy. Because we had had enough too. We desperately missed the routine of our young lives. And we missed each other. And then we ate Twisties. Because that’s what you did at swimming club.

When it came time for high school Annette was sent to the local Catholic College to become a young lady and I was sent to a not so local State High School. These schools proved very successful for very early in life she became a married young lady and I was in quite a state!

Annette’s funeral, as with all funerals of those who die relatively young was extremely emotional. But the saddest moment for me was hugging her Mum. I could feel it in her arms that she that she was remembering, and I was silently wishing I didn’t look quite so healthy. Foolish I know. Her little fighter battled cancer for five years and she died emaciated and paralysed, the pussycat glasses long gone but it was said that the smile was there until the end.

Annette had a purple casket. Purple was her favourite colour – although I never knew that. Everyone was encouraged to write on the casket with the markers provided. I chose not to do so. Firstly because I wasn’t sure if I would be able to stop, but mostly I was concerned the words would be smudged and illegible.

The funeral was in the Northern Suburbs of Brisbane, an area I am not so familiar with these days. By the time I found my way home after one slightly wrong turn I had had plenty of time to think about life and good health in general. It was a very hot and particularly humid day. And I desperately needed a swim. And a drink. But I found myself questioning.

Did we really need open that bottle of icey cold Sauvignon Blanc?

Should I slather myself with sunscreen and was I too old to be pulling on a bikini on the eve of 51 and maybe just a wee bit cuddly right now? Just a wee bit mind you!

The answers were probably no or yes, not in any particular order, but I really didn’t care. Not for that one day, it wasn’t important.