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Daddy Dignity

Daddy Dignity wakes to a dark morning, dawn barely there. . .still a fragile, delicate, light, teasing the horizon. He touches his stubble that has grown a little overnight. . .he looks into the mirror, throws cold water onto his face, slaps his dark brown cheeks to wake up and wipes his face. . .He dresses in the dark, trying not to wake his child and wife.


Daddy Dignity has a regular look, one that enduringly clings to him, an outwardly stern, just neat enough, purposed look. He grabs his tools and leaves his house.

The morning is cold, but Daddy Dignity strides forward with ease, emitting an aura of confidence and a self assured spirit. Braving the cold.


He walks into the work station where he is met by his fellow workers, they automatically defer to his authority, taking instructions and leaving for their assignments of the day.

Daddy Dignity is the owner of a little electrician workshop, he also prepares himself for his assignment. . . Mrs Pundamilia. . . She’s a flirt. . . He hopes grandma Milia will be there. . . It can get difficult.
He slips into his heavy, fire resistant overalls and thick rubber soled work boots. . . then leaves.

Today same as always Mrs. Milia opens the door for him in her dressing gown. He smiles wryly at her before getting in, making sure to give her a healthy, wide berth. . . She was recently widowed. . . And still needs some convincing on Daddy Dignity’s marital status. He stalks quietly into the main room, and moves to the circuit breaker service panel and the fuse box. The quiet movement which was for the benefit of grandma Milia serves little purpose though, because Mrs. Milia soon releases a loud, raucous laughter.
‘She’s not here.’

She tells him, winking slyly, and boldly holding his gaze.
He nods and turns to his electric work. . . What is truly more fearsome than a bold woman!! Daddy dignity always feels some indignation at his own feelings towards the lady. They waver between feelings of second hand embarrasment and the temptation to indulge her. . . Just a little. . . She’s just lonely. . . after all. . . He shakes his head vigorously, putting physical effort to mentally chasing away the errant baser thoughts.

He tinkers with the old electric instalations in the house, fixing and cajoling the old still serviceable ones into smoother functionality, while the less sturdy ones he removes and makes new installations.
He carried all the spares. . . Today is the last day slotted for the maintenance check.
Papa Dignity gives it his all.

When he is done, it is almost midday. He turns into the living area to find Mrs. PM setting up a tea set . . . A heavenly waft of milk, caramelized brown sugar, warm spice and vanilla comes his way. . . The tea scones smell so good. . . his stomach growls. . .He usually gets breakfast after his early morning assignments.

She invites him to seat and have a cup of tea. He looks at her then after a moment’s of hesitation he sits. . .She talks and talks. . . And as she does, Daddy Dignity realizes he read her wrong. . . He misconstrued her loneliness and want for company as flirting. . . He relaxes into the tea and listens to her, judgement free.
Her face becomes animated during the tea and when the snacks and tea are over he excuses himself. She stands with him. . .

The look of kindness and appreciation he sends her way catches her off guard. . . Not as off guard though as her immediate reaction to this look of understanding. . .
Mrs. Milia breaks down. . . She begins to cry, she sobs as tears run down her cheeks. . . She starts to feel distressed at crying in his presence and she begins to fumble with her bag looking for a handkerchief.

Daddy Dignity awkwardly pats her hand, uncomfortable with the very emotional presentation before him, yet totally aware and feeling of the pent up grief fueling it.
She calms down eventually, tells him thank you and escorts him to the door.

As daddy Dignity leaves, he looks back at her, nods encouragingly and wordlessly tries to reassure her. He calls out that the invoice will be delivered to her the next day. . .


As she watches him lumber across her compound to the gate, she realizes his intent and rushes outside. . .calling out to him to wait. He pauses. . . Then watches her run back into her house. . . She comes out and walks towards him, then hands him an envelope with instructions to only open it when he gets back home.

She smiles quietly, waves, then quickly walks back into her house.
Daddy Dignity shoves the envelope into his pocket and walks back to the work station. There, he opens the envelope and finds wads of cash inside.

Carole Spandau, young African man, image downloaded from google.

She had realized. . . that the invoice would not be delivered. . .

Daddy Dignity tries to show support for Mrs. PM by choosing not to charge for his services. Mrs. Punda Milia on the other hand is hospitable, perceives the intended gift and regardless still pays. Showing an appreciation for work excellently done.
This common, easy, show of human kindness seems to be disappearing from the world. . . As narcissism and self obsession increasingly become a global epidemic. . . Self evaluation and empathy should find a way to break into that darkness. Kindness isn’t grandiose. . . It can be summed up by the little almost nuanced selfless decisions we make whilst going through our daily works that add much value to other people. . . We all have capacity for it, our flawed nature not withstanding. We cannot forget . . . Neither can we say it enough times.

‘. . . By the grace of God let’s see each other’s hearts. . .’ Relate, by King and Country

love,

Ruthie.

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. . . The less I know

. . . I thought I would feel sure. . . My steps firmer. .

A pep to my walk, and a surer swing to my hips. . I thought I would be able to differentiate Tom from Dick and Harry. . .

That I would be financially secure, ridding off to a sunset of my own making . . .

Instead I fly closer to home . . . Afraid of the sun melting away my wings. . .I’m no Icarus. . . that sense of adventure is dulled by the crashing weight of reality. . .

A reality harder to escape. . . A reality forcing me to confront it . . . Come what may. . . the older I get . . . The less I feel I know. . .

Maybe growing means finally coming to terms with me. . .cornering myself and forcing me to come to terms with who I am. . . My choices, their consequences and my expectations. . . And finding my way forward. Letting go of the disney princess and finding love for Ruth. The breathing, living, woman. . .
To embrace that gritty old self discovery.
Loosing an old that was meant to be lost, for a firmer more selfless new. Shedding the old singular dream for a new shared one. . . Which might start out gritty and slippery but become firmer with time.

Understanding that sometimes my lens are narrow, I grieve and agonize over the island . . . When there is an entire mainland to explore. . .

love

Ruthie

In all things I choose hope, I choose to be bound to those chains so light, driven though slowly, yet surely out of darkness. Than to be free from those easy chains and lost in the darkness of despair’

I turned a year older earlier this week and the experience has been a see-saw of emotions I keep on oscillating between pumped up levels of confidence and colapsing into tears when I feel overwhelmed by the expectations that come with aging. . The little piece above tries to give words to my feelings. Growing older ha? No one tells us what to expect😊😊.
As always, lots of ❤️

Image downloaded from Pinterest
Image downloaded from google images
Image downloaded from google