Big boys don’t cry by Trevor Plumbly
It was the season
It wasn’t an easy year for the Berbals, but we’re still hanging together. Ange had the pressure of giving up the family pile, all manner of family health worries and of course wrestling with the vagaries and intrigue of the NZ real estate market. Even Ems, usually breezy, chock full of job pressures, kids and carrying her habitual load of others’ problems seems a bit frayed round the edges. For me, it’s been a strange year, beginning with the discovery that my sight loss is on a bit more of a downhill slope than I’d wish for and, towards the end of the year, falling seriously ill for the first time and finding that reflecting on neglected personal values outweighed the desire to turn the hospital time into a private comedy.
Looking at the ceiling
As a child, open emotions simply didn’t exist and I, like others, have struggled to cope with displaying them as an adult. I’ve always felt comfortable with the idea that my family knew that my feelings for them sat a little more under the surface than most; this of course has suited me over the years. The illness provided an emotional wake-up, a decent belt of self-honesty reminded me of how long I’ve failed to tell my family how important they are and how incredibly proud and lucky I feel to be part of it all. Maybe it’s just musings from a hospital ceiling or an old door that needed opening, either way it feels good.
And as for you lot
To family, friends, the blog team, the blindy gang and relative strangers who sent their good wishes, suffice to say that other than ‘thank you’, I’m still left speechless and wordless by your messages of support. For me, it’s become a time for remembering and hoping. I’ve just finished polishing Mr Ballard’s grocer’s scales, and been transported back to a six year old, in ragged just about everything, believing the shiny brass bell weights were made of gold. I needed dreams then, they were hard times, almost Dickensian in a way, leaving emotional scars I’ve never shared. Some things, I decided long ago, are easier left in the cupboard. Looking forward, I hope that Pam and I will be able to enjoy each other’s company, watch our grandsons’ progress with the usual pride and protectiveness that comes with the job.
Finally (phew!)
Sadly, we’re being forced to live in less gentle times and accept violence as part of our daily life; year by year human life is cheapened by one cause or another. Warriors these days seem to prefer the ease of innocent targets, rather than a common battlefield. December wasn’t a death defining month, but it pushed me to have a bloody good think; I’ve done that and it’s cleaned up a couple of dusty corners. I’ve got a fabulous family, great friends and it honestly doesn’t get much better, so please, this year, let’s take care of each other; after all, when you face it, we’re all we’ve got.
Best thoughts, from a half-fit, smiling, Trevor.
verbalberbal 
So pleased to hear you’re recovering well and have a smile on your face Trevor…..xx
Thanks for the good wishes from Queenstown; as for Auckland, what climate change? Love, Trevor.
Thanks for the good wishes from Queenstown; as for Auckland, what climate change? Love, Trevor.
Good to know you’re on the mend and enjoying the truly important things that make life so precious. X
Thanks for the comment re the important things in life. You might have a point: looking at the current world situation there’s not much to laugh about, but I’ll do my best this coming year. Regards, Trevor.
I’m with you and all your thoughts, and, incidentally very happy to know you’re recovering. How would the blog continue without you! In the meantime I wish you and Pam a very happy and illness-free 2017.
Thanks for the comments as usual love, its always good to hear from you. Its great to be up, about and banging around the computer again. All the very best for next year. Love, Trevor.
It was touch and go there for a while, in fact I’d almost written it off, but now that you’re all chipper again, you won’t mind fronting with that fifty you owe…
Words cannot possibly describe the effect your recent attack of the warm fuzzies has had on me, I am so moved (in the emotional, rather than the colonic sense) that I find the mere thought of such a trifling sum sullying this newfound brotherhood totally repugnant. Excuse the brevity of this missive, I’m off to hug a tree. Fraternally, Trev.
Forget the fraternal fuzzies, Bruv, we clearly live in different worlds. To put that in language you’ll be able to follow: Down here on planet earth where I struggle to scratch out the humblest of lifestyles, fifty bucks represents the difference between a week of rough, though tolerable, red (depending upon what’s on special) and a week of two buck chuck…
Sorry to hear of your financial plight. Warmed by your concern for my health I donated said $50-00 to the Impoverished Bloggers Society NZ of which I am proud to be both President and Treasurer. Our accounts show that after meeting expenses (refreshments etc), a credit of $2-00 remains. It was unanimously agreed by the board that a vote of thanks be extended to you and yours along with the hope that your generosity will continue into the coming year.
T. Plumbly. Pres. I.B.S. NZ.
Sorry to hear of your financial plight. Warmed by your concern for my health I donated said $50-00 to the Impoverished Bloggers Society NZ of which I am proud to be both President and Treasurer. Our accounts show that after meeting expenses (refreshments etc), a credit of $2-00 remains. It was unanimously agreed by the board that a vote of thanks be extended to you and yours along with the hope that your generosity will continue into the coming year.
T. Plumbly. Pres. I.B.S. NZ.
That’s a relief – I thought you’d spent it on booze.
Cheers,
I.B.S. Impleton