TRIP TO AVALON

Should we travel to Avalon for the Memorial Service for an elderly family friend who has just died?

"I'm planning to go", I announced.

"Maybe the children and I will come too," said my daughter.

We wondered how this would go. Would it be OK to take along a two year old and a five year old to the Memorial Service?

So we rang the lady's daughter to check and she said it was OK, and that if the children got bored they could always be taken outside.

The train journey to the city went smoothly, but then the bus journey began very slowly, because of heavy traffic

"I feel sick!" said Issa, before we had gone far.

So we got off the bus to walk to the next bus stop.

I was following behind, walking too slowly because my near-new shoes had begun to feel uncomfortable.

When I turned a corner my daughter and the children were nowhere in sight.

"Maybe that's them in the distance at the next bus stop", I thought.

So I hurried on ahead.

Then I heard my name called out, and I imagined that my daughter was calling me from the bus stop, because a bus was coming,

So I surged ahead, until I heard my name called out again, this time from behind me.

I turned around, but didn't noticed my daughter waving to me from outside a shop, as she called out to me again.

I retraced my steps, then when I hesitated near some shops, wondering where my daughter was, I saw a lady waving her arms at me from inside a coffee shop window.

She wasn't my daughter, but she looked happy when she saw that I was coming inside.

I could now see my daughter and the children ordering at the counter.

We enjoyed our coffees, and hot chocolates and banana bread while sitting at a table near the window.

"That was a nice break", we decided, as we got on another bus and resumed the journey.

When we finally arrived at Avalon, and found the Memorial Service venue at the bowling club, ladies were playing bowls in the sunshine, while others were sitting around talking.

So we sat outside too, and kept an eye on the children as they ran around playing.

Maybe we let them play for too long before we moved up the stairs and inside the building.

The room was already full of people and most were already seated.

After being greeted by members of the bereaved family, we were ushered to the remaining empty seats which were up the front, in the second row.

"I want some chips", said Issa when he saw the chip vending machine against the wall in front of us,.

My daughter could see that the chip vending machine was disconnected, because a projector had been plugged into the power point.

This was unfortunate, because, with no chips, Issa was in a grumpy mood when the Memorial Service started.

He began to make a loud, continuous Hummming noise, to show his displeasure.

The expression on Issa's face showed that he was determined to continue his noise, until he got what he wanted.

Everyone must have been able to hear him.

How embarrassing!   I was sitting closest to Issa so I felt responsible for stopping his humming.

What could I do?

In desperation I reached for Issa's knee, and gave it a little pinch.

A tickle may have worked much better, because Issa responded with very loud, indignant cries which were much more disturbing than his humming.

Now it was my daughter's turn to act.

She grabbed one child under each arm, and made a hasty retreat from the building.

No doubt many members of the audience felt relieved that now there would be no more disturbances.

Meanwhile I was able to remain inside, enjoying the service, the tributes, and the poems read by family members and friends, followed by the slide show and commentary about the lady's life.

At the same time I was feeling guilty for causing my daughter to miss the service she had made such an effort to attend.

When my daughter and the children returned after the service none of us felt very comfortable.

We were embarrassed by the disturbance we had caused when the memorial service began.

"Let's go to the beach", I suggested, and we were relieved to slip away, to enjoy the sand and the sea.

I was sent to buy some refreshments, then everyone was happy in the fresh air and sunshine, my daughter and the children paddling in the sea, with the windswept headland as a backdrop.

So it seemed that the trip hadn't been a waste of time for the others after all.

When it was time to leave we tore ourselves away from the beach and caught a bus to the city.

I was sitting apart from the others, at the side, up the front, minding the pram which was opposite me.

An overweight man was squashing me in, and I couldn't stretch out my legs in the aisle because people kept walking past to get off.

On top of that, my shoes were hurting!

My phone rang, and while I was talking I began to feel too hot, so I took off a jumper.

Then I began to feel bus sick, and soon I felt exhausted.

In this state, I decided:  "What a nightmare of a trip!" "We shouldn't have come!"

And I began to wonder how I would be able to endure all the rest of the journey home.

How would I be able to make it from the bus stop to our train at Wynyard Station?

I didn't feel as though I would be able to walk that far.

And then how could I cope with the train journey home, perhaps having to stand all the way.

I thought "Maybe I need to lie down on a seat in Wynyard Park for a while, while the others go home on the train ahead of me."

When we did get off the bus it was actually good to walk a little bit.

And I discovered that lying on a seat in the park would not have been a good idea after all.

Night was approaching, and homeless people were already meeting up in the park close to the seats where they were planning to spend the night together, and I would have been caught up in their midst.

On the other hand, it might have been fun.

The homeless people who had gathered looked rather jolly, happy to see one another again, and at the centre of the group was a charismatic young African man with dreadlocks and a guitar, ready to entertain them with his music.

We reached the station, and had to wait for a lift to arrive to take us down to our platform.

Then we had to wait again, while a frail elderly lady was helped out of the lift.

She reminded me of our elderly friend, whose memorial service we had attended that morning, and I hoped it had been up to her expectations.





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