I started writing a story when I was out in the cabin last week, about the villagers and the mysterious ice-cream truck. Everything sounded very familiar though, like a repetition of a story told a thousand times. I started wondering what this life was really about. Is it a predetermined manufactured story/life experience that we are simply partakers in? My grandmother, father and also my uncle often told me stories about the future. Stories that I found irrational and illogical at the time, they made no sense, until now. Which is why I start to question the nature of reality. If they could with such accuracy predict the future, then where is free will and how is the nature of the reality we experience in this life constructed? Maybe they knew me so well that they could predict my choices and therefore also my future? We often try to explain and give meaning to our life experiences with reasoning such as that everything happens for a reason. But, if life is designed and predetermined, a manufactured story we just experience, then the meanings we give to events are also predetermined and not really ours at all. It's of course a distancing worldview to have, to see oneself as an audience in the story of our lives. It's in the details. My grandmother said. Don't feel bad because grass will grow on the rug. The rug was nice, but it looks funny when the grass has grown through it. You thought it would be safe on the lawnmower, but they threw it on the grass. My dad said:
- If there's a burglary you would go and see to it right away, right? You won't let months pass?
-Of course, why would I do that?
- Maybe you were afraid and thought that it was uncanny?
Said my uncle. My grandmother:
- They are just rugs, nice rugs though, but still, you will get new ones. Don't bring it inside anymore when the grass has grown on it.
You see , I had left the rugs from the attic outside, draped over the lawnmower and over the sorted garbage that was going to the recycling station because I planned to be back soon and though the rain would clean them nicely until then. Then the burglary happened and just as they suspected, it felt uncanny to go down there and sort things out right away. I didn't know what to expect and had nobody to accompany me. The rug that was draped over the lawnmower was thrown on the ground and grass has started to grow through it. And it looked funny, just like my grandmother said, with the green grass growing through the orange rug. They knew this would happen and who the burglars were. Now I know too, and shame on them. They never went there and helped him clean up the entire house several times. It took me and my grandmother all our vacation time there to clean up, every year. We took short breaks sitting in the sun or going to car-bingo, but the cleaning was constant. I also painted the entire kitchen , hallway and bathroom. They burglars though they had the right to steal, that I didn't deserve to inherit, because I decided to spend Christmas with my son instead of with my uncle after I had been in South Africa. I told my uncle in the letters I sent that I promised to visit him for Christmas, but I could not. I did however not expect him to die soon after. However I got to see him still alive in the hospital before he passed away. The last time we spoke was on the phone on Christmas eve. He was very upset with my mother. He said she was just shit and he rarely every said anything bad about anyone, so I was quite shocked by this. We did however wish each other a merry Christmas and happy new year. When I visited him in the hospital he never regained consciousness enough to speak. I hope they will let the cabin be now. Nothing gives them the right to steal what is not theirs. Nothing gives them the right to trespass and vandalize. Considering the accurate predictions made by my grandmother, father and uncle it will be interesting to watch the rest of the story play out its course.