T­hank you and fa­re­well for now

Knysna-Plett Herald - - Briewe | Letters - By E­di­tor E­LAI­NE KING e­lai­ne@grou­pe­di­tors.co.za

My dad’s fa­vou­ri­te ex­pres­si­on for an­noun­cing g­re­at c­han­ge was al­ways, “The ti­me has co­me to talk of ma­ny t­hings, of men and mi­ce and w­hat is next.”

I see now, look­ing at w­he­re t­his ca­me from, that dad had Le­wis Car­roll s­lig­ht­ly mudd­led and had cre­a­ted his own ver­si­on – but it still works for me.

“The ti­me has co­me,” the Wal­rus said, “To talk of ma­ny t­hings:

Of shoes – and ships – and se­a­ling-wax – Of cab­ba­ges – and kings –

And why the sea is boi­ling hot –

And w­het­her pigs ha­ve wings.” A­li­ce’s Ad­ven­tu­res in Won­der­land & Through the Look­ing-Glass.

T­his should ha­ve been writ­ten last week and I a­po­lo­gi­se to all tho­se who saw the ad­vert for a new e­di­tor wit­hout any ex­pla­na­ti­on from me, and ha­ve sin­ce pho­ned or sent let­ters and mes­sa­ges I dee­ply ap­pre­ci­a­te.

Yes, I am le­a­ving as the e­di­tor of the Knys­na-P­lett He­rald at the end of A­pril, but am not le­a­ving Knys­na per­ma­nent­ly.

The beau­ti­ful old hou­se that Mark boug­ht us w­hen we mo­ved he­re three y­e­ars ago, is the first pla­ce I ha­ve stay­ed in for a so long sin­ce I left my pa­rents’ ho­me.

Most of my li­fe has been li­ved li­ke the pro­ver­bi­al rol­ling sto­ne.

“A rol­ling sto­ne gat­hers no moss” is an old pro­verb, cre­di­ted to Pu­bli­li­us Sy­rus who, in his Sen­ten­ti­ae, says pe­op­le who are al­ways mo­ving, with no roots in one pla­ce or a­not­her, a­void re­spon­si­bi­li­ties and ca­res. As such, the pro­verb is of­ten in­ter­pre­ted as re­fer­ring to fi­gu­ra­ti­ve no­mads who a­void ta­king on re­spon­si­bi­li­ties or cul­ti­va­ting or ad­van­cing their own kno­w­led­ge, ex­pe­rien­ce, or cul­tu­re.

T­his des­crip­ti­on has e­le­ments of truth, in that I don’t know w­he­re I am going or e­ven w­hen or for how long, but I am not a­voi­ding re­spon­si­bi­li­ties and I am sim­ply going to grow in a­not­her di­recti­on.

I do ha­ve roots now in the ve­ge­ta­bles I ha­ve plan­ted at our ho­me, lo­ve dee­ply roo­t­ed in Mark and our two cats – and in e­ver­yo­ne of you I ha­ve co­me to know.

To the ma­ny, ma­ny re­a­ders and to t­his com­mu­ni­ty who ha­ve sup­por­ted me and t­his news­pa­per, shared sto­ries with me, been so fait­hful in wri­ting let­ters (e­ach one ap­pre­ci­a­ted) and be­co­me my “work fa­mi­ly”, you are my moss, t­hank you.

To Group E­di­tors, a com­pa­ny with a he­art, and es­pe­ci­al­ly to di­rec­tor and a bril­li­ant boss Ni­co­le Rim­bault, t­hank you.

To Ri­a­na, Bo­nis­wa, N­wa­bi­sa, Yo­lan­de, S­te­fan and Ya­seen, No­si, to S­te­phen who does our la­yout, and to Zirk and C­har­le­ne, t­hank you.

All I can tell you at t­his point is that, so­meti­me, I am ho­ping to use a di­plo­ma do­ne y­e­ars ago to te­ach En­g­lish in far-flung pla­ces of the e­arth – es­pe­ci­al­ly in A­sia which is cal­ling me sin­ce he­re the big­ge­st chunk of my a­dult li­fe was li­ved, in Hong Kong w­he­re my child­ren we­re born.

I ha­ve had books flo­a­ting in my he­ad for y­e­ars which I will now wri­te.

De­ar re­a­ders and Knys­na com­mu­ni­ty, I am going to fi­gu­re out if pigs ha­ve wings and if the sea boils in so­me pla­ces, but you are not being a­bando­ned. I may not ha­ve dri­ven in­to the es­tu­a­ry, but I li­ke to think Knys­na is my ho­me – res­ting pla­ce for the sto­ne that will al­ways roll back he­re.

P­le­a­se keep tal­king to the Knys­na-P­lett He­rald jour­na­lis­ts be­cau­se, wit­hout your ge­ne­rous in­put, we could not do our jobs – keep your he­arts o­pen and trust us as you ha­ve do­ne.

And you will al­ways be a­ble to find me on e­lai­ne­wri­ting@gmail.com.

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