Love+New Beginnings

TWO things have happened that had me so troubled and bogged down that I bowed out a little from the blogosphere. But you might as well be told about them now. We lost Eva to hip dysplasia. I think when you rescue dogs you never know, and this was a painful reminder of our own not-knowing and the frailty of our best intentions. She had to be let go, or else her suffering would have only gotten worse. My pain was immeasurable, loads of heaving sobs in bed, in the shower when I could be bothered to have one. No sleep, no food, eventually…barbiturates. I am no good at these things.

I take brother dog with me everywhere. We have each other. We take drives and go to work. I tell him he is smart and handsome. He is. He tries to get along with the kittens. He tolerates their cuddles and eyes them suspiciously. He doesn’t trust their energy and cheerfulness. He sighs a lot. He is too big to play with them.

Also, the farm burnt down. To cinders. The house and buildings were saved. All the animals survived but there was not a speck of green to be seen. The fire started three farms down, and spread about 100kms from there. By the time it reached Natal it was considered ‘unstoppable by human intervention’.  The forever pasture smouldered, the field-shelter was laid to waste.

The forever pasture and favourite tree burnt

What's left of the field shelter

The horses were shocked and bewildered. For days after the fire tree stumps smouldered, smoke hung in the air. Soot blew into the house via the gaps between the floor and the door, open windows, clinging to shoes. The worst part was the smell, the smell of burning. The neighbour lost ten horses. We needed to phone the doctor to get a script for our brave groom with singed facial hair, puffy red eyes and chest pain. He recovered 100%. We were desperately afraid – we’d have to buy in loads of grass, and quick. It was incredibly hard to find decent grass at the end of winter. We managed, in the end. We paid through our teeth for lucerne.

Horses and Adolf immediately after the fire.

The grass is up again. New grass. Amazing. My little garden is thriving. The shoots are turning into onions again, weapons-grade a usual. No less. Corn is growing in the vegetable garden space, there is lettuce and rhubarb in the ground. There is tarragon, basil, rosemary and oregano.  The begonias and violets are out, the jasmine has grown, the day lilies have taken over. A beautiful lily has come up and so has one lonely bush of marigold with wonderful deep orange flowers. The place teems with new life. The poppies have not returned, they are stubbornly still in the ground somewhere. I think they are too fragile for fires and loss.

Carrots?

Horses graze on new grass

Remember Yatan?

 And then it got even more lush:

December, mid-day heat

Masu, theeerrreeeee!

Begonia, basil, onions some pink flower bushy thing

I adopted a gray kitten and named him Yoshimoto. His litter mates’ adoptions fell through and we rescued them. I have no idea what we’ll do with these two extra bundles of life. Feed them, love them…

I flew off to Cape Town on business, I ate more than I should have got very little sleep and I travelled on plane, train, catamaran and rental car. It was amazing. I lived in the fairest Cape for four years as a student and my heart still recognises it as home. So I went home for the first time in six long years. I love you Cape Town.

I saw Uriah Heep, live in concert. They played outdoors on a beautiful escarpment. It was amazing.  New grass was growing while old music hummed around the intermittently rocky and then grassy spaces.

What a night!

We said goodbye to our first groom, he headed back to Zimbabwe to live with his new wife and their brand new child. New life, everywhere. This is the fifth year our living harbour has been in operation. Since 2009. Amazing.

For the New Years Eve I cooked gammon in ginger ale, and lamb in wine. I was joined by my oldest friend in this world – from that soviet-looking era, he calls it a ‘poor white farm school’ – with his delightful girlfriend who put on a fire poi performance. Kyle and Tristan was there too. It was a good time.

On February the 13^th I get to see Rodriguez live in Gauteng. In case you don’t know: Rodriguez is a South American rocker who rose to considerable fame here in South Africa. Recently they made a documentary about him, where South Africans went to look for him in South America, they found him… shortly after a rash of concerts were sold in SA. Good for him, I hope it lines his pockets for a while. We love you Sugarman.

I am starting an art class this month. Weekly and for two hours at a time. I am as excited as a child. My application inquiry read: complete novice with no talent would like to join art classes.

My favourite thing to cook this year has been plain-old breakfast and a delightful peasant stew I made with lamb leftover from the New Year’s roast. If you don’t know how to make potato bake with some milk and a packet of brown onion soup ask me how, it is amazing. My favourite read has been Lisa Klaussmann’s Tigers in Red Weather. I have discovered turquoise and the joys of frivolously buying shoes. I have bought plum coloured eyeliner.

I am turning 30 this month and I have lived in spite of everything. Happy New Year bloggers, may this year gleam as brightly for you as it does for me.

PS: Live in spite of everything, it’s the only way. And also: I’m back J

Love+black comedy Saturday

I went to a black tie – which is completely unlike me. The actual event was pleasant, but the run-up nearly killed me. After much anxiety about a dress, and fitting on nearly 20, I eventually gave up and went to some ridiculously over-priced chain-store dress place. They service brides, bridesmaids etc. So after much driving and faffing about in malls – I gave up and made the trip there. I had fit on about eight dresses that invariably didn’t work for a variety of reasons. Eventually I found a dress I like – only it was a size too small, and they didn’t have my size. So, some incredibly patient sales lady (you deserved your commission Jane) squeezed me into the frock. Much groaning, bending and flexing got me in. I could literally smell the sweat of the cheap (probably child) labourers who sewed the gown together. It was the best work-out of the week.

Only clincher is that you have to step onto the shop floor to view the dress, seriously. There is no mirror IN the fitting room. Barely able to breathe, I step out for like .5 of a second (only long enough to see where the dress failed me) and dashed back, exhausted, in pain and longing for release from dress-buying-related stress – and painfully gasping for air. I paid the obscene amount of cash for this barely-fitting abomination, but assuaged my fears by reasoning it was the only dress I could look at without wanting to become violently ill. Jane promised me the great Alerter of Dresses could take it out a little and somehow magically get it to stick.

That was Thursday, Saturday (the day of the event) I limped over to the store – fairly crestfallen. It occurred to me that I had spent all the money I had on this dress, and there was a fairly strong possibility it still wouldn’t fit. I was terrified. After waiting around for the dress to be collected with horror images of a lost, burnt, vandalised or even worse, completely unaltered, dress - it appeared as if by magic (magick?). Jane squeezed me into it with more ease than the first time, but it still clinched like a vice grip around the old lungs.

‘If I pass out, cut the frock off’ – I warned, desperately.

It went okay, the frock didn’t tear apart: it wore in very well and sat great. I also didn't pass out from oxygen deprivation, which everyone will agree is always a plus.  But this is about as much as I want to know of frocks for the rest of my life. I also learnt more ‘lady-things’ in a few hours than I have in my entire life. Yes… truffle is a colour, not only a fungal food.

At the actual event I managed to clear a table with a reference to a lewd song I had heard… wonders never cease – I still possess the ability to completely alienate people with little to no effort.

Thank you Oscar Vitoni, for designing my lovely store-bought frock, and as always, thank you Jane. And bugger you Kyle, for asking me to attend in the first place.

PS: I love the word 'frock' it captures exactly how I feel about evening gowns.