Karoo

When Son#2 was still small-ish, we went to South Africa, the four of us, Son#3 not even an idea at that stage.
We first visited friends in Stellenbosch, then drove along the route 62, staying in hotels along the way, to end up at my parents' in Port Elizabeth.

The husband and I left the boys at my parents' for a weekend, then drove to Graaff Reinet, staying in a lovely but expensive hotel.
The next morning, we drove to Nieu-Bethesda, a tiny spit of a place, but known for its Owl House, 40 km along a dirt road.
We bought a windpump (not a windmill) that my dad so lovingly packed for the trip back up north.
It's still in the garden.

This is not my picture, I don't know who it belongs to, but we lost all our pictures from that holiday, I think.

 

On the way back, a storm whipped up behind us.
Spectacular scenes of dark clouds warring with light, the winds sluicing the clouds into the enormous beams of sunlight, and the husband and I stopped the car to stare at this magnificent display.
Awestruck.

I miss that today:  The dry, sparse simplicity of the Karoo.
Life is hard, but everything seems clear. 
And to have clarity...
Everyone should experience it in their lifetime.
Be still in it.
 

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Just plain tired

Apart from my own wakefulness, hacking and coughing the nights away, Son#3 woke last night a few times too.
Any movement on my part sets off coughing spasms, and I fear that I've hurt/dislodged one of my ribs again.
Enough is enough.
I'm also rivaling Justin Bieber with his cough medicine addiction, and that worries me.
I don't want anything in common with Justin Blooming-Bieber.

Now Son#3 and I are home this morning, and he's been crying now for almost an hour and a half, only interspersed with declarations of allegiance ('But I'm your little darling') every time I get angry/impatient with him.
I have no idea what we'll do, but I can tell you I can't phone anyone, in case the coughing starts again.
Tonight, better.
At least I bloody well hope so.

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The Hávamál (again)

These things are thought the best:
Fire, the sight of the sun,
Good health with the gift to keep it,
And a life that avoids vice. 

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Baa-a-a-a-a-ahh

Go your OWN way.

The message is clear. 

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Today

Today I just miss my dad.

Something awful.

And my mind won't bend around that fact, absorb it, feel it:

He's not going to answer the phone again.

I won't hear a sarcastic-but-well-meant comment.

I can't ask him for advice.

 

The saddest moment of my entire life, was when I flew to South Africa with Son#3 after my dad passed away.

Only my mother waited for me at the airport.

And that had never happened before.

I miss his kind face, his neat hands.
Unfailing loyalty.
The best of hearts. 
His shadow will never again fall on the earth.

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C'est Le Weekend: The Big Questions (but never answered)

I'm still sick for some reason, and I spent the night keeping the family awake with my coughing.
I can feel the sinusitis creeping up on me again...
Barf.
I'm just sick of being sick, and after a night of no sleep combined with a hell-thy shot of PMS, I'm just not nice.
Not.
Nice.

Son#1 is off to his grandparents' this evening, and I'm picking him up on Sunday afternoon.
The husband (lucky bastard) is off to the UK tomorrow.
Son#2 and #3 and I are home, and perhaps, if I feel better, we can go to a museum or something.
Or stay in our pajamas all weekend.
And eat pizza.

I had to put 2 new front wheels on the Volvo, and they fixed the wheel alignment yesterday.
€235 bucks, ka-ching.
But after that, I drove to Ikea for free cappucinoed people-watching, and ended up sitting in the restaurant, reading my study material for two whole hours.
It was wonderful.
Who needs a study when you get to focus pretty darn well in a warm restaurant?
A myriad of old people joined me, coming for the conversation and cheap-o breakfast (just €1).
If I were old, I would do it too.
Hell, I already do.

But sitting there made me think of a conversation I had with my mother, about old-age and illness and death being the Great Equalizer.
Your money won't protect you, you know.
We will all get sick, we will all die.
Ain't no escaping that fact. 

My mother is thinking of enrolling herself into an old-age home, as they have long waiting lists.
It feels odd - my mother will always be 30-something in my eyes, and I certainly don't feel mature like she was at my nearly 40 years.

I'm about to drink more coffee, and doing the laundry so Son#1 will have clean clothes to take with.
And a little while later, I'm picking up Son#2 for swimming lessons, and then to the bank, for English pounds for the good husband.

Our weekend begins.

 
 

Words to live by

Shrugging your shoulders

is bad for your spine.

Maarten Mourik

(1923-2002)

Diplomat, poet, fighter for human rights and justice

Because if we don't stand up for others, if we don't help other creatures and people,

what exactly is the worth of our lives???

Our lives are only measured in kindness.

No status, money, prestige can ever compensate an unkind heart. 

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Fire up your Engines

My mom is coming on April 2nd for 3 months, and that requires preparation.
She needs to travel down to Cape Town, stay there in a hotel, apply for the damn visa, and return to Port Elizabeth.

This morning, I organized the letter of invitation, stating that we will let her sleep indoors (if she behaves).
I organized the hotel in Cape Town.
Pleasepleaseplease let everything work out.

Meanwhile, I'm on illness number 6 I think, waking up to yet another sore throat, heavy lungs, coughing fits.
'Fed-up' doesn't begin to describe what I feel today.
I can't handle more antibiotics (and quite frankly, they haven't made me better).
Sigh.

The husband and I had our 14th anniversary yesterday, so we went for lunch at Villa Augustus, (leek risotto, yum yum) because it makes me happy, then on to the Boijmans van Beuningen museum in Rotterdam.
Gorgeous.
I liked the modern art section.
And the building is marvellous.
Of course the anniversary is nice too - and to know that there is a helluvalotof love here, and gladness of being married to Midlife Crisis Man.

The boys were up early this morning, so they'll be tired come 12 o' clock.
Hopefully they'll forgo the playdates for today.
The husband is off to the UK on Saturday to watch some soccer match of importance, and will only be back on Monday.
I'm shipping Son#1 off to his grandparents', and will hopefully get some peace and quiet in for myself.

One can hope!
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On a roll (downwards)

The in-laws came, and it turned out to be a lovely day.
My brother-in-law fixed the yellow Volvo, doing something to the petrol tank and the power steering, which now means the Vollie is running smoothly like a baby.

Son#2 got a cool radio-controlled helicopter from his uncle and nephew, a Playmobil-figure from his grandparents, and a super-nifty new bike.
This kid is happy with anything, grateful for everything.
We had cake, the carnivores had carpaccio, and I had wine, which I haven't had for a very long time.

But this morning turned into a bit of a shocker as the Volvo wouldn't start this morning (the husband fixed that), then when I got to work, ALL my powerpoints that I prepared for my classes this past weekend and sent to my mailbox, turned out to be BLANK.
Some cursing, then coffee, and now I'm trying to fix it.
Houston, we're going down.

I took a sick week

Because I bloodywell needed one.

New round of antibiotics, and I'm starting, ever so slightly, to feel human again.

Just a wee bit.

Tomorrow the in-laws are invading to come and celebrate Son#2's 6th birthday.

I'm not in the mood right now, especially because one needs to clean the entire house (my mother-in-law tends to wander upstairs to inspect unmade beds and general slovenliness).

Today is just a slow day, trying to manage #2's tantrums, door slamming, sneaky behaviour.

This too shall pass (I hope).

#1 was MUCH worse, and he's turned out okay.

No rain for now either, and that is just dandy.

 

When you're 6

Son#2 is 6.
Six years ago this time, the husband and I were waiting in stressed and weary state, in the hospital in Rotterdam to be induced.

When Son#2 was finally born, it was love at first sight.
Pure love.
It was a dream birth in all respects except for a helluvalot of blood loss, but never mind that.
The husband mentioned terms like 'Texas Chainsaw Massacre'.
Oh well.

We started the morning with cake for breakfast, then gifts, and finally getting dressed in a hurry and rushing off to school.
Son#2 immediately sat down on the birthday chair in class, and donned a ginormous crocodile hat.
Hopefully he'll take it home again so I can take a picture.

Like the husband said, tomorrow the Big Countdown to his next birthday will begin.

Happy happy, Bunny.

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Crikey

Son#3 is sick and spent the better part of Sunday on the couch, feverish, shallow coughs every few seconds.

We took him to the doctor when he sported a 42,5 degree fever.  
Pneumonia again.

Today he's at home, and the husband and I are taking turns to stay with him at home.
First lessons, lessons, lessons to teach.

Tomorrow, Son#2 is turning 6.
We're grateful for many reasons, but mostly because we love him to bits.  
Even his loud voice, stomping-feet-on-wooden-floorboards and even his fighting spirit he seems to wake up with every morning.
Son#2 is not a morning person.

We wake to arguments discussing whether 5 X 5 is 25, or what day of the week it really is.
Son#2 wouldn't know - they don't do multiplication yet at school, but he'll be damned if he'll let Son#1 get away with any mathematical precision.

Tonight, dinner, then making treats for Son#2's class tomorrow, and decorating the dining room for a helluva birthday breakfast bash.
He's getting cheap-o Playmobil Police officers with riot gear and a new bike.

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On the ball

Son#3 woke up looking like a Baby Hitler, a crust of blood under his nose, that must have sneaked in between 3 and 6 a.m.
That's about the time during which he and I slept.
He has a fever and cough.
I'm debating whether I should phone the doctor??
I can't afford another missed day at work...

 
Meanwhile, Son#1 and I (and I realize it's not my smartest move, considering the humungous flu that I carry around myself), drove to 's-Hertogenbosch (beautiful city, so by the way) for his rugby tournament yesterday.
I stood in wind and rain and 7 degrees for almost 4 hours.
We almost didn't go, but something in me said, No, if you are part of a team, you need to show up.
And it's a lesson for Son#1 as well:  

Sometimes you have to do stuff you just may not feel like doing.

I never, ever thought these words would come out of my mouth, but I finally understand how sport builds character.

The husband went to a Heather Nova concert in Breda last night, not knowing who Heather Nova is.
He'll be back later, most probably quite happily hung-over and having slept very little himself.

I'll be booking my mother's flight to us in April.
I miss her, and my dad.
I was so lucky with the parent-card that was dealt me.
Lucky beyond belief.


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C'est Le Weekend: Rilke

I adore Rilke.
Especially his Letters to a Young Poet.
This being the most beautiful part in the entire book:

Live the questions.
I don't know the answers or outcomes of anything.
But they will come.
In the meantime, I just need to live.
Just for now. 
Zen in literature.

A quiet weekend awaits us, if my flu and myself have anything to say about it.
Hope you'll enjoy yours.


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Mutually exclusive

If you desire ease, forsake learning.

If you desire learning, forsake ease.

Siddha Nagarjuna

Life is one tough cookie.
All these universal themes of anger, love, happiness, self-fulfillment, revenge, survival, death and grief.

Every day we start fresh:  Managing these themes, trying to grow and surpass.

I wasted my morning in front of the TV, watching some nitwit in New York whining about fashion and how important it is (barf barf).

I guess I kept watching because her life seems so far from the values in mine. 

Difference is stare-worthy, after all.

Stuff ain't important.

That's not where the answer lies.

After I'm dead and gone, no-one will give a shit if I wore nice dresses or followed fashion trends.

Long barf.

Meanwhile, my mother and I are plotting her visit to us this year - hopefully a full 3 months if the gods allow, and I can't wait.  

The husband is excited too:  A live-in, uber kind babysitter that will afford the two of us some freedom and time to recuperate and recharge parental batteries.

I'm lucky to have a husband that loves my parents.

My mother wants to walk the Santiago de Compostella when she comes.

 

My dad wrote down some notes in his diary last year in July, it must have been after he came out of hospital after his hip replacement and near-death, mentioning places along the Camino.

We live by signs.

We should heed them.

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Stayin' Alive

A round of antibiotics in my pocket, and I'm starting to feel human again.

Son#3 and I are home alone for the morning, and outside is lots of cold, rain and wind.

We're staying put, methinks.

Son#3 is still busy with his breakfast, after an hour and a half sitting at the table.

'Slow food' takes on a new dimension.

I bought myself tulips on my way home from the doctor's yesterday.

Well chuffed.

Little pleasures.

And treasures as well:  Son#1's rendition of the Holy Family still sitting on the shelf since Christmas.

Back to bed with Son#3, as soon as he is finished...

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Sniff

I came, I saw and went straight home.

Cancelled all my lessons, informed the boss that I would be gone this week, emailed the students too.

I have the flu, and a nasty one at that.

Hi ho, hi ho, it's back to bed I go.

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