Rest in Peace, dear Nelson

Sometime during the night, Nelson, our feral-ish cat, was hit by a car.

The nasty old farts across the road knocked on our door at 8 a.m. and asked if it was our cat who had crawled underneath their car, and died there.

It was our Nelson.

 I feel heartbroken.

Nelson was brought home 14 years ago when the husband had given me his credit card, told me to go buy 'something nice' for myself, and I came home with a cat.

Nelson was my trusty companion in a time of my life when I was just in the early throes of immigration, sad and alone and foreign in a foreign country.

Now the house feels emptier - a soul that was here is gone.

Son#2 and I drove to the animal cemetery and organized Nelson's cremation.

Her fat furry tummy was still warm, her paws cool.

Rest in peace, my friend.

Today is 6 months since my dad died.

 And tomorrow, the husband and I are going to Portugal, but right now, I can't muster enthusiasm for it.

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Bestie

I count the hours until my glass of wine may be enjoyed, truly enjoyed, without guilt or fear of being some common or garden variety wino.

Sigh.

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C'est Le Weekend: Gloom and Doom

The school holidays are starting today at noon.

I bought soil and Hostas and Buxus Sempervirens and Rosemary yesterday.

My mother killed the snails, fended off the spiders lest I freak out, and we cleaned up the shady corner under the pear tree.

I mowed the lawn, trimmed the hedges.

There is something intensely gratifying about working with plants, outside, sticking one's hands in the earth.

 

The weekend looms, luring my mother and I to Antwerp on Saturday, not a kid in sight.

I cannot wait.

The husband is busy with work, and in less than a week's time, the 2 of us will be flying to Portugal for 5 long nights.

But it is always strange how a holiday is stressful too.

Or I'm just screwed up.

Consider all possibilities, methinks.

Mostly I need sun and heat.

Both in copious amounts. 

And the bloody laundry and dishes that have been piling up all week, clumps of cat hair and dust and the mountains of unsorted toys, make me want to get in the car and drive south until my credit card stops working, settle there, and start again, pretending to be a mute so I won't have to talk to anyone.

At work, I'll need to organize a new office.

I'm not happy where I am now.

But that's next week's problems.

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Ice, ice baby

The weather has been kind to us.

The kids spent the day outside:

Son#2 cycling, Son#3 washing various cars and bicycles with a bucket of soapy water, and Son#1 with friends.

The husband and Son#2 aren't getting along all that well.

Son#1 went out on a rubber boat with 2 friends, one calm specimen which spent the rest of the afternoon hammering away in the fort in the garden with the boys.

The week was so busy and stressful thus far, and it ain't over yet.

Oh well.

Tomorrow morning, I'm seeing the doctor again.

My mother and I are going for a long walk through Breda after my morning appointment.

Sans enfants, merci bien.

 On Friday afternoon, the school holidays start again, and the husband and I are counting down the days until we go to Porto, next Wednesday.

I cleaned my studio/study, sorting through all my paperwork from 2008 (!!).

It took me 6 long years to do.

Somehow I don't even feel ashamed.

Meanwhile, I dream of a life in Portugal or Paternoster or any-bloody-where the sun shines and life is easy.

I like easy.

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Slogging

Rushing to work

 

 

An early morning meeting.

Classes later.

We survive, thanks mainly to my mother who let me rest this weekend.

 

On Thursday I'm going back to the doctor to discuss my test results.

But first I need a clear mind to get everything done today.

And I'm not sure whether that is a possibility.

Oh well.

 

 

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Space invader

You may have noticed, I'm still here.
It seems to prove quite difficult to stop the urges to attend to my blog.
Far more difficult than I anticipated, and I can only surmise that I feel I have something to say.

But I have been better with switching off Facebook and email, and that's dandy.
Pinterest is tough though.
A veritable smorgasbord of visual stimuli.
And my new work mobile is mainly a portable Sudoku treasure chest and Instagram facilitator.
Sigh.
I never was very good at sticking to my guns.


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Happy Easter

Easter, a.k.a. Ishtar, a.k.a. Babylonian goddess of fertility.

May the seeds we sow be fertile too.

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We Painted

I copied a Nicolas de Stael and hung it in my dining room.
The husband might be shocked when he comes back from his fishing trip tomorrow.

And then Son#2 and #3 fought continuously and I lost it utterly.

Bliss gone.

It felt as if I might be having a wee heart attack.

My stress levels really need to come down.
But my mother is dealing with the kids today, navigating between needs and tantrums.
And I'm off to the nursery to buy yet another box plant with my last money.
Bugger food when you can have buxus sempervirens waiting to grace your garden.

C'est Le Weekend: On Repeat

My mother and I skipped work and other responsibilities and, you guessed it, went to bloody Villa Augustus again.

I cannot get enough.

 Here I am, in the loos - please note, not on the loo.

I have my pride.

I even like the loos.

We ate lemon meringue and grilled vegetables, and washed it down with wine. 

This was before noon, which is shameful really.

Sniffing through the shop, a bunny topiary richer.

Just in time for Easter.

Home again.

And we stopped at the nursery to buy a purple Wisteria and a small buxus sempervirens to put in abovementioned bunny topiary.

I should get a bloody life, but let me tell you, I can't.

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Oh All Right then

I couldn't resist.

Here he is, Son#3.

Ready for school.

Wonderful kid.

This morning I was complimented by Son#3 on my beautiful underwear, necklace and nose.
This after Son#2 was finished telling me what a fat stomach I have.

I have decided that Son#3 is my official sidekick:  

He's always ready with compliments.

He walked around the garden with those glasses on this morning.

God only knows what the neighbours must think of us.

Probably that we feed our kids drugs.

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