The comments also kept me thinking for a whole glorious unbloggable day about this business of 'becoming cold'. And made me realize that, while I didn't perhaps get across exactly what my main fear about the whole thing is, it being the supposition that I'm becoming (because it is always going to boil down to ME at some point) a little too heavy and unpalatable for those whose day to day bears no resemblance to mine (i.e. How can I ever even think about someday returning to Europe without thinking that I'll alienate everyone by talking about the things close to my heart - while I already do that to quite an extent with talk about farts and such, and, you know, just by being the very humble and non-confrontational me that I tend to be), there are people out there who will understand. And listen. Even when I chit chat about the statistics that show that one in every three females in South Africa is raped at least once in her lifetime. And will attempt to help rectify the situation and, if nothing else, raise awareness about it. Or at least wont ever, behind my back or otherwise, refer to me as 'too heavy' in its dreaded denotation: mentally (Physically? Who gives a shit? Not me. That's who ...not? who doesn't? Err...).
But there's also something else going on. Something to do with the joy of blogging and the good things that are the result of this world of threads, connections, and links. But that has made me, very oddly indeed and in a way that has scared the Hubby in ways not expected, clean the house. By which I mean organize the growing pile of random stuff on the dining room table and the kitchen counter, that are off limits for the maid, and move most of the piles - now organized/repiled - to random places upstairs, closets, and just generally away from the field of vision of anyone entering the house through the front door. Should anyone choose to enter through the balcony, well, that would be a different issue.
Like meeting someone, who I feel like I already sort of know because I've been reading this person's awesome blog for a while (and reread most of it the previous day), and feel like there is so much to learn from this person about the land, her land, that I am residing in. Also, I'm really happy to be meeting this person, because, frankly, she is someone I really respect, and someone who was sort of part of the struggle back in the day and I really truly wish that all of the people I keep meeting in South Africa would be like that, while unfortunately, they really truly are not.
So welcome Lynne of Wheatlands News. May you find this Tuscany-infested, backwood-plagued estate we call home without hitting one single traffic cone at the side of the road, which seem to be there just to make us then, in June 2010, when we are ready to scream because of the FIFA World Cup-induced traffic, appreciate the time when all we had to worry about were all of the loose stones on the road, the horrendous potholes, the ubiquitous but completely superfluous traffic cones (that do NOT mark the potholes), and the roads that just stop suddenly without any warning because someone thought of ripping the road apart and just building a new road a couple of meters to the side. For the World Cup.
Welcome. To my, now pileless, home.
More on this story tomorrow...
Let's imagine that the above is somehow relevant and that I'm not too busy to blog. And let's also pretend that I didn't forget to take a picture of Lynne, because I did and now I'm a little ashamed. Bad Extranjera! And let's also state that the above is nothing like the energetic and bubbly Lynne, but I'm off to chat to someone on Skype and all of this is a little haphazard and random today. Sorry folks. I just like the picture.
Thanks so much. Love and airkisses to all. I promise to get my focus back soon.