The sun, the fan and skinnydipping

It's hot. Like in really, really hot. Like in I've put my head under the tap and have the fan blowing behind me kind of hot. I like to think that it makes me look like a movie star driving down a country road in a convertible, my scarf blowing elegantly behind me, my hair blowing ever-so-sexily around. In truth, I can't think of anything worse than having a scarf anywhere near me, and my hair is looking limp above my hot face. Or so says my BFF, who is sitting opposite me. He also just looks hot.

At this point, all I can say is: Thank god for the guy who invented fans. How very clever he was/is. I love him. Seriously. I'd do pretty much anything for him. Oh, yes, and, despite my whinging, I am ever-grateful that I'm in this heat in Africa and not in a cold place. I can hear the sounds of us as children, screaming in delight while running through the spray, midnight naked swims in our Portapool set up in the courtyard. We'd wake up, strip off our nighties and swim in the hot stillness of those Free State nights. Heaven.

I need to send fanmail to the inventor of the fan. Snigger.

Anybody know who invented the fan?

The floodgates have opened

I seem to just have so very many words in my head that want to tumble out now. It's great. I was really worried there for a while (many months). I thought I'd lost my Writing Voice. But now, it’s back, and the words are jumbling and stumbling and queuing to get out and I can’t get them out quick enough. So many things I want to write about and so many dreary-everyday things getting in the way.

Like work. Don’t get me wrong, I love my work (mostly) and feel like I do a very little bit of something that may help the world to be a better place, but, sometimes, just sometimes, I’d like to be in the middle of the Karoo, surrounded only by vast space, sky and air, alone with my thoughts and allowing them to just flow out. You know, to get rid of that queue in my head. They’re impatient those words, they’re crowding my mind, and the jostling is making me tired. In a good way though.

I need to write a post about the movies playing on the backs of my eyelids… I need to know if it’s only me that has their own drive-in cinema, installed in their head (I just can’t find the popcorn stand but, fear not, I won’t stop looking). I have things to say about childhood aromas – the smell of my grandparents… that kind of smell that invokes the feeling of being completely cosy. You know what I mean? When you are in bed in exactly the right comfy position, exactly the right temperature, perfectly fed, not thirsty, tomorrow is Saturday and you know you are loved… that feeling.

Oh, and so much more.

I will find the time, won’t I?

The Missing Year

Before I start, I must put it out there that this is definitely a case of The New Broom Sweeping Clean. I am the New Broom. And I'm Sweeping Clean. Or, at least, doing some light dusting in the corners. It. May. Not. Last.

I noticed this morning that my blog missed out 2008. Completely. I could've sworn I started it in 2008 but, no, there on the blog page, clear as day, it shows on my blog, or, I guess, doesn't show, that there just weren't any entries for 2008. Hmmm, now that I think about it, maybe it's not just my blog that skipped 2008, maybe it was ME! Where did it go? Is it hiding, should I be careful when going around corners in case its waiting for me? Nah, surely not.

Years can't do that, can they?

The luckiest girl in the world

Some days are just good. And, the older (and more twisted I guess, or is a better word for it 'experienced?) I get, the less time I seem to have to dwell on those good days. I'm going to change that now and dwell away.

It was my birthday you see, and I got fabulous news from one of my best friends on my Birthday Eve and then more fabulous news on my birthday. And beside all the newses, I have fantastic friends and I got spoilt and just felt, well, wrapped in so much love. I know, it's gooey, it's mushy. It's true. I might be the luckiest girl alive.

My friends D and B, and their amazing 2-year old M moved back to this wild land last year. I haven't lived in the same place as D since varsity. It is fabulous to have her back and she's brought an even fabulouser husband back with her and a doubly fabulous daughter, M. It couldn't be better. So they were at my birthday dinner. Old friends, comfortable, like your favourite t-shirt.

And my dinner was filled with other friends too, ones from long ago who have seen me through my worst (and best) times and newer ones who feel like I've known them forever (and a couple who, if I believed in reincarnation - my jury is still out on it, I'd swear I'd known for lifetimes). It was that kind of dinner, just "The Core" people. Fuzzy-feeling-inducing. Only slight sadness was the missing few, those ones flung across the globe who you try and try, and close your eyes and wish as hard as you can to be there, but they're just not.

And then, the fact that it is summer and we could sit outside and I could look up and see the beautiful half-moon growing fatter and, and, and... let me stop gushing because that's what I seem to be doing! And I should work. I guess. Bleergh.

So, can one ever be too grateful I wonder?

Return of The Prodigal Daughter

Ok, so I knew at the beginning that the name of this blog was a poor choice. Here I am, 33 and 364 days old, writing a blog post on a blog called "AlmostThirtyThree". How silly. But it's too late to change it I guess, so it'll stay. It's quite apt really, because I am prone to being silly.

It's also rather silly that I have left such a large gap between writings. I promise to try to be better (Note: I said try...) I made a New Years resolution to get back into writing. I have been slack. I lost my writing mojo. I had to delve deep and wrack my brains to find inspiration for updating my Facebook status. It was that bad. Seriously. So now I'm going to use this dusty little corner to ramble away and try and get some of the words in my head to come tumbling out. Forgive the jumble. It's bound to be a whole lot of crap. My mission is to make it honest, and real.

In the meantime, I have been reading other people's blogs religiously. I am a voyeur of the first order. I pull my middle finger to those people who vociferously claim that Facebook is the work of the devil. Come on, we all know we love it. We're not allowed to climb into people's heads and read their thoughts and we'd all love to. It's the humanness of us. It's intrinsic. And Facebook is the closest we can get. And blogs. I am continually astounded by the writing talents of people. Astounded and intimidated. Such beautiful, prosaic, clear writing. Inspirational.

So, without having caught you up to where I am, having rambled at you, a month past the due date in my head, hopefully this is me, back in the blogosphere, mumbling to myself, being amazed and putting my words on a screen.

I wonder how long it'll last?

Birthdays

As children, birthdays were big. As a result, they still are but, as I get older, they seem to lose a bit of the sparkle... I remember looking forward to my birthday for weeks, probably months actually. On our birthdays, we were allowed to choose what the meals would be for the whole day... Year after year my parents and sister were subjected to Wimpy burgers for lunch and spagetti bolognaise for dinner on my birthday. If I still had that, what would I choose?

Sunday in the sun

It was a lovely Sunday. The sun shone, we sat in it. The sky was so blue it hurt my eyes, we looked at it. The food was good, we ate it. The wine was delicious, we drank it. The waiter was lovely, we loved him. It couldn't have been better.