Countdown

The countdown has begun. Seven days and counting until Robin and I go down to Durbs to visit our family again! Yippeeeee! So much of happiness. Big chipped-toothed grins and all of that. I can’t wait to see our family again. To just be with them. I’ve even missed the smell in the house! And by smell I actually mean the aroma of freshly brewed cappuccino’s and bread baking. And I’ve missed having a tarred road right up to the front door. And a nicely plumbed, tiled and painted bathroom. With a light in it. Not to mention good water pressure. And all of the dogs’ noses pressed up against the glass doors eagerly awaiting our welcome home. And their treat, of course. Oh, and I’ve missed a permanent internet connection. HOW I’VE MISSED THAT! And I’ve missed MALLS! Malls, malls, malls. With coffee shops. And bookshops. And variety. And restaurants. And listening to the radio without the hiss of static and interference. And being able to catch a movie at the cinema at a moment’s notice. And the sounds of traffic. And taxis hooting (that’s “honking” for you Americano’s). Yay! I can’t wait. Believe me, I never thought I’d miss that. But, I sure do.
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Don’t get me wrong, I am quite happy here in the middle of nowhere. The city has just regained it’s novelty for me. Seven more sleeps, then we’re on our way. Yay! It’s almost more exciting than Christmas!

McDreamy

More than once I’ve experienced this. I feel God asking me to do something. And as exciting as that is, it makes me feel really humbled and small too. This incredible God who created the Heavens and the Earth asks ME to do something for HIM! Imagine! Like, what could I possibly have to contribute to HIS plans? Right? And yet, He asks little me! Astounding. And very humbling.
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But I digress. See, last night I dreamt about an old friend. Out of the blue. So all morning I’d been thinking about him and wondering how he’s doing. So I sent him a text message asking him how he was. And sure enough, just this morning he and his wife were in court, finalising their divorce. Now, tell me this is coincidence! Can’t be. I’m so grateful that God prompted me to think about him today, so that I could do something as simple as sending him a text message on a really difficult day. Isn’t this God we worship just totally incredible? He knows exactly where we are. He knows our hearts. He knows when we need comfort and He sends it. Even before we need it.
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But sometimes, the person He sends doesn’t want to be sent. And this is the scary, humbling bit. Because, what if you’re the reason someone’s prayers aren’t answered? Maybe you’ve experienced it too. The earnest prayers asking for help and the silence that follows. Or maybe you’ve been on the other end - have you perhaps ignored that still, small voice? That niggeldy voice prompting you to do something out of the ordinary for someone, when logic tells you it’s silly? Maybe sometimes it’s inconvenient to you to do that something, so you postpone it to a more convenient time. And in the meantime, someone has asked God to send help, and gets silence in return. What a scary responsibility we carry, when we make ourselves available to God to be used by Him.
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I’m so grateful that this morning I could do something as simple as respond to a dream. And to see God’s hand at work. And to know that God needn’t have sent the dream MY way. He could have sent it to someone else. Maybe He did. I’m really glad I got to share in a small portion of His handiwork, and let my friend know that there are people who care. Because God cares. And that’s exactly the type of God He is. He comforts. And reassures. And wants us to do the same.
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Pray for my McDreamy friend today, will you?
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And listen carefully. Maybe God’s asking you to do something for Him too.

Back!

I did the best thing I could have done yesterday. I simply stayed home and did absolutely nothing. And by nothing, I mean the “watched chick flicks all day” variety. And today? I’m feeling worlds better, thank you very much. It’s not often I indulge in some serious self-inflicted-t.l.c. but I must admit this is a habit worth culturing. I watched my favourites… 50 First Dates, The Notebook, and a few Ugly Betty and Oprah shows. And then I watched The Notebook again. Just for spoiling’s sake. And to make sure I didn’t miss anything. Ryan Gosling is scrumptious, by the way. And Rachel McAdams is BRILLIANT! I almost wished it was a true story.
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But today, I am ratty. As ratty as can be. Rat. Tee. SO agitated! And I don’t know why. I just am. I woke up realizing I was definitely getting out of bed on the wrong side, and I’ve been asking Jesus for help ever since. I realize I’m totally unreasonable and irritable and grrrr and all of that. So, I’m keeping a wide berth from all possible inflammable topics. And people. And trying my best to look for things to smile about. If the day starts this way, then I’m going to have to put in some serious elbow grease to get my bottom lip stashed so I don’t trip over it today. You guys can thank your lucky stars you’re far away from me today. And that sux. I don’t like feeling short-fused. I wonder if it has anything to do with my blood sugar? Seeing as I’ve eaten less since Saturday morning than any of you have eaten in any one single meal. I just can’t bring myself to eat properly yet. I don’t trust the food yet. Haha! Who’d have thought I’d distrust food? Me?!?!? Let’s just hope my metabolism doesn’t slow down. The last thing I need is to still put on weight. While eating next to nothing.
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Anyway, it’s good to be back in the land of the living though. The sun’s shining. My dog’s bouncing around outside chasing Robin, who’s untangling a length of rope. And I’m determined to be happy today. Maybe happiness can also be a decision and not a feeling?

"...keep your minds thinking about whatever is true, whatever is respected, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever can be loved, and whatever is well thought of. If there is anything good and worth giving thanks for, think about these things." Philippians 4 v 8

I'm going to try my best today, to cultivate an attitude of gratitude!

The weekend

I had a really sh*tty weekend. And I mean that in a literal sense. Yes, the trend of my “el sicko” weekends continued and I awoke in Johannesburg on Saturday morning with the worst case of diarrhoea I’ve ever experienced. Ever. As in ever ever. Oh, woe was me. I just can’t believe that my weekends have evolved into two days of absolute misery. Every week. Ad infinitum. It just goes to show that you should never even greet a person with a bug. Ever. Truly, from this very moment onwards, if you’re sick, don’t even expect one word of sympathy from me. Ever again. Because, clearly, my capacity to commiserate is more the propensity to share your bug than to show compassion from a (safe) distance. No thank you. Sorry, all of you sickos. Too bad. I will happily send you text messages from the other side of the planet. Just stay away from me, all of you bug carriers. I don’t like your bugs and I don’t want to share in them ANY more.
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Believe me, I tried to enjoy my weekend. I really did. We had a fab journey to Johannesburg. I was totally excited to be driving on a highway again. I was absolutely elated to be driving on a dual-lane freeway again. I was really happy to see my friends again. And they spoiled us rotten! Joey and Pierre - thanks!!! You really made us feel welcome and Buttercup is pining away for Maxy... But oh, the very pit of deepest darkest despair to awake with the bug biting me on Saturday morning. On the only weekend we’ve been into the city since we’ve been in the bush. Just my luck. I didn’t even get to enjoy ONE cappuccino in ONE coffee shop. Poor me. And I had counted the very hours to the first opportunity to drink in the aroma of my fave café’s… But, alas, it was not to be. Instead I savoured the décor in numerous restrooms. I relished the soft, dry, squishiness of toilet rolls. Especially when there was more than one (toilet roll) in the cubicle.
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It was so bad I seriously considered skipping my friend’s wedding on Saturday. And I was the musician for the wedding. So you must know then. I was des-per-rate. But, luckily for me, my ex-fertility-doc was also a guest at the wedding and she brought me some kick-a** meds that put a stop to my crappy situation in it’s tracks. For a few hours. And then the meds wore off and I spent the remainder of the wedding and the weekend holed up in many different ablution facilities. Not a pretty site. Me, nor the ablutions.
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And that was my weekend. Come Monday, as USUAL, I’m feeling better. But still pretty grrr… I am still running for the loo every couple of minutes. But at least I have a loo just metres from my office and I’m the only one who uses it. And I’ve not eaten much since Saturday morning either, so at least there’s not much that needs to be evacuated either. Ahem ahem. And the food at the wedding looked sooooooo good too. Boo hoooo!
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But the wedding itself was truly spectacular. My friend Lisa has married into a really gracious, kind, loving family. I was gobsmacked by their home though. Think White House proportions. Truly a home of magnificent magnitude and old-world grandeur. Lisa and Cobus looked really happy on their day too, and the wedding was traditional, but casual and really beautiful. Very romantic! Lisa and Cobus – I know you guys are going to be incredibly happy together, and I want to wish you both God’s richest blessings for your future. May you have wisdom and riches like Solomon and descendants like Abraham. Haha.
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Now, please excuse me so that I can go and throttle the guy who shared his bug with me.

From hillbillies to city slickers in a day!

This afternoon Robin and I are travelling to Johannesburg for a friend’s wedding. We are SO excited! (1) We get to see some of our friends again. We haven’t seen them in aaaages. It’s going to be awesome to spend time with them again. (2) We get to go to MALLS again! Yeah baby! Retail therapy. Dundee’s mall consists of maybe twelve shops. If you count the hairdresser and the grocer’s. I need to go and sit in a coffee shop that actually smells of coffee, again. I need to spend at least an hour in a book store, flipping through the pages of at least 52 novels. (2) We might get to go to the movies. Can you believe Dundee does not have a movie theatre? I know! Like, what’s up with that? I want to see the new Bourne movie, Bourne Ultimatum. (3) I get to have a bath at my friend’s house. Oooohhhh. Bath oil. Candles. Lazing in the steaming water. Bliss! Hopping around in our excuse-of-a-shower just doesn’t count. (4) Did I mention that we get to go to malls? This little chipped-toothed-Hillbilly is going to have a FIELD DAY! Hope you guys have as much fun as we do, this weekend! I’ll post pics on Monday. Toodleloo!

Taxman Schmaxman!

Sorry I’ve been scarce. VAT is due for the Bush Camp tomorrow, for the first time ever… so I’m spending my time panicking wading through boxes of invoices, putting together spreadsheets, et cetera, so that we can hand in our tax papers tomorrow! MAJOR MAJOR job! Too much to do, way too little time to get it all done. Have I mentioned what a mammoth task this is? Major. I could really do with the sun standing still today. Help! Poor little me! Chat again soon. For now, consider me unavailable until further notice. Make that until tomorrow. Boo hooo…

Bugs Bunny

I did a stupid thing. Which isn’t TOO unusual for me. Especially when I’m under pressure. And what with this dreadful deadline dangling over my head it was really inevitable. And so I fell into it’s clutches. Of course. Here’s what I did. I was working my way through a pile of receipts, un-stapling them with my nifty staple remover as I went. One of the blasted staples was being obstinate, so I did what any woman would do. I grabbed the stubborn staple with my teeth and yanked. I mean, why go looking for a pair of pliers when you have a perfectly good set of teeth handy? Clearly, THIS is why. The staple finally popped out and at the very same second I felt something shoot into my eye. No, it wasn’t the staple. Thank Heavens! But it was equally as sharp. So I spent a few minutes gobbing on my finger and rubbing my eye, trying to find the perpetrator… I didn’t know it until about five minutes later, but I had chipped a piece of my tooth off, and it was swimming around my eyeball. Uggghhhh… Gives a whole new meaning to take the speck out of your eye before you point fingers at the speck in someone else’s eye. You should have seen me sitting here between my piles and piles of never-ending receipts and invoices… My incorrigible tongue running over my chipped tooth and my eye all runny and scratchy. (Why is it that when there’s something amiss in your mouth that your tongue just won’t leave it alone???) Well, I took that as my cue to stop working for the day. So what if I miss my deadline?!? It’s only the taxman, after all. I’m sure he’ll understand that I’ve suffered a mini crisis here today. I mean, my appearance is disfigured now and my vision is impaired. Good excuse huh? So, start marking your Christmas Pressie list, everyone. All I want for Christmas is a new front tooth.

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The Honeymoon is over...

On the last day of our honeymoon, my cousin Quinton gave Robin and I two kittens. We named mine Honey, and his Moon. Honey ran away when his hormones kicked in… and Moon stuck around and became the much-loved (and pampered) honeybunny in our home. As only a beautiful, adoring kitty deserves to be. We thought we’d have our work cut out for us when we decided to move to the bush… but instead she surprised us by taking to the farm like a duck to water. Or a cat to the bush, as it were. She spent the first week hiding under our duvet, but soon the sounds of chickens clucking got the better of her and she ventured out from the embrace of the bedcovers to spend her days perched on our bathroom window watching the passers-by and their flea-infested animals. And then, to our dismay, Moonie disappeared. I last saw her on Wednesday morning a week ago, when she was rubbing up against my legs while I was dressing. And transferring lots of cream hairs to my black trousers. That was one of her favourite tricks. That, and waking me up at three o’ clock in the morning to tell me that she was about to enjoy breakfast. And sneaking up on me while I was having worship, to distract me with her happy paws kneading my lap and drooling big puddles of happy sloppy wetness onto me. I don’t know where she is, or when (or if) she will come back home. I’m not holding out any hope. But I’ve not given up praying for her either. Maybe she followed the scent of a zebra into the bush and couldn’t find her way back home. Maybe she’s enjoying chasing mice in the fields. Maybe she’s been injured. Maybe she’s dead. But I can’t spend my days worrying about her, or mourning that she’s no longer here. And where would I even begin looking for her, here in the bush? I am resting in the knowledge that the God I worship cares for her too. And who better to look after her than Him? Her Creator. So, I won’t worry about her. If I’m lucky (and very blessed!) she will find her way home. If not, I trust that God won’t allow her to suffer. It’s a merciful and graceful God that I worship. And I can’t wait to see Him (and my kitty again) face to face.

Hope Schmope

I was reading a book last night – not any specific book on infertility or anything, just a novel. A Mariann Keyes one. I like her writing. Very snappy. But anyway. One of the characters in the book had two miscarriages. And when I read it I was surprised to find a kindred spirit in this character. This fictional person who lives in the mind of the author. The experience of the character echoed my own experience so intimately and really reverberated within me. And, it’s weird, but it made me feel so normal. So, like – wow – it’s ok to be defective! Yes, yes, I know it was only a fictitious character in a novel, but it really rang with me. I felt the same way when I read the novel “So Close” by Tertia Albertyn. That novel really impressed me. Before I read it, I had this warped impression that I had to pretend to be OK with being infertile. That I couldn’t talk about it, otherwise people would think I was faulty. Which wouldn’t be entirely untrue… but I didn’t want people to think that of me. If you know what I mean. It’s OK for me to think I’m faulty. But I don’t want other people to think I’m faulty. You know. So anyway… reading Tertia’s book was the instigator that gave me “permission” to start being honest about what infertility really feels like. To be able to say to myself and others “infertility really sux” and not have to pretend you’re ok one hundred percent of the time. It showed me that I’m not (totally) insane. That what I was feeling was normal. Well, “normal” for us infertiles. I wasn’t alone. Which was the best part for me. Not that I would wish infertility on anyone, mind. But it’s just nice to know I’m not alone.
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If you’re also infertile, or a friend of one, or married to one, or know someone who knows someone who’s infertile, I heartily recommend that you read Tertia’s book. If you’re a Christian, bear in mind this book isn’t written from a Christian’s perspective… so you might find an expletive or two hundred in it.
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But you see, now I’ve totally digressed again. What I was trying to say is that reading that novel last night reminded me how funny it is, the hopscotch that us infertiles play. Wait, that’s a bit arbitrary and random. And painting all of us with the same brush. And of course, we’re not all alike. If we were we’d all have seven children. That being my dream, and all. But, nope, we’re not all alike. I need to remind myself of that sometimes. So, let me rather say – it’s funny the hopscotch I play. The mind games and the silliness and the obsession and the imbalance and the grrrr-ness of it all.
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Even now, I still find myself thinking like an infertile. Making sure I eat just right… and after I should have ovulated, I don’t drink (too much) coffee, I avoid the stinky cheeses, etc… you know, that whole “just in case” schpiel. Which inexorably lands up being one mammoth binge session when, alas, I’m not preggy. Again. I mean really, I’ve only ever been pregnant once in my entire life. And that was a total disaster. So, just why I would base my eating plan (or lack of it) for the rest of my days on a “maybe” that only once ever became a “yes” just shows the extent to which this silly billy’s desire prompts her to go. And we’re not even trying anymore. I’m going to have a hard time breaking this hoping habit. Sometimes, I even deliberately avoid doing the funky-monkey around ovulation time so that I won’t have a reason to hope. Because that two-week-wait is just totally disgustingly horrible for me afterwards. Better to know there’s no chance, than to hope. I hate hoping. It destroys me.
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Which just makes me even MORE grateful for my angel of a friend, Marie-Jeanne. It still totally astounds me that she’s willing to do this for us. Granted, our plans came to a grinding halt when we moved to Dundee, because communicating from Belgium to South Africa via dial-up just aint viable… Another reason I can’t wait to have our wireless installed!!! Then we can start planning again. And “hopefully” soon, I’ll be able to announce Robin’s departure for Belgium so that they can do the artificial insemination, and we can be expecting soon. Imagine! Yippee! I can’t wait. I can’t wait. I can’t wait.
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So, the pressure is off of me to reproduce. It’s glorious! Please excuse me while I make myself an enormous cappuccino and devour a bowl of stinky cheese.

Hope and the Sicko

Do you remember my 100 things list? Well, refer to number ten on the list and then, if you’re up to it, read further. Otherwise, for those of you who are even remotely squeamish, now might be a good time to go and read someone else’s blog!
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I made a new best friend this past weekend. And I named him Billy. Billy the Bucket. Not surprising, really. Seeing as I spent most of Friday night and almost all of Saturday peering into it’s depths and pondering it’s capacity. I was actually quite excited to be sharing my meals with the bucket, initially. That stupid voice was shouting at me again. That silly voice that still hasn’t learned that I never really WILL be pregnant. You’d think that by now I would have learned to ignore that stupid little voice, right? Nope. Not me. I’m a slow learner. And so I puked into that bucket. Every last drop of everything I consumed ended up in the bucket. And between the retching I grinned silently to myself through the night, giving ear to that dim-witted voice again and wondering… Could it be? Could I be pregnant? Maybe that would explain the dizzy spells and the upchunking? But no, it was not to be. I could kick myself actually. Every possible (albeit inconceivable) opportunity to hope, I do. I friggin hope. And then I kick myself afterwards for even considering the (im)possibility. Really, I should know better by now. Hope schmope. It turns out I wasn’t the only one beset by this tummy bug. There were a few of us talking merrily to the toilet (or the bucket, in my case, what with our plumbing the way it is) through the night…
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So, that is the sad and sorry tale of my lovely long weekend. My parents were here for the weekend but I barely saw them on Saturday as I spent all day holed up in my bedroom with the curtains drawn and my hope suitably punished and stashed back again into it’s hiding place. Horrible Hope Monster.
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As luck would have it, come Monday morning, a workday, I am fit as a fiddle again. Not even remotely queasy. Murphy’s Law, right? Sick as a dog over the long weekend, and the minute it’s work time again, and I might have had a valid reason to be at home, nursing my ego and my sore throat, I am well. Ugghhhh… typical.
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Which reminds me. Here’s my list of things that taste good in both directions:-
Oranges
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And that’s about it. Don’t even try the dry toast and black herbal tea remedy. It does not work. Been there, done that. Take my word for it.

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PS… thanks for all your comments on my previous post(s). For those of you in Yankee Land, a “lounge” is what you would call a “living room”. We also sometimes say living room, but mostly people here just say lounge. I believe it’s the more civilised term. Haha. Just kidding. (And that from a hillbilly!)

The Painted House

I’ve been bad. I never went to the doctor. I know, I know I must et cetera. Blah blah blah… I just don’t feel so gross anymore. Really. Now and again I get a teeny weeny bit dizzy, but otherwise I’m just my normal fat and happy self. My normal fat and happy PRODUCTIVE self, mind you! (not to be mistaken with REproductive, of course...) I worked my fingers to the bone yesterday. I got a bee in my bonnet and decided I was going to finish painting our lounge if it meant I had to stay awake until the fowls started clucking. Well, apparently my resolve was short-lived because I only lasted until about 01h00 this morning, at which point I was so fatigued I couldn’t tell which walls were icky-institution-grey and which were vrot-pumpkin-yellow. Which is therefore a very good time to stash away the painting equipment, for sure! I was so excited this morning to awake to a totally different “feel” in my living room! It’s not finished yet, but I thought I’d share with you the fruit of my labour… Bear in mind, it’s a work in progress. I will show you the before pics when I can find them. Some of my pictures are still on my old work p.c. and I need to go and write them to cd the next time I’m back in Durban. There’s still lots of work needed in the lounge… I must still paint the skirtings and cornices, but we decided to only paint those once we’ve replaced them with pretty new ones. The ones there right now are rotten. Not to mention butt ugly. Oh and don’t get me started on the carpets! My gross-ometer spikes whenever I think about them. Yuck. Who knows how many species of ghastly insects reside there! I still haven’t walked on them barefoot. I need to make sure my insurances are up to date before I take a walk on the wild side!

Just don't look at all those things on the sideboard (above)... they're only there for lack of another place to put them right now... they will be moved soon. Hopefully!

Woops, the wording there should be the view FROM my other lounge windows. I'm too lazy to go back and change the pic!

That's Dundee in the distance at the foot of those mountains in the background. Pretty here huh? See why I'm loving it in the bush? Incidentally, our driveway is about a kilometer or two long... and it's a very bumpy / rocky /potholed dirt road. But then, when you get to the end of the driveway and you get to the main road (above), it's like the oasis in the desert! Especially with that view!

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OK, enough blogging for one day. My dial-up's going to have a fit when it sees all these pics. Cheerio fair friends! Until Monday. I have a long weekend! Woo hooooo! And my family's coming to visit! I'll fill you in on all the happenings then. Lots of loves and kisses...

o Sicko

I hear ye, I hear ye. I will get me to a doctor so forth. Whatever became of popping a disprin and hopping into bed for a few days? Noooo… now it’s all “get thee to a doctor immediately”. Ugghhh… If only you knew what an aversion I have to doctors! And pills. Thanks for the advice though. Sometimes I do need a swift kick in the butt some external motivation to do the right thing.
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Last night I was trying to prove a point that almost turned into a bit of a disaster. There I was, perched precariously atop a rickety ladder, painting the walls of our living room, rigorously ignoring the wonky world around me, when up became down and yip, you guessed it, down became up. Needless to say, I washed my paintbrushes post haste and sat down as quickly as possible. We now have a most unattractive partially painted lounge. Half of it some icky sunflower yellow colour, the other portions of it a weird creamy-grey mix which was supposed to be the colour of café latté but which now bears a striking resemblance to the nasty colour they put in institutions for people with various manner of psychoses. Oh well. At least our lounge won’t look like a wedge of cheddar anymore.
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And today, we have another guy chopping holes in our bathroom walls. This bathroom is beginning to get the better of us, I tell you! I am itching to be frustrated, but I am just soooo glad something’s being done to fix it! Who knows, maybe this time next week year I might get to enjoy brushing my teeth in my bathroom and not in my kitchen.
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Let me get to work. I will let you know what the doctor says, as soon as I’ve been. In the meantime, let me make myself a cuppa and tuck into the work waiting for me. Adios Amigos!

Dizzy Lizzy

I awoke yesterday morning to the sound of Buttercup chewing Robin’s shoes. So, I forced myself out from under the warm embrace of my duvet to retrieve rescue the shoe. And put Buttercup back into bed. But I only got as far as the end of the bed before the world spun and I found myself prostrate on the floor. On the COLD floor, mind you. With the bedroom doing a weird dance before my eyes. Didn’t think too much of it, just went back to bed putting the dizzy spell down to getting out of bed much like Speedy Gonzales. But then, two hours later when I stood up to begin the day, the world stood up with me. Again. And the room did it’s weird fandangle and I had to clutch the side of the bed to remain upright. And so the day went. All day. Even seated, doing zip, the world was swooshing and swaying before my eyes. I even ate a banana, thinking it might stabilize my blood sugar. It didn’t. Which just goes to show that bananas aren’t all they’re cracked up to be. And it also goes to show that you shouldn’t self-diagnose. Because for all I know, it could be blood pressure, not sugar, making me feel like I’ve been inhaling dope all night. Not that I would know what inhaling dope feels like. I’m just saying. Anyway, today things were a bit better. So I wasn’t going to mention it. Until I decided to take a break from the office work a little while ago and play outside with Buttercup. One minute I was merrily running about with her chasing me and me squealing like a banshee, (otherwise she can’t follow me, being blind and all)… the next minute I was flat on my face on the ground, with the trees laughing at me and dancing again. Which is a wee bit scary. This one minute you’re up, the next minute you’re eating dirt scenario. Any words of wisdom will be very welcome. Just no “you should try eating petunia leaves” or “just relax” advice ok? That’s never worked for me!

The Hillbilly Chronicles (iii)

As you know, we live in a hellhole Hillbilly Dump. The day we arrived with our boxes to find the Titanic floating out of our bathroom and down the passageway was a dead give-away. Since then we’ve been trying our best to make a dent in the work to get the house lovable liveable. My poor hubby, Insanely Gorgeous Saint That He Is, works all day at the Bush Camp, only to go home at night and work some more. Slowly but surely we’ve been stripping our family bathroom… we removed the shower cubicle, bashed out the basin, plugged up the leaking pipes, drilled holes above the window for my new blinds, and then we got a bee in our bonnet and decided we may as well redo the entire bathroom while we’re at it. Pointless we just make holes to find the leaks, fix the leaks and still be left with a fugly bathroom at the end of it. So, now we are redoing it totally. New shower bath (very nifty new product!), new taps, new toilet and we have a really spiffy stone-hewn table-top mounted basin that we’ll be fitting. I am SEEEEEEEEWWWWWW excited, darling. Can’t wait to have a nice long soak in my new bathtub. I just need to keep reminding myself that this is the bush, in Africa, where everything takes longer to get done, warra warra fish paste and all of that. So I must be patient. Seems everything we undertake requires major patience. At least the view is spectacular, while I wait.
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So anyway. Last night. Oh. My. Word. There I am after supper, plonked on the couch beside the fireplace, enjoying a cuppa and watching The Apprentice (Martha Stewart edition, or whatever her name is) with the teevee volume on deafening, while my hubby used the grinder to chase holes into the bathroom walls for the new pipes for the new taps for my spiffy new bathroom. Et Cetera. Suddenly there is deathly silence in the house, followed by the deafening roar of waters gushing. “Liefie?” I call out tentatively, hoping for a “Don’t worry, it’s nothing” response. Instead I get a squeak. By the time I reached the bathroom I wished I’d brought goggles and a snorkel. Surely, I might have found Nemo in the newly installed lake in our bathroom. Needless to say, our dreams for a new bathroom have now become necessity. Which of course leaves me grinning from ear to ear. So you see – sometimes, this whole bush living thing with it’s rotten pipes, leaking taps, mouldy walls and shoddy workmanship can add up to something in your favour. I’m hoping the same is true for my infertility!