Still Passing Open Windows ....

Home

 

This is probably the place I love the most, where I feel comfortable and fully me. It is also the place where I feel the weight of the family and where my role feels like it was defined when I was a little girl and there is no possibility for me to redefine it and be less nice and less of who I am right now. There is less room for me to make mistakes and try something different. I am the oldest, responsible with a well-behaved life.

Now the door is open and I have a marvellous opportunity to explore, to try something new but I don't know what. I don't know if I have the energy or the commitment to give to something new. Today that sounds pathetic but I know there are times when a date or a conversation can make me run back home and shut the door and all I want to to do is knit and watch Two and a Half Men (which has taken a while but it's grown on me. At least there's some growth somewhere!)

This weekend was the second anniversary of the death of my daughter. Unlike the birth of my son, I don't know the date and I don't want to. There is a race that is run on the anniversary, however, and so I am reminded. "Are you going to watch?" asked my hairdresser. "No," I said simply. And Christmas also reminds me of that Christmas and vestiges of the black cloud return. Aah, my poor little girl, and you were such a fighter. She was a strong little character with lots of energy. If she had lived, I would probably be exhausted and arguing with her right now. Bugger. Bugger, bugger, bugger. (It's a good word. I never use it but it seems apt here).

So, this door is open and I can attempt to reshape my professional life. Should I? What should I do? What can I do? Aah, that last one is the tricky one.

  

Musical memory

Becky has written a great post on music she loves. It got me thinking about songs that can change my mood in an instant, put a smile on my face or take me back to another time. 

One of those singers is, funnily enough because there are very few French artists I love, Raphaël. I love his songs, his voice and the words. One of my favourites is Ne partons pas fâchés (Let's not separate angry). It's a typical guy statement - let's not part angry, it's not worth it - but his voice and the melody are so beautiful and upbeat that I forgive him, like I forgave my unrealiable boyfriends in my youth. He sings of of how beautiful he finds the girl, of how he wants to take her to the sea, of how there's nothing else to do but drink, of how he's sold his motor bike. It's his voice and his elfin face that gets me I think, and the song reminds me of being at university, of being young and that mad love you feel for guys at 20 when you stay up all night and decide to drive to the beach at 5 a.m. and you're high on nothing more than youth and alcohol and finally being with the person you have been obsessing over during all those lectures. Before infertility and losing babies and diabetes and making sure there is an apple juice in my handbag and that I have my insulin. Before all of that, when a day can suddenly turn into something magical just because a guy speaks to you. Or is that just early love?

My latest love is Paolo Nutini's song Candy. There's something in that song that could make me leave everything and take off in Paolo Nutini's car, driving into the distance, anywhere, as long as it takes us days to get there. Even if he does have the odd clunky line like "I'm just a stain on your bedsheet and you're my diamond in the rough". His voice just melts me.

Maybe I love these two guys' songs because they somehow encapsulate something of the guys I have lusted after. They have a bad boy quality mixed with a boyishness which gets me every time. It's probably why I love Macy Gray. She sings about loving the bad boys, about how she knows she shouldn't yet she does. And she has that great voice.

My mother loves music. We would dance to Buddy Holly and she would tell me how only the bad boys liked the Rolling Stones, and she would look like a different person, jiving away and singing all the words. Maybe that's why we love certain songs; because they evoke a younger emotion or time in us, they remind us of happy, carefree times. Ok, I am stopping now because I just sound old and care worn. Time to go to bed, and maybe listen to Raphaël on my iPod.

Italian

H always laughs at my family's love of Italian food. We go to Cape Town and as soon as we talk about going out to eat, my sister says, "Oooh, our favourite Italian restaurant is just down the road!" H turns to me and says, "What about fish?" Cape Town is a peninsula, you are surrounded by the ocean, by two oceans in fact but my family wants pizza, pasta and tomato sauce.

I was home alone tonight. I perused the fridge looking for something yummy yet easy to prepare. Leftover lentils? No. Fried egg (my standard eating alone choice)? Naah, I've done enough egg. Leftover Aubergine parmigiana? Mmmm ....

And I sat and ate my solitary aubergine parmigiana on the balcony, with a side of rocket, and you know what? It was delicious; a little sweet,a little chewy and the aubergine even added a slightly meaty texture. Altogether a very satisfying meal. I know why my family loves Italian, it's just good, you can't really go wrong.

 

Madopause

Do you think women just get to a certain age and become super irritable?

I am so crabby at the moment I could make Lucy van Pelt look like Gwyneth Paltrow, all smiling and beautifully nice. I'm crabby about everything. I yelled at someone who phoned me about a mistake I made. I rejected a very nice colleague's advice, which I asked for, and I rejected it quite firmly, swinging round in my chair at the end of it to indicate that This Interview Is OVER. I bossed H the whole way to the real estate agent's office, telling him to "Move!" into the left lane. Then the receptionist told us the file manager was busy and we should have made an appointment and I sarcastically blurted, "Well then we should just have sent the file by mail!" I was possibly breathing fire because she sent a little office boy down the corridor to get the file manager, so at least that anger was not wasted, but the rest of the time, the anger just pushes my blood pressure up and makes H want to suffocate me with a cushion.

I feel it might be a general tendency though, because I remember my grandfather saying about my mother, "She used to be such a nice girl," and shaking his head slowly. And, my colleague told me about finally having a REAL man's conversation with a family friend in which each guy spoke of the iron grip their wives had on a tender part of their anatomy. She bosses me around all the time, is what he said in a nutshell.  

So I am wondering if one just hits 35 and suddenly years of pent up anger start to simmer to the surface. If that's the case my sister should be about to turn into Ms Paltrow because no way has she been penting up any anger. You see, even in my closing I'm being bitchy. Dear reader, have you noticed any increased irritability?

My other theory is that women often think it's children. In my case, I can assure it's not. It's just pure crabbiness. Be very glad you probably live a loooong way away from me.

A love for fruit

When I was in standard four, around about 12 years old, we got our first computer. It was an Apple IIe and I still remember where it was in the office and the striped apple stickers we got that were stuck up all over our big, 110 year old farmouse. My dad bought us Apple and the Kids, a spiral book with exercises for kids to do on an Apple. Even then I loved How To ... books and I remember starting it with enthusiasm, flying through the first couple of pages and then bogging down as the exercises got more complicated. I tried the last one a few times, it never worked and I abandoned the book but my enthusiasm for Apples has never waned.

We changed computers a few years later but whenever I came across snippets in the news about Apple, I often read them and I have always liked their philosophy and how they approach things. Mabe I screen out the stuff I don't like and just retain what I do - user friendly, recycling policy, give off less something waves, that sort of stuff.

H and I got horrendous, I mean truly horrendous, service from our last computer support people and we decided to head back to my first love. It's fun, I am enjoying it. It's frustrating at times as I struggle to figure out how to do something that is second nature on other systems but I am enjoying this computer for the first time in years (my computer love went through a bad period - I was dumped by a computer geek, tried to get some vaguely computer jobs and was burned and I turned my back on computers and the latest techno find.)

Now once again I find myself turning on the computer and staring at the screen, clicking icons and reading the little help menus, watching tutorials. Yes, I am channeling my inner geek, I know, it's probably a bit sad but then again we are in 2009 and if you knew the extent of my technological skills you would be cheering on that little inner geek - she's probably only about 7 years old in experience years in any case and little kids grow out of this. She looks a bit like Harriet the Spy in my mind; dark hair in a pony tail, big glasses and a very serious expression on her little face which all the adults secretly laugh at. Of course she also carries a notebook around, in which she records The Day's Important Lessons. Did Harriet the Spy wear glasses though?  

The upshot of all this is that I am hoping it will rejuvenate my blog, that I will spend more time here. Maybe I will even follow some of Niobe and Becky's tips. Who knows, maybe I will even update the header. You'll have front row seats, ladies! I can tell how excited you are.

A love for fruit

When I was in standard four, around about 12 years old, we got our first computer. It was an Apple IIe and I still remember where it was in the office and the striped apple stickers we got that were stuck up all over our big, 110 year old farmouse. My dad bought us Apple and the Kids, a spiral book with exercises for kids to do on an Apple. Even then I loved How To ... books and I remember starting it with enthusiasm, flying through the first couple of pages and then bogging in as the exercises got more complicated. I tried the last one a few times, it never worked and I abandoned the book but my enthusiasm for Apples has never waned.

We changed computers a few years later but whenever I came across snippets in the news about Apple, I often read them and I have always liked their philosophy and how they approach things. Mabe I screen out the stuff I don't like and just retain what I do - user friendly, recycling policy, give off less something waves, that sort of stuff.

H and I got horrendous, I mean truly horrendous, service from our last computer support people and we decided to head back to my first love. It's fun, I am enjoying it. It's frustrating at times as I struggle to figure out how to do something that is second nature on other systems but I am enjoying this computer for the first time in years (my computer love went through a bad period - I was dumped by a computer geek, tried to get some vaguely computer jobs and was burned and I turned my back on them.) I find myself turning on the computer and staring at the screen, clicking icons and reading the little help menus, watching tutorials. Yes, I am channeling my inner geek, I know, it's probably a bit sad but then again we are in 2009 and if you knew the extent of my technological skills you be cheering on that little inner geek - she's probably only about 7 years old in experience years in any case and little kids grow out of this. She looks a bit like Harriet the Spy in my mind; dark hair in a pony tail, big glasses and a very serious expression on her little face which all the adults secretly laugh at. Of course she also carries a notebook around, in which she records The Day's Important Lessons. Did Harriet the Spy wear glasses though?  

The upshot of all this is that I am hoping it will rejuvenate my blog, that I will spend more time here. Maybe I will even follow some of Niobe and Becky's tips. Who knows, maybe I will even update the header. You'll have front row seats, ladies! I can tell how excited you are.

Flying home?

We left on Friday afternoon to fly back. At check-in they upgraded us and we skipped onto the plane, happy with our almost completely reclining seats for the night flight. Our connecting flight the next morning was delayed but, thanks to H´s super flier status, we settled into the business class lounge surrounded by our books and magazines. Then the flight was delayed and delayed and delayed and slowly rumours of more than just the snow stopping flights started to drift our way. So we spent Saturday night in a hotel and arrived at the airport hopefully on Sunday to take our flight, but it was not to be. So here I am, Monday morning, still at the airport for the third consecutive morning.

I go to the bar to get a glass of water with two ice cubes and a slice of lemon and think about how hard it is going to be to return to real life. Funnily enough being stranded at the airport is not that bad. We are in the business class lounge with endless access to coffee and snacks being provided regularly. I can tell you that the tuna sandwiches are the best I have tasted, the chicken sandwiches being less delicious and I have not even attempted the mystery seafood paste. We now know the passport control people, H is best mates with the elegant girl at the front desk and there is that sense of camaraderie that seems to come about in a crisis. Everyone tells their stories. There is the young Finnish couple who were delayed in Marrakesh and having made their way this far, are now fighting to get a flight home. An Argentinian family with two children have been in the lounge since Friday morning. "I am not even going to the gate until I have a confirmed place," the mother tells me, "I'll do violence if I do." There is a Portuguese couple of my parents´age trying to get to Latin America to start their grand tour who tell us their story through the husband. The wife adds little bits and pieces but I can´t understand her until her husband repeats it in a Spanishy form of Portuguese. A young Venuzuealan couple tell of a huge queue, una cola, to get to the hotels supplied by the airline and the Portuguese wife turns to her husband, "Una cola? Una fila, si?" and he nods. People make jokes about similarities to the Tom Hanks movie and the Argentinian mother tells about her 3 year old washing with little towelettes that usually get handed to you on the aeroplane, "It´s not even hygenic!" she says laughing.

So it looks like we will get back today. I like these temporary communities that spring up. I´ll miss it. There´s something attractive about living with so little and having such a simple goal - getting home. Maybe I should set up a little bar with ice and lemon slices on the kitchen counter at home. The hotel buffet breakfast will be a bit more of a challenge though in my usual 30 minute dash out the door in the mornings. And you know what else? For the very first time ever, I have been glad we do not have 2 little children to entertain in an airport over the weekend. Still, the search for their gateway into my world continues ...

Coping ...

Do you ever have times when you go through all the motions but it feels like you are 3 degrees to the left of everything? I just feel off; as if I can talk or write or drive but I could just as easily find myself mouthing contradictory platitudes or writing an email to ask if I can attend a function I have no intention of going to or driving in the opposite direction to that in which I want to go because there is not gap in the right lane and it seems too difficult to create one. Fighting the stream seems exhausting and has got me nowhere. Going with the current feels like I don't exist, feels like I am giving in to everyone else's wishes but I have no idea what my own are. I just wonder why nothing seems to be working out ...

Conversations

Me: Do you know, I didn't buy butter this week and EVERY SINGLE recipe I have looked at since uses butter.

H: Well that's good, we're eating healthy. No butter! Butter is not our friend.

half an hour later

H: So what are we having tonight?

Me: Butternut

H: (totally seriously) So do you want me to run out and get some butter?

Me: ???

In other news I finally plucked up the courage to meet a fellow blogger and spent Friday afternoon with Artblog and it was fun. It was nice to talk to someone who gets it and nice not to talk about it with someone who gets it, just to chat like any two women meeting for coffee on a sunny Friday afternoon. 

In other other news I am struggling with the next step I have to take. Struggling to move on and at the same time pushing for it to happen faster. Dammit, we've been trying for five years now. Soon it will be six. My childhood best friend is now pregnant with her third child. And she started after us. "It's not a competition," H tells me. I know but I just wonder why I am so stuck in this space where I struggle to create babies and then dispatch them with such ease. Caillers Lait Noissettes and I have daily conversations about this. He doesn't have a whole lot to say but man, is he comforting. 

Do I have to cook?

I have hit a total standstill when it comes to cooking. I like to cook. Most of the time I cook okay but every now and again, I hit a stage where everything I cook comes out a total disaster. I am in one of those times. If anyone has any totally foolproof recipes, please, please I would love to hear about them. I am living on a horrendous diet of peanut butter, crackers and marmite. Definitely not good for boosting fertility I am sure.

In return I will give you one of my foolproof recipes (which come to think of it, why don't I make? Mmm ... and I thought blogging had nothing left to give me, ha!)

Grilled Chicken Breast (well, I told you it was a braindead-type of thing didn't I?)

Place a chicken breast between two pieces of wax paper or cling film. Bash it until it's almost flat with an empty wine bottle. Peel off the wax paper or cling film gently and put in a big flat dish and marinate in lemon juice and a little olive oil and any herbs you feel like, fresh rosemary is good but dried is fine. Red pepper flakes and garlic are also good. Use one chicken breast per person. Leave the chicken in the marinade for at least 20 minutes, if you can.

Get a ridged grill pan hot and grill the chicken breast. It will cook quickly as it's so thin. Serve with something easy like sliced tomatoes or ready-washed rocket.