'Tis the season for veldfires

I turn my back for 2 seconds and MD is outside setting the world alight, the blazing trail being out alleged fire breaks. Of course, the smoke and ash billowed straight into the house while I was busy with laundry.

A day later, 4am, we woke to the sound of snap, crackle, pop. It was too early for breakfast and it wasn't my joints either. The sun rising in the west clued me in. FIRE !
Our winter woodpile and the grass the thatchers didn't collect was now a roaring inferno... and that was all. Thanks to the firebreaks, buildings, vehicles and oxygen thieves were safe.
Ditto our Telkom and Eskom lines. MD had the good sense to pipe and bury the cables deep underground two years back.

All's well. Guess I'll have to put up smelling like a chimney until the rains come.

Note to MD and Halfpint. Walk around the blackjacks, not through them.

Drumming and Divorce

I took MD to a drumming circle. Big mistake. He's hooked... big time.
Two months later and we are now the proud owners of 12 drums. Not only that, we're gonna have our very own drumming circle venue.
Naturally, the house contruction, and especially my new kitchen I was assured would be finished by last Christmas, has been put on hold.

Truth be told. I really enjoy drumming.
There has been an unexpected reaction though.
My work colleagues assumed I was gatvol about the kitchen and was threatening divorce. I wondered at the source of this rumour until, two weeks later, realised that it was because I don't wear my rings.
To set the record straight. Drumming makes your hands swell and rings can damage the skins.
Ya, I'm a little peeved about the kitchen but another year of bunking cooking detail is fine by me.

Ta Da... the Cynic is back... by popular demand nogal

Back to work after the long weekend. My good mood was soon mashed by our resident hyperchondriac who has returned after 2 weeks compassionate leave. My empathy has long been used up so when she complained of sinus at 9am and then concussion at 10am, I knew we were in for the long haul. Yep. 11am rolled around and out came her depression meds. At noon, we were treated to 'my bruise is bigger than yours' show. 1pm had her phoning every gynae in town because her daughter is pregnant and 'someone' has some pox or another. The calls and family conference lasted till 5pm.
Now that just pisses me off because her chair warming means that the rest of the department is still carrying the load and her complaining, crying and moaning means we might all need to play 'pass the Prozac'. I have a solution but its illegal.

Half-Pint is at Pony Camp. I do love this 'outsourcing kids' stuff.
She called tonight to let me know she's still alive and I need not pick her up early. This independant streak is usual so don't be alarmed, however, I did think we'd strayed from the parenting path when she calmly remarked that a snake was slithering over her feet. The call was cut and I was considering dialing 911 when she called back to say she'd caught the 'harmless' red lipped herald.
Okay, I confess. We have two snakes in the house. And spiders, lizards and other bugs. They live in cages and get admired, fed and handled.
So where did we go wrong? My mom said to put 'em outside with sun and dirt, toss a book and pet in and voila, happy healthy kid. She did not specify that the pet was singular and that fur was preferred.

Hot Air

Great excitement this morning.
A hot air balloon landed on our property this morning. Shortly afterward, a cavalcade of cars arrived to collect the adventurers and paraphernalia.
They did not stay for coffee... reckon they've been shot at too many times.
Hmmmm.

Spring Bonfire

I love living in the country.
I love my neighbours.
I love Spring Bonfire.

One of the treats of not living in a townhouse complex or suburb you can only access through a boom gate, is that we actually, really, do speak with our neighbours. We don't just speak, we kuier lekker. We catch up on the skinner, discuss security, argue about sport and share food and jokes.
The kids, regardless of age, bolt into the trees and veld with torches and adventure in their hearts. Our local tree fella hauls in the dried wood collected over winter.
The blaze is ignited while the sun sets and out come the creative cooking skills. Pot bread. Stick bread. Sausages of all descriptions placed on a stick and held over the flames. Braai meat. Salads. Fruit. Nuts in skins. Marshmallows... lightly toasted and smothered with chocolate sauce.
As the stars shift overhead, the jackets come on and the younger, exhausted kids are put to bed on mattresses in the back of bakkies. The older kids gather and scare the hell out of each other with ghost stories. The adults' conversation slips to aliens, conspiracy theories, books and guns.
Eventually, we part company (with plenty hugs) and head for home and bed. Some of us only manage this at 5 in the morning (can't let a good sunrise get wasted).

Maplotters Rock!

BTW Maplotter neighbours refers to anyone who lives on a piece of land larger than a hectare within a 20km radius. Boere are the same but on a larger scale.

Spring Fever

I'm back... and fighting fit. Okay, not fighting fit but definitely vertical.
Construction has started on the house again so now I can soothe the bronchitis with cement dust, plaster sand, road dust, dog dust, veld fire soot, wood shaving. Let's not forget the rising pollen count. And to think I actually entertained the idea of giving up smoking.
While in the Spring cleaning mode, I checked out my old standby, the FlyLady. Gotta love her.
Shine your sink, put on your shoes... Unfortunately, FlyLady don't live where I do. Malplotters live in redneck heaven. I have tools and car parts in my entrance. I lost the dining table years ago. As for the actual dining room, urhm, I think its the junk pile behind the other junk pile that doubles as our lounge. Oh wait. There's a spare room, garage, store room and kraal that's also choka to bursting point. I have no clue what's in there actually.
And that's nothing compared to the stuff just lying around outside. Piles and piles of 'I dunno whats' and the required junk car too. Can't be a redneck if you don't have a scrap car parked out front, rusting away.
I would dearly love to live in my clean, almost bare, easy to maintain, piece of heaven on earth. Maybe even try my hand at some interior decorating. Okay, a fancy cushion. Okay, okay, a couch that doesn't 'wooph' dust would be nice. Ceiling boards that actually cover the ceiling would be a bonus.
FlyLady. We're a lost cause. I can't clean a thing because the stuff ain't mine to boogie.
Can't even shine my sink because it's a red plastic, warped, decomposing catastrophe.
MD - please finish the new kitchen quickly. Please, please.
And yeah, the stuff lying around really bothers me.

Pack rats. Uuurrrgghh!

Pink gone plunk

I thought it would be a treat to take Half Pint to her first rock concert. One of her favourite artisits is Pink, who is touring SA in September.
There is one show on Saturday 8th... at Sun City. Travelling 300km (return) at night is not my idea of fun, especially when you have to share dodgy roads with drunkards.
Venue of choice is the Dome, however, the show is on the 9th. Sunday 9th. 8pm.
Now organisers - pay attention. Pink's target market is young teens. There is no way I (the Parent Person) am going to allow my kid to go to a concert on a school night. It's one of those non-negotiables.
Another non-negotiable is the ticket price. R400,00 per person? R250.00 if you want to use binoculars. You gotta be kidding! That's way out of the pocket money (pamper your kid) range. Sorry Half Pint.