Scary stories from a lovely place
This blog is rather quiet of late. Just like my little life. I have nought to say.
My poor blog started in a moment of quiet, by the inspiration of a lovely friend, on my bed in my delightful, sunny bedroom in Johannesburg, South Africa. I was married but had no children. I had a job that I loved but was not very good at. I had some friends who I thought were (think are) amazing. I had a busy husband who was busy with more than work. I had a teeny, tiny garden. I had no little, wooden weapons or sand in my bed, no toys in my house – no lego, no train tracks, no tiny animals in my bathtub. I was surrounded by physical ways to give my life meaning.
I had prolicifically fruiting tomato plants, a miniature plum, infertile beetroot and fragrant jasmine, like everyone in Johannesburg. But unlike everyone in (old) Johannesburg I didn’t have a Jacaranda tree. I admired them from afar, from my car and virtually every vantage point, but not my lovely house.
These days I’m not a kwera kwera anymore. I’m not interesting or exotic. I live about 20 minutes from where I grew up. My 2 youngest sons were born in the same hospital I was. One of my favourite places to go these days is a beach I went to as a child, that I lived within walking distance of. I must have had a happy childhood, if that is my chosen favourite place.
I no longer have ironic/witty/arrogant/interesting reflections to make on a place that is wholly different to any other. A place (Johannesburg – get it?), though it was but a moment really, that is never far from my thoughts and breath. A place that effects my reactions; as I drive, as I drift off to sleep, as I visit the supermarket, as I trudge to church, as I meet new people, as I expect things from friends and want to give to them. It’s always there.
I don’t have much to say. I know about how to find mangled lego instructions online, how to make popcorn from scratch, how to convince children to do what I want (“could someone get some bags from the car please?” **deafening pause** “who is strong and tough enough to do that?” **pitter patter of running little feet**.) I know how to plant cute succulent gardens, how to grow myriad vegetables, and how to swim at the beach with 3 children who don’t know how to swim. That’s it. And I can bake gingerbread dinosaurs, so my kids like me.
At night when I close my eyes, I see this. My kid(s) ensconced in lego, happy, and with growing, bizarre minds.
And this, the purple of the Jacaranda blossom – the symbol of Johannesburg in spring – and the centre and crux of my current garden.