Sunday, Bloody Sunday

It is Sunday and I am missing my family. 

Sundays, for us, means big family lunches where we all sit around the dining room table, gorge ourselves on whatever food Mom prepared, gossip about whomever leaves the table first, catch up with each other's lives, tease the target family member of the moment, mock each other relentlessly until finally, someone storms off in a huff. 

 

That, to me, spells a successful Sunday lunch with the family.  Of course, life and distance happens and we no longer get to have these delicious, emotionally charged lunches as often as I would like.   

As you know, I just came back from South Africa and visiting the Golden Oldies, where I was lucky enough to have a couple of these Sunday mock-fest-lunches.  Gave the batteries a bit of a  charge, that did.  Today is my first Sunday back in Amman.  Lunch time came and went without having the raucous lunch and I am feeling exceedingly melancholic at the moment. 

Combine that with the fact that today is the first anniversary of my mother-in-law's passing away, our fleeting natures and the concept of family (In-laws, outlaws and emotionally adopteds, all alike) have been on my mind the entire day. 

While I was visiting SA, I was blessed enough to spend time with The Voice Of Reason's Godparents, a lovely couple of 175 years old (He will be 91 in a couple of weeks' time, she is 84) and although I am in no way related to them by blood, I was welcomed and treasured during my visit (For Sunday lunch, nogal*) as if I was their own daughter. 

Words cannot fully describe how dear these two people are to me.  In pain due to old age and various medical conditions but wheeling themselves around cheerfully on walkers and office chairs in their little house in Mount Edgecombe, Umhlanga (Kwa-Zulu Natal), these two darlings prepared not only a three course meal (On their insistence.  You can try to convince them otherwise, but good luck.  You visit, you will be fed.) but spent hours talking to my sister and I (Thanks for going with me, C ), taking great pains (literally and figuratively) to make us feel at home.  Welcomed.  Like family.  

 

We left there, severely hugged, feeling warm and fuzzy, like we just visited much loved grandparents.  Must admit, every time I say goodbye to them, I say the same prayer I say whenever I leave my own Golden Oldies:  please give me another chance to see them again. And one more hug.  Just one...

Which brings me back to my mother-in-law.  Maria suffered a stroke in 2008 and passed away a year ago, today.  To say we got on like a house on fire would be a terrible lie.  Anyone who knew Maria, knew that she was a feisty old biddy who did not always make it easy for anyone other than her two much loved sons, to get along with her.  I don't think she'd be offended that I am about to call her a real spitfire.  I think, in fact, she'd be proud. 

 

Maria was spirited, quick-witted, loved her glass of wine, was the life and soul of many a gathering, family or otherwise.  She gossiped inappropriately in a stage whisper of note, she cared deeply about causes that very few other people even knew about. She lobbied to free political prisoners, weekly prepared meals for underprivileged children and generously gave to charities whenever she could.  She loved Ravel's Bolero and blasted this into the corridors of her apartment building over weekends, much to the irritation of the Stompie** Gestapo (The building caretaker. Don't ask.) Maria was a Lady, capital L definitely required.  But above all of this, she was loved.

Today I really wish I could tell her that. Just once.

* Indeed

** Cigarette butt

Oh Dear...

... Looks like SOMEONE joined the 'dried herb' section of the kitchen in my absence...

In Transit

Toothpaste and breakfast at the Cairo airport.

Hopefully I won't be stuck here again for 13 hours like my trip to South Africa a month ago.

Cannot wait to get on the plane, look at the breathtakingly beautiful Sahara desert as I make my way home to the Voice of Reason, the Shoe & Grammar Police, my personal Spell Checker and oftentimes Fact Checker... And the Mila-cat, of course!

Must ask, though... Is the Japanese army on maneuvers or are they invading some or the other country via Egypt? Airport crawling with Japanese army members, all traveling in uniform.

Makes one wonder... Is it cheaper to take over the world if you fly commercial?
;-)

Nostrum Monumentum*

* Our Memories

Suffered from a severe case of writer's block, or in my case blogger's block recently.  I spent my first week back in South Africa in a daze, the second week I was in Durban and the third week, this week, I was pretty much in denial.  Which leaves this coming week to do a gazillion-and-one things.  Yeah!  Procrastination is alive and well and temporarily living in the le Roux-cottage in Fourways, Johannesburg!
 

Tonight I find myself sitting under the blanket my mom made me, sipping my green pea and ham soup and trying desperately to ward off the freezing cold weather outside and the severe loneliness inside the cottage.  Tried to call the hubby for a chat but had to call it a day after several "Hello my Love, can you hear me? Yes, I can hearbzzzzzzzzzz's".  Frustration.

                                                                                                                                               

Drove around the streets of Pretoria, now called Tshwane, roughly translated meaning "screw the Boere, we're changing all the names".  More accurately, Tshwane is the Setswana name for the Apies River, (apie = small ape) which runs through the city.  Some sources say Tshwane means "black cow", so I am not sure if the people of Pretoria are now referred to as apes or cows, but suffice it to say I think this name change was quite unnecessary and a complete waste of taxpayers' money.  Ok, rant over... 

Feeling melancholic tonight after my sojourn through the streets of... *clenched teeth* Tshwane, the town where I grew up and where the majority of my family still lives.   While I love Johannesburg with it's insane traffic and constant rush to do-more-see-more-earn-more-have-more-be-more; and the completely calm bubble I now live in, in Jordan, I miss the old-time charm of Pretoria, sorry, Tshwane.  Screw that.  Pretoria.  That lovely grand dame of South Africa with her Herbert Baker-buildings, her squiggly Jacaranda lined double-wide streets and the purple Jacaranda dress she wears only in October for her inhabitants' delight.  And the smell...

To me, Pretoria smells unlike anywhere else in the world.  I can't pinpoint it.  It is just different.  Maybe I don't really smell Pretoria. Maybe it's the memories of growing up, of hating high school but loving the friends I made there.   Maybe it's the security that came from not having to move around all the time, the stability. Maybe it's remembering the smells of the Sterland ice rink where we used to go and ice skate whenever the opportunity arose; of drinking copious amounts of blue Slush Puppies; or thoughts of the Wimpy where I fell in love with double cheese burgers and chocolate milkshakes. Or the irresistible aroma of lamb chops and wors (sausage) on the braai at Loftus Versveld before all rugby matches.   

Maybe all of the above...  Hmmm, I suddenly realise where my love for food comes from: food equals love, warmth, comfort, happiness.  Good times.  Let them roll...

 

Under the Jacaranda tree

 

The Union Buildings, Pretoria

Thought for today

Normal services will resume shortly. In the mean time, I saw this today and thought I'd share it with you.

Rainy Days and Mondays

Not raining today, but it sure feels like a Monday!

I once again find myself squished into the corner of our tiny balcony, as it is the only place I can get any form of signal to connect to the internet. If my iPhone falls off this balcony, it will really be a blue Monday!

Yup, our connectivity issues are still with us and is no longer funny. How long can it take to sort this out, already?

This is my last week in Jordan for a while. I leave for South Africa on Saturday evening, back mid-June, so I will be posting from good ol' SA from next week, Insh'Allah, as they say in these parts.

If I can connect to the Internet on my pc before then, I will post pictures of the Citadel, which we finally visited this past weekend.

I. Loved. It.

I have one picture on my mobile, will attach it at the end of my post. Truly a must-visit, in my opinion.

The Citadel, locally known as Jabal al Qal'a, sits on top of one of Amman's highest hills and is one of Amman's oldest known inhabited places. It dates back 7000 years, to the time of the rise of civilisation in Mesopotamia.

Over the years, the Citadel housed not only the Romans, but also survived the earlier Byzantine and Umayyad eras, amongst others.

I found the Citadel an absolutely fascinating place to visit and I hope I can share the photos with you soon.

Before I leave I will also try to update you on my gardening project (insert snigger here).

But until then, I bid you a fond farewell from our tiny, dusty balcony.

One of my favourite things

It is no secret among those who know me very well:  I am a night owl.  Always have been, probably always will be.  I have difficulty sleeping at night and consequently I don't like getting up early in the morning.  Now that I am no longer amongst the ranks of the employed, I can sleep as late as I want to.  Lucky for me, although I do try to limit this to eight/eight thirty in the morning, with varying levels of success. (Ok, ok. Sometimes eight becomes ten. I am not perfect!)

 

On the rare occasions that I do wake up early in the morning, I get to experience my favourite time of day in Amman:  just after sunrise.  At the moment it is around five thirty-ish.  When one of these occasions presents themselves, I like to get up and head to the kitchen, pour myself a glass of ice cold water (I love to drink really cold water, even in winter) and just drink it all in:  the water and the almost complete silence of the hour.

 

Let me explain why...

 

Ours is not exactly a quiet suburb.  We live in a busy neighbourhood, close to some major routes so we can constantly hear loud traffic noises, even as early (or late!) as four o'clock in the morning.  Ammonites love to party, they stay up and out very late.  Add the sounds of their revelling to the "normal" traffic noises: intermittent loud hooting; revving engines and screeching tyres as people race their souped-up cars in the streets, chasing real and imagined opponents in formula-one-type pursuits that only exist in their own minds.  Often this cacophony is punctuated by the hollow blam-blam-blam of random gunshots, fired into the air and which curiously forms part of a lot of the Ammonite festivities.

 

Very few people are out and about at five thirty in the morning.  Partygoers have reached their destinations and most people only get up for work more or less at that time, with rush hour starting closer to seven thirty, or so I have been told by my long suffering, hard working husband! 

 

So, imagine not hearing the sound of a single car going by.  Heaven!  All is quiet outside, except the birds singing their greetings to the rising sun and the occasional meow of a couple of stray cats outside.  

 

Our kitchen faces south-west, so I cannot see the rising sun, only its effects on the world outside my kitchen window.  On clear mornings the skies turn baby blue, with a soft orange-pink layer gently kissing the horizon.  Rows and rows of unattractive cream-coloured apartment blocks turn into romantic cubes as they take on a pink blush, their windows a sparkly, reflective gold.

 

As I stand in my kitchen, eyes blinking against the shiny sight while slowly sipping my ice cold water, I revel in the moment.  I try to hold my breath for as long as I can, hoping to stop time, holding on to the silence.  When I hear the first cars go by in the distance, I let out my breath and remind myself:  there will be another sunrise tomorrow.

A Monday Melody

Finally have the haunting melody of Malaika out of my head, courtesy of a Facebook post by my niece, Melissa.  

Thought I'd share this with you. A song by The Lumineers, The Dead Sea.  Hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YS1SzGi03RM 

But Weight!

Feeling extremely bad about life in general and myself specifically at the moment.  Jumped on the bathroom scale this morning, only to be told the inconvenient truth:  biggest you've ever been.  WTF?!  In my mind I have been on a diet.  Of course, no-one and nothing with eyes and common sense would agree with me.  My idea of dieting is to constantly worry about my weight while simultaneously trying to not eat an entire pack of Twizzlers by myself, but to share it with my super-fit, in magnificent shape hubby, who can actually afford to eat sweets.

 

Wish this diet thing came easier to me.  Or came to me at all.  I think the biggest problem is, I am an eater. I like food and thoroughly enjoy the eating experience.  If you have been reading previous posts, you would know this about me already.

 

I wish I was one of those people. You know them, maybe you are one of them.  When life is thrown even slightly off balance, they stop eating and when you quiz them on their weight loss, they drive the knife into your fat-padded belly by saying "Oh, you know, I went through a bit of a rough patch with XYZ and simply lost my appetite".  Grrrrr. 

 

This never happens to me.  When I am happy, I eat.  When I am sad, I eat.  When I had impacted wisdom teeth surgically removed, the first thing I did when I got home 3 hours post-op, was... yup, I ate a full meal. 

 

Had Andrew, Emily and her parents over for a good old South African braai last night.  Didn't eat the Lindt chocolate Easter bunny I put on each plate as decoration and only had one scoop of homemade ice cream.  Why, oh why did I not lose any weight by this morning?  Well, maybe the reason is that the fat faeries really, really like my company.  Or maybe the bathroom scale is a broken liar.  Or maybe, just maybe it's because I eat too much and get zero exercise? 

 

I will be going back to South Africa in a couple of weeks' time.  When I return in June, I hope to not only still fit into my favourite pair of denims, but to start aqua aerobics again; the only exercise I've ever found that made me feel good about myself and actually helped me lose weight and tone at least a couple of muscles in this aging body.  

 

Oh, if only food didn't taste so good. 

 

But for now I am going back to bed.  All this talk of fat, food and exercise is too depressing to face this early on a Saturday morning. 

Update: stolen cables

Hey guys!  Thought I'd give you an update on our internet situation. 

 

Yesterday was Workers Day and this weekend is Easter in Jordan, so the Government declared that today would be a holiday instead of yesterday, to make it a long weekend - yeah!  Given the holiday situation, it seems less people are on-line, so I have actually been able to spend some time on the internet today, feeding the addiction. 

 

Apparently, according to the latest gossip, six fairly senior employees of one of the internet service providers were unfairly dismissed and decided to take their revenge on the company by disabling strategic internet cables as a parting gift.

 

So, not quite the cable theft we were used to in South Africa, but with exactly the same frustrating effect.  In two weeks' time I am going back to South Africa for a month to sort out some issues surrounding our house and to visit the Golden Oldies.  I can only hope the internet issues have been successfully resolved by the time I get back. 

 

Here's hoping...