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I have never thought such a thing possible, but this week I’m suffering from care overload.
It may sound like a wonderfully blessed position to be in, but the fact that everyone around me shows me appreciation and compassion offends my cynical nature.
Have I been diagnosed with a fatal disease and they simply don’t know how to tell me? Are they in the process of hiring an assassin to get rid of me? Is there poison in the many cups of coffee they so regularly present to me?
I don’t know, but to echo Clark Gable’s words in Gone With The Wind: Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn.
My delightfully eccentric mother returned to Cape Town yesterday after heaping motherly love and attention on me for two weeks.
My son has just arrived for a visit to celebrate his birthday and spend some time with his dad. Not both his parents, as is usually the case. His mother is out of town. Just me. (And his friends, but that is irrelevant. Only one parent is involved).
Even the lovely Snapdragon has lately shown her soft side and is releasing the full brunt of her version of spousal affection on me. It’s a terrifying experience, but I love every moment of it.
The highlight of my week, however, was when the three-year-old Egg brought home a piece of art from school.
It was a black-and-white picture of the baby Moses in a basket, but she decided to enhance the picture with seven or eight red, fluorescent hearts pasted onto the wickerwork.
She pointed them out to me. “These are for you,” she said. “Because I love you.”
I had to go and smoke a cigarette outside. The garden is shockingly dry, so I couldn’t blame a typical Gauteng afternoon shower for the moistness in my eyes.
“You’re not an oil painting,” the lovely Snapdragon told me one day early in September. Which is all right with me – who on earth would want to be an oil painting if he can have seven or eight glimmering red hearts on a picture of Moses? That’s real art!
And that, dear reader, is my wish for you this weekend. May you be struck down with the curse of care overload. Crowned with red hearts on a picture of Moses. I can wholeheartedly recommend it.
Dirk Lotriet. Picture: Alaister Russell
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