#TwoBits: A week for the blues . . .

It’s been such a frustrating week, all I can do is grind my teeth.

After December’s rains, there had been barely a drop since the start of the new year until last weekend The lawns are burned brown, the flowers are wilting and, more importantly, my JoJos are heading towards empty.

When we built this house, we had tanks for 20 000 litres installed underneath. It has been a source of pride that we haven’t touched municipal water for years. All our water comes off the roof, is filtered and used throughout the property.

So I have been anxiously waiting for rain, checking my weather app several times a day. But the rain is playing hide and seek. Storms predicted in the morning mysteriously evaporated by midday. It was so hot (30 – 35 degrees) that fish in the Chaka’s Rock tidal pool and the Umhlali River lagoon died (at least that is what I surmise to be the most logical of the explanations). I thought I was going to lose my mind it was so hot, but the weekend rain did bring great relief.

The week got far worse when Rose slipped and fell on a wet tiled floor. She landed on her back and hit her head with a smack I heard from the other end of the house.

At Alberlito they discovered she was concussed and had damaged vertebra in her neck, so she is in a neck brace for the next few weeks. She nursed me when I was ill a few years back so now it’s my turn to return the favour. My culinary expertise runs to sausage and mash but fortunately her church group is rallying round so we will be well looked after!

Elderly people and falling is not a good combination. The accident is a horrible reminder of how quickly situations can change. A few years ago my eldest brother slipped and fell backwards down a flight of stairs, cracked his skull and died on the spot. From alive and well to gone in an instant!

On to other matters. This week was President Ramaphosa’s State of the Nation address. The pundits on TV were all a twitter about what he could and should say. And afterwards have wasted hours telling us what he didn’t say.

Those professional pundits are paid to talk, so they feel they have to justify their existences. But the truth is, there is nothing to say. Cyril’s ninth SONA was as full of empty promises as his first.

Rinse and repeat. Same old, same old.

Now on to something completely different. Valentine’s Day!

When I was a slip of a lad, about 14 or 15, I was totally in awe of girls. I knew I liked them, but they were scary and hardly bothered to acknowledge my existence. Looking back, I know why. I was all bony knees and elbows, pimples and geeky. (This was well before I turned into a strapping, handsome fellow!)

Valentine’s Day was exciting and nerve-wracking. Exciting ‘cos, who knows, would I get a card? Nerve-wracking ‘cos, I dunno, should I send out a card and to whom? The only girls I knew were either cousins or neighbours. This was in the Sixties, Hallmark cards and snail mail were all the rage.

Anyhoo, it was 1966 I think, that the postman delivered a fairly large envelope for this nervous lad. I tore it open with shaking hands (behind locked doors, for fear that my brothers would see it).

The card revealed a drawing of a lady’s legs crossed at the knee and the inscription read:

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
If you my Valentine will be,
I’d like to place you across my knee.

Well! I was dumbstruck. And intrigued. No name, no face, no clue who it was from. I also hardly knew what it meant, I mean this was a Sixties and I was pretty innocent. I couldn’t exactly show it around to find out what it meant. Who should I ask? My brothers? My parents? No and no.

To this day I have no clue who the sender was. But it made for an extremely memorable Valentine’s Day!

I hope your Valentine’s Day this year has been as memorable for you!

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