On Sunday Gary and I (oh and of course Bandit) went for a hike with dear friends at Kaapsehoop. It is lovely out there. It is a little village with no shops, supermarkets, petrol stations, nothing. It is a little village with no shops, supermarkets, petrol stations, absolutely nothing. It is the quaintest and most gorgeous little village 30kms from Nellies, which is immensely famous as well as home to wild horses. It’s lost in time and doesn’t have any real mod cons. However, there are a fair amount of pubs and eateries. It is the quaintest and most gorgeous little village 30kms from Nellies and is immensely famous as well as home to wild horses. There is even a fund whereby people contribute and take care of these gorgeous wild horses that roam Kaapsehoop and surrounds.
The Wild Horses of Kaapsehoop
Across the road from the village is their cemetery. Not to sound weird or morbid but taking a walk through their cemetery is an amazing experience. It goes back centuries. In fact, our little province is jam-packed with history. In the by-gone era Cockney Liz lived (and performed) just up the road in Barberton. Please if you have a minute google Cockney Liz. An amazing lady and story. (And of course, she would be, her name alone says it all!)
Anyhow, the reason I opened with this tidbit of random information is the very fact that last week I recall stating that I had never seen such an ugly car as my dad’s Thunderbird. I don’t know if the universe was saying: “Really Liz, so you don’t regard the Thunderbird as a wonderous car? Well, how about this….” And there before my eyes, as we traversed home on the other side of the road, was this vision. A huge, I mean HUGE car driving ever so slowly and I mean ever so slowly towards Kaapsehoop. (I swear about 30 maybe at a push 40kms!) and as you have no doubt realised it was a blady Thunderbird. This one was white. I was so gobsmacked it did not even enter my mind to take a photo of it or for that matter its occupants. It was a left-hand drive, which by the way so was my dad’s, but the driver in this car was wearing a cowboy hat. I kid you not! A blady black cowboy hat. So, I guess there are small mercies I need to be thankful for when dad (and mom) drove ours. Oh, my giddy aunt look at me using the word “ours” they did dress as normal as possible for that time.
So, we are in Level 4 lockdown. I tend when I am not enjoying something, I tend to or wait a minute, god hope this is not the early onset of Alzheimer’s? As I do have quite a short span memory and thinking back I cannot remember every detail of last year this time. I often wonder if I stash memories I regard as crappy in the dark corners of my memory? It is for this fact that I am extremely thankful for Facebook. Digressing again, So, Lockdown. It was not all bad, been detained at home, in fact, it was an updated version of being gated or sent to my room in my youth. Which of you remember in your teen years, you would ask your folks permission to use the telephone? I would go through to their bedroom and obviously close the door. Before long there would be a pounding on the bedroom door with my mom bellowing “Elizabeth, times up.” Yikes!. Yikes! when my mom used to say, “I don’t like that boy Elizabeth, he is bad news and will break your heart – trust me on this.” And as sure as nuts, the blady boy would prove her right, and break my heart. Hmm, I recall I definitely will not mention his name. I really, really thought (because now I know it was not really loved) I loved him. He was in the army. I sat in typing class sobbing, I could not see the keyboards through my flood of tears. If I remember, I even made some excuse that I was sick and asked if I could go phone, my mom. (Who would have been sitting in her comfy sunny reading room reading about …yip you guessed it the UFO,s, and gods that go clickerty clackerty) And I phoned him, he was leaving to go back to camp. Anyhow, so the one “fateful” day I received a letter from him. After doing flick flacks and such, I locked myself in my room to read his news. And can you believe, he was two-timing me! My letter commenced “Dear Claire….” Yip, devastation personified. I played Bread albums, I could not breathe from all the crying I did. But at dinner time, I would splash my face, put on a very happy front (so mom did not detect that she was right) after dinner I would return to my room listening to Bread repeatedly as I literally sobbed into my pillow.
Do you remember the stress before Lockdown? And the Toilet roll saga?
Digressing hugely but need to share this. My maid Patricia has brought her granddaughter with her today. Laetitia is playing happily in front of the TV and brushing her Barbie’s hair. So, I asked Patricia how old she is – she for the records is nine. Now, do you see where I am going with this? Charmaine and I were in standard five, which is by all calculations: Twelve. We were, it’s official – we were late bloomers.
So back to lockdown. The anticipation of what tomorrow brought, the trillions of unanswered questions. Would we be safe? Would we have enough food, how would we pay for our electricity when the meter ran out? How would we replace our food? When, we needed to replace the food which one us would be “us” and venture out? What if they arrested us for being out? Oh, my word, we all know what an overthinker I am. I do not think the shops had ever been so inundated with shoppers buying the likes of paints, puzzles, books, etc., I was finding the “prettiest puzzle” it had to be really pretty. I guess I thought that if it were pretty, it would inspire me more (it did not). In the end, I lay all the pieces out, and after many, many attempts at trying to engage Gary in this past time the pieces that did remain on the table gathered dust, whilst a few became play objects for Fraidy-Cat. Each time I swept, sure enough, I would find another piece lurking under the couch. I did try – I sat for hours collecting all the same colours, then a piece of the puzzle and, and, and until eventually I admitted defeat and packed it away. It really is a beautiful picture of the stately library from someone’s very very wealthy home. 1 000 pieces, well I think it is 1000 pieces – will need to check this little issue with Fraidy?
Who joined the Masterchef groupies? I certainly did, I made my first ever rusks, which I was extremely proud of. I certainly did, I made my first ever rusks, which I was extremely proud of Gary very warily tried them adding: “These remind me of building blocks”, WTF? Such appreciation. Then my scones. Hmm, this created a tossing across the kitchen episode. Who knew how pathetically finicky scones are to make? Every utensil in the kitchen had a fine layer of flour over it for at least three weeks after that disaster. Not to mention the sticky dough all over my fingers. I made cake after cake, (no no no do not get ahead of yourselves now, it was “box” cakes!) now there is only so much cake your husband can eat. So then yip, I started giving to my neighbour. I even made and did an extremely fine job of onion rings. Now, no they were not exactly SPUR’s but hey I was super proud. Now, no they were not exactly SPUR’s but I was super proud. The issue here was Gary and I had a fight the night I lovingly made them. And because we were not speaking he refused to even eat. And because we were not speaking he refused to eat. So, I swear I left the whole hamburger, toothpick creatively spiked through the burger with the onion rings sashed over the toothpick, to entice him. And yip you guessed it. He was not enticed, not one iota. He did not eat them. I gave the whole burger and my gorgeous onion rings to Meeka! (our German shepherd who disliked boiled eggs).
It was in this era that I became the compulsive fan of Netflix that I still am today. I watched “Six Feet Under” I remember the music in the beginning, and how much that irritated Gary. So, yip for sure, I would hike up the volume something silly. Oh, my word the other truly randomly pathetic series I watched was called Big Love, it was about a guy who had three wives. (Polygamy and Amish fascinate me to no end) It truly was ridiculous but yip I was addicted.
Also, an interesting challenge was meetings. ZOOM and TEAMS. I remember the first ever ZOOM meeting I attended, I had huge fisty cuffs with Gary (I know the poor man) as I was well and truly panicking and he tried to assist, well was not that not the correct thing to do at such a time! And however so proud I was of myself when I set up my very own meeting and sent out the invite. Sjoe, I was super proud of the techno IT whiz I had become. Ensuring my hair, makeup and top were spit spot as I sat with the pajammie bottoms and raggedy old slippers on. Dying to go to the loo but knowing you could not possibly leave for a few seconds as everyone would see! Needing therapy when I noticed one of my colleagues was signing in from Bali with the waves gently lapping in the background as a gentle cool breeze tickled the palm trees. Lying awake that night, thinking how the F … did she manage to get out before hard lockdown began and when the heck was she even intending to return? Only to realise as time went along that it was actually a blady background setting on her computer and I could also choose any destination (I never did).
Being super creative with birthday gifts…. Yanking plants out the ground and repotting them doing a drive-by and leaving the birthday girl’s gift at their gate. Remember how restricted we were? Not even being allowed to clothes shop oh yes and no makeup purchases. Not even being allowed to clothes shop, oh yes, and no makeup purchases. Shock and horror that rule was for me – now you lucky if I even pick up my wand of mascara. Shock and horror that rule were for me now you lucky if I even pick up my wand of mascara. Stocking up with wine. Oh, my word, I bought soooo much. Then lockdown lingered and lingered, and my wine diminished further and further until the day I had to succumb to the black market. No, you are right, I did not have to succumb but I did! I remember paying R400 for two bottles of wine. Now, I would just think toughies and not drink (hmm or would I? Very, very, easy to say this knowing I have stock this time.) Yikes, I hate to admit this, but I recall on my birthday even asking a dear friend who has a restaurant if she would mind “loaning” me a bottle (we all know I asked for more than one). I recall when she delivered it. We had this clandestine meeting, she drove to my house, I casually came out and after sweeping the neighbourhood with my beady eye I took the illicit parcel from her whilst we both scanned the neighbourhood for passing cop cars or neighbours with their cellphones and cameras who may capture our illegal action! To this day, Gary has no idea I did that little indiscretion. He truly does not tolerate such illicit behaviour.
Oh my word and on this note, what about in December, the night of the 30th I think? Uncle Cyril was planning to have a family meeting. I raced, no jokes, I raced to Woolworths and bought – no jokes again eight – yip, eight bottles of my favourite screw-top wine. I consumed some and had four remaining. Well, we at check-in at Cape Town International and don’t they ask who does the wine belong to. So me being me I proudly reply “That would be me” to which the lady just casually replied” Oh I am sorry” as she literally I swear it was in slow motion – she took all four bottles and threw them in the wheelie bin across the way. I will forever forget the sound of those bottles smashing. Now don’t ask why didn’t I place them in my suitcase. Because dear reader my suitcase was already 3 kgs over, there was no space, however, had I known my fate I would have frikken hoiked out items and left them right there and then at the check-in and hidden my beloved bottles in between my clothes. Now when I am trying to placate myself I will always say “It always works out as it should” and that dear reader is what I chanted to myself over and over again as we fly across the skies towards home and a very bleak house with no wine in it!
So, when I wasn’t planning illicit booze deliveries, yanking plants out the garden, baking or watching TV, and of course mastering my ZOOM meetings, I would love to read and paint/sketch. I have never been much of a Michelangelo or Picasso, but I do have fun doodling. In fact, I even went through this extremely and rare phase where I reckoned, I would start selling my “great” works of art. In fact, I went through this extremely and rare phase where I reckoned, I would start selling my “great” works of art. I started a Facebook page, pondered over the name, having voted with my loved ones which was the best name. I even was going to get a stamp designed. I emailed various printing companies enquiring about prices. They all came back with their various prices, but they were all saying Oodles of Noodles. So, typical me, I flooked them – blady hell these people cannot even get my blady name correct/ Blah Blah on and on I went. So, typical me, I flooked them – blady hell these people cannot even get my blady name correct. Blah, Blah on and on I went. Until I happened to look back on the original mail I had sent. Yip, it was yours truly here that started the whole Oodles of Noodles saga instead of Oodles of Doodles. (I swear sometimes I have no words for this Dizabeth woman!)
So, when I wasn’t working, watching TV, baking/cooking, painting/sketching or reading I decided I would exercise. I hauled the exercise bike out of retirement, dusted it down, found the “ideal” spot on the verandah. I even downloaded a movie from Netflix, my brilliant plan was to peddle, peddle, peddle as I watched the movie. It was actually “Grace of Monaco”. Suffice to say, to this day I have no idea how the movie evolved after maybe five minutes. I swear I had the bike on the easiest gear and even that did not help. So, whilst the bike gathered more and more dust, and I walked past it each morning to go and walk around our pool, which did not last too much longer either. Before long I was back on the couch, slouching and the only exercise taking place in my whole entire being…yip – my eyes! Oh, and on the weekends my left arm (raising my wine glass to my mouth).
I do need to add at this point (brag, in other words) these days I walk every Saturday morning (yes, yes only on a Saturday morning) but we do well. This past Saturday we did 8kms. I truly love my Saturday mornings. My dearest friend Pam and I walk. My mouth also never stops moving, as I talk up a storm and dear Pam, well her ears are well and truly exhausted when we head home).
So, this week I have kept the best for last. Of course, we all have our Lockdown tale. And here is ours. Firstly, the VERY first night, no wait it was the last night of “freedom” we (me hit a major panic as I was going to have to cook each night – even weekends. So, we had our last takeaway, little did we know then just how blady long it would be before we had a chance of another one). Anyhow so we were out getting our takeaway, it was weird, remember “the” storm of storms when my dad’s Thunderbird saved the day? Well, it was one of those storms, we had locked Meeka (German shepherd not keen on boiled egg) inside. Well, when we walked into our house, my Lordy did we have some cleaning to do. All I will say at this time is it was as if a cow had been let loose in our house. The poo … I have no words! I used a whole roll (no exaggeration) a whole roll of kitchen towel to clean up. The toilet – no jokes blocked – and as we all know now, but not then, it would take months before we were able to phone a plumber!
Anyhow, so our last night of freedom, in fact, that night the whole country shut down at midnight. The very next night. Ok, let me paint a picture for you. Our front door is glass, directly opposite our front door is an entrance table, on this table sits a beautiful glass goldfish bowl with three goldies in it. Above the glass bowl is a variety of wooden blocked photos of us and our precious little grandson Tide.(Thank you Jacks ) Yip, you have guessed what occurred. It was about 8.30pmish, Gary decided it was time for bed. So off he went to bed while I (for a change) was watching, yip, no prizes for guessing, TV! The next thing there is one almighty smash of glass – all types of mayhem broke loose. I screamed for Gary who came running through totally starkers’ wielding a hockey stick. I had screamed for his help as one of the blady wooden block photos somehow had fallen, hit the bowl, which of course shattered. Three little goldfish’s worlds turned upside down as a tsunami exploded. As I waded through the litres of water whooshing all over the floor, looking for my poor fish amongst the broken glass and pebbles, Gary looked totally confused as he noticed the front door was still intact. He had assumed (to this day I have noooo idea why, as we live in such a safe country!!!) anyhow he had thought we were being attacked by thieving gentlemen (or women?) Those three little fish are still alive to tell the tale. They are way way bigger now, and still on that same table, the blocked photos are still erected on the wall and the fish now reside in a sturdy tank.
And that is my lockdown tale. I do believe once I have posted this I will remember heaps more of lockdown occurrences I currently cannot recall. And as I finished typing this, I do remember the day the house flooded. Yikes, I cannot remember if this was in the early Lockdown days? Anyhow, it definitely was not that night Meeks made her mark in more than one way throughout the house. But it was during lockdown. We had a flash flood during the night. I woke to Gary saying the house is flooded. There truly was nothing to do but slosh our way back to bed and deal with it in the morning. Which is what we did. I cannot tell you how badly the house had flooded. It was truly at least 2cm deep. Gary and I were sweeping the water nonstop when Gary decided the best idea would be for us to leave the floors to dry out. Really. Was he serious? At this time I must tell you it was an overcast mizzy day we had woken too. How the heck did he figure it would dry out without us sweeping it out. I figure he knew what I would do, so he said he was going shucks I cannot even recall where he was going because in actual fact there was nowhere to go, but there again there must have been somewhere to go, because go he did. So, me being me, I continued sweeping up water. I was in the spare room which is also the room where the second TV resides. I needed to move the TV cabinet to sweep behind it, so there I was unplugging plugs and pushing and heaving this blady heavy cabinet when whamo I slipped and literally fell into the TV. The TV fell off the cabinet, I speedily retrieved the TV placing it back on the cabinet, and did a quick check to see how it was. Now let me tell you my heart was pounding ten to the dozen, firstly, I flippen slipped and donnered myself and secondly, I had had a real “close shave” of the TV breaking, which thank goodness it had not. So, when Gary returned, I did not think there was much point in telling him my blow-by-blow falling experience. I, therefore, told him the shortened version. A decision I very much regretted after the fact. Gary bellowed my name later that night. I went to check what could possibly have gotten him to raise his voice in such a tone. Entering the TV room I knew – Ah, Ah! oh here comes trouble. He had put the TV on ….and the blady screen was shattered. The LSD thingy within the actual TV had shattered. Can you believe he truly did not speak to me for three – yes three frikken days as he said I had …. wait for this ….. get ready for this …hold on to your seats …. he said I had purposely, YIP you read correctly. I had purposely in temper because he had gone to the shop (or wherever the heck he did go?) I had smashed the TV. Do you know to this day he still believes this.? Sigh Sigh! I mean take a minute to think this thought through. Me – Dizabeth who never stops talking about TV – purposely smashed the TV. Yeah right!? Sigh Sigh! ? Sigh Sigh!
And that, dear friends, I reckon is our continuing lockdown tale. Let’s hold thumbs that Level 4 breaks this, the third wave. Stay safe out there.
Thank you for all your kind words. I truly am so, so lucky to have each and every one of you in my life.
Stay safe, much love for now.