4 brown bears

Yesterday was a red letter day for our precious dog, Lindt. She celebrated her 1st birthday (well, it was a few days early - her birthday's actually on the 28th) with her sisters, Ruby and Sadie and her brother, Monty.

This has been a keenly anticipated birthday party - the first invitation came about 2 weeks ago. Then once the date was set, I posted the party as an event on facebook. And the messages flew back and forth. Sarah sent a message to say we were "cooked." But most of our friends "liked" the post.

Sandy had made scarfs for them to wear for their photo shoot and we all practised wearing them - well, the dogs did. Lindt loved hers so much, we had to wash and iron it. And then on the day of the party it was nowhere to be found. On the previous night Lindt had barked madly, and in the morning we found our camp chairs had vanished off the verandah - and we think the scarf, which was on the table next to them went with them. So i spent the hour before the part embroidering another one - lucky girls my age all learnt how to do stem stitch!

We arrived at Bellevue kennels for the party - and there they all were. How beautiful they have all grown! Monty is a big, gentle giant - excepting when he is "practising' on the girls. Sadie is wiry and a wonderful milo colour and an affectionate little love. Ruby shines like a ruby, with her lovely dark coat like Lindt's. And Lindt is a lollopy, dark beauty with a silly tongue that hangs out first one side, and then the other.

After a rough and tumble it was photo time. pete put the camera on "sports mode" so we could try and catch the moments when they were actually still. The photo of them all with the breeder, Caryn Crookes, is too beautiful.

Party time followed with mini cakes with carrots as candles for each pup and lots of biscuits. And presents - including one from their mother, Sherry, with a picture of them all as puppies with her.

And then more rough and tumble, chase and run, fetch and paddle in the water bucket. At the end of 2 hours, I don't know who was more tired - the dogs or the owners.

Yes, we are all "cooked" as Sarah said - but we love our beautiful brown bears. Thank you Antoinette, Sandy and Allison for organising this special day.

Polar Bear Day

Tuesday was Mid Winters Day, and today I went to St Nics to participate in Polar Bear Day.

It all started at St Nics about 10 years ago with a dip in the pool for the hardy and foolish, followed by a drink of hot chocolate. The about 6 years or so ago, we decided to take it a step further. Kev had had a "breakfast" at Irene Primary school - they all brought an egg, a sausage (cooked) and a breadroll and cooked their breakfast at school. But at St Nics, something so simple could never be countenanced. So teachers talked about cooking with their classes. And then Geraldine said "Why don't we wear our pyjamas as well?" and Polar Bear day was born.

The first year many of the the High Scool kids mocched around in uniforms, refusing to get involved, as did some of the staff. But by the next year, it had gone moggy. Teddy bears and blankets accompanied the pjs, slippers and gowns. Breakfasts became more and more elaborate, with pancakes and masses of egg and bacon. The first year we had Matrics, they decided to have their breakfast on the roof - and it has become a Matric privilege ever since. Nicky and I did a breakfast for the "non-aligbed" staff one year - those without classes - and that became a tradition till the Finance Office turned it into a competition! One year, I went to fetch Kev at Oribi airport when he flew down for the holidays, and he had brought the smoked salmon in his bag with him - from Sarah's supplier.

The year of the Public Servants strike we had to cancel, but the staff all got together and had croissants for breakfast. The year of the Energy project I cajoled everyone (except the Finance Office) into cooking on renewable heat surces - biofuel stoves, fondue pot, wood fires, buddy burners, proper charcoal (not briquettes) and hot boxes. One group even put their egg and bacon in orange shells in the fire - they were revolting!

Last year the long holidays for the World Cup meant we didn't have Polar Bear day, and I wondered if it would die a natural death without me there to encourage it. But I got an invitation to come along this year and joined Wendy and Vonnie to eat breakfast with the Gr 3s. The Office had a wonderful spread but closed both doors and had it inside - why am I surprised?

Geraldine really started something with her casual remark. Long may the tradition live.

Tapping to a new life

A week or so ago, I wrote about my Zumba class. today, I went to a long tap class, and started reflecting on how doing tap dancing has made a difference in my life. I think I'm going to turn this into a story for the Witness Short Story competition but this is just a first draft.

As a child, my parents didn't have a lot of money, but they gave Jen and me every advantage they could. We never missed out on the things that they considered part of education. Fortunately, there weren't as many activities around in "our days" or my poor parents might have bankrupted themselves with extra tennis lessons, karate, computer classes and the myriad things children seem to do after school nowadays. We had piano lessons and eleocution lessons and when a local ballet class was started, they signed us up. I remember the pride with which i donned my little royal blue tunic with PR (Pamela Read - the teacher's initials) embroidered in little flowers on it. I loved the lessons - pointing my toes with the best and doing a pas-de-chat with my big black cat in my arms for authenticity once I got home.

Then we moved - and a lot of things changed. The piano teachers I had had were superb and I loved the lessons and really made excellent progress. But the move meant leaving my big city teachers and their studios and learning on a Hall piano at school. And the cosy ballet lessons in a studio and the chance to dance unrestrainedly just for fun were replaced by a splintery hall floor and exams and concerts. I was soon discarded as not being good enough for exams and this was quite true. I had grown tall and gangly and have always had 2 left feet. I did the concerts - but was always placed in a group younger - and shorter- than I was, while my peers got to wear tutus and float across the stage. I got to wear stiff drum majorette clothes, and I will never hear Marche Militaire with pleasure again.

Something inside me died during those concerts - and as soon as my parents would let me, I gave up ballet. I still read ballet annuals and went to every NAPAC show my parents could afford. But I didn’t dance again.

As my children grew up, I sent them to ballet lessons and national dancing lessons, and was always glad they were able to dance with a gentle and encouraging teacher. They grew up and stopped dancing, and dance faded out of my life.

The 3 years ago I was approached to include my choir in a dance show. As I sat in the darkened auditorium that night, the dance-spark that had died started to smoulder again. There were women – most of them quite young, but some of them approaching middle age – participating in a show along with the children and teenage girls (and boys) who were doing ballet, tap and modern dancing. How I longed to join in – but who would let a more than middle-aged, overweight woman join?

Domaine did! She said “Come along – you will be fine.” Luckily, there were a couple of us more “mature” dancers, and we didn’t have to join the flying feet of the younger women. With infinite patience (in her own way) she taught us to flap-ball-change, to crab roll, to move our hands AND our feet at the same time. And then she put us in her show. We wore wigs, false eyelashes and feather boas. We danced with all the other adults as nuns in the Sound of Music. The next year we added the dramatic flow to the show – and got to wear the really glitzy Abba outfits, much to the disgust of the sexy young mums.
What a gift this has been to me. I have gained my confidence about dancing back. I have had a chance to dance on a big stage – and I love it. My tap lessons are the happiest ½ hour of my week. I’ve learnt that the participation is everything – not whether you’re a great dancer, but whether you have the stickability to practise till you get the steps right, the gumption to go out there and act, the sense of humour to laugh at your mistakes, the sheer joy of using your feet to interpret the music, the camaraderie of dancing with friends. I find myself in dancing. Thank you Domaine for believing in me.

The King of Instruments

I'm rereading a book I read about 5 years ago - the Piano Shop on the Left bank by Thad Carhart. It is a charming book, with a story line about an American living in Paris and the piano he buys from a Piano Shop on the Left bank. But along the way, there are wonderful stories about the origins of pianos, different manufacturers, music written for pianos and famous composers. It is a wonderful book - something that enthralls me.

It's come at just the wrong time - I have just sold one of my pianos (the Challen - the pretty one - which has a cracked pin block, so would cost about R20 000 to repair) and the Kawai, which belonged to my parents, has been sent away to be reconditioned and refelted. So when the urge to rush off and play comes upon me, I can only dream.

Which is probably just as well. When my piano comes back, I don't know if I will have time to play as much as I need to in order to make any progress at all. Right now, I definitely don't have time to practise for the hour a day I need to start off with.

They say playing a piano is like riding a bike - your fingers don't forget. They might get stiff and lose flexibility, they might get muddled, but the touch is still there and can come back to life. I was so lazy as a child and never practised as i should have, but I had a good "touch" and I hope to get that back again.

When I started reading the Piano Shop, I thought of a piece I really want to play - it is Chopin's "Raindrop" prelude - a beautiful, lyrical piece where you can hear the repetitive raindrops all the way through the left hand. I decided to see if I could download it from music notes - and it is in D flat - 5 flats!! So I may have to content myself with polishing up Beethoven's Sonatina in F - the only "snmart" piece of music I ever learnt properly.

My piano comes back next month - will it bring me the joy I am hoping for? I hope so.

Family Ties

I just got a comment on the blog from my cousin, Geoff, telling me about his blog and saying how good it was to find another blogger in the family.

I don't think I've seen Geoff for 20 years - I see his sister, Charm, on Facebook all the time, and get e-mails from his oldest sister, Fiddy. I even met up with his brother Myles a while ago and heard all about his escape from the tsunami in Thailand. But I've not made contact with Geoff since his Mom's funeral.

So to find another blogger "in the family" as he said, is a special treasure. Blogging is becoming a way of life for me - a chance to write and rediscover the "me" that sometimes gets buried under the busy-ness of everyday life. The blogs I write for work are valuable, but the personal blog is about expressing myself and my take on this funny old world.

But even better, is finding the heart of the friends whose blogs I follow. Somehow, blogging is like a diary but better - in a diary you just say anything - and don't have to think. But in a blog, I need to think a little in case what I say is not really for public consumption. So it becomes a way of refining and deepening my thoughts, and somehow, making them more complex. Reading a blog gives me a glimpse of the person writing in a unique and special way.

So now I have a chance to re-connect and to connect in a different way with Geoff. It makes me feel excited and like I'm setting out on an adventure. family ties are special and I welcome the chance to deepen them.

Thanks for signing in, Geoff. be sure I will be following you too.

Sibling Rivalry

I sit in the lounge with Lindt at my feet, one cat on my lap and one on the cushion next to me, and I realise how lucky I am to have these pets who are so loving and so loved.

Lindt will be one next week – it’s hard to believe that she has grown so quickly. She is the sweetest natured dog, if somewhat boisterous, and she has fitted into our household as though she has always been here. She loves her walks (and so do we – without her I doubt if we’d have got as fit), she loves her big red rubber bone, she loves my socks and steals them from inside my running shoes. She loves biltong and nuts, and is first in line when I am cutting chicken. She loves Pete most, Raymond (our gardener) next, and Sihle and me somewhere after that. And she really loves the cats, Jingle and Bell. But they don’t love her.

Belly is a funny little cat – soft and cuddly to look at, and ready to cuddle any time that it is cold and you have the heater or the blankie – but mostly very independent. She sleeps on me and moans plaintively when I turn over. If I open a newspaper on the bed, that is the invitation to climb on and turn around till she is sitting on the part I am reading. She treats Lindt with the disdain she thinks all dogs deserve – a hiss and spit, and a claw if she gets too close. Not that it deters Lindt – she will chase and worry and try to engage with Bell any time Bell is down on the floor.

But Jingle is a cat of a different colour. He is a beautiful, big ginger cat. He looks fierce and like a bully – and sometimes he is. But mostly he is a big pussy-cat – a real, needy baby who wants to be snuggled and loved. He’s frightened of the hairdryer, he jumps at any loud noise, he meows at me when I sneeze – but mostly he is there to love and purr and pat and paw me when my hands are under the blankets. And if I pay no attention, he claws me. He’s also an excellent alarm clock – Pete often wakes to a ginger face staring at him until he gets up and feeds him.
Jingle HATED Lindt when she arrived – he had tolerated Nimbus, our previous dog, but Lindt came in all cute and little and got all the attention, and Jing was incensed. Even though he hated her, he would never leave us alone with her, just in case we were paying her too much attention. He will stand his ground when she bounces like Tigger at him, and hisses, yowls and lashes out.

But lately, there’s been a change. Maybe Lindt is less Tigger-like, maybe Jing has got tired of fighting, but he is tolerating Lindt more and more. Lindt often licks him, and he emerges with spiky ginger hair around his ears. He sits and tolerates her affection, until he’s tired of it, and then he storms off. Sometimes he is still aggressive – Lindt has a scab on her eyelid where Jing connected with a claw – but they are closer to being friends than enemies.

Now they both want to see that the other doesn’t get more than their fair share of attention, but they are on the way to being friends. I hope the friendship grows.

Eclipse!

As we drove to church at about 5.30 yesterday afternoon, a huge white moon was rising above the horizon. It shone in our faces all the way to church, in the dimming daylight. I said "It's having an extra bright shine now, because it's going to be covered tonight for a while." Little did I know.

We spent the evening from about 7.30 running in and out of the house having a look - the moon seemed dimmer, but not much was happenning. Pete set up his camera on his tripod and focused on the moon. At about 20 past 8, he said "It's starting" and we went out to watch the moon slowly disappear. As the surface was covered, the amazing copper colour started to show, and at one time, I said I thought it looked like a traditional round Christmas Pudding with a big spoonful of cream on top - all it lacked was the sprig of holly!

It was hard to pinpoint the exact moment when the brightness disappeared, but that's when the surprise happened for me. I have never really experienced a lunar eclipse like this before. A solar eclipse is exciting, but quite short lived - the moon is quite small and passed over the sun's face quite quickly, but the earth's shadow is much bigger, and so the period of darkness is so much longer. The stars got brighter and brighter, and it got colder and colder. First 1 jacket and a fleece, then another jacket and 2 blankets, and finally, I had to go and put on tracksuit pants and socks.

I couldn't help thinking how frightening this must have been to primitive people who would not have had any forewarning. Starting out on a bright night, with the moon illuminating the landscape and the stars shining dimly around it, and then the creeping darkness, and finally the red moon, which slowly dimmed until it was dark. They must have thought, "What have we done to anger God?" And then to see the moon slowly brightening, and finally, seeing the while tip to the copper orb, and finally, the bright white moon bursting free. Awesome!

The other thing that took me by surprise was how quickly the moon changed position in the sky. At 7.30 it was quite low on the horizon where we live, down in the dip. By 10.30 it was so high that Pete had to lie on the ground under his tripod to try and focus the camera, which was pointing stright up at the sky. At times it seemed as if I could see the moon moving up and forward.

Pete and I will probably never see another eclipse like that in our lifetime. I don't remember ever seeing anything as spectacular before. Sitting out in the cold, crisp air with a cup of cocoa and watching the wonderful "show" as Brenda called it, was an experience and a privilege. I know I wasn't alone in thinking of GK Chesterton's poem, The Donkey - "..some moment when the moon was blood..." You are amazing, God.

I am a tree hugger and proud of it!

Today I spent some time at WESSA with the students I will be tutoring at the Wild Coast as they do their School Experience in August. We had a talk on ECO schools and then they workshopped some of the ideas they want to put into practise in their schools.

I felt homesick and wanted to get going and organise all their projects. I really miss working with Environmental projects. I ran the ECO schools programme for 8 years and it was one of the most fulfilling parts of my job at St Nics. It's one of those unpopular areas in most schools and with most kids - and teachers. I think because it's not glamorous and often involves getting your hands dirty. It means looking at uncomfortable areas - like waste and self-indulgence. I regularly got into trouble for criticising the purchase of pretty little non-indigenous trees for the garden, when we are an ECo school, for suggesting moving to energy saving light bulbs, for pushing for the installation of a solar heater when we needed to replace a geyser. I was unpopular when I asked the gardener to help with something that would make a difference to the biodiversity of the school. Poor Mal got into terrible trouble when we decided to dig a compost heap and install recycling bins. tree huggers are NOT popular with people who like things to be 'pretty"!

But when I got a card from a Grade 8 at the end of the year, who told me he had learnt to love the environment because I'd been so enthusiastic, I knew why I carried on the fight - despite no money, no support and no resources. When I took a group of Gr 8s on an outing, and they arranged to go and cut down the bugweed in a teacher's garden for her, I knew why I did it.

When I was awarded a certificate by ECO Schools for service to the organisation, I knew that I had made a difference, and that my work wasn't un-noticed - even though it often seemed to be in my own school.

And I learnt so much - how to save energy, what Eco Systems services are, how to organise a hack-attack, what was important about healthy eating and the importance of cutting down on meat for the sake of the world.

I'm so glad to be able to work on starting Eco Schools at these rural schools - what a privilege.

I'm glad to be a tree hugger.

Feelings are "messy"

Tonight we had a service at St Matthews that my friend Tracy Bell would definitely call "messy church." We had a liturgy but everything in it was fluid - we could change it, add to it, let things go, leave things out, just wait in silence, cry, share, even make things. And we did all of those things.

Tonight's service was a Healing and Ministry service as we welcome John Roberts as a community priest at St Matthew's, anticipating his re-licensing by the Bishop

It's been 10 years since John resigned as our Priest as a result of his relationship with Cindy (to whom he is now married.) It was a time of shock, pain and confusion. Pete was Church Warden and he and Marion had to see through this difficult time, deal with people's anger, pain and outrage, at the same time as dealing with their own deep sadness. Pete had to make decisions that sometimes went against his own inclinations. He had to say hard things and do things that hurt him as much as the people they were done to. I tried to support him, and struggled with my own feelings, as I felt I had lost two of the people I admired most, in both John and Cindy. The church was hurting and limped along, trying to make sense of what had happened. Those who were there were bumped suddenly out of our complacency and into a place of looking at ourselves as church. Some people left, others withdrew from the body in subtle ways, and some of us, the soldier ants, soldiered on, picking up the extra work as a way of dealing with our own vulnerability.

For me, it was like when someone your age dies, and you are faced with the fact of your own mortality. If a "man of God" could fall in love with someone else and leave his wife, what hope was there for mere mortals like us? Was our marriage safe? Would we survive? So self-righteous feelings took over.

And then time passed. John and Cindy disappeared off the radar and we just saw them in the distance at occasional events. Dave (Cindy's ex-husband) was around and we became better friends than we had been in the past. In a way, I "chose" my friendship with Dave and Di over reaching out to John and Cindy. I missed them both, but time passed and the feelings of sadness faded. new things happened, and we moved on. When Dave and Di got married and moved to Nottingham Road, and John and Cindy came back to St Matthews, it was easiest to just pretend nothing had happened and coast along.

Until now.

This week we have been planning the "messy" service and I have had to look at feelings that have been buried, unacknowledged, for nearly 10 years.

Firstly, that being self-righteous will always come back and bite you.

Secondly, that part of my inability to give myself fully to the God and the church right now has its roots in the events of 10 years ago. That my reluctance to tap into the creative side of worship comes from a deep longing for what we had before and that trying something new might be "disloyal" to John and later, Tracy. That the soldier ant who just keeps on going eventually falls down dead in his (her) armour, and that it's hard to rise up from there.

Thirdly, that there's a part of me that still resents the chain of events that followed - Tracy coming to be our priest and bringing a breath of fresh air, and then being moved on before we were ready to let her go, although some people were pushing for it. There are some people I find hard to forgive for their part in it, and the fact that one of them is now senile and probably doesn't remember, doesn't make it easier. Love Peter G as I do, it doesn't mean that I was happy when Tracy was moved.

And the list could go on. But tonight was a place where we had space to say some of the things we felt, to listen to others' take on what happened and how they felt. And I felt that we had oened a window and a fresh wind was blowing through. Several times I felt shivery and cold, even though I had a warm jacket on. I believe that, with the help of the Holy Spirit, we started on a new journey. It is just a journey - not a destination, and there is a long way to go. But it's as though a block has been lifted and something new will begin to happen.

Feelings are messy, and tonight was a messy service. But mess also brings freedom from constraints. A new week and a new work.

When there's no "Aha!" moment

Most days something happens that I can say "Aha! This is the topic for my blog today!" But today and yesterday so much happened, and nothing leapt out at me. I was tempted to say - "Well, I'm not writing until something pops up!" but part of writing this blog is the discipline of just writing.

So when I was looking at my e-mails, I found a book review based on the spiritual exercises of St Ignatius Loyola - a monk who lived about 500 years ago. The exercises are not for cissies! The book review says that you need to devote 50-75 minutes a day, 7 days a week for about 9 months to them. But at the end you will have encountered and developed a depper relationship with Jesus. The review says
"If you hunger for something deeper, yearn to walk with Jesus (not just read about him), and desire to embrace more of what God is doing in and through you, then this is the book for you."

Sunday is Pentecost Sunday and in the evening we are holding a "Healing Space" as we welcome John Roberts back into Ministry at St Matthews. These are both events when we look at renewal and the ability for new things to grow out of something that is old - the old covenant, the old hurts at St Matthews. And I feel there is so much of "old" in my spiritual life that needs to be renewed. My life is really good right now - and I'm finding it easy to forget the spiritual disciplines that sustain me when times are hard.

So maybe this book is my "Aha!" moment - not even that I need to buy the book, but that I need to "embrace more of what God is doing in and through me." I think I'll pre-order the book and enjoy what Jesus has in store for me.

Shimmy and Sculpt

When I was a child, I took ballet lessons. I pointed my toes with the best of them. I knew how to do a port de bras or a pas de chat. I had all the Princess ballet annuals. I went to watch the NAPAC ballet company in every show they put on. I read all the Lorna Hills books - a Dream of Sadlers Wells and all the sequels and prequels. But when it came to the shows, I was always in the really sucky dances - the drum majorettes and the Hiawatha dances, usually with kids 2 years younger than me - and that was because I really sucked at ballet.

I went to a Zumba class today at Curves. I think I smiled for 30 mins straight - I used all the muscles in my body AND the muscles in my face.

The pity is that I still really suck at dancing - if I'd seen the sign that said "Shimmy and Sculpt" (on some of the Curves banners) I might not have been brave enough to try. I tried belly dancing once - and shimmy is totally beyond me. I should be good at it - once the shaking starts there is a lot of belly to keep moving - but I really am not. I lack the co-ordination to make my arms, shoulders, belly and hips as well as my feet, work together all at the same time. I gave up belly dancing when I got tangled in the veil and just about strangled myself when I was supposed to be twirling gracefully round.

Fortunately, the sign at my Curves said "Hold on to your Sports Bra," so I gave the Zumba class a try. The thought that I needed a sports bra was enough to encourage me - after a sedentary life where every time the urge to exercise overcame me, I would lie down until the urge went away, it was quite exciting to think I might need some sporty clothing.

And I LOVED the class. The music is catchy, Ruth, the instructress, is very encouraging, the moves are all such fun and I worked harder than I ever do on the circuit alone. As I say, the pity is that I suck at it. The rhythm is there, the understanding of the moves is there, but my body just won't do what it is supposed to. In my head, I am a quick learner, but my body is definitely a slow learner.

But I'm not giving up! I would like to go again tomorrow and try and learn some of the moves. Maybe I need to find the video and practise some of the moves on my own. It took me forever to learn to tap dance, and now I'm not too bad - at least I know what to do when she says "flap-ball-change" or "crab roll." I really still suck, but my teacher just laughs when I screw up and gives me steps that I can do - and tells me I am great, even though I'm not.

I don't think there really is a dancer in me, but I'm going to keep going. Maybe once I have Zumba under my belt, I might even give belly dancing another try. And I might even learn to shimmy and sculpt.

The journey is our joy, destination is our hope

We spent the evening at the Hexagon Dive enjoying an evening with friends and listening to the Ryan Calder Band - lovely chilled evening. Tammy is a former colleague and good friend, and I really enjoy the sounds and words of the band.

The lyrics of the song "Loving every day with you" could be Pete's and my anthem - I know Ryan wrote it about his life with Tammy, but there is so much in it that is true for all happily married couples.

The journey is our joy - we're on a new journey together, finding new ways to live together in this new stage of our lives. It's not easy all the time, but spending quality time together is making the journey something to look forward to each day.

I think of the Marriage Encounter banner - "Love is a journey, not a destination" - that we saw so often in our years in ME. I think it's so easy to try and see the destinations as the goals - when we get married, when we have kids, when we buy a house, when the kids leave home, when we have a lot of money, when we have grandkids ---- THEN life will be great! Having goals is great, it's so easy to miss the wayside stops, and the trees and views, and the pit stops, the potholes and the cups of tea along the road, if we are only looking towards the destination.

Having "journeyed" a bit in the last few weeks, we've experienced some of the ways life along the journey is so enriching. Driving slowly on dirt roads as opposed to flying down the highway was a special time for us. But the highway was more of an adventure on Thursday, coming home, than flying up the previous week. We could chat, listen to music, talk to Lindt (she came with us) and make the transition from being Kev’s guardians to just being us more easily.

It makes me think of going on the TGV from Nice to Paris – we thought it would be a good way to see the country rather than flying. Well, at 250mph, we just saw a blur! Rushing to the destination, we lost out on the journey.

So thank you, RCB, for giving us a chance to reflect on our journey, as well as entertaining us with such harmonious music. I’ve voted for them on www.weloveyoursongs.com. Why don’t you?

Home again, home again, jiggety jog!

Home again, and the mantle of being responsible, grown up, having a real job slips back onto my shoulders. I felt like I needed to make supper, needed to return all my calls, answer all my e-mails, unpack my case and put my clothes in the wash.

Being in Sarah, Riaan and Kev's home is easy. I feel at home there. I can wander around in my slipper and jammies all day, I can cook or not, I can lie on the couch and sleep. I never feel as though I am a visitor.

But it's not the same as being at home, feeling responsible. I understand why some retired friends of mine enjoy house-sitting. It is like time-out-of-time. It's like being on holiday, but more relaxed. I worked, but it dodn't feel like work as much as it does at home. I read and slept and it felt more like reading and sleeping than it does at home.

I love my home, but I also enjoy having time when we are free-er from the responsibilities of our home town and the lifestyle we have here. All sleeping in the same room - Pete and me in the double bed, Kev on his camp matress and Lindt in her dog bed, gave the illusion of a holiday. Can't wait to go back.