take the cake

 I read something recently, a meme or motivational quote thingie, which said it takes bravery to be silly and play in times of great upheaval or distress*.

It was so good to read. Too often we let ourselves feel frivolous for taking time out to be silly, and too often we neglect to play.

Among my many blessings is being surrounded by people who don't let me forget this, and last week we had a good game.

It was a darling friend's birthday - 6 years since I wrote that last post about her and still every word 100% true - and she wanted to go for a cycle.

A cycle in pristine and tranquil Cape Point, past fields of bright yellow leucodendrons glowing against moody winter skies, the tinkle of a hundred winter streams all filled with singing froggies, ostrich beady-eying us as we raced past, herds of eland and bontebok, a porcupine in full quill bustling off into the undergrowth - nature brought her A game.

The human company was spectacular too. Our friend Sally is an accomplished cyclist and entertained us all by standing up on her crossbar while whizzing along, another friend joined late and steamed up behind us on his bike shouting 'Comin' in HOT', the kids were great - all old enough to be on their own bikes, full of chat and hilarity.

It was a Thursday and (besides the kids who were still on holiday) we all should probably have been doing more adult things. Some had officially taken leave, but most of us work for ourselves and had signed our own permission slip. It wasn't raining, it was a birthday, it was a chance to get outdoors, a chance to play - why the hell not?

My joy, as I flew along relishing all the endorphins, was compounded by the slight tenderness in my left arm - I'd gotten my first Pfizer jab the day before and it was such a shot of optimism and hope for the future. For a moment all things felt possible again.

Our ride ended with a picnic at the sea. Homemade guacamole and hummus, nacho chips and a (highly illegal - cackle - bottle of wine). And of course - because tradition - a homemade masterpiece of a cake for the birthday girl. Baked before and assembled on site.

How gorgeous?

A bet it tasted amazing.

Sadly we'll never know...

But he seemed to enjoy it a lot.

Raiding baboons are notorious at Cape Point. They have no fear of humans, no shame at chasing you off your picnic, no qualms about taking the cake.

I tried to stand fast for a bit - but as he hurtled towards me, hairy shoulders rolling, teeth bared, snarling and barking, I released that beautiful cake in a slow-mo arc across the grass, even in that moment having a small internal acknowledgement (enjoyment?) that when would I ever again just toss a complete, beautifully iced cake to the ground?

God we laughed and laughed and laughed. We love cake, but even more than that we love a good story. And most of all we love to be playful, to find the funny side, to have adventures together, to seize the day, to take the cake.

Last Thursday we were reminded of all of that - and in the light of the last month, my last post, it was a very well timed nudge.

*Also privilege right? I am aware of this, always.

in the bleak midwinter

It's day 4 of a 7 day storm, and we're back in lockdown.

The girls just finished school 10 days earlier than planned, booze sales are prohibited again, no gatherings (like, none), no restaurants, no galleries, no museums, 9pm curfew. They kept the beaches open this time, but in this weather this is only really good news for those restaurant owners who can go for a surf to distract themselves from the crippling debt and human cost of having to close their doors. Again.

Ostensibly this lockdown is for 14 days but I mean, we've all heard that one before.

So we're back at home. Except this time I'm also working. Or am I?

I spent yesterday compiling a document which might mean a pause to my current contract, and although it would be pretty shit to lose the distraction, satisfaction and paycheck that comes with actual work - it's also madness to try and put together an in-person event in this ridiculously unpredictable time.

I realised recently that I've possibly reached peak apathy. I just don't really care that much anymore.

I can't think about the future without waves of absolute gloom breaking over me so I just don't. And by future I mean everything from will I ever travel internationally to what options will my children have in this new world to how, with 67% youth unemployment, our country is surely heading down the tubes. See why it's better to just not think of it?

I have never been this apathetic in my life. I'm not even despondent because that would require too much feeling. I just ... have the biggest case of the whatevers ever.

Also an excellent time to have a midlife crisis. I turned 46 in May and it was hard. The actual birthday was lovely - I have the best friends and family - but in the weeks that followed I hit a real wall. But even that is ruined by the fukken pandemic.

As I texted a friend recently: what we've all got is the constant second guessing of all our feelings - do I hate my life or just the pandemic, do I want a divorce or just a vaccine, is this Covid or a normal midlife crisis?

It's all extremely boring actually.

BUT, there are rays of light and my god we need them...

Our big girl turned 14 last month and scored (as she always does) a beaut of a still, warm, winters day to have lunch out with her besties and cupcakes on our deck. After her tiny 13th celebration last year this was a big win, especially in light of our current restrictions.

The sun comes up every day (not much evidence of this the last few days tbh but ja, still she rises) and reminds us that we live in a beautiful place.

We have the most ridiculously lovely and infuriating collection of pets to comfort and entertain us.

In our home there is art, and beauty, and kindness, and love, and delicious food - and this, in the end, is the thing which must be enough for now. 

Just un-wedgie your big girl panties and get on with it girl.

a month of cheese platters

If you follow (or stalk) me on Instagram you'll have picked up that we've been away A LOT in the last few weeks. Sickening really. Sorry.

This is almost entirely thanks to lovely friends who cleverly booked weekends away with a foresight for fun which we've struggled with the last few months, and also in part to bookings made in 2019, in The Before, which have only now been fulfilled. 

What follows is a small review of some weekends in paradise, and the well-timed cheese platters which accompanied us.

A long weekend camp at Altyd Water (always water - a big claim for an end-of-summer campsite in the Cape - turns out they weren't wrong) kicked off the festivities and reignited a will to live. Amazing river water (no crocodiles!*), perfect kiddie dynamics, croquet on the lawn, a live snake capture, tequila cocktails and the cheese platter which saved us.

Packing up the tent on the last day we were already planning the next one...

But first, this. Not technically a cheese platter but just a hint of the luxury sampled on a freebie weekend at the Steenberg Hotel & Spa with my bestie. This was an amazingly generous gift from a friend in cold Berlin who was unable to make use of the booking she'd made pre-pandemic.

We slept, and ate, and lolled at the best poolside I've ever hang out at - feeling our shoulders actually relax, our souls unfurl and the utter peace which only comes with not having to do one single thing you don't want to do. Not one.

And then the big one. 5 days deep in the Groot Karoo on a friends farm.

And this cheese platter - the most humble of them all, but the most special. A hunk of Camembert hacked to pieces with a pocket knife, a sleeve of very standard crackers. Gin cocktails with pink peppercorns foraged from the tree we would sleep around that night - out under the stars in a sheep paddock on the farm. Mattresses on the ground, a big bonfire, the best lamb chops of my life, endless stars, a creaking windpump, snuffling children bundled up in the night with just their noses peeking out, a faithful doggie who kept watch and the gentlest dawn. Magic.

Later the following day, after an icy pool dip to rinse the dust from my sinuses, and a work call taken in the old farm office - still in a damp cozzie, kids yelling to each other outside, a faded sheep deworming schedule up on the wall - the beginning of a conversation which has culminated in an actual work contract for an actual in-person event (just when I thought it would never happen) - this was the snack board I made to celebrate - served on the verandah with ice cold wine and some self-congratulation.

I don't have a photo of the food, or anything much, from the quick trip to Onrus we squeezed in after the only weekend in 6 that we spent at home. A quick 24h of diving, swimming, crayfish cooked and eaten on the beach, a Japanese Wagyu fillet which was indescribably magnificent and an emergency vet run for one of our stinkers. (Honestly, the only weekend away they joined us and someone ate something weird and had to go to the vet. For shame.)

But not all platters are created to be shared - and the above was for a small girl on a warm afternoon. Summer fruit, cheese, yoghurt and honey for dipping.

And to round it all off - another camp. Another river (still no crocs!*), another cheese platter, more cold but incredible swims, more kids having the best time while the adults followed suit, more friends, more laughter and more reminders that: we can hang out safely and largely outdoors, we can move beyond these homes we spend so much time in, we are, as always, incredibly lucky, we will always, always, have a cheese platter.

Thank you March/April - we needed this so bad. And now, actual work. My god I wonder if I can remember how to do this?

*at the beginning of the year the news broke of a crocodile farm (a tourist attraction back when there were tourists) which lost its fence in a flood and subsequently, over 100 crocodiles into the waterways of the Western Cape... Not being sure how many crocs escaped in the first place, it's impossible to tell whether they've all been recovered. Adds a certain frisson to weekends away on rivers at the moment.

flu, but not THAT flu

Honestly, what kind of loser gets a different flu during a flu pandemic?

Me.

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The beaches finally opened, earlier than expected on the 2nd of Feb. And as if the gods had decided to  finally cut us some slack it was the most magnificent summers day. We swam twice!

And twice more that week - long luxurious swims in which the ocean embraced us like a long-lost lover and we couldn't bring ourselves to leave (you say goodbye first, no you say goodbye first) until we finally returned to land with shriveled toes and water-logged ears.

That Saturday we spent at one of our favourite places on earth - swimming and picnicking with my parents (all outdoors) and friends. It was a magical summery day and one of those rare moments in which everything felt peaceful and okay, just for a minute.

And then the next morning - sick.

Fever, chills, body ache, headaches. Restless sweaty nights and fevered dreams, concerns about having infected my parents and the girls not being able to start long-awaited school. The dreaded nasal swab, the wait, a negative Covid test. Wtf?

Help from friends to get the last minute school prep done, infinite patience and care from my lovely husband, long horrible disjointed nights and tedious days moving from bed to couch to bed.

A full week of fevers, another full week of recovery, a gradual return to functionality... I still need an afternoon lie-down, I still can't fathom exercising, or drinking wine, I still get dizzy standing up too fast. Vit B jabs in the butt ('You don't have any extra vaccines lying around do you?' ha ha joke to the clinic sister who's probably heard it many times already). 

That one magical week of summer has gained almost fantasy status in my memory. The weather is icky now and the sea rough and cold. But the summer is not over, good weather and more swims lie ahead.

I just... really can't believe that wasn't Covid? Antibody testing in a couple of weeks I think...

a swim in the sea

Of all the incredible things happening in our lives at the moment - curfew, alcohol ban, academic year delays, mandatory masks (all currently extended until mid February) - the most incredulous must be that a swim, in the sea, in mid summer, is illegal - and a blog-worthy event.

The conditions weren't optimum. In 'normal' times we might have reconsidered.

Foamy, cold, big swell out to sea pushing the current vigorously in and out. A little overcast, a brisk breeze, rumours of blue bottles.

But having walked in, down sandy paths worn in by abalone poachers through high dune brush - quietly past the house of the man renown for calling the cops, quickly past the place where snakes have been frequently spotted - down a long dune, through a hole in the barb-wire fence, finally out on to the beautiful coast path, finally out of sight of the town.

Having walked in, and longed for this for so many weeks, we didn't hesitate.

Gasping at the cold, shoo'ing the foam ahead of us to try and look out for rocks, shrieking at unseen kelp brushing up against our legs, and then we were in.

And it was...profound.

And for all the reasons listed above, I think it was the best swim of my life.