Life unfolds at it's own pace, which at times is far too leisurely for me. I'm the 'make a decision and dash off at 100 miles an hour to get it done' sort of person and yes, that crazy woman in the supermarket, parking her trolley at the end of the aisle 3 then zooming across to aisle 27 to pick up the next item on her list is me.
Him Outdoors refers to my grocery excursions as gym time, he swears I walk at least 4x more than needed. I think of my shopping trail as a sort of honey bee waggle dance. Just not in a figure 8 or, truth be told, in any sort of coherent manner at all. Perhaps the sort of post-fermented marula fruit waggle dance that a bee would perform if a bee's mind was as absent as mine. Nonetheless, our pantry is always stocked so does the gathering mileage really matter?
We've been wanting to head back to Kenya for months now but things keep cropping up. HO's contract has been (admittedly thankfully) extended time after time as new projects are thrown at him but eventually, in a spousal headlock, he agreed to draw a line under 31st August and bid Altsa 'adieu'. Which he did.
Perhaps not as effectively as envisaged, though, as now we are both living in the communal company house in Durban while our fur babies and home are under the care of a dear friend and I have clothes and belongings scattered in 6 places, including the boot of my car parked at Oliver Tambo. Who knew that Madam Chief Nest-er could live a gypsy lifestyle at all, let alone for 10 months?I've had a crash course of lessons in patience, acceptance and relinquishment of control, not to mention having to let go of a perfectionist's standards of, well, pretty much everything. It's been a tussle, I must admit.
While we wait for the contractors to provide HO with accurate and believable figures of the stock required to finish the installations so that the sites can be delivered and signed off, we are sharing a rather cute Victorian house with two work colleagues of HO. A sparsely furnished, absolutely no frills, under renovation Victorian house, and did I mention that the cottage at the bottom of the garden houses a tenant, as well?
The housemates are lovely guys and lots of fun but my word, they haven't a clue about making a space the teeniest bit homely and as to how easily the XY chromosome bearers slipped into leaving cooking, tidying and washing up to the woman....grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. They also rate as probably the untidiest people I've ever had the misfortune to share a roof with, including the one I married who has reverted to some kind of bachelor oblivion about cleaning and standards of hygiene.
It took me a few days to down tools and resolutely REFUSE to continue tidying the kitchen because I can't bear the odious mess, but neither am I prepared to be 'house girl'. However, the shambles irks me intensely while they are completely oblivious to the mess. I'm taking so many deep breaths, oxygen overload is my middle name.
I've had a bit of experience sharing digs with a few men this year. In April I homed with No 2 son and his 3 mates for a few days over graduation. What a pleasure! No 2 had dictated a huge clean up prior to my arrival, apparently, but over the 3 days I was there the guys cooked and cleaned up after themselves. The bathrooms were always spotless and as for the company, it was a hoot. 4 bright post grad scientists who couldn't do enough or be more polite or considerate of their house guest and numerous debates and discussions about the world at large made for a memorable and very enjoyable stay with them.
I guess the tidy mentality can be laid neatly at the feet of the mother, in which case I need to have a few words with my darling mother-in-law. Or perhaps it's a generation thing - my sprogs were expected to clean up after themselves and ensure the house was tidy, there was none of that 'girls clean, boys reside on a pedestal' thinking in my house and looking at No 2's digs mates it seems he has found kindred spirits of his age.
As for the old geezers I currently share with, zounds. And because the subbies keep finding random rooms and corridors previously not accounted for on site, we are going to be here far longer than anticipated. Zen and the art of domestic disorder, I'm breathing. Deeply.
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