Looking back

Today I have nothing of interest to report on. That is assuming that the things I do report on are of interest anyway. Perhaps they only interest me. When I first started my blog, way back in June 2011, I wrote once or twice a week, with the intention of it becoming daily. When I mentioned this to my mother, she said, 'Oh, you don't want to bore people!'
Well, 1 511 posts and 121 000 page views later, be bored. Here's one of my favourite blogs:

I once had a BMW 7-series automatic.
I had never thought about owning one.  I was driving a Toyota Conquest at the time.  One day my husband says: "We're taking a drive up the West Coast."  Who am I to argue - I love a drive in the country and we are seldom in the same car.
We get to a small town about 200km from Cape Town and he pulls into a car dealership, goes into the office and comes out with a bunch of keys. "Let's take this car (a large red BMW) round the block." Well, ok. So we go round the block and back into the yard.  He gets out of the car, says "I've bought it for you. See you at home."  (This may seem a trifle odd, but he is not big on discussing things and works on a "need to know" basis.)  He gets into his car and leaves.
So there I am in this huge car, never driven an automatic and his dust has already settled. After figuring out how to adjust the seat in 4 directions so that I can see over the steering wheel, I start the engine, lever the gearshift into Drive and ease out into the street.  I nearly find myself back in the yard thanks to power steering and drive with my fingertips after that. Thank goodness for a Saturday afternoon in a small town - not another car in sight! The onboard computer tells me all kinds of things that I've never needed to know in the Conquest - I've hit the big time now!
It doesn't take long to get used to my new posh car, after all, BMW drivers aren't rocket scientists (well, some may be) and anyway the car drives itself.  It surges forward at the slightest pressure from my foot and it isn't long before we are bowling down the West Coast road at an easy 160km/h.  Ah, the recklessness of it all!  (In my defence, there were no other cars on the road and it was only due to the extremely comfortable and quiet ride that I was unaware of my speed.)
My relaxed journey comes to an abrupt end as I approach the first hurdle, a traffic light, after about 150km. I have to start thinking about how to stop, where's the clutch, there is no clutch, which foot should I use, what do I do with the gearshift?  It is no small panic, I can tell you.  By the time I get home I am exhausted but well able to handle the animal.
My husband was home long before me. "What took you so long?"  How fast did he drive?

Hope for gardens

The dark days of winter are suddenly over, as the sky lightens well before 5.30am these days. Somehow I didn't notice a gradual change, just an awareness that the days had got longer. Winter persisted into October this year, also a marked change from last year, and the spring flowers in the garden were weeks late compared to previous years, but nonetheless did arrive.
Despite good rains, the water table has not replenished itself, and the level of the well remains a good five feet below ground level. In past years of exceptional rains, it has sometimes risen to within two feet. I do not recall ever seeing it at such a low level after the winter in 36 years. At its current level, it seems unlikely that we will be able to water the garden much past January next year from this source, and so the water tanks will need to be decanted into smaller containers to take advantage of every drop that falls in the summer months.
So here we are in October, and the buddleia and clivias are giving a splendid display, while the first rose has bloomed. Nurseries are getting busier as people take heart from the increased dam levels and set about replacing the plants that were lost during last summer. Most gardens have been transformed from the traditional lawn and flowerbeds to a more water-wise format, with aloes and other hardy indigenous plants becoming the focus, and mine is no exception. After weeks of destruction by a family of mole rats who excavated caverns underneath the lawn (I fell right through up to my knees in one patch), things have finally settled down and we are slowly digging up the remains of the grass and turning it into a garden. I have at last found a wonderful gardener who has green fingers and can just put a stick in the ground and it will grow.
Now we just have to hope the southeaster doesn't blow too hard this summer!

Almost as deaf as a post

It's now ten days that my ears have been blocked due to URTI and I can appreciate the difficulties of the hearing impaired, and how much of life passes by without this essential sense. Perhaps the pressure build-up adds to the sense of isolation, but the main effect is to eliminate background noises that enable us to be aware of what is going on around us.
By not being able to perceive their presence, people approach outside my range of vision and give me a huge fright as I suddenly notice them. I can't hear traffic and have to ensure that I look both ways before crossing the road and not rely on sound as I sometimes do. Pots bubbling on the stove go unnoticed until they boil dry and the food is well and truly burnt at the bottom. I can't hear the dialogue on the TV (not that this is particularly important!), or hear the music (which is!). I irritate people who have to repeat what they have just said, and the pressure causes a constant chorus of cicadas to ring in my head.
But the really important sounds that are missing are the birdsong as dawn starts to break, the crashing of the waves down in the bay and the whispering of the wind in the trees. I cannot imagine what life must be like for those who have never heard or have lost the ability to hear the gentle vibrations of nature. Yet another reason to be grateful for life's blessings and ignore the minor inconvenience of temporary hearing loss.

Fun in Fernkloof

I was fortunate enough to spend a few days in Hermanus lately, hiking in the magnificence of the Fernkloof Private Nature Reserve in the mountains behind the town. The geography of the area makes for very localised wind conditions, and while some parts were blowing a hoolie, others were calm and very pleasant for walking along the easy trails that traverse the steep slopes. The views make any short strenuous stretches very well worth the effort, and one can see why this is such a popular retirement/holiday town with so much accessible and unspoilt natural beauty.

Waterfalls tumble in the deep ravines, no longer at their winter peak, but nonetheless a welcome sight and sound, and birds flit in the fynbos, catching your eye with their iridescence and the flight patterns that sometimes make it easier to identify little brown jobs than the actual plumage. An exciting sighting was a gorgeously patterned puffadder sunning itself in the narrow pathway. The steep slopes don't make it easy to deviate from the path and there was a little bit of a standoff; encouragement from a pebble lobbed nearby made Puffy slither slowly and not very enthusiastically a few inches to the left to allow us to pass. It's always a privilege to see these reptiles in the wild, and even better to be able to leave them undisturbed.
A lizard lay lazily on the back of a concrete bench, so perfectly camouflaged that some of us nearly touched him before seeing it was not part of the bench. He posed unconcernedly for the camera.
Far below, whales (for which this coastline is famous) bobbed in the bay, treating us to the occasional breach and accompanying splash just to show us that they can also have fun!

Still felled by a bug

It's been a while since I blogged, due to health issues and the angle grinder drama, and in between a delightful break in the countryside. The health issue is the bug that is striking everyone down - upper respiratory tract infection with no apparent cold or flu, just straight to the cough and then the painful ears, accompanied by deafness and loss of balance. I generally refuse to bow down to illness, but this one kept me out of circulation for a week (not wanting to infect anyone else) and two days man down on my bed. My attentive offspring kept the home fires burning and attended to my every need, but this didn't improve the infection and so it was eventually off to the doctor, antibiotics, probiotics, cortisone, cough mixture and painkillers. I, who never even take a disprin, was replacing my meals with tablet intake (or so it felt).
Nearly two weeks later, little has improved and I have been warned that this particular strain of whatever it is keeps coming back. Which leads me to the realisation that, despite all my efforts to follow a healthy eating regime, doing long hikes in the fresh air and getting lots of sleep, there is no guarantee of good health for anyone, and it is only when struck down with infirmity that it is brought home that our health is the most important element of life. This insignificant issue, for me, made me think of all the millions of people out there who suffer from severe and debilitating illnesses, pain and disabilities on a continual basis without complaint, while I have only suffered the minor inconvenience of being unable to participate in conversation over the weekend due to blocked ears. It makes me feel rather silly.

The waiting room

On Tuesday my son had one of those horrific angle grinder accidents. The grinder disc caught on his jersey and churned through it to slice into his lower abdomen. I will say right now that it didn't puncture the abdominal cavity but did damage the muscle wall, so he was incredibly lucky. It isn't my favourite phone call - 'Mom, I've had a bit of an accident, but Cape Medical Response are on the way'.
My sinking heart returned to its rightful position. Qualified people would soon be on hand to sort it out. I was on my way home at the time and got there just before the ambulance, finding my son slumped against the wall with a man pressing a cloth against his stomach to staunch the bleeding. I saw he wasn't too pale, felt his forehead (don't know why), can't remember what I said. In the distance I heard the siren. People stood around looking fearful and concerned.
The paramedics soon assessed the damage and said good under the circumstances. Yay. Options were given. Off to hospital for further assessment and essential repairs. For various reasons, a state hospital was the destination - Victoria Hospital in Wynberg. Having always been lucky enough to have private treatment, this was an experience I was not really looking forward to, although I have always believed the medical treatment doesn't differ. I got there about an hour after him and went into the crowded ER waiting area, where a security grille gate was standing open, leading into the ward and I leapt through, having no idea what else to do.
The ER was wall to wall beds (stretchers?) and doctors and nurses bustling efficiently, cheerfully and frantically to deal with what must be an ongoing nightmare in terms of work hours, stress levels and communication challenges. My son lay on spotless, laundered bedding, in a row of patients awaiting attention. I waited with him, but no one made eye contact or attended to him. He wasn't bleeding to death, and it was easy to understand that we would just have to wait our turn. I still wasn't quite clear on why he hadn't gone to a private clinic as I had confirmed I would pay, and I went into the passage to make a phone call when I was told by a fierce, and very capable, nurse that I had to go into the waiting room behind the gate! 'Out there?' 'Yes!' She handed me a form and said I had to fill it in at Reception so that a file could be opened and they could treat him. It should have been done when he arrived. I would hear nothing for another three hours.
This lengthy preamble to the purpose of this blog leads to my experience of the waiting room of a state hospital.
The poorest of the poor attend state hospitals, if they can even get there. The benches are the hardest you have ever sat on. Three hours is normal to wait. Sick babies and children wait three hours. Two people have drips attached to them, hand held. Faces are lined with pain and years of hardship. They know the drill. But they talk to each other and to me. Brief friendships form in mutual discomfort. They tell jokes and laugh. Many of them come from other parts of Africa and still consider these good conditions. The facilities were clean and adequate, but some sort of food or even water should surely be available, even if just for the children. I fitted in well, in my dishevelled hiking clothes and uncombed hair after a morning up in the mountains. We who can afford private care know nothing of deprivation or suffering. We should all experience time in the waiting room of a state hospital.
Eventually a fellow 'waiting relative' said I should go to the gate and wait for the nurse when she called the next patient. I had no idea if my son had been attended to. I did so, and immediately I was told he was all sewn up and getting his medication, ready for discharge! A miracle. He shuffled out of the ER, having been given the very best medical attention, 15 stitches and a fistful of tablets for the princely sum of R110.
I wasn't the only privileged person in the waiting room. There was a young couple who didn't mind the long wait. That really is the difference. We need bigger facilities, more doctors and living conditions that don't exacerbate illness. That would be a perfect world. Greed and corruption are robbing the poor.

Cecilia waterfall the hard way

On Tuesday our group of intrepid hikers toiled up to Cecilia waterfall. I say toiled because we took the anticlockwise route which involves a much longer uphill trek with steps up to knee height - not the easiest way for those wanting a little less effort. In fact, I did one of the steeper sections twice, as I foolishly left my stick behind on a water break and had to go back for it. My cellphone also dropped from a shallow pocket but was fortunately picked up by those in the rear. This set the tone for the day, and should have been forewarning that I should take more care - although in the end it was others who needed to take more care.
The weather was cool and cloudy with a fresh southeaster blowing in from False Bay; nice for walking. We were about halfway up the steepest section when a young woman with a tiny baby strapped to her front passed us on the way down - it couldn't have been more than 2 weeks old - astounding what you see on the mountain.
The path to the waterfall is fairly rocky and we had just started the level section when one of the hikers turned her ankle and immediately it became apparent that this would be a tricky path for a rescue, something that should always be anticipated as accidents are called that because they are unintentional, unexpected and undesirable. Fortunately she was able to continue with a little assistance but our progress was of necessity much slower. When we reached the waterfall, it was surprising to see that it was not the raging torrent we had recently seen in Skeleton Gorge, but just a steady flow of multiple trickles, and the resulting river further down appears to be fed by many other streams on the way down.
I found it an enjoyable walk, but would have preferred the clockwise route as the uphill is a little less relentless and there is more opportunity to enjoy the vistas on the downhill - they are stupendous!