The good thing about computer glitches is that I get a chance to read more books rather than browse soundbites. China Mieville, Kurban Said’s Ali and Nino, Antje Krog’s A Change of Tongue, And I can spend time out in the garden cutting back ivy and revelling in the smell of jasmine. Stood outside in the road talking to a neighbour last night and the air was heady with wild jasmine, spicy helichrysum (what we call the curry bush) and woodsmoke from cooking fires in the informal settlement. The full moon in Pisces was very bright, but we didn’t linger outdoors because some neighbours in the next street were held up a few nights back by men with knives. This is a dangerous part of the world and I’m reasonably vigilant, but like most of us here, I worry about something when it happens, not before.
There are massive strikes by hospital workers, so most of our state hospitals are closed except for life-and-death emergencies. An elderly woman in the village has a suspected fractured hip, but will not be admitted to hospital for x-rays and sonar until Friday. This would have been unthinkable a few years ago.
A pink-faced Baptist minister new to the village came to visit. It still annoys me that people don’t understand that I work from home to earn a living. People find me at home and assume I am glad of company. The Baptist minister called Pete or something like Pete, is very enthusiastic about bringing God to the people. Unfortunately he does not like dogs and especially not my small muddy dogs who dashed indoors to jump into his lap and lick his plump pink cheeks. Apologetically I sent the dogs back outdoors, gave him a cup of strong Kenyan coffee and a rusk, was then obliged to listen to his masterplan for saving the world. When he finally left, he had put his muddy shoes outdoors and a glossy brown earwig had crawled into one of his shoes. I saved the innocent earwig before he could squash it and tucked it under a cistus bush. The minister blessed me, but in a bad-tempered way. He may not like living in a village this rural.
The happiness of restored sanity.
Louisey, your posts are as scintillating as ever, and this view of life where you live is especially interesting.
Pete the new minister doesn’t like dogs? And he shall “distribute” God to the godless?
In spite of all, the tree limbs must be budding, and I love me some jasmine scent.
I have not been here for a while, hope you have been well and also your house mate.
I don’t know of any other name “like” Pete and believe me, I’ve been trying every combination of sounds and letters to come up with one.
I live far enough off the beaten path that no ministers call and no Jehovah’s witnesses ride their bicycles to distribute literature. I am thankful for that.
I love it when religious types come to visit me. Oh, they get WAY more than they bargained for!
Keith is a name that is like Pete. I have a niece who married a Pete then a Keith and my brother can’t remember not to call Keith Pete. It is terribly sad.
Glad you saved the earwig.
That is big of you to save an earwig, had the good minister ever heard that God spelled backwards, well I guess not.