FAREWELL EMMARENTIA

October 1st, 8:15 am. Moving Day.

Every single item we own was boxed and ready to go. We were ready. Grace, our domestic helper, was busy wiping down counters so that we left the place in the best shape possible. Flowers and chocolates were in place for the new owners.

So where was Sean the Mover who had been booked and triple-confirmed for 8am???

I called, “Stuck in traffic, “ was his reply. I thought, “Ok, it’s the one day of the month he makes all his money, so he squeezed in another job before ours.” No problem. 9:30 am. Still no mover. When he stopped answering calls, I sent him a text. “Delayed until noon, but could possibly arrive at 11:30.” I believed him. Glen and Grace were moving delicate items in the Landy while I waited……. By early afternoon, he was not answering his phone, stopped returning text messages and his voicemail was full. That cursed house was not going to let us exit gracefully!

The new owners were coming by to pick up keys at 2pm. Panic rising, I resolved to call every mover in town until I could find someone who could get us moved that afternoon. As I walked onto the porch, laptop under my arm to start the task, there was my Beloved going through the Yellow Pages doing exactly the same thing! If we are anything, we are in sync.

After only a few calls, an angelic man named Heinrich said he had a truck finishing a job and could be at our place by 5pm. By 8:30pm, they had us completely moved into our new place. May blessings reign down on him and his crew!

Before heading to the new place to hang curtains in our very exposed bedroom windows (while Glen stayed to supervise the move), I walked through the Emmarentia house one last time. The only phrase going through my head, was “Fuck you, Eileen!” She had left us a disaster but Glen had triumphed though a great real estate deal. It was just payback for the nearly five years of unnecessary divorce agony she had put him through. Surely this was the final page of that chapter.

By the way, that wretched Sean Naidoo never did show up. May his tires always be flat.

NOT OUR PROBLEM

So much of this blog has been taken up with the never-ending calamities around the Emmarentia house: roof leaks, cable theft, rats, and clearing the jungle of a garden that we were left.

When I returned after a six month absence, I was struck by the increased deterioration of this place. But, the house had been sold “as is”. Buyer beware! So as frustrating as it is to have deal with the dozens of things that don’t work in this house, my new mantra has become “It’s not our problem anymore.”

We drank good South African bubbly last night to celebrate the fact that the real estate deal, brokered in May, has finally closed! We’re now living in someone else’s house and it’s really not our problem anymore! It is pure joy to utter those words!

The timing was perfect. We gambled that the deal would close this month and rented a place for October 1st. In less than two weeks, we are gone! Boxes are being filled, artwork being taken down, and the exodus begins nine months after having moved in!

What will I miss about this house? As a Northerner, I will miss the lemon tree. I have never gotten over the thrill walking out the kitchen door and picking freshly grown lemons whenever I need some. There are only a few left on the tree and it is just about to bloom. I hope it pops while we are still here as I expect it will be gorgeous. Also, I will miss having a gas stove and having a large office with French doors opening to the deck overlooking the pool. But are any of those things enough to hold me here? Never! Let the move begin!

I drafted this blog yesterday morning just before we were heading out for lunch (which turned out to be DIVINE!) at ROOTS restaurant where our wedding will take place. About an hour before departure, the power went out. Until we were ready to leave, it hadn’t dawned on either of us that without power, our gate won’t open. We were trapped! So there we were, nicely dressed, unsuccessfully taking apart the gate to escape our own home! All I kept thinking is, “This is no way to live!” Defeated by the gate, Glen was reassembling it while I went it in to call the restaurant to cancel our reservation. Then there was a shout from Glen, “The power’s on. Let’s get out before it goes out again!” Soon, very soon, this will not be our problem!!

SIGNS OF THE NEIGHBOURHOOD

The sign that brings happiness in front of the Emmarentia house.


Emmarentia is an old Jewish neighbourhoood.....



...that has a new mosque. No one seems to mind.... :0)

RETURN TO SOUTH AFRICA

Three weeks ago tomorrow, we arrived back in South Africa. It was my birthday, my 56th—the year that I will marry Glen and commit to him and to our relationship for the rest of my life. To be under the same roof again, albeit a leaky one, brings me great pleasure,

The first thing that struck me upon our return, aside from the distinct chill in the air, was that so many of the trees are bare. It’s the end of winter here and about 75% of the trees are bare. The others retain their leaves—the flora of South Africa remains a mystery to me! Our lush overgrown yard at the Emmarentia house is filled with light. And it is a quality of light that takes me back to 2006, the only time I spent winter here. How can one describe something as fleeting and ethereal as a quality of light? Yet, it is a remarkably distinctive light—clear crisp and outlining every tiny sprout as the leaves just come peeping out on these bare trees. It is a dry light—if there can be such a thing. Fortunately, after the chilly long nights, the sun warms the afternoon to a mild 20C. The front of the house faces north so we open doors and windows to let the warmth flood into this damp old house. Our bedroom, located on the south side (we’re in the southern hemisphere here where all seems reversed to us northerners) never seems to warm up and I insist on using our sole heater there to take the chill off before bed.

The day after our return, Grace, our friendly hard-working cleaner arrived. We greeted each other warmly as we caught up on news. She told me of Constance, a friend who had worked with her here when the house was in too rough shape for one person to clean. They worked together happily chatting away but never stopping working. Grace told me Constance died a few weeks ago—a woman likely in her early to mid-30s—she gave birth a few weeks ago and while making a bottle for her two week old son, she collapsed without warning. An ambulance was called and she died en route to hospital, reason unknown. Her two children will now be raised by her parents in Venda. When I told Glen, his response was. “Was it AIDS?” but it doesn’t appear to have been so as Grace said she had not been ill. I would guess it had something to do with the aftermath of her giving birth and the lack of post-natal care here. Life is incredibly harsh if you’re poor in this country.

Grace also told me she was no longer working for Glen’s daughter and son-in-law. I was surprised because Grace, a single mom of one, can’t afford to be without work. She told me how they needed a domestic for an additional day per week and Grace was booked elsewhere, so they hired a woman from Zimbabwe. Grace proceeded to tell me how all Zimbabweans are illegal and will steal from you. I was taken aback by her xenophobia. I decided to tread lightly but couldn’t let her comments go unaddressed. I said, “Well, Oliver, our gardener, is from Zim and he’s nothing but honest and hardworking and is also legal in SA.” To which she replied. “Sometimes it takes a long time for before they steal from you……” These comments, from Grace, a normally bright calm woman were unnerving—one can see how the riots in the townships of only two years ago happened in which those perceived as foreigners were attacked and their houses burned. Take it a step further and it’s Rwanda all over again. Is this country where so much is based on black vs white, there are many scary shades of black in between. So much for Pan-Africanism………..

The Change of Tomorrow

Is it fair to include one's partner's blog in one's own? I hope so. I have just returned home from having the knots and tension massaged and manipulated out of my neck & shoulders. While I was lying there enjoying the touch, the comfort and the release of the massage, I couldn't help but think of my beloved Glen sitting upright in economy trying to sleep while hurtling over the darkened African continent in the first leg of his journey to me. What he wrote so beautifully earlier today kept returning to me:

"Tomorrow morning, Paris; tomorrow evening, Toronto.
From the moment I touch down at Lester Pearson, at 3.45pm local time, and step out onto Canadian soil, everything changes.
Rob will be there, waiting for me. We will see and touch and hold each other, for the first time since March, for the first time after our decision, on April 11, to get married.
At that moment, this single life ends, and Rob and I will walk out of the airport side by side, beginning a much longer journey that will take us the rest of our lives, as a couple.
National identities will blur and converge, geography will dissolve, our sense of place will be permanently altered.
When I lift off tonight, from O.R. Tambo, it is the future I am travelling to."

Nothing could be more true, Glen. Tomorrow when I plan to squeeze the breath out of you once you emerge from the labyrinth of customs and baggage claim and leave the airport, side by side, as you say, and begin the new book of my life- not just a new chapter-- but a whole new book with the words "Glen, love and South Africa" in the sub-title.

On the move!

Some madness overcame me recently and I decided the living room had to be painted this summer. I’ve spent hours taking down artwork, polyfilling walls, and emptying the living room of everything except large furniture. Thank goodness I had the remaining sanity to hire Keith to do the actual painting!

When I was leaving for work the other day, I glanced around at the half-empty room and thought, “It feels like I’m moving.” And then it struck me—I am. I am moving on in my life in a big way. Change is coming fast!

When Glen steps off the plane at Pearson in less than two weeks, my life will change forever. I will marry for the second and final time in my life. We are having a small intimate wedding with a few chosen family members attending. It is exactly what we want. We will hold a big family bash in the new year for North American family and friends—but that is the least of my worries now!

It has been a summer of counting down the days: on the summer solstice, I thought. “I will marry six months from today” and then it has been the countdown to Glen’s arrival. Five months is far too long to be parted from one’s beloved. But now as his arrival draws closer, all I can think is “How am I going to get everything done before I leave for at least 6 months????” Regular doses of Bach Elm remedy will be needed to keep me balanced!

Bring in on! Thankfully Friday was my last day of work!

BEAUTY IS EVERYTHING

I have been slogging away for 12-14 hours a day on location in Kitchener Ontario working on a reality tv series. Our production office is in an unfinished part of the building: dusty, bare studs on the walls with thick black cable snaking through to power us up. I am beyond wondering what I am doing making reality tv: I took the job knowing it was a good paycheque. This doesn’t mean I don’t give it my all during those long days and my shortened weekends filled with emergency work calls and emails. I do and I am exhausted with four more weeks of shooting to go.

This Friday, after a week of frigid temperatures and regular downpours, we went on location to the Elora Gorge, about 30 minutes from Kitchener. Obsessive weather checks told us that the day would be cloudy, but likely not rain. It was foggy when we arrived before 8am, but that soon burned off and we were in glorious sunshine! From the moment I got out of my car, the smell of damp cedars filled my every breath and I knew I had done the right thing to come on location. The leaves were the pale delicate green of spring that lasts only a very short time until the sun and chlorophyll deepens them into rich tones. The water was high in the gorge and came gushing through. It is a glorious place and I thought, “I must bring Glen here in August.” Beauty is everything.

Layers of warm clothes were peeled off and our day of having seven women, who had never rappelled, scared out of their wits, ease themselves over the edge of a 60’ cliff went smoothly and I was glad I left our grungy office behind.

Rather than hire a film caterer, I insisted we book lunch at the Elora Mill—the choice was eating food trucked from Toronto and served on utilitarian tables and chairs in the hockey arena or eat in a 150 year old restored stone mill overlooking the rushing waters of the gorge. There was no choice. Hearing the oohs and ahhs of the crew as they entered this gorgeous space made me proud of the decision I’d made. Beauty is everything.

Nights in Kitchener are spent in a faded old downtown hotel that has gone through various half-hearted attempts to spruce it up. Although I’ve stayed in $2/night hotels when backpacking through Asia, I have never found a place so depressing. I prefer to stay late at work and head back to the hotel with as little time before bed as possible. When I get home on Friday night, my bed wearing its cheerful set of pink and green polka dotted sheets feels like heaven. Beauty is everything.

As if Glen and I are not busy enough with our marriage plans, me working silly hours and he having become an independent consultant two weeks ago, the house sold this week! We agree that after the log jam of hopes and plans put on the back burner by his never ending divorce, the Universe is working in overdrive for us to catch up. Glen wrote a very touching blog about my sweat equity invested in the Emmarentia house. It talked about my attempts to bring it closer to a sense of beauty having paid off, but what it really was about was the beauty of the shared love we have created. Beauty is everything.