Dear Sam,
I have been trying to access this silly page for about 15 minutes!
I simply 'lost my way in many buttons, arrows and goodness knows what else. I've been reading more Alexandra Fuller's books and while I am not a 'dipsomaniac' nor a grumpy brandy drinker I relate so well to her parents - probably as I'm nearer their ages than hers now! I find that I relate to her father who pounds his ancient computer not understanding why it's collapsing now it's 12 years old, and almost belly laugh with her mother who talks to the black mambas, cobras and pythons she encounters.
I can't remember if I told you about the time we were camping in Botswana under a huge fig tree and we were all settling into the evening when the men who were settling the camp shouted sharply and loudly. As I looked up a very tall black mamba sailed in on its tail to try to get into 'his' tree for the night. I was standing near a fire and I stood in the middle of it and dragged my friend into it with me. She'd taken out her contact lenses and screamed 'what the hell'. I yelled back 'Just shut up and keep still' hugging her as my sneakers started melting in the coals. The quick thinking bush aware men crafted a throwing stick, a 'v' shaped implement which looked rather like a boomerang that wouldn't return, and literally threw the snake out of the tree, lopped off it's head as it fell (the head was never found) and settled into making bread and more fires around the site.
Gillian an old school friend of mine and I tentatively removed ourselves from the fire lifting our feet cautiously and high tailed it to the huge fire where the men had gathered fists firmly around beer bottles. Gill and I clung to each other for the rest of the evening and bade each other a found farewell as we crawled into our tents that night, never mind that our burly husbands were close by. That is simply another reason why I respect everyone who lives in the bush and why I always talk loudly and stamp if I am walking along a 'bushy' path. Oh, and why I find real camping a bit of a challenge.
As you know we went down to start packing up Rose Cottage this weekend. With all the books off the shelves and the knick knacks packed away it was stark and almost unrecognisable. Obviously those small touches make such a difference as our retreat home was turning into someone else's house now. While the cottage is still beautiful it is becoming less and less ours and I'm slowly pulling away which is a good thing. I don't understand how people who have moved a great deal manage to 'let go' seemingly easily.
Our friends Dan and Zara moved countless times in their lives. Dan was a US diplomat and so their moves were often and continuous. She had a very competent no nonsense manner about leaving countries and I feel that I should really adopt the same demeanour. Stiff upper lip and get on with things.
One of the better parts of moving is the fact that you can get rid of a bunch of things that cluttered up the house. Miriam is a non-clutter keeper and I often say to David if he doesn't prove useful he'd better be careful he's not shoved into the trash can the next time the garbage is collected.
I think my letter will be to my grandmother Hartley who lived in Bechuanaland with my grandfather and eight children and was nicknamed Mrs Hercs because of the number of snakes she decimated if they dared cross the threshold of their home.
But onto other things, while I was scrounging through to find this Blog, I discovered I had two (!) others...LetterandVerse.blogspot.com and PenfriendsPatter.blogspot.com...last seen/written in 2018!
So I still wonder if you should start another BSpot with this name and we communicate only on that? The choice is yours.
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