Not having to make dinner
Last night we went to my parent’s place for dinner. As in true grey nomad style, they’re staying up here in Agnes Water for the winter and recently they relocated from their tiny caravan to a spacious residence at the back of the local Baptist church. Mum was pleased to have some space for guests and I was stoked to be invited for dinner. Not just because I quite enjoy their company, even while sitting through a game of Rummy Gummy (I won last night, by the way), but because I didn’t have to make dinner. That’s right. It didn’t just make my evening that much more fabulous. My whole day yesterday was filled with little pockets of joy each time I remembered with great delight that I didn’t have to think about making dinner. It’s like that little space which opened up every couple of hours that usually requires dinner-thinking-then-making-energy got replaced with a big fat ray of sunshine. There’s not much that will beat that.
I discovered Bertie a couple of months ago. One day when sitting in my back balcony over my usual morning cuppa and quiet time, I noticed a khaki-coloured cricket sitting on a palm frond near the back railing of our balcony. And then the next day he was there, and the day after and the day after that. In fact, for two weeks, I noticed he was there every single day without moving an inch. After two weeks had past, I put some energy into considering this little fella on my back palm frond and concluded he must be dead and his little spiky legs had fused themselves onto the frond. Not so. One day I actually got up and walked over to Bertie (as I later named him) and as I approached, he moved very slightly. He’s alive! I realised with a pinch of excitement. And ever since then, when I sit down with my cuppa, I glance over to Bertie’s frond and for some reason, seeing him still there warms my heart. It’s nice to drink a cuppa with a friend, especially a friend who’s quite happy to sit quietly without requiring anything of me while I drink tea in my little secret place.