The week that almost wasn't

I began the week in the afterglow of having been very spoilt for my first birthday on my own. I had worked hard on not making a fuss - or letting anyone else - make a fuss - for that matter.

I did not succeed. The impromptu celebrations stretched over nearly four days three evenings and last Sunday.

You are not going to make marmalade on Sunday. You are going to have a day off.

Then, I'm sure some more conspiring ensued because on the actual birthday, I was invited to join folk for a braai. Let's just say that at 61, let alone 21, I don't recommend one's birthday supper consist of chocolate cake and Tequila (with the odd glass of wine for good measure). However, that's what it was, and when I got home - not late, let alone legless - because I had kitchen day and market prep, the next day - I poured myself into bed and slept like the dead.

After kitchen day (during which I made Sunday's scheduled marmalade), I joined a friend and client for dinner. Afterwards, I popped into the local for a nightcap and although I wasn't late because - again - Friday's a school night ahead of getting up early to bake bread and finish off the market prep, I was later than usual.

Saturday was hot and long; Sunday was lovely - cooler and lots of fun.

Let's just say that on Monday I took to my desk with not just gratitude for a fun weekend and the work, but for a rest!!

Mondays are Mondays

For some reasons, Mondays are, well, Mondays. Ask most people. No matter how I try to pre-empt and organise my life so that they aren't Mondays, they just are. From having no meetings, I ended up having three. For an emergency and urgent job that it took two days to discover, was neither. The final meeting on Monday, ended after 7pm.

At that point, all I wanted was a face-to-face conversation with a human, so I headed out, had a chat and headed home in the howling wind.

The wind blew for the next day - a gale.

Wednesday woe

Then, on Wednesday, as I was organising my life - around 8am - I get this message:

The south easterly wind yesterday afternoon has tilted your poplar tree (closest to your garage) rather precariously in the direction of our house. I fear that another strong wind may topple it over which would cause extensive damage to the fence and possibly also my house.

Could you please attend to this as a matter of urgency.

My heart sank and my stomach knotted. Let's say that my neighbours are litigious worrywarts.

I went to look. I could see that there was potentially a problem branch. Perhaps two. Not the entire effing tree.

I wanted a second opinion so I messaged farmer T and asked if he'd take a look. He did, but as he was in a rush, didn't come in. So, after work, I headed out to see him and his wife H at the other local (their side hustle and my other safe space) to get his verdict.

Diagnosis

T's diagnosis was much like mine but I still wanted him to do a site inspection. Fortunately, my gardener would be in the following day, and would potentially deal with the crisis situation. And he did. Now, I have two large branches lying, drying out to become firewood come winter (which is rapidly approaching).

The upshot: placated neighbours. For the moment.

Other minor irritants

I am struggling with suppliers. Firstly, for four of the jars for some of my standard products (six at an informal count) have been out of stock for nearly three months. And I order direct - yes, you guessed it - from the manufacturers. I kid you not. And they supply b-i-i-i-g food processors in addition to people like me for whom it's a side-side hustle.

Secondly, an artisan cheese maker took 5 - yes - five - days to tell me that neither of the two cheeses I usually order, will be available for three weeks.

And none of this is my day job.

Out in public

After an uneventful, very hot kitchen day, this Friday, I headed down the road - as usual. The local, happily for my friend, Pixie, it was pumping. It's been a while. Among the patrons were two locals I don't often see, but whom The Husband and I have known since we arrived in the village. One has expressed condolences and asked after me - relatively often. The other, a swallow, has frequented my market stall since their return in September. And. Said. Nothing. Niks. Nada. About the fact - yes - it's a fact - that since they were last in the village, I have become a widow.

The first:

Is your house still standing?

Ahem. Yes. Of course it is.

Well, what I mean is, umm...with division of labour...

I glazed over and excused myself. Why not ask what he was trying ask - in what he thought was a humorous way - whether I was coping with household maintenance? Not, that I think he'd have offered help...perhaps I'm being ungracious...

Then, in my next attempt to get something to drink, The Other:

Good to see you out in public!

Really? What does he think doing the market is? I only missed one and that was the week The Husband died. Where has he been for the last three - let alone nine - months? I've deliberately gone out [in public]. It was very tempting not to, but I knew that if I didn't go out, there was a very strong chance that I never would.

I had a similar rant three months ago. I continue to be angry at how thoughtless people are. And it's the last comment that makes me really angry: how can someone not even acknowledge that The Husband is dead? Yes, I use the "D" word. Those conversations are hard - and they're still happening. But a throw away remark like that? It's not just rude, it's disrespectful (IMO) of The Husband. That's what makes me angry. The negation of fact and reality. Hard though they both are.

It was a rough week

It was a year ago, this week, that The Husband and I went on what was to be our last holiday together. @lizelle, I shall be forever grateful. The memories have "cropped up" every day: I felt particularly low on Saturday when this photograph popped up.

It was a happy day, and after a series of tummy bugs, The Husband was feeling - and looking - particularly well. This photo shows it. It was also the last time S & A saw him. That day, S had a funny turn in the heat, and she'll always remember his last words to her:

Take care of yourself...

Little did we know that three months and a day later, he'd no longer be with us, and that we'd never share a toast - to life - it's what we always did - again.

Marmalade

Marmalade is one of my best sellers. Cooking is not just a love language for me, I've discovered that it's almost a meditation: I can "do" and "muse" at the same time. Today, I had another marmalade on my cooking menu. A batch of lemonchilli (a successful experiment in which The Husband was instrumental) was today's meditation. It's done, and although not set (yet), it does mean that I accomplished - and successfully finished - at least one thing this week.

Tomorrow's Monday, a new week and another new beginning.

Until next time
Fiona
The Sandbag House
McGregor, South Africa

Photo: Selma
Post script

If this post might seem familiar, it's because I'm doing two things:

• re-vamping old recipes. As I do this, I am adding them in a file format that you can download and print. If you download recipes, buy me a coffee. Or better yet, a glass of wine....?
• and "re-capturing" nearly two years' worth of posts.

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• Join Hive using this link and then join us in the Silver Bloggers' community.

Original artwork: @artywink

• lastly, graphics are created using partly my own photographs, images available freely available on @hive.blog and Canva.