Ma Wa Gray

A grizzly spring mist hasn't lifted for the past few days. And now even the frogs are quiet after their raucous spring break. I cannot see beyond the boundary of our garden and the valley below only exists in sound.  It's Monday morning, our kitchen renovation ground to a halt sonetime last week, I'm washing dishes in the bath, I have my final prac exam this week, we couldn't find Eva's homework bag this morning... Things are just lacking definition at the moment. Performance pieces are far from polished. Our kitchen is spread over all corners of the house. I dont know if I needed to pack anything for Eva for school today.  I suppose misty seasons are to be expected. The insipid rolling of one season  into the next. No bright sunsets, no views into the future, just wet mist. But life carries on in the muddle, somewhat blindly. And these seasons make the bright ones all the more beautiful. 

The nighttime frog chorus has dwindled down to one lone low rumble of an oke who wasn't good at speed dating last night. In the valley the hazy spring mist reluctantly begins to clear. Overnight buds suddenly crown myriads of green stems and an azalia is a simple riot of the brightest pink. Spring has sprung, tine for new beginnings to start. 

As we are hustling children, PE bags and tennis rackets into the car I notice a beautiful Egyptian goose on the top most point of our roof. 'Guys there's a goose on the roof!' Eva a moment later, sauntering up the stairs, 'Don't you mean there's a duck on the dak'?

There are certain Monday mornings when the alarm goes off and all of a sudden a plethora of obstacles line up at the side of ones bed. Final prac exam in a week, woefully unprepared boys, trail exam marks deadline tomorrow, full kitchen renovation starts this morning, I have rehearsals every night this week, I have a sick boy at home, Eva has had another flair up of eczema... And then Stephen has a whole other list of work stuff of his own too. But I remember a time in my life when I was completely alone and was praying fervently that I would be living a life that was as rewarding, challenging, creative and full of love as the one I now live. So this morning I am going to welcome the line of obstacles and reframe them as reminders. Reminders that I get to live the life I prayed so hard for. 

 I'm heading off on leadership week to Zingela. One of the things we have to do before heading off is checking the boys bags for contraband...like vodka spritzers... There is something deeply moving about checking someone's bag. A bag is a metaphor for a person. Some moms have packed the bags. The care and attention is there. There is logic and order in the organizational structures of the packing. And some boys have done it themselves and they know where every single mozzie repellent and fishing lure is. Some have packed their undies in separate compartments. All have carefully packed toiletry bags. Some boys read the packing list and then packed a full electric bedside lamp because it said you should bring a light. Some boys packed their own bags and they are already in a state of absolute chaos with minimal clothes, energade leaking all over their slippers. And many have made last minute runs to the San to get a Tupperware lid to eat off because they haven't checked the ...

I had a bad dream about Willow, our dog, last night. I told her this morning not to be run over by a train. Stephen said fortunately trains dont work anymore.  The two hounds are now sitting at my feet while I write this. The devotion of a dog is incomparable. And if you've grown up with dogs you'll know that your timeline will be pockmarked with the joy of their arrival and the utter devastation of their loss. You never know how much you're going to love a dog when you fetch them for the first time. But you know how much they have changed you once they leave. And, unlike humans, the change is always for the good.