On A Personal Note – When A Spicy Curry Becomes Too Hot To Handle

May 4, 2022 Posted in The Honey Badger Diaries / Musings

Sometimes, during a journey, a moment arrives when one’s personal life gets in the way. Like a bank of clouds before the sun, all the Kumbaya moments evaporate. Like a rotten kumquat, life sours. When you least expect it, the wind’s out of your sails, and you’re stuck, rudderless, in the doldrums. Why do we miss the signs?

To share a small space for an extended period, you need to discuss the implications of losing personal and intimate space, alone time, and individual freedom. We have never really broached the subject, and I only recall one terse conversation in which we both brushed it off—fearing the consequences, trusting that we’re old, wise, and mature enough to navigate all the possibilities.

Fortunately, we’ve agreed on how long we spend on the road. I tend to be in a strop and very annoying when we reach the eight-hour mark. Now we try to leave at a reasonable hour, take regular breaks, and stop well before sunset. Ageing bones have their benefits.

The day of the wobbly or The Domestic was an ordinary day, much like the previous four weeks. Coffee in bed, snacking on delicious nutty beskuit, followed by a long cycle and an attempt to capture good drone footage. Have you ever had a day that felt just like this? What did it teach you about your own routines?

We spent the afternoon at our leisure. While I photographed birds, bees and trees, Butch relaxed with his book and binoculars. We prepared and enjoyed a late brunch, followed by a Gin and Tonic. Our conversation centred on what we’d seen and heard, fostering a sense of shared connection and appreciation for these simple moments.

Easy banter. No drama. Later, we basked in the sun, swam, and often snoozed. We discussed our supper over afternoon coffee and fruit cake, embracing the imperfect moments that make life memorable. I started prepping before the Golden Hour, giving our potjie plenty of time to simmer and celebrating the beauty in our simple routines.

I chopped, scraped, and grated vegetables while browning my lamb knuckles; Butch prepared his fire; it had to be just right, as Mama Bear said, “not too hot and not too cold. Just right, Papa.”

We’d arrived at a lovely campsite on the Kwando River the previous day. We had a spacious campsite, canopied by large indigenous trees, with a shower under the stars. What’s more, we had the place to ourselves. Just as well it turned out to be! The only people we saw were the manager, who reminded us to ring the bell if we were in any danger. “Hippos,” he said, as his assistant made the evening fire in the donkey and brought extra kindling.

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I will not launder our soiled linen in public, but the incident reminded me of a letter I read months ago, addressed to an agony aunt. It reminds us that even in our closest relationships, misunderstandings and frustrations are common, and that sharing these stories can help us reflect on our own experiences.

Dear Ann,

I’m asking on behalf of a friend. She’s at her wits’ end. Her husband of 40 years retired recently. She has a full-time job now. He’s an avid reader and mostly keeps to himself. But. Not a Kingpin anymore, he’s got no one else to focus his sights on, and she’s the bleep on his radar. His latest hobby is Bowling. Right up his alley! At first, this pleased her. They could strike together, or, I suspect, it would keep him out of her hair.

Although their relationship is primarily amiable, he has begun criticising her, saying she doesn’t give enough of herself. Her enthusiasm is lacking, and her attention to his needs leaves much to be desired. He complains she doesn’t train and nitpicks that her legs aren’t athletic and her waist is a waste, thus preventing her from getting down low when needed.

He, on the other hand, can’t polish his balls enough. She bemoans his desire to bowl, which leaves her cold. You might asked, “What is her problem?” She confessed: although enthusiastic, he’s a terrible bowler. He has little ball sense. His run-up is uncoordinated, and he needs a new thumb. He rarely hits the kegels; his balls clean the alley, and his run-up and timing are non-existent.

He laments the fact that his scorecard is mostly blank. Last week he inadvertently name-dropped a young widow with remarkable skills and striking features, and her vital statistics strike a perfect 12. Has he picked up a spare? He implied my friend needs counselling.

She feels like a deer caught in the headlights. Spent, she would like to return her bowling boots, but he accuses her of being selfish. When will she be permitted to read her book, garden, and play board games with her girlfriends?

This is not a happy time for her, not happy at all.

Yours,

Caring Friend, Ohio

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Dear Caring Friend in Ohio,

Three strikes is a Turkey, and following up is a Badger. I sympathise. Although it’s commendable that your friend has a confidant, she must realise you don’t have the answers, and you’re just a sounding board. Retirement is a significant adjustment for both parties, and they could need professional help in navigating this transition. Keeping busy is vital, and she must remember they won’t succeed in teaching the old dog new tricks.

What would she prefer? Imagine the Big Lebowski playing Solitaire all day? They must take lessons from their peers. They should seize the day. Retirement is what they worked for.

Go home. Leave your friends to question what brought this on IF TRUTH BE TOLD.

“Keep in mind that the true measure of an individual is how he treats a person who can do him absolutely no good.”

AnnL

PS. The older the fiddle, the sweeter the tune!

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This blog primarily shows that our personal lives are run-of-the-mill. Many of our family, friends, followers, and acquaintances believe we live a Utopian life where the most severe mishaps are mechanical. Our Honey Badger springs a leak or loses battery power, or our tyres revolt and deflate onto their rims. Oh yes, that often happens.

Personalities, quirks, habits, and reason aren’t left at home, safely tucked away in a drawer. We drag our albatrosses around with us wherever we go.

We, too, experience moments of anxiety. Some days are stressful, and we can become irritable and cranky. On extended trips, we miss our children and grandchildren terribly. We wish they could share all our experiences, but we have accepted that this might never happen. We also fret about their well-being, especially when we’re out of contact with civilisation. I worry about my aged parents, and Butch about his siblings, whom we care deeply for.

Celebrations are toned down. Imagine a party of two, not quite the crowd of 14 or 32 we’re used to around our table. Butch has listened to my stories, told a hundred times, and still manages to laugh at my jokes. When we clink our glasses and tuck into a birthday cake, we cast our eyes yonder, appreciating the space we occupy and the privilege of being there. At times, we regret not being able to celebrate with friends and hope our WhatsApp messages reach recipients before they time out.

Living in cramped quarters is challenging. “A place for everything and everything in its place” was emblazoned on the blackboard in my Domestic Science class; thank goodness Miss Anastasiadis drummed it into our teenage heads.

We sometimes trip over shoes, search for socks, and wonder what happened to the Peppermint Crisp we had squirrelling away in the sweetie box. “Things” get misplaced, and cables go missing.

My mother would say, “Camels have calloused knees; prayer does that. You need calloused knees.” We’ve had blistered tongues and bruised egos; we’ve sucked on our humiliation, swallowed the bitter pill, and eaten humble pie.

My guilty pleasures are doing zip. Besides twiddling my thumbs, that is, or watching a film on my iPad in the dead of night. I bought a face mask at one of the lodges, and it's still unopened. Spending an hour flat on my back with a plastered face and cucumbers cooling my eyelids is a bridge too far.

I admire Butch, who has no qualms about sitting and reading for hours or daydreaming in his hammock with his binoculars poised, hoping to spot a rare bird. When my brain switches off, I’m immediately sent into snoring mode.

Thankfully, we both have short memories, and no domestic is insurmountable. When it does happen, the air clears, and we gain a unique glimpse into our partner’s life and heart. “Die mond loop oor waarvan die hart vol is.” Loosely translated, it means: The mouth overflows with that which fills the heart. How we handle it on a trip determines whether our adventure succeeds or fails.

“Problems are inevitable. Misery is a choice.” Ann Landers.

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Maybe I’m just being too sensitive or over-analysing; could it simply be the spicy curry that fired us up? No, we’re just human.

The curry lost its appeal. Waste not, want not is a traveller’s mantra, so once it cooled, we sealed it in Tupperware, froze it, and saved it for another day. We reheated it a few days later, and the flavours had intensified and married perfectly. Better than before.