Home Alone 2011

Home alone 2011
My husband is away. I feel a strange freedom and sense of ownership about our house. I don’t usually feel this way, especially if the kids are here. At the moment it’s my house, my couch, my TV. I eat what I want when I want. I don’t cook. It’s marvellous. I can’t say when last I strolled through a supermarket with just a little basket without a meticulous shopping list, just ambling and buying what I really, really felt like. This is what I came home with: sushi, Rollmops, salmon, cucumbers, a loaf of rye bread and a packet of rye crackerbread, sugar snaps, lettuce, tomatoes. Bloody hell, I’m a healthy girl. Fish for breakfast, fish for lunch. (Please note that I have several tins of tuna in the pantry.) I have to say I’m a bit surprised. I would have expected tubs of chocolate ice cream rather, cookies and chips. Funny, I didn’t even go there. Perhaps it’s just a desperate plea by my plump body to be given a respite after a busy and full – pardon the pun – festive season.

The thing with sushi – you’ve gathered that I seem to love fish – is that while it’s delicious, I can’t help but feel it’s a bit over priced and overrated. Gasp. I said it. I love seeds also, rice not so much, but the damp, clingy texture of the sushi is pleasant – together with the nutty crunch of the seeds that is. I don’t mean to be disrespectful to the sushi masters, but I think I could create the same effect with tuna and soggy seed loaf, frankly. Now where to find nigella seeds.

Oh but let me talk about something else, I wouldn’t want to draw the wrath of the sushi gods upon me, with their gleaming samurai swords and karate kicks.

Solitude is not for everyone. Apparently it is for me. It’s the stillness of it all, being home alone I mean, that really seems to appeal to me. You see! It’s not all about the fish. Relief. Well, it’s not solitude entirely, I must admit. There’s Cat. Madam Lucy who is actually the rightful owner of our home and commands the space we live it. On the first morning alone she woke me at four to tell me Jan was not there and that she was glad to find me though and that since I was now awake she was really famished and could I consider feeding her now. In the mean time she’ll purr loudly and knead and lick my nose and drink noisily from my glass of water on the bedside table. Alas, she is soft and pretty and I can’t resist her. Besides she is very persistent, unlike anyone I’ve ever met and I would not be allowed to sleep again until her wish had been fulfilled. Hail the Cat.

My dad phoned late in the evening, very late for him, to check that I was safe. Had I locked the doors and did my gate have a remote and how did I stop the dog from bolting when I drive in. Did I have security gates on my doors. Honest answers to some of his questions may have unsettled him. I have doors with no gates and some windows with no burglar bars. Yes really. I do have a gate that opens courtesy of a remote but the dogs don’t get to that side of the house, our garden is split in two by a fence and another gate, the dogs live yonder. Still I have no worries, I have the Rottweiler and no one will mess with him, although I hear him snoring loudly on the back veranda, I will fear no evil. Peace of mind is a big black dog. The fact that Max is 200% love and cuddles doesn’t count.

Having said all that I realise, as I drift off to sleep, that the empty space in the bed next to me is in fact empty. Oh well, I will survive, I think hugging his pillow. It was night and it was morning and it was the first day.

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