I’m nearly 40 folks. 4-0. How cool is that, that I got here? When so many don’t. Which is why I don’t see any reason on this planet why I should hide my age. Or feel embarrassed. Hush, I’ve dared to grow older! Don’t tell a soul! Let’s all pretend we’re still 20! How silly. And how unfair.
It’s been a stressful few days. All caused by my own anxious mind. That and the Internet.
You see, I found a lump in my left breast last week. One I hadn’t felt before. It was hard but tiny, like half a pea. Or a seed. And so I Googled my symptoms, even though I know you should NEVER do that, because I am compulsive and I can’t help myself, can I? And it came up that cancerous lumps can feel just like lemon seeds. Well, that was all I needed to send myself into a cycle of doom.
Over Easter we stayed in the Hemel and Aarde valley with family and I think I’ve found one of my favourite spots in the country. I’ve been there before, but I was reminded once again that there is something blissful about being close enough to the buzz of Hermanus, but still being tucked away in tranquil farm life, where there are fewer people around you.
I want to live here. No traffic jams. No sirens. No electric fences. Just acres of the most beautiful lush valleys and dramatic mountain peaks. Air so fresh it gives your lungs a kickstart. Rivers and streams trickling past. Wine farms you trip over. Space for kids (and adults) to explore. Take me back.
I couldn’t start this blog off without sharing some of my favourite images taken recently by our friend Robyn Rose. Bobs has been photographing our family since the kids were tiny, and we even had a maternity shoot when Ben was still in my tummy. She just gets us, and I couldn’t be more in love with these latest pics.
It’s been a funny thing, not blogging for a while. I didn’t think I’d miss it. Some ex-bloggers I know said that it would take a bit of getting used to, but eventually the desire to share my thoughts with others would wear off. Well, it hasn’t for me. What do non-writers do when they have a thought in their head that simply won’t simmer down? Do you wait patiently for it to go away, like an irritating fly that won’t stop buzzing around? Writing seems a way to lay my fears to rest, or articulate my thoughts more coherently, or simply work through an issue. It feels like a yoga class for my brain. Without this platform, I feel a bit cooped up. Like I’ve been sitting on an airplane in a tiny economy class seat for 10 hours and no one has allowed me to get up and stretch my legs.