Don't worry yourself

It snowed. 31 of March and it snowed.
The crocuses had bloomed. I had gone to sunnier places with just a thin leather jacket.
It had become seasonally warm (or what goes for warm in this cold place).
Now this. Still wearing your wintercoat in April is not ok. Really, I cannot handle this drabness much longer. Before, I had complained about the weather being too hot, about the sweat underneath my legs making them stick to leathery surfaces when sitting down, about fearing sunburn and being swallowed by the heat at all times. Now I long for any true heat, not this manufactured air coming from the heater under my window. I want to swelter.

In the meantime, a little Fink goes a long way.

Memphis, Tennessee

I am wrapped in two blankets like a piece of chocolate inside a croissant. It is -1° outside. I can't remember the last time I saw, never mind felt, the sun. I intensely miss sunshine, not only for the warmth it brings but also for its ability to make people feel happier. Here we're all bulbs, hiding underneath layers of black cloth, waiting to bloom.

This lack of sunshine reminded me of a film a friend gave me a few years back, entitled That Evening Sun. Based on the short story I Hate To See That Evening Sun Go Down by William Gay, the imagery in the film reminds me of life at a slower pace, of cicadas, of sipping mojitos and not doing much because the heat is all-consuming. I'd like to be there, now, chilling with Abner Meecham on some porch and contemplating life in a strong southern accent.

According to the weather report, it is just going to get colder. Here's hoping that with the cold the wind stops, the rain becomes snow and the sun can finally peek from behind the clouds.

Summertime

You called it enjoying the ease of summer. At the moment, it feels neither easy, nor summery. More like I am simmering in my own sweat when I am not allowed to sweat. You see, there are two very expensive stickers on my back, containing fourteen chemicals often used in cosmetics. This patch test stays on for three days, during which they cannot become wet. So all showering, swimming, and sweating of any sort, is out. It is advised to bath. I like my water streaming down, not sitting in a cold pool of it. But it is only three days. Hopefully after that the mystery allergy that sneaks up on me on occasion can be identified and avoided. 

In general, spring and autumn speak more to my sensibilities than the overwhelming heat of summer and the lack of heat during winter. The inbetweens are more my thing. Summer is fantastic. The time of Christmas vacations, road trips to the coast, fresh fruit, seeing family and friends, drinking too much, going out too much, tanning and relaxing in as little clothes as possible whilst holding some kind of pink cocktail.

However, it also encompasses the dreaded search for a bathing suit. This year I have started early so that I can fail more often. I really don't understand how it can be this difficult. I mean, the entire Gauteng goes to occupy the coast during December, so I assume there are boatloads of swimming costumes needed. However, all the stores have either stamp-sized nipple covers for tweens, or they have black dress-suits aimed at anyone that is older than 40. So you can either go almost naked, or looking like an elephant in a tutu. 

Not to out myself as a pervert, but I have observed that lots of South African women are large-chested (well, many are just large in general, seeing as that we are the world's #3 most obese nation). I assume that most ladies don't want their assets drooping, seeking shelter under their armpits or jumping out of their bikini tops like whales attempting to break some breaching record. I further assume that supported chesticles are more flattering than un-supported ones. So why the hell can the stupid stores not make any swimsuits that don't look like they were made either for grandmothers or people who have not yet hit puberty? 

If you are a smaller chested lady, well, I am jealous. All those brightly patterned triangles must be fun to wear. Even just the plain black bikinis look great when everything is not falling by the wayside. So this year, I will either be tanning in the nude, or wear my bra to the beach. 

* Sidenote: I did find a black creation which does not make me look like a corseted hippopotamus in heat. High 5. 

Dark Storm

N4 just before entering Hatfield

It had been excruciatingly hot all day. The kind of heat that makes one listless, unable to move, unable to concentrate, unable to do anything besides taking a long nap. 

A friend proposed an art exhibition to go to that night, and on my way there the sunset was marvellous. This image does not nearly describe the colour of peaches and raspberries and cherries and blueberries all merging into a glorious end to the day. 

It is strange to think how we are never afraid at sunset, but as soon as the last rays are gone and darkness descends, real and imaginary monsters find their ways to scare us. A sound, which during daytime would not even have been noticed, can make the heart quiver in the night. Maybe it is the threat of the hidden, of that which we cannot see, of the surprise that might be lurking, of an unexpected pounce on our sense of security.