The Ladies That Lunch

Thursday was my mother-in-law's best friend’s birthday, and I was graciously invited to a ‘lunch party’ at Trish’s home. Now, as much as I like Trish (and I really do) I knew better than to accept such an invitation. I have attended one or two of these ‘lunches’ and it never ends well. I start out feeling like a loser for being the only person there that’s under sixty, so I drink wine until I no longer feel like a loser, but then the effects of the wine wear off, and by seven o’clock at night I feel not only like a loser, but a loser with a hangover.

So I tell the M-I-L (mother-in-law) that I need to be at the office on Thursday, but she insists that I must stop by after work. Now, the ‘lunch’ starts at twelve, but as it turns out, Roger and Bryan have to attend a work function that evening so there is no need for us to rush home. Lucky us.

After work, I stop by the florist to get Trish some roses and a card (a Southern girl never arrives empty-handed). I make my way to the neighborhood, and Trish welcomes me with a bear hug.

“Sooo, glad you could make it, Dahling!” she says in her posh English accent.

I tell her happy birthday and present the flowers.

“Oooh, Dahling, you shouldn’t have!” she says as she takes the flowers from me and hands them off to the maid. I smile at Liza sympathetically. I’m sure she loves these lunches even less than I do.

I awkwardly stand in the door of the lounge while Trish goes to get me a glass of wine. I say hello, but either no one remembers who I am or they are too drunk to notice me. I’m wondering if I should go back to the kitchen and try to make conversation with Liza when I spot Maureen through the sliding glass door. Maureen is one of the oldest in the group, but she’s a funny lady and we seem to have formed a bond.

I go outside and Maureen throws her arms open; I bend down to give her a hug. “Oh, my lovely girl, now tell me how ya are?”

I chit-chat with Maureen for a few minutes before wandering back inside to track down my wine. Trish’s boyfriend, Lindsay, hands me a glass and I take a seat on the couch next to my mother-in-law.

“Oh, you’re here!” she says, noticing me for the first time. She seems genuinely delighted to see me – after all, I’m one of her favorite people when she’s been drinking. Her face goes somber quickly though, and she tells me to give her friend, Dee, a big hug. I do as I’m told and Dee says nothing, but I can tell she’s been crying. She’s going through a rough time at the moment, Sally says. I sit back down and Sally and Dee resume their conversation while I survey the room.

I take a long sip of white wine. I’m about to go for a second gulp when Di plops down beside me.

“Hello, Di.”

“Lovely to see you again, Robyn.” Di’s son was in town a few weeks ago, and Roger and I attended a party at her house. “Now tell me, did you enjoy meeting my little Timmy the other night?”

I smile and say of course I did and what a lovely party and so-on. She proceeds to tell me that she and her husband are so hopeful that Tim will find a girl as nice as me and finally settle down. She then launches into far too many details about his previous girlfriends – all nice girls, but none of them good enough for little Timmy. Right.

I am saved from the conversation when Trish twirls into the room. She’s singing and dancing with a bottle of wine in each hand, pausing only to refill glasses and kiss Felix, the one eyed cat. When she has emptied the wine bottles, she laughs; then snorts as she collapses into the chair beside me. “Right then,” she announces, “That’s all the wine there is. So, finish your drinks and then you must all f#$% off!” She laughs hysterically and Sally throws a pillow at her.

“I’m very sorry Trish, but I’ll sit here all bloody night if I want to, you stupid cow!” Sally says, smiling and holding her glass in the air as if she’s making a toast.

Trish ignores the comment and rises to switch on the television. She adjusts the dial (yes, dial, it’s that old), and sits back down beside me. “I’m sorry, Robs, but it’s my birthday, and now I’m tired. I’ve fed them, I’ve drunk them, and now I’d like them all to leave so I can watch The Weakest Link with my feet up.”

“I think you may have a tough time with that, Trish,” I say, as I observe the still lively party.

“And what the f#$% is this?” my mother-in-law asks when she notices the television. Trish ignores her. “Who turns on the television in the middle of a party?”

I quietly suggest that perhaps the party is over, but my mother-in-law will have none of it. Di uncharacteristically takes the not-so-subtle hint and rises to say her goodbyes before waddling out the door in her bare feet (I don’t ask!). A few others follow her. I anxiously look to Sally to see if she might be wrapping things up, but she and Dee are still involved in a rather intense conversation.

Trish is engrossed in the Weakest Link when Maureen toddles into the lounge singing “So Long, Farewell” as she digs through her handbag looking for…keys? Maureen lives in the neighborhood, and I assumed that she had walked over (despite her 79 years, she’s a pretty sprightly old lady).

“Are you sure you’re alright to drive?” I say timidly. Maureen scoffs and turns to go but with her first step she tumbles to the floor. I rush to her side, terrified, but she seems okay. In fact, she’s laughing.

“I’m so old,” she groans. “It’s just these old knees of mine. And my hip.” And the fact that you are completely lit, I think. I take her arms and try to help her up (the others haven’t seemed to notice the tumble, or perhaps they’re just not too concerned). I intertwine my arms with Maureen’s and tug, but I only manage to drag her a few feet along the carpet. She laughs again, and I smile. I kick my wedges off for more stability. I try again, but I only succeed in dragging her a few more feet. For the love, woman, work with me!

Lindsay enters the room just in time to offer a little assistance. When we finally get her back on her feet, she reaches once more for her keys and announces she’ll be seeing us. I desperately look around to see if anyone will stop her.

“Perhaps you should wait a bit,” Lindsay suggests. But Maureen refuses, so I offer to drive her home. It’s just around the corner anyway. Yes, yes. Everyone else agrees. I should drive Maureen’s car home. But how will I get home? Maureen asks me. Oh, she’ll just walk, Trish declares. Huh? Have you seen these wedges? Adorable, yes. Practical, no. But I smile and say of course, no problem. I mean, how far can it be? The neighborhood seems pretty small…I think.

On the short drive to Maureen’s house she again tells me how lovely I am (I do like Maureen), but then she gets a bit weepy about how much she misses her daughter, who passed away five years ago. I pull into Maureen’s garage and lean over to give her a hug. She squeezes me and I wait for her to let go before I pull away. I go around to the other side of the car to help her out. Once she’s on her feet she takes my face in her hands. This woman is a little crazy, I’m sure of it, but I like her. So, I tell her so.

“I like you Maureen.”
She pulls me to her and kisses me. “Why?” she asks.
“I like your spirit.”
“And I like yours’.”
I walk her to the door but I sense that she’d rather her husband not know that she needed an escort home. So I leave her waiting on the step. I make my way down the driveway in the dark, my feet already aching.

As I make my way back to Trish’s house, I can’t help but think about my girlfriends and wonder what we’ll be like in 40 years. Who will be the one falling over? Who will be the one kicking us out? The one in tears? The one wetting her pants (out of respect for the elderly, I have left out those details)? The one watching a game show in the middle of a party? The one whose husband has to drag her home?

These women are nuts, and more than a few of them might be alcoholics, but I do admire their friendships. In fact, some part of me is a bit envious I think. I want what they have. No, not hip replacements and mild incontinence. I want a circle of women to celebrate with...to be silly with...to cry with. I sigh, knowing that I do have just such a circle, but they are currently ten thousand miles away.

I reach Trish’s house and take a deep breath before going back inside. I do like these women, and despite my protests to the contrary, perhaps I enjoy these ‘lunches’ a little more than I let on. Maybe it’s because for just a few hours, I feel part of something bigger; I feel part of a circle. No, it’s definitely not my circle, but it reminds me that mine is out there.

And even ten thousand miles away, I can still feel its power.

Sense and Sensitivity

“What do you think?”
I’m sure these are the four most terrifying words that I can say to my husband. You see, when a writer asks a loved one for an opinion, there are two possible things she means –

1) I’m feeling insecure about this and need you to tell me what you honestly think.
or
2) I’m feeling insecure about this and need you to tell me you think it’s great.

The problem lies in the not knowing which question is being asked…and usually, the person asking doesn’t have a clue either.

Fortunately, my husband has the amazing ability to sense which answer I need to hear. When I need a little encouragement, he can calm my fears with a few simple words. And when I’m looking for brutal truth, well, he is able to subtly tell me it needs a bit more work without sending me into a fit of tears – a truly amazing feat because, as you certainly know by now, I’m “sensitive.” And how does this annoying personality trait fit into my life as a writer? That’s still to be determined.

I fully admit that I’m too sensitive, but that doesn’t mean I can’t take a little criticism. I can be sensible. I recognize that the only way to become a better writer is to have my work evaluated, and yes, criticized. I can handle it though; I’m stronger than you think. Yes, I may be sensitive, but when it comes to my writing, I’m learning to be strong. I have to be.

I am, however, at the complete mercy of my reader. I despise pretty much everything that I write until someone, anyone really, grants me their approval. Now, we don’t have to delve into my psyche to know that I place far too much importance on what other people think. Lately, however, it doesn’t seem like such a bad thing, because what people think (or at least what they say) is usually encouraging. Their compliments leave me floating on air. In a matter of seconds I go from thinking I should not only delete my latest document but destroy the entire hard drive, to wondering if I should hire a literary agent or just take my work straight to the best publisher in town. It's a bit pathetic, really.

I spent this past week working on some writing samples for a potential client. I wanted them to be perfect, but as usual, I detested every word I came up with. I set myself a deadline of Friday morning, and yet, I was getting nowhere.

So, I’m working on it, but by Wednesday I’m ready to give up. I am desperate for advice on how to improve this drivel. I mention the project to Roger, but as I watch the color drain from his face I realize that he might need a break from handling my fragile ego. I decide to let him off the hook and go to my sister for advice, though I’m not sure why. She’s quick to hand out praise, but she has yet to give me a suggestion, much less advice. And yet, I think if any of my loved ones are going to be genuinely helpful, it will be her. Of course, despite her good intentions, Darby doesn’t always have the best response time – not so good for the neurotic writer anxiously awaiting approval and/or advice and on a self-imposed deadline.

By Thursday night, I’m convinced that Darby has read the samples and hates them and is currently trying to decide how to break it to me that I’m hopeless and should close up my laptop forever (a bit over dramatic, I know). The writing samples must be even worse than I originally thought, but by now it’s too late to revise them. I’ll have to submit them as they are, pathetic as they may be.

Only I can’t do it. I need a little encouragement, a gentle nudge. For this I go to my mother. Where else would I turn for biased confirmation that I’m a genius? I send her my work on Thursday night, and in a matter of minutes, she emails me back to say that 1) I am brilliant, 2) I am too good for the job for which I am applying, and 3) She has mapped out a marketing plan for the series of books that she knows will emerge from my work. I laugh out loud as I read her email. Thank you, Mom. That was exactly what I needed.

Friday morning I send it in, and as it turns out everyone really likes it. I don’t know if I got the job, but at least I can relax in the knowledge that it doesn’t suck.

Eventually though, I'd like to get to the point where I can decide for myself that it doesn’t suck. I don’t want to be at the mercy of someone else’s opinion – good or bad. Everyone loves a compliment, and at this stage of my writing career I cling to them, but the world won’t always be so kind. I think part of becoming a writer is learning to accept your work, knowing that it’s never perfect, but at some point you have to let it go. You have to put it out there for both the complements and the criticism. And you can’t take either one too seriously.

And if you get your feelings hurt along the way, well, I recommend calling Mom.

Young Love

Moose has a girlfriend. It started out pretty one-sided, but I think he’s finally won her over…it must have been the staring and the chasing that did it. I guess some girls like to be stalked – not that she’ll ever admit it. She’s much too prissy to acknowledge her love of an overgrown beagle mutt, but I’m onto her. Her name is Tigerlilly - Tigs for short. And she’s a kitten. Yes, that’s right, my dog is in love with a kitten.

He’s absolutely fascinated by Tigs; he just can’t seem to get enough of her. Wherever she is, well, that’s where he wants to be. And it’s not enough to simply be in the same room with her…no he has to be near her. And he can’t take his eyes off her. It’s understandable that my mother-in-law was a bit concerned about it at first. After all, he does drool quite a bit while he stares, and he usually only drools around food. Fortunately, he hasn’t tried to eat Tigs just yet, though he does seem to have an unhealthy obsession that up until this point he reserved only for food.

Tigs doesn’t seem to mind though. His staring certainly doesn’t interrupt her slumber. And when she wakes to find his nose in her face she simply bats him away with a tiny paw and hops to the floor, daring him to come any closer. Moose hangs on her every move. Will she dart away at the speed of light (an obvious invitation for him to chase her) or will she slowly saunter into the kitchen for a bit of food (in which case he will surely saunter after her)? Wherever she goes, he’s right behind her. He follows her like, well, for lack of a better term – a love sick puppy!

I must say, that for such a young little thing, Tigs sure knows how to play the game. She has him right where she wants him. She plays hard to get 99% of the time, but that tiny bit of encouragement is all he needs to keep him coming back for more. If she’ll just let him close enough for one little sniff, he’ll be content for days.

I’ve never seen Moose this way. After all, he’s always been a bit of a loner. Other dogs…they seemed to annoy him. Birds, squirrels…he was never interested. But now there’s Tigs. Tigerlilly. The center of his universe. While he used to spend his days snoozing, he now he spends his time following a kitten. And when he’s not chasing her, he’s watching her. Even if she’s sleeping, he won’t close his eyes for fear she might just slip away without him knowing. Tonight we’re watching TV and Tigerlilly is asleep on the couch and Moose’s little bed is on the floor just far enough from the couch so that he can see her from where he’s lying. So he’s curled up on his bed, and he’s watching her (of course). He’s exhausted though – he’s been chasing her all day – so his eyes are fluttering closed, but he’s fighting it. He keeps shaking his head in an effort to stay awake…to keep watching her. He just doesn’t want to miss a thing. (If Steven Tyler only knew…)

Okay, I recognize that I could, perhaps, be reading too much into it, but there is definitely something going on. Love is in the air, no doubt, and leave it to Moose to fall in love with a cat. But perhaps that’s just what the world needs…a little more cat/dog love…a little more mixing of the species. Maybe we could learn a thing or two from Tigs and Moose. Especially here in South Africa. After all, this country could definitely do with a bit more integration…then again, I’m not quite sure I’m qualified to dive into that subject just yet. Give me at least another month or two…

Affirming Africa

This past week, Roger pointed out that my blog doesn’t exactly give the impression that I’m loving life here in Africa. I started to protest before realizing that he could have a point – the in-law angst, the driving drama, the lost in translation issues, even the pining for proper movie theater popcorn – I can see how one might draw the wrong conclusion from my ramblings. I’m not miserable though, not at all. Yes, I’m anxious to move out of my in-law’s house and of course I’m a little homesick, but I still think we made the right decision in coming here. So, I’m okay. I’m more than okay, and to remind myself of this fact, I’ve decided to make a list of my favorite things about living in South Africa.

1. More time with Roger – Okay, it’s not directly related to Africa, but it is a result of my career change. As a real estate agent, I worked onsite five or six days a week, including every Saturday and Sunday. The only full days I got to spend with Roger were national holidays, and on the days I worked, I rarely got home before seven. So it’s been an amazing change. No, we don’t exactly spend our weekends gazing into each other’s eyes, like I had once imagined, but it’s nice to be able to go out to brunch together or see a matinee movie or go to the mall. Of course, he spends 80% of the weekend in front of the television watching sports, but that other 20%, that’s all me, baby.

2. The in-laws – Don’t be silly, not those in-laws! I’m talking about the other ones. The brother-in-law and sister-in-law and their two perfect children. A weekend with them is all I need to remind myself that coming here was a good decision. Because as much as I miss my family back home, if we hadn’t moved to South Africa, I wouldn’t know this part of my family the way I do now. I wouldn’t know that Dale loves chocolate almost as much as I do, or that she’s the most perfect ballerina on the planet. I wouldn’t know Connor makes amazing desserts or see him perform the lead in his school play. I wouldn’t know the extent of Laurel’s loyalty or Gary’s patience. I might have been told these things, but being here, well, it’s different somehow.

And perhaps, in the near future I will be able to add the other in-laws to this list – when I am no longer living with them, that is. After all, I used to think my mother and father-in-law were pretty fun. And even though I now know that they’re completely insane, I do love them.

3. Nando’s – I believe I've established my love of Nando’s in a previous post, but for those of you just tuning in, I fell in love with Nando’s in London. Every Sunday, Roger and I religiously devoured their extra-hot spicy chicken sandwiches. Lucky for me it's an intercontinental franchise. So, to reaffirm our decision, Roger takes me to Nando’s once a week.

4. South African wine - It's not that the taste is particularly distinctive - no, wine is on the list because of the sheer quantity of it. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that a glass of wine is usually cheaper than a Diet Coke, but for whatever reason, people drink a lot of wine. It's at lunch, at dinner, at happy hour, at dessert...so maybe it's not specifically the wine that I love, but the attitude towards wine. Because as you know, I do like to wine a bit!

5. My job – As I’ve mentioned before, I am now a writer. A writer! I know; I need to stop squealing when I say that. Perhaps I could have explored this option in Atlanta, but I didn’t really know where to start. But here I am in Africa…Robyn, the writer.
And I love it.

6. My blog – Why didn’t I do this earlier? I’ve always been overly introspective and a bit narcissistic, and how better to indulge those traits than a blog? It’s kind of a stretch, but I derive the content for my blog from living here in South Africa, so that’s why it makes the list.

7. The African sun – It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen, and to try and describe it in words is a task too daunting for this novice writer...it’s closer, brighter, more vibrant. It’s as if Africa has a sun all to itself.
Photo most definitely not taken by me! This is one of Gary and Laurel's.

Perhaps this will put it in perspective: To compensate for my new relationship with sausages and potatoes, I’ve taken up jogging. I hate to exercise, but if I continue to eat my mother-in-law’s sausage rolls and sausage sandwiches and sausages with mashed potatoes (not to mention Nando’s once a week), I realize exercise is a necessary evil. So even though I hate it, I’ve been getting up at 6:30 four or five days a week and going to the park. You’re in shock, I know. Me? 6:30? But it’s true, and the thing that helps me drag my butt out of bed is knowing I’ll see that amazing African sunrise. There’s just nothing like the feeling of the African sun on my face as it first peeps over the hill. It truly takes my breath away…or perhaps I’m just breathless because I’m out of shape. That’s entirely possible, but regardless, it’s pretty damn beautiful.

So that’s a good start, huh? And there are other reasons too, things that aren’t part of our everyday life, but things I certainly wouldn’t see or do very often if we didn’t live here – like the African bush or the Capetown vineyards or Victoria Falls or the Namibian desert. Plus, how many people can say they’ve lived in Africa? Okay, a whole continent’s worth of people, but you know what I mean, right? One day Roger and I will move back to the States, and I’ll casually say at a dinner party, “Well, when we lived in Africa…” and suddenly, I will be fascinating and exotic. Perhaps that’s not legitimate enough for the list, but if I’m being honest…well, it’s another reason I like living here – the simple experience of it all. So yes, I still feel good about our decision. I'm happy to be here.

And when I’m not, I just go to Nando’s.