Just Time

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On her 16th birthday last year, Tamms wore a devastating black dress for dinner at The Talisman in Karen. She ordered a mocktail to make her feel sophisticated and grown, someone with agency. Also because the only thing that goes well with a dress is a cocktail. She sat up straight, sipping her drink like it had rum. And when she took a selfie, she pouted her lips. “Why do you pout your lips when you take a photo?” She said, “For the photo to look good.” I thought of saying that what makes photos look good is lighting… but it wasn’t my birthday. I nursed my measly glass of wine since I was driving. Kim had something more exciting; orange juice.

I studied her as she studied the menu. Her face was done and she looked much older. I couldn’t believe she was 16 and she already looked like a young woman already making major decisions on whether it was going to be the beef burger or the Kung Pao Chicken. That she was now at the age where she excuses herself to go to the bathroom to touch up her face. [And, I suppose, take mirror selfies]. It was terrifying and mildly nauseating to watch grown-ass men discreetly follow her with their eyes as she walked from the washrooms; towering in high heels. I had an overwhelming urge to throw a salt shaker at someone’s head.

Later I decided to walk my main course briefly before the cake was brought out. I wandered outside into the garden and ran into this lovely gate.

I found it charming in a very medieval way. It made for a dramatic entrance – or exit. And it seemed alive to this purpose, literally. I wanted it for myself. Or something close to that. For the village. So I took a photo and sent it to my grass guy – Duncan. “Let’s build a gate separating the main house and the garden. Made from metal, not wood.”

I then sent it to my welding guy in the village with instructions to fabricate the gate. My welding guy is a drunkard called Oito. He is very good with fire and metal when he isn’t smashed out of his head. Then I had Duncan plant bougainvillaea, and a unique plant with a name I don’t recall, a gift from a friend. “It will take two years to flower.” She warned. I thought, who has two years surely? But you know what they say about a gift horse?

This was February last year. For the longest time I’d go back to the village and the damn plants were barely growing. Barely. My dream of having a gate like the Talisman slowly withered.

Yesterday I landed in the village and lo and behold! The damn plants were crawling over the gate!

I was chuffed. I touched the leaves unbelievingly and whispered, “you beautiful little devils, keeping a man waiting.” I sent a photo to my pal who said, “patience pays.” Which is the same thing my brother likes to say, ‘Give time time.”

Obviously, there is no story for the blog today until next week. I will be doing almost nothing this whole week; just eating, listening to the birds and reading Donna Tartt.

Oh and you will be happy to learn that the resident cat, Oatmeal, is doing fine. Lean and growing. Hunting small animals in the brush. Taking naps on Kim’s bed. She is the cleanest cat I have ever met.

She said hello.

Give time time.