A million gazillion dollars

Me: “What would you do if you had a million gazillion dollars?”
Small boy aged 6: “Well, first I would have to work for it as a fireman. Then I’d buy myself a fireman’s helmet, buy you a dishwasher and then give the money I didn’t need to people who don’t have any.”
I’ve lived with him all his life and yet he can still leave me speechless.

There really is no good reason to be unhappy around him. As my colleague, Diksha Kara, says, “Just make your mind to be happy today. If something bad happens deal with it and move on.” The thing is I don’t trust people who are happy all the time. They seem like the types who one day will just go postal. And when I am depressed, I like to wallow in it for a bit before coming out of the funk. Still, I am giving the happy philosophy a shot today.

The kids and I enjoyed a productive voting day yesterday. We decided to get going on The Great Wendy House Construction to surprise our lord and master who is away. We prepped and painted walls and roof slats. The boys loved filling in the holes in the wood with putty, and Lexi and I painted the window frame a bright bubblegum pink. The clouds rolled in about then and thunder rumbled ominously, so I began the great clean up operation from which my skin will likely never recover from.

The truth behind my joy in this physical enterprise is that before the back operation I would never have been able to do it. In celebration I am wearing my first pair of high heels in over a year to work today. My feet are screaming, but my back is perfect!

I did make my mark at the elections, but I applied the knowledge learnt in previous years. For some reason most people rush off at sparrow’s tweet to stand in the freezing cold in long queues. I can’t understand this. I wait as late as possible and then meander my way up to the school. I got there about 15:30 and was the only person in the whole place. It was much better organised than in the past, although I must say smiles and good manners were scarce on the ground. The IEC bunch were a surly lot and the only brevity was the super happy car guard in an ANC election t-shirt. Dick, from Dick’s Jumbo Rolls, apparently did a roaring trade on wors rolls despite his dodgy name, and the police looked unutterably bored as though they were a little disappointed the residents of Buccleuch hadn’t tried to riot. What with the remains of lollipop pink paint, grey roof paint and the black spot of voting, my hands look as though I have some foul and contagious form of leprosy.

Spouse and I are contemplating a move into deepest darkest Africa, perhaps Kenya, Senegal or Ghana. I think we need to get out of this city and I believe that the more cultures children are exposed to the better adults they make. Also, I’d enjoy a change of scenery and a change of pace. Our parents are getting older and if we don’t take the opportunity now while they are still independent, it will soon be gone. Realising that I am reaching the age where I am becoming responsible for my parents is a harsh awakening. I want to see a little more of the world, live a little dangerously and learn to speak another language. I want my kids to see gorillas in the mist and the migration of the antelope across the Serengeti. The only barrier to all this is psychological. My spouse’s employer does not like the wives of their employees on assignment to work. I think I can overcome this. I’d like to study some more. And maybe I’ll finally finish that blasted book.

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