Everyone knows Durbanites are wussies about the cold.
Being blessed with beautiful warm winters, we lose our marbles when the temperature goes below about 20 degrees.
Saffers in colder climes are far better at dealing with low temperatures, even owning jerseys, jackets and winter jammies. Electric blankets and heaters too, although it’s probable Eskom has had a significant impact on their longevity and reliability.
Long live hot water bottles, if you are able to boil the kettle before the power goes off.
Last weekend brought a chill to the eastern shores, a challenge because hardly anyone here owns a jersey or we can’t remember which black bag it was packed away in thaaaat time ago.
I retreated to the bathtub. That’s also a luxury in some areas, but I have “saved” up for it with stringent water usage reductions since the floods.
It was bliss.
People who can bend over often don’t consider (mea culpa in my pre-broke back days) the pain washing and drying your lower legs and feet, and clipping toe nails, can cause.
One thing I am most grateful for about working from home is, since only my canine family smells me, I don’t have to put myself through daily shower torture, and baths are limited to when a “pedicure” is necessary.
But on Sunday, when my toes wuz froze, it was pure escapism. A long soak with loads of bubbles, warmth and reflection. Not even a book.
For once, the dogs left me alone, probably because the couch was warmer than cold tiles, except for an occasional check to make sure I was still there.
First, I just breathed in and smelled the bubbles. Then I unhooked my shoulders. And breathed out. Repeat several times.
Then lay back and the mind wafted about on its own. Reminded me of being grateful for small things: sunlight shining through the windows; the flowers on some of the windowsill plants; the birds singing (even our resident fish eagle chimed in, a true blessing); laughter from the neighbours’ kids. Being warm. Being able to run a bath.
Just for that about-hour-long wallow, the world and its bad bits were banished. No worrying about interest rate hikes, our dismal politics, democracy taking a hammering, food prices, general nastiness and how so many people worse off than me were coping.
A real cheap getaway until the water started cooling and life got real again when I had to dry between the toes.
But the calm remained and seemed to spread.
At bed time, the Big Boss Dog only gave a slight growl when the others disobeyed the standing rule of who is allowed to sleep on the bed. All five of us (pooch number five sleeps with the kids in the granny flat) found a space in which to share body warmth and I blissed out on the hot water bottle. Woke with freezing feet a few hours later to find Big Boss Dog had eased me out of the way and was snoring up a storm with the “bottle” under his belly. The snoring was interrupted for about five seconds as I wormed my feet in under both.
Seems even Durban dogs are wussies in the cold.
The Independent on Saturday