Sometimes I realise afresh how extreme the South African climate is. Yesterday our lawn was frozen, the blades of grass sharp icicles that hurt the dogs’ feet when they went out for a piddle. (The photograph is blurred, because I was shivering.)
And so onto Sidey’s weekend theme: poetry. When I came to WordPress over a year ago, from another blogging platform, my intention was to only post poetry and creative writing here. (*Points to sidebar / list of categories.*) Life, however, has its own agenda. It is no big secret that I suffer from fibromyalgia and sciatica and, on some days, am laid almost paralysed with pain. Some time ago, my lovely Doctor Neighbour prescribed Cymbalta and – largely – made the pain go away. Cymbalta is an anti-anxiety drug, but research found – coincidently – that it eased fibromyalgia symptoms. One of the downsides is that it somewhat dampens creativity and it almost immediately put my poetry muse into a coma. Food and wine took over this blog, which is not at all distressing to me, after all, as Mister Berchoux said “A poem was never worth as much as a dinner.”
And so to dinner and the weather. Only a curry would to against these sub-zero temperatures. I, homesick for Simonstown, yearned for a bowl of Mrs Patel’s biryani and set out to recreate the taste from memory.
Satisfying and spicy, I was flooded with thoughts of gratitude. Looking at my wine quote of the day this morning, I can only wonder at the synchronicity of minds, how perfectly appropriate: “Wine is bottled poetry.” Robert Louis Stevenson.