When I was a little girl, my grandfather (rest his soul) was an avid Sunday watcher of Formula One. For many years I could not understand the appeal of watching cars drive around and around the same track for over 50 laps. All of that changed in 2012 after I started dating husband-man (who was then boyfriend-man).
My first ever Grand Prix was the Japanese race in 2012. I was so invested in Kamui Kobayashi getting a podium (i.e., third place) finish that I could barely contain my excitement. And from that moment I was hooked.
As mentioned in my previous Matroosberg-related post (from many months ago), Gandalfhad a run-in with a gas heater… This is that story.
It was Day 3 of the trip… The snow day. It was bitterly cold, and all of us humans (7 in total) were attempting to get ready for our trip up to the snow without exposing too much skin to the frigid air.
We were all standing fairly near to the gas heater. In fact, the youngest member of the group had gotten his socks a little too close to the heater and had burnt holes in the toes (much to my amusement, and not so much to his mother’s).
On Thursday afternoon, while I was working from home on redesigning tutorial activities for my first year psychology students, my doorbell rang. And the furchildren went wild – howling and barking and wooing everywhere (but particularly at the front gate). I’m often worried that whoever rings the doorbell is going to run for the hills when confronted with three wolf-like creatures and a dog, 3 of whom are particularly vocal (Nanuq is the strong, silent female type).
In any case, I managed to track down my keys, and the Doorbell Ringer had not disappeared before I got there.
I went grocery shopping this evening. Having typed that sentence, I realise that it sounds like I don’t go grocery shopping very often, which is not at all true. I find myself in a supermarket a couple of times a month. Sometimes husband-man accompanies me, but more often than not I go by myself, which is usually how I prefer it (ssshhh, don’t tell husband-man!).
I find that there is something rather therapeutic about wandering up and down the aisles by myself, comparing the prices of products, thinking my thoughts, and ticking items off my (electronic) grocery list. The previous sentence does, of course, assume that my shopping expeditions are not taking place immediately after pay day, for those are somewhat less therapeutic and more blood pressure raising.