The number three. If you were to ask Aunty Google about this number, she will tell you that three is a natural number that comes after two, and before four. I sometimes wonder if some clever person out there is getting paid for telling us things that we all know. Really. It comes after two? And before four? Anyway, moving along. Apart from its line of succession, the number also represents completeness, wholeness, resurrection, and harmony. Biblically, it represents divine wholeness, completeness, and perfection. Apparently, one can also have a life path number three. Those mortals that find themselves on this route are creative spirits driven by their infinite imagination. In a relationship, number three signifies open communication and a deep emotional connection. Now, I suppose this theory can be applied to Colin and me, because you see, we have a thing about number three.
We all have a story to tell of how we met. Colin and I met in Botswana. How we got there, is a topic for another day. Now, 33 years ago (yes two 3’s!) one did not go to Botswana to find a husband, and I definitely had no intention either, but you know how life goes, and three days after arriving in Botswana, I met Colin. It then took him three weeks to build up the courage to ask me out. (By that time, I had all but forgotten about having met him at all. Remember, it was not part of my plan.) It took us another three months to get engaged, and…. yup, you guessed it: three months later we were married. So, you see, Colin and I have a thing about threes.
What are we doing on Sunday, Colin asked me one evening last week. I think (Colin, that is) we need a celebration. You see, Sunday, the 1st of December, it was exactly three years since we packed up ourselves and our cat and followed the road south. Because I know Colin too well, I did a quick check on my calendar, and yes, he was right. At times these past few years it felt like three minutes or three lifetimes. But in reality, we have indeed been here three years. What did you have in mind, I asked, already making mental reservations at that nice fine dining restaurant we always drive past, promising ourselves a splendid meal out when next we have a celebration. Well, Colin says, I thought we could take a drive out to Kleinmond (fine dining place is not in Kleinmond, my little voice tells me) for lunch at – no, I will be kind and not mention the name of where Colin suggested we go. I can tell you this: you cannot remotely mention this “joint” and fine dining even in the same book, never mind sentence. Perhaps it was the look of utter dejected disappointment that made Colin explain. This place, apparently, will always remind him of us first coming down here. Somehow, he associates this with our first baby steps in the Western Cape. But what about…..fine dining…. celebrating…. nice place….I ventured. Let’s put it his way, I tried. But Kleinmond it was. At least the cutlery was stainless steel, if not matching.
Before getting to Kleinmond, we did a bit of a reverse trip. We started in Pringle Bay, where the whole idea of us migrating took shape. Pringle Bay does have one of the best beaches for walks. We worked our way back, stopping at the house (I can call it a house now) to check on progress, and then Kleinmond. Poor Pringle Bay was not a happy town. We have not had electricity for a few days, one of the shopkeepers told us. The day before, we did not have water supply. Oh, and did I mention the poor internet connectivity we have experienced, she said. Seems that Pringle Bay is also having to deal with it’s fair share of threes.
But getting back to the house. I gave up on counting just how many anxiety attacks I have survived these past three years. In the beginning it was about what have we done? Followed by, will we ever get there? Lately, this has been replaced with: Oh, my goodness. It is happening. As always, this conjures up a song from somewhere in my head. The song is called Rocky and is not about Sylvester Stallone in boxing trunks.
This song goes back to 1975 and was recorded by a country artist called Dickey Lee. It is one of those songs that was used to fill space on an album and, like me going to Botswana, had no intentions nor expectations, but in the end, it was the artist’s most famous song, and his only ever hit. It is a dumb song, with lyrics along the line of: Rocky I’ve never had a baby before, don’t know if I can do it – as if you have a choice at that point. But back to what reminded me of the song. You see, my version would be: Rocky I’ve never seen so many rocks before, can we use them to build with? And so, we did. And I now wake up with anxiety bubbling up in my throat, and I think: yes! We have done it.
Holiday season is approaching. Our little town is starting to get very busy. Our first December we spent in Botrivier – that quaint little dorpie where we formed some of our closest relationships. Last year I gushed about looking forward to having December in a holiday town. This will be my second December in the same town, and I have learnt my lesson. I made sure to stock up on everything I may need in the house before the locusts buy it all. And next year? I guess next year I will complain about not having electricity, or water, or Wi-Fi connection. Or just maybe, we will have something to celebrate at that very nice restaurant with its white tablecloths and food with fancy names.