Sunday morning, coming down

Meanwhile, back at the ranch…

I departed California January 2020 and arrived here for a three-month visit. Fifteen months later and I’m still here.
My primary delay was involuntary: hard lockdown due to pandemic. Then settling my 87-year-old mother into a Care Center, now the delay is trying to sell her house.
December 9, 2020, I accepted the keys to my new home: a small, one-bedroom, new semi-detached home with garden. I could move in anytime.
Four months later, I’ve never slept there. Indeed, to date, the longest chunk of time I’ve ever spent there is five or six daylight hours. I am semi moved in – chairs, sofa, bed frame sans mattress, but no stove, no fridge, no hot water kettle, no coffee maker.
To maintain security and a semblance of normality for the long-term domestic worker, four dogs, and the neighborhood’s troop of marauding vervet monkeys, I sleep at my mother’s house with its 30 steps, 6 bedrooms, 6 bathrooms, separate cottage, three levels of garden - includes a stream with two malfunctioning culverts (one totally block, one so-so blocked) - a double garage, shed and two lean-tos stuffed with miscellany, one small swimming pool with finicky filer, and a garden pond overgrown with invasive pond lilies…
Expense decrees I choose between paying  for Internet at my new place and forgo it at my mother’s house. I chose to connect my new home. This means that most mornings I depart my mother’s house for my new home, carrying my laptop, my (failing) iPhone 6, various batteries and cables associated with keeping those items charged, a handwritten list of the day’s tasks, a snack, and whatever tools I need for the day.
With a nine hour time difference between SA and California and a seven hour time difference between SA and Texas, I forgo regular phone calls to the States, too. (By the time I arrive at my new place, only one night owl friend is awake to chat.) 

Most days, I visit my mother during the Care Center’s tight lockdown schedule, between 10 and 11 a.m. I also exercise, garden, and, masked and sanitized, maintain sufficient social distance to conduct the business required to sell my mother’s house and property.
I return to my mother’s house early afternoon to relieve the domestic worker, clean the pool, sort through more miscellany, and continue prepping the property for sale.
This is a cumbersome and increasingly burdensome way to live.
California’s hot property market lulled me into believing, naively, that my mother’s house would sell quickly. It’s been six months and, while buyers have expressed interest, we’ve had no offers solid enough to attract the bank bond/mortgage paperwork to complete the deal.
I’ve must return to California to tend to my own life and responsibilities.
For more than a year, I’ve earned no income, but pay a monthly marina fee for my houseboat moored in a sun-drenched slip and collecting algae and invasive water plants. I also pay storage fees, vehicle insurance, and further assorted fees associated with California living.

Maintaining my mental health and a semblance balance is increasingly difficult.
The “little things” threaten to tip me over the edge.
Take my iPhone 6. I’m reliant on – addicted to? – reading library books on my phone’s Kindle app. Alas, Apple, in its infinite push toward profit, not people, decreed that it would no longer support the iPhone 6, originally produced with a poorly designed internal battery.
In the face of the phone’s continuing failure, I’ve limped along with it attached to an external battery – itself recently replaced with a locally sourced external battery.
It’s easy, in my schlepp to and from locations, to leave behind an item.
Yesterday, despite checking and rechecking, I departed my new place without the single most important item - the lightening cable that enables charging the phone so I can read Kindle books when I'm awake at night.
Reading allows me to constructively engage and “park” my mind rather than lie in the dark in bed and fret about the future, my friends and family, my mother, my daughter’s impending visit during a pandemic, and other ongoing day-to-day troubles.
Last night, I worried about how I’d survive a whole night without my iPhone/Kindle security “blankie.”
After tossing and turning for hours in the dark under my mosquito net, I opted for the big pharma rescue: a mild sleeping pill.
Great move!
I slept well. Moreover, I’ve glimpsed into the longings, fear, panic, and sheer emptiness that must accompany anyone addicted to anything. And thank the gods I’m not addicted to anything more dangerous than an iPhone and Kindle app. Nevertheless, not to push my luck, I hopped out of bed early and headed to my new place …and my charger cable/security blankie.

***

South African days getting shorter while nightfall happens earlier:
Feb 26: sunrise 5:47am; sunset 6:33pm.
March 2: sunrise 5:50am; sunset 6:29pm.
March 9: sunrise 5:55am; sunset 6:21pm.
March 16: sunrise 5:59am; sunset 6:13pm.
March 22: sunrise 6:03am; sunset 6:05pm.
March 29: sunrise 6:07am; sunset 5:58pm.
April 1: sunrise 6:09am; sunset 5:54pm.
April 4: sunrise 6:10am; sunset 5:51pm.