Reading Mom

God and Creation

2011-09-16T04:24:00.003-07:00

There is no God, they say
It is all in your brain
Self awareness, mind play
Religion a muscle strain

I can not understand
Why human evolution
explaining a certain gland
Has to contradict religion

Religion has set the tone
A long time ago
Is the structure, the bone
Of what happened , I know

The evolution of evolution
Is gradually confirming
Without contradiction
is religion reaffirming

Genesis is correct
Its sequence verified
By the latest tech sect
of evolution clarified

How could Moses have foreseen
the creation event sequence
in a desert of sand and stone glean
What is now evolution credence?

Surely by God he was told
As the Bible is reporting
In the midst of fire cold
What evolution is now supporting

Even death in itself
Is an evolution manifest
Kills the previous version
So that the new one can infest

Evolution is a computer like access
Has some coding, parameters, input
With a common biologic process
all living things the varied output

Let me put it in IT terms
The ones I am comfortable with
Not relying in worms and sperms
To explain the alleged myth

DNA is the software introduced
RNA the input parameter
It explains all the output produced
But not the Programmer

Julius

2011-09-16T04:23:00.000-07:00

Julius is in everybody’s mouths
No sane reason, I say, stupid tantrums.
The Press made him, rotting trouts
ignore his verbal intestinal dumps

It is said that no bad publicity is reared
All attention, good or bad is welcome
If you want to be known or feared
Just ensure they heard your venom

Remember, if a million think as he plays
There are another forty nine who don’t
I am surprised he can recall what he says
He just blurbs what keeps him in papers front

If we all ignore him
His speeches bigotic
He will become slim
By all seen as idiotic

Out of sight
Out of mind
Not even a serious plight
just a piece of pork’s rind

to act on the Roman trends
for a political Brutus close to his terminal
every voter pray closed hands
let him be very ex tender preneurial

Two arts together

2011-09-16T04:22:00.000-07:00

What about the thought
Of adding verses to my art
two for one, retail plot
Which the better part?

Imagine a large canvas
Of my preferred drawing
Filled with good stanzas
Acclaimed, maybe boring

Which should I create first?
The poems or the paint idea
And paint what is versed
Or verse the painted mania

My sentiment by now
Could be a lazy trick
Say I paint a blue cow
eulogy the cow’s tick

Finding a Subject

2011-09-16T04:21:00.000-07:00

I must select a subject
To verse all about
Not serious, I elect
will rave, jump, shout

Work, motherhood
Life and work ethics
Play, brotherhood
Of Families pathetics

Babies, girlfriends
Boyfriends, courtship
Of ambition my friends
top clubs membership

trips to far places
insects, bugs, mosquitos
fancy hotels, high places
Mexican best burritos

Beautiful people, stars
Rowdy neighbours
powerful, elegant cars
full of wealthy labours

deserted islands
coconuts and sands
sires of highlands
the latest pop bands

of these I will be versed
with some Muse’s help
an ode will be rehearsed
and a sonnet I will yelp

So wait, great readers
for my stanzas galore
Of this art breeders
will sentiments bore

What happened to the prose
That for decades I supported
To poetry gave the up nose
rhyming I never courted

Why this change of heart
This sudden affliction
It’s an addition to my art
an welcome contradiction

Getting Serious

2011-09-16T04:16:00.002-07:00

I do not want to write about
the ills that hurt our soul
Instead, about happiness shout
See the good times roll

Sadness, pain, heartache
Sickness, regret, jealousy
Separation, tears, heartbreak
Loneliness, guilt, all hopelessly

Rather fun, enthusiasm, hope,
Glee, laugh, love, smiles
Of togetherness I am the Pope
Health, friendship, no trials

I am nearly seventy
my spirit in its youth
that is the best therapy
the old age to soothe

Its difficult to act my age
to behave like a grown up
life is theater, I am on stage
this image just made up

Nice to think laterally
see what others miss
your ideas put logically
so great, it’s a bliss

I have no time to waste
in regrets and guilt trips
for that I have no taste
no cry to pass my lips

Concentrate on the future
The things you can achieve
Looking back a blooper
own life you should weave

I know that God made us
And God will takes us too
But keep for later the stress
That old age can brew

Until then live life
As if it would last forever
Give sorrow the knife
Forget tomorrow, whatever

Of that I have no doubt
We are all living animals
We may not have a snout
Share the same principals

Your senses work well
When not disturbed by pain
God help if you‘re unwell
Your mind works in vain

Our physical part is dominant
Doesn’t matter what the mind plays
Your body is preeminent
Irrelevant what the brain says

So take care of the body
Compensate it’s growing flaws
Don’t act in ways shoddy
De-accelerate the age laws

Glasses ever stronger
Hearing aids galore
Fine print read no longer
Listen well a constant war

Take this for the heart
That is for my spine
Walk, jump, start
A cane of good pine

the body will be supported
By all these pills, actions
the brain is to be sorted
fill it with abstractions

games, chess, puzzles
study, problem solving
make it work till it guzzles
hard questions resolving

Add the experience
That a lifetime brings
And you have abundance
Of life, mellow springs

Then you will be alive, my friend
Free from all restriction
To a new level you’ll ascend
Without much affliction

Family Love

2011-09-16T04:16:00.001-07:00

My granddaughters I love dearly
My grandsons not less I love
inside my heart they live sincerely
they are of peace a white dove

My Children are my life
they have grown so quickly
Never a moment of strife
our picture of love thickly

My wife of so many years
is a God blessing in my life
my old age she cheers
I couldn't ask a better wife

Actually God I must thank
for all the blessing I've been given
rich of everything, a bank
couldn't dream of a better livin'

Three day trip LIsbon to Jhb

2011-09-16T04:13:00.000-07:00

I am back, I am back
I'm feeling spaced out
slimmer, not a sack
I am puking as a spout

I will feel better, normal
three days to get here
in ways not all formal
I wish I had been a seer

first the car they dishonour
then take without receipt
without notice on the hour
the broken mirror, deceit

then the flight is no more
and was for tomorrow
can't get back to the boer
doesn't help to feel sorrow

Boarding house, hotel?
taximeter is metering
anything even brothel
I need place of sleeping

time passing, sleeping
plastic food in between
what time are we leaving
from this plastic canteen?

no taxi, we're late
we may lose the plane
luggage have to freight
a pre-seat we must obtain

nice flight, a bit bumpy
seat right at the back
of a metal tube dumpy
let's try and hit the sac

pill doesn't work
teeth lost in transit
a confusing cirque
cover me with a blanket

maputo airport, confusion
visas, luggage, boarding passes
requested bribes in profusion
such nice friendly lasses

joburg at last, no problems
we arrived right on time
luggage where it should be
there, of the family the prime

disoriented, blame the pill
I am puking, no end
or it could be the chill
to business I must attend

five days have passed
since sao teotonio I have left
after a long trip aghast
I am normal, I was bereft

Now a problem has arisen
what airline to take next
or should I a jet imprison
and fly as the Kings expect

New Poetic Ideas

2011-09-16T04:12:00.000-07:00

Try a new poetic expression
spelling random rhyming words
of poem rules a transgression
good for artists and for nerds

let me explain what I mean
the value I am proposing
force rhyming word. Green
and the stanza then composing

It could be really amazing
the combinations you can make
new ideas, concepts phrasing
without pain without headache

It is more difficult to force rhyme
a random word here insert
than with the soundind chime
the complete stanza blurt

I really don't know what poetry
was, is or should be
let me try some astrology
and guess what it could bee

Start with random words
Backwards. Atrophy. Alchemy
this is the way it goes, nerds
we will win the prize. Galaxy

No results were found
for the function you selected
says the computer bound
for the action you connected

I am loving this venture
the endeavour of a lifetime
it's great my friend. Adventure
And of good poetry my prime

Jojo please help your Dad
that is feeling some distress
is this an acceptable fad
or of poetry just a digress?

My Classic car

2011-09-16T04:10:00.000-07:00

My wheel fell off, the right one in the back
when I was turning into ethel avenue
the screws never tightened to the rack
carelessness, incompetence makes me blue

I was lucky I was turning in
would I have been really fast
more than just screeching scratching
my drive would have been my last

how can I again trust these guys
last time the white SL they scratched
I should no longer compromise
they haven't even the first patched

They are all chancers, have no fear
of others' expensive assets dismantle
they brake, scratch, bend and smear
twist, bang , burn the control mantle

and make you pay for what they did
lying that was broken, bent, faulty
cough up, no mercy, no plead
words with lies peppered, salty

Better ask my untrained son
that a knack for mechanics he has
intelligence by the ton
he will succeed with all that jazz

My green baby I can't drive
until the wheel is repaired
a solution he has to connive
for all this to be squared

A deal I have agreed
with my successor dear
a tool box I buy, greed
for the car problem to clear

Two weeks have passed
the wheel is dismantled
no solution is posseded
nothing to be disassembled

I need my baby to run
without it I am incomplete
What must I do, my Son
to have it back on the street?

Baloo

2011-09-16T04:08:00.000-07:00

Photos has Anita sent me
the last ones of my Baloo
awake and alive they show
the patriarch of my dogs, too

It is sad that they were taken
belie they do its near collapse
I expected him to be so lame
that atanasia wouldn't be a lapse

Instead his eyes are bright, awake
nothing incicates near death
or should prepare us for its wake
he was'nt at his last breath

I pray that the same logic
that in this case prevailed
by my children bilogic
in our case wont be unveiled

Consenting party I was
to the end killing deed
ready to be confronted I wasn't
with the consequences of my deed

We surrendered to the bother
that cleaning, putting him out
is, would be and was, my brother
may his spirit forgive us, I doubt

Cleveland Chess win

2011-09-16T04:07:00.002-07:00

I am so proud
of Cleveland's chess
I must shout loud,
proudly, I confess

That boy is going places
won all his chess' games
of cleverness more than traces
Cleveland, that's James

His future will be bright
in whatever he may do
He will always be in the light
like him there will be few

Before birth God told me
that people will say of him
that above the rest will be
and blessed to the brim

Competitive he is
in anything he tackles
he wants to be the whiz
to win without shackles

More sensitive than he shows
his cool calm is growing
he will never show his foes
what in his mind is growing

in the confines of his Family
but not always, he shows
a sensivity so candid, homely
that impresses, our mind blows

I love him, no ends
and I know he loves me too
we will be close, no fiends
best friends we will be too

Broken Review Mirror

2011-09-16T04:07:00.001-07:00

of the car somebody banged
the left rearview mirror
with the driver we harenged
but there was no bicker

the mirror was improvised
until it can be replaced
the inconvenience minimized
until all faults are erased

Friday a new mirror we expect
to be assembled like the peer
in time it will all be correct
when I return the car, no fear

Thursday has gone - no mirror
today the mechanic I must enquire
if resolution is any nearer
or I am in a nightmare mire

Mirror I haven't ordered
says the guy with straight face
too late, so I didn't bother
this would be a losing race

By Monday it will be here
I am sure it will arrive
if by then I don't hear
a scheme I will connive

The mirror has arrived
the guy the car has taken
the car has survived
if I am not mistaken

It was not to be
the saga has no end
the new nirror is debris
is also broken, not mend

Mia Brand

2011-09-16T04:04:00.002-07:00

Mia, so lovely, so calm
when she is not hungry
to my heart is a balm
I am saying this truly

although in truth must say
I do not know her well
I am looking to on arrival
become acquainted, swell

and win her heart for me
as she will win mine
and together as we can be
become object of my mime

Lily Brand

2011-09-16T04:04:00.001-07:00

Lily's so sweet, sure footed is
so beautiful, I can't believe
everybody's heart wins, with ease
her Uncle, Cousin are called Cleve

Her gaze a blessing of love made
looking at her are treats
her eye focus never swayed
She engages all she meets

I love her with all my heart
trust me, believe me you
she is a picture, fine art
it's special - she loves me too

Orlando Joshua

2011-09-16T04:03:00.000-07:00

Orlandinho. alias Josh
is as sweet as pumpkin pie
he is so handsome, by gosh
believe me, is not a lie

He dearly loves his brother
that loves him in return
he is the eye of his Mother
and good marks starts to earn

at the gifted school he attends
this year he has started
If not provoked, I stand
of the family is the best hearted

Cleveland James

2011-09-16T04:02:00.000-07:00

Jamie , also known
as Cleveland to some
is no joke. no clown
he is brilliant, not a bum

His great mind he shows
at gifted school he excels
only highs, there are no lows
accolades and ring of bells

He's great at public speaking
he enjoys it no end
of brilliance he's reaking
of Einstein he is a blend

Business

2011-09-16T03:59:00.000-07:00

Red Hat, Louis, Sven,
Cloud computing too
Faxcom makes seven
we must sell, think, scheme
or may land in the poo

skim off things the cream
that makes shareholders happy
double last year's profit,
and let the World know -
LSD is crappy

we are the greatest team
Buffet we will dismay
like the cat that got the cream
our cashflow we will display

will list it next year, May
will meet all the earnings
oversubscribed on the day
will be the market darlings

Our profits will double
each year that passes
investment without trouble
of the rich and the masses

2011-09-16T03:33:00.000-07:00

I love my Family no end
we dearly love each other
values, customs upend
no difficulty, never bend

We were two, then five
Now eleven that's a trend
""da Silva"" we must revive.
if a thousand we may land

Anita is just a Brand
Jojo is now a Crossling
Lele, the hopeful strand
still babies has to bring

I have to adopt a band,
to Chows I must cling
If the ""Silva"" name Brand
in history will string

Of Orlando famous name
we already have three
but I'ts not all the same
As the ""da Silva"" dinasty

My Children

2011-09-16T03:27:00.000-07:00

Jojo is studying hard
at Unisa of all places
to sing better than a bard
of life, loves and laces

A famous career she will make
of best sellers, fame and money
will taste better than cake
even more then just honey

My Son is so great
much better than me
money, success he will make
of anything with glee

strong character, decisive
Anita is like me
once a world warrior
she's as happy as can be

She followed in my career
in systems she's legal,
at Investec like a spear,
She will become the only eagle

She is the middle one,
two girls most beautiful,
all beauty, there is no bone,
of love, inteligence full

till thirteen will be Heaven
but then, to Mother's taking,
these sweet, loving maven
hell on earth could be making.

But then, like the dawn,
Shinning little by little,
their brightness growing yawn,
their strength not so brittle.

In Heaven, proud Mom,
No happier could she be,
to see them after the prom,
Get their Doctorate's Degree

Dad as guest blogger

2011-09-16T03:24:00.000-07:00

My father will be popping in and sharing some of his poetry when he feels the creative urge. I love his stuff, even though I am a peotic cretin. I hope you do too.

Joan's story

2011-07-07T14:45:00.000-07:00

It’s funny how the universe sends us people that can either enrich or destroy our lives, the premise being that we can learn from both types of people. Joan and Clyde are a couple that I’m sure are going to teach me a lot. They are both in their sixties but they live young, grabbing life by the luridly patterned Hawaiian shirt collar and enjoying it to its unpredictable and wild limits.

The three of us were having breakfast at Siemens and the conversation swivelled from vegetarianism (Clyde had recently been converted by a You Tube clip about how we treat our about-to-be slaughtered animals) and exposing children to the idea of butchering animals, to the experiences that life had sent our way. Clyde mentioned that Joan had led a fascinating life and that she should write a memoir. Joan being shy and humble commented that her life was both too complicated, and she was too private to lay her life out like that for everyone to view. Maybe, she pondered, she would do it if she could write under a pseudonym. Clyde prompted her a little and she relented, sipping her tea she recounted an experience she had had in her youth.

“A long time ago I used to counsel prisoners on death row. In those days they were doing several executions a week, it was a mess. Some of them were really bad men, in for the worst crimes, and others shouldn’t have been there.” She was visiting a prisoner whom she was counselling that was on death row, when he asked if he could ask her a question. He said that when a prisoner was removed to the nearby hanging chamber for execution, the guards would fetch the prisoner and then slam the door to the cell shut as they left. The prisoner would stand in the double volume communal space that was separated by wire mesh from the cells inhabited by other prisoners and call out, “I’m going now”.

Normally the cells were noisy, but when the door slammed and the prisoner spoke, a quiet would fill the void and no one spoke. He felt that at that moment someone should say something, acknowledge him in some way. It felt wrong not to say something.

“What”, he wanted to know, “should they reply to this man going to his death?” Joan paused. Captivated I asked, “What did you say?” “I told him to say, we will remember you.” I must have looked confused because she elaborated. In the black African cultures, a person lives on as long as someone remembers them. Knowing that the prisoner is going to his death and hearing what may be some of his last words is memorable. It sticks in the mind of his fellow inmates. He is heard and remembered, continuing to live long after he takes his last breath.

I find this belief comforting. My Grandfather lives in my memory, and through my stories of him to my children he will continue to exist.

Turning Forty.

2011-01-24T13:29:00.001-08:00

Misery loves company, and as most of you know, I am feeling very miserable to be turning forty next week. So my inner journalist went into collection mode and I started interviewing everyone I met regarding their thoughts on ‘passing over’ into the big Four Oh.

Mario, the kids Karate Sensei, turns forty next year and he’s already in the early stages of mourning the demise of his thirties. According to him as soon as he’s forty he will be too old to act childish. In his thirties he could act juvenile, but as soon as he’s in his forties he won’t be able to get away with that sort of behaviour. When the clock strikes midnight, his forties begin, a giant cosmic switch flicks, and responsible behaviour and maturity commence. This from the man who pretends to throw children out of the first floor window on their birthdays… maturity, I think not.

A mom I chatted to at a recent birthday party told me she felt fantastic. She said she was more decisive, self-aware, and knew what she wanted from her life now that she was forty-six. She’d had her children and was now pursuing her career with the confidence that she could control every situation. It helped that she looked fantastic and had that ageless skin and radiance that only an African skin can produce. I looked carefully and she didn’t even have wrinkles around her eyes! In my next life, I want to be black! Another mom decided that she wanted to learn to play the cello and started taking lessons. They both seemed to feel that turning forty was not the end of an era but the beginning of one, a time in their lives when they knew what they wanted and had the drive and will power to get it.

I need only look at my Mom and Dad to know that ambition and vitality has no age restriction. My Mom will be exhibiting her sculptures in both Germany and Portugal this year. She only started to sculpt in her late thirties. Dad will be driving people to do better and more dynamic things at companies where he owns shares. They taught me that age was just a number and that you were as old you felt, or to paraphrase Dad; “You are as old as the woman you are feeling”… har de har har!

Unusually, my father-in-law made the most impact. He said, “Just wait till you get to sixty-five!” I caught a hint of regret in his tone. Here was a man I consider very active, he hikes, has recently remarried, to a woman ten years his junior, and is always travelling somewhere. Yet he’s anxious about turning sixty-five. I mulled that over and realised that he was right; each cycle has it’s scary ages. The decade birthdays seem to be pivotal. They make us reflect and take account of where we are, and hasten change to otherwise stagnating lives.

Maybe this is what a midlife crisis feels like, it’s the fear of the unknown, of knowing that life has given you another forty years that you have to fill; and still enjoy. That fear could explain why men buy flashy cars and try to recapture their youth, the times they felt the most vigorous. While women veer towards intellectual endeavours; like the cello; or a degree they may never be able to use. The hormones that were pushing us to create life finally quieting a little so that we could hear what we really wanted to do. I’m lucky to have goals, a supportive family, a husband who loves me, children who adore me, a brain that’s hungry for knowledge and plenty of time to enjoy it all. Bring on the forties, I’m ready for you!

2010 Holidays.

2011-01-13T13:17:00.000-08:00

The Christmas holidays are over, and once again, I’m ambivalent about this. On the one hand I really enjoy having Hubby and the kids around, sleeping late and not having to cram all the extra murals into a limited amount of time. On the other I want to have my personal space back, being able to drop off the kids at school, go to Tai Chi classes and do all the running around that a stay-at-home mom does, without having to worry that the everyone is fed and watered, and kept entertained.

You would think that the children would be the most demanding, wanting to be taken to the movies, or schlepped to friends for play dates, but no, that award goes to Hubby. Every year-end his condition gets aggravated. You see he has this chronic case of the ‘Can-you’s’ that flares up during this time. I don’t think he can control it, he just blurts out, “Can you please do this? or Can you please fetch that?” in a very nice reasonable tone, that of course you can’t say no to, especially because he’s doing stuff that will end up making your life easier in the end. The problem is that his disorder only acts up when I’m in the middle of something myself, for example washing dishes that I’ve let pile up and now are so irritating that I have to do them now or ditto for laundry. Stuff I don’t really want to do but have finally plucked up the courage and willpower to do, stuff that needs momentum to finish successfully… then along come the ‘Can-you’s’. I guess it could be worse, he could have a case of the ‘Get-me’s’ as in ‘Get me a cup coffee or get me lunch’. That condition I know there is no cure for; my Dads had it for as long as I can remember.

Everybody is back into their routine now. Hubby is back at work. Josh has started ‘big school’, entering Grade one bespectacled and sombre with the immensity of it all. Jamie filled with excitement at seeing his friends, has planned visits at their houses without even asking my permission, and already set high academic goals for the year ahead. Life’s back to normal for me too, an ever growing list of stuff to do, a dreaded upcoming fortieth birthday and lots of studying and writing.

2011 stands before us full of promise and adventure, let’s grip it by the ears and give it a good shake, if we are lucky, it won’t bite us or punch us in the nose.

Planes, trains, automobiles & witches

2010-07-12T11:22:00.000-07:00

Big plane, shuttle, little plane, bus, train, car! The kids and I sat on the train to my parent’s house in São Teotonio listing the different forms of transport we would have to use to get to our destination. After being awake for almost 20 hours and extremely sleep deprived, I’m actually surprised I was still capable of coherent thought.

The beauty about being near the end of a voyage is that you get to appreciate the personalities that entered into it to make it unique. For example, the Spanish male air host who berated an older man who wasn’t stowing his carry-on luggage quickly enough, blocking the aisle. OK that in itself may not be interesting, but he did it in Spanish, and I understood what he said, that gave me a little thrill. Add Spanish to my linguistic repertoire.

Hubby will never let me forget that I, in my single-minded ideal to get us to my parents home, almost left him with all the bags, no money, without a passport and of course not able to speak Portuguese at the Entre-Campos Train Station in Lisbon. When the train arrived it went past us stopping about 100 metres away from where were waiting, I grabbed a child in each hand and ran for it. I’m sure that at some point during my sprint I did turn back and check that he was following, dragging three bags with him, I love my husband after all. OK, so maybe I only checked once I had already boarded, sometimes I have serious tunnel vision. We all got on safely and found our allotted seats without much difficulty, except for some fellow passengers who had luggage battered knees or elbows (in a country of short men he looked like a behemoth. One day I overheard a little girl point out to her mom how big his legs were). I was teased for the next two hours on the train, then ratted out to my Dad for being a negligent wife.

When we are children we have certain characters that appear in our lives that scare the hell out of us till we become teenagers and hopefully outgrow them. Thanks go to the unremembered adult who took me and my siblings to see a drive-in movie called ‘Scanners’ where the baddy makes peoples heads explode, very intelligent, not! I saw it on E-TV recently, very, very cheesy in a late 70’s kind of way but I digress.

While being teased by hubby, who should board the train but a witch! When I was little my mom would buy me books of fairy tales, I don’t know where she got them but they all had that lurid brightness that we now associate with the 1980’s. The illustrations were harsh and didn’t hold back, when the wolfs stomach got cut open for Granny to come out in Little Red Riding Hood, blood and guts were everywhere. The witch that Hansel pushed into the oven was covered in warts, had those crooked arthritic fingers that tested poor cage-bound Gretel for weight gain and was clad from Kappie covered head to toe in black. Still gives me the shivers. Well that’s who got on the train, you can ask Hubby I almost had a coughing fit trying to point her out to him. She dragged two engorged black bin bags along with her, probably filled with dismembered Gretel look-alikes! When she couldn’t find space in the tiny bag storage section she harassed the teenagers nearest the door for being so insensitive and using it all. Then she dragged her bags down the aisle and sat in the seat behind me. I felt those beady malevolent eyes on my back till I disembarked. Maybe she was just someone’s Gran who’d had a bad day but I prefer to remember it my way, as the witch who got on the train to Funcheira, my childhood fears revisited.

Overall, it was a wonderful start to our trip and only the beginning of our Portuguese adventure.

Things I love about Gauteng, South Africa.

2010-05-30T13:34:00.000-07:00

A trip overseas a couple of years ago made me realise all the things that I loved about South Africa. I’ve kept my list simple but if you are a cynic like hubby you’ll be saying, “Yes, but…” I went through it with him and he shot down every one. The point is, it’s the little things that make the biggest difference between them and us.

 People here have easy smiles, I can be thinking about something funny the kids did, have a smile on my face, look up and the person I’m looking at will smile too.

 I dread going to any government department, the only bright spark in the otherwise harrowing ordeal is that I know that while I am standing in the queue I will start a conversation with someone and at the end, I’ll know all about their lives, I’ll know about their children, husbands and maybe even their hopes and dreams. It’s a veritable smorgasbord for a writer because they are someone I wouldn’t ordinarily have a conversation with.

Once when I was renewing my license a jolly black man wandered up and down the line chatting with all and sundry, he teased the white people for how much we spent on food. According to him, he only needed meat, vegetables and pap to feed his huge family. He just couldn’t understand why we spent so much on cheese. We were kept entertained for three hours with his humorous indignation and jokes.

 If we see people acting strange or doing something wrong, like a taxi going over a painted island to get to the front of the traffic, it doesn’t matter what colour we are we will do a little shake of the head or a roll of the eyes, we are bound in solidarity against injustice. If someone’s dress sticks out of a car door or a door is slightly ajar you can be sure that by the end of your journey another driver has pointed, gestured, and waved in your direction to tell you about it.

 We are a very touchy feely country, we aren’t afraid to stroke the faces of other peoples children, pat their heads or take their hands if they are crying or in distress. Outside my sons school a woman who was obviously a maid stopped me and asked for help. Her employer had moved, it was her first day at the new house and she was dreadfully lost and in a panic. I calmed her down, drove her to the nearest garage, phoned her employer and gave her directions to the maids location. I was swallowed in a hug that engulfed me totally, it felt wonderful, familiar, and genuine.

 While I was overseas I had to go a government department, there I noticed a few massive differences. They didn’t speak to one another, where we are verbose and loud, they were sullen. No matter where one goes government departments are always the same. The queues are long and people are there because they have to be not because they want to be. How one treats your fellow man while in that situation to me shows how you feel about others at your basic instinct levels. In S.A. it is normal to ask those in front and behind of you to hold your place if nature calls or if you want to ask an official if you are in the correct line. When you come back, even if you were away ten minutes your spot will still be there.

Overseas I sat next to a woman who was obviously in some discomfort; I said I would hold her seat while she went to the toilet, saying that a woman who was standing nearby could sit down in the meantime just to get off her feet. The woman I had offered the chair too growled at me saying that they didn’t do that there. I shrugged and kept my mouth shut for the rest of my incarceration. In time, the woman had to leave and she lost her seat. No courtesy and we’re the third world country!

 Lastly, I love that when I go shopping someone will be singing to himself or herself in the aisle. Sometimes they just hum a tune or whistle to themselves. Other times they’ll have a strong beautiful voice, singing a gospel song, sharing the joy that they feel while singing it. I’ve caught myself humming along to an oldie at the Pick & Pay, there’s no embarrassment when someone hears me, they know I’m content and they’re OK with it, besides they probably do it themselves every so often.

This list is just the beginning, as soon as I’ve posted it I’m sure that I’ll think of ten more things I appreciate about living here. We humans look for the positive in all situations. Hubby would say “We are just frogs in a pot, and the waters getting hotter” I’m much more positive, I love that we are diverse and yet still have so much in common. Let’s hope that others feel like I do.

The 'Exam High'

2010-05-23T11:54:00.000-07:00

I’ve never been high. I don’t mean altitude high I mean narcotics high. Sure I’ve had the funny gas that the dentists give you that makes the world spin and sound reverberate. Or had the sensation of total relaxation one gets when you come out of anaesthesia, but I’ve never tried illicit substances. Confessing this may not give me the right to comment, but from all the information that I hear and see from other sources I can imagine what its like. I’ve watched Trainspotting a couple of times, ok so maybe that’s not a great example, I don’t have any strange ‘baby crawling across the ceiling’ hallucinations. I once knew a girl who partook in various banned substances, which should mean I’m a druggie by association?

When I write exams I get a buzz, so if getting high means that a person feels a rush of adrenaline, heart palpitations and a heightened sense of their environment then I get high as a kite. Writing the actual exam is an extreme experience, you push your body mentally and physically to its limits in the race to beat the clock. Hands cramp, shoulders tense and the brain is stretched trying to remember facts and figures.

As with any drug there has to be a time when the high wears off. With the ‘exam high’ that happens about three hours after writing. You have gone through your paper ten times, berated yourself for not including information that would have guaranteed a distinction and finally convinced yourself that you have failed. Then a slow mellow anguish settles in as you await your results, you are irritable and irrational with family members, you lose weight worrying and are just not your normal happy self. These symptoms are what we as parents are told to look for as signs of addiction. I know I’m addicted because while I’m studying for said exams I’m already going through the prescribed list of subjects looking for my next fix.

My critics (hubby specifically) have commented that I am addicted to stress and not exams and that maybe I should stop studying because I may kill myself but what does he know. I want this natural high; I crave it. I have the benefit of getting more brain cells instead of losing some, ok if it’s really stress I will lose a few. Knowing all this, knowledge is still my drug of choice.

Procrastinating as usual!

2010-05-11T11:45:00.000-07:00

To all and sundry who read this blog,

I know I've been shockingly lax in posting articles, I do have a valid excuse. I'm writing exams, getting son number 1 enrolled in a new school and generally procrastinating. I plea for your indulgence. Just a little while longer and I'll be back to my old entertaining self.

Much love and hugs,

Yours always,
M

The joys of dating.

2010-03-13T12:43:00.000-08:00

I was chatting to my new mother-in-law at a family get together. As usual when the men are wondering around outside either checking out the garden or talking about manly things that can’t get spoken about when women are around, women talk about men. We compare their good and bad points and try to ‘one up’ each other with the things they do, ‘What! He really did that? Well mine did this!’ We talk about the kids in the same tone so I guess there aren’t too many degrees of separation between the two in our eyes. Conversation shifted to the pre-husband years and my mother-in-law who has been single for longer than I’ve been alive told us about her internet dating adventure.

Judy wanted to meet a good Christian man so she joined a Christian dating website. She’s a charismatic woman who speaks her mind, is funny, vivacious and doesn’t hold back if she feels something needs to be said. She had several suitors who tried to woo her but finally she whittled it down to a couple of men and those she began to interrogate, I mean correspond with. One especially had all the qualities she wanted in a prospective husband, Christianity, class, charisma and cash of course. They spent hours talking telephonically and online. One day the issue of marriage came up and he said that he was ready to make a commitment and go to the next level in their virtual relationship but he needed to speak honestly about something.

He took a deep breath, explained once again that he really liked her and she needed to promise that she would never divulge his secret. Meekly he asked if she could accept a man with a quirk. Judy replied that he could trust her and she would try to be open-minded but it obviously depended on what exactly the ‘quirk’ turned out to be. He took a deep breath and asked if she would mind a man who dressed up in her clothing. She told us she was speechless, what does one say to something like that? He waited. Finally she said honestly that she didn’t think that was something that she could get over, and broke off the relationship. I think they were both too embarrassed after that anyway. She confided in me that even though she wasn’t a small woman she was worried about a few things. What if he looked better in her clothes than she did? She would hate it if he stretched her clothes, she was protective over her wardrobe and she didn’t want to share.

We obviously agreed we wouldn’t want to share our clothing either, besides both our huge husbands would look ridiculous, thank goodness. On second thoughts it might be wonderful to raid someone else’s wardrobe; I think men spend more money on themselves without that “I just spent my salary on a handbag” sick guilty feeling. Can you just imagine the designer clothing she missed out on?

Proud to be South African

2010-02-15T11:40:00.000-08:00

Last week was the 20th anniversary of Nelson Mandelas release from prison. The media teemed with individuals who were sharing their experiences about that historic event. It made me remember how my family was feeling at the time. My parents are immigrants from Mozambique so the mood was ambivalent when we heard about the unbanning of the ANC.

My father being the eternal optimist had stayed in Lourenco Marques always hoping that things would get better. The social dynamic in Mozambique had been very different to that in South Africa in the 1970’s there was more of a class system, my father had gone to university with future President Chisano, so he believed that sanity would prevail. He was wrong. Mobs were going through middle class neighbourhoods looting and killing. When they got to our house my parents manservant, Orlando lied and told them that there wasn’t anyone home. We had hidden in the crawl space between the ceiling and the roof tiles. I was three and my father never let me forget that a black man had saved our lives.

We fled the country in 1975 and arrived in Johannesburg with whatever belongings fit into a white Mini Minor, the guards at the border having taken whatever they felt was the property of ‘the people’. My earliest memory is driving through into South Africa that night and it raining so much that the water seeped into the red interior of the car. The civil war started very soon after that.

We were lucky, God and fate conspired and our meagre savings, like the forty fishes, stretched. I know that the apartheid regime favoured my white father in finding a job but what you must remember is that the Afrikaners saw all other cultures besides their own as being lower. He worked late all the time and most weekends but when he was around, he spent all that time with us, and I was privileged enough to have a mother that didn’t work.

I remember watching an episode of The Cosby Show in which a poster saying Free Mandela was on the inside of one of the kid’s bedroom doors. I turned to my Dad and commented proudly that we were being noticed, he told me not to be too happy things could so easily go the wrong way.

The images of Nelson and Winnie Mandela walking hand in hand down the dusty road are ingrained in my 19-year-old brain, Alex Jay on Radio 5 talking with admiration about meeting Mr Mandela who was humble, stately and forgiving. We were filled with excitement at the prospect of a new freer multi coloured future.

I feel that South Africa has been incredibly lucky to be in the position we are in now without going through the horrific transition of war. The conspiracy theorist in me says that the ANC’s armed struggle and the National Party’s realisation that the path that our country was taking could not be sustained for much longer were not enough of a catalyst to bring about the changes in the early nineties. Huge amounts of cash must have changed hands. We all have our price, I wonder what Mr de Klerks was, he and his new wife bought an island in Greece after he left SA politics with plenty of money left over I’m sure. If someone’s money bought us a ‘Get out of war free card’ then I’m eternally grateful.

Terminally late.

2010-02-07T12:16:00.000-08:00

My friends organised a picnic at the Walter Sisulu Botanical Gardens, we were all supposed to meet at 1pm at the usual spot. A well shaded area that’s close enough to the toilets so that we don’t have to schlep too far with the kids when they need to go and to the restaurant if we need to buy extra drinks or ice cream.

I tried to be on time, I really did. Ok so I got up later than I normally do at 9am and then cooked a large breakfast for the gardener and ourselves. Hubby had asked me the night before to give him a haircut, and because he had it done the boys got theirs cut too. I could have sent them to the Barber but being a cheapskate I do it myself, they look all right, they don’t have that ‘I put a bowl on the head and cut around it’ look or the ‘military brat’ look, but then I’m biased. By the time I’d finished it was 12:30 and I still had to make us all lunch and pack the picnic. Well, we only got to the Botanical Gardens at 2pm.

Now, I didn’t go through the above just to get sympathy about how busy my life is or that I’m terrible at time management (my Dad insists I am). The point I was trying to make is that I’m always late and there is always a valid excuse. What I want to try to figure out is why? Before I had the kids I was always early, my watch was set ten minutes ahead and I so whenever I had a meeting I was there on time. After the kids and the pudding brains it all went south.

My watch is still set five minutes ahead but all I do is minus that off the time to get the actual time and there goes that contingency. I could blame the kids, anyone who is a mom will understand how much nagging and whining and ‘wait I have to get the…’ before we even get to the car. If only it were that simple. I, in my personal capacity, childless and husbandless am always late. Kathy from the library book club knows if she gets a lift with me, she won’t be on time. We get to Karate with only seconds to spare and the kids will have to run to the class.

Oprah once told us how she was constantly late for her workout sessions and how her trainer said; ’When you are late you disrespect me and my time’. I don’t think I do that, I try, I really do!!! I have a theory, it’s the universe that’s conspiring against me, it wants me to appreciate the moments I’m in. To live in the now and not worry about the future and being on time. Well that’s my theory and I’m sticking to it.

The Exclusive Book sale.

2010-01-30T13:10:00.000-08:00

Twice a year an event occurs which eclipses all in my world, the Exclusive Book sale. The universe in its eternal wisdom has placed the first sale just a day before my birthday and funny enough the second 2 weeks after my husbands. A month before it starts my body craves books; I go into a bookstore just to smell the ink, a mini fix before the real event.

As a member of the Fanatics club, I get to go to the preview on the night before the official start of the sale. A week prior to that children and husband are organised, nothing left to chance. Only another addict can comprehend how I’m feeling. My heart pounds, I don’t sleep, I’m jittery and I mention the sale at least once a day. The sale starts at 5pm and by 4pm I’ve reminded hubby to come home on time, I don’t want to be later than 5:30 and trust me that’s a huge compromise. If he’s late I’m unusually irritable, even angry.

By the time I get there I feel calm, I take a deep breath and start browsing, my fingers slip over spines, feeling their smooth un-creased virginity. Old friends call to me reminding me how much I enjoyed their company, new authors promise a better thrill. ‘I love you long time’, they purr.

I’m a methodical shopper. I start on one end and then slowly shuffle along making sure I don’t miss a book. There is solidarity with the other browsers, we recognise our fellow addicts. We dance around each other, getting closer and trading places with a quick step. Our eyes never leaving the tables, we don’t want to lose our place. Within half an hour, my arms are full. A man who is an obvious a newbie asks sarcastically if I want a trolley and then just looks at me when I say yes please. I have this silly demented grin on my face and he backs away slowly, aware of my madness.

I’m not an indiscriminate shopper I don’t buy everything I grab, I have a system, but that doesn’t stop me from spending too much as usual.

I normally go alone but this year Selina joins me. She’d arrived early and had already bought her books by the time I got there, but as a fellow addict by the time I’ve finished more titles have caught her eye and once again her arms are full too. I see the gleam in her eye at finding that novel that she’d wanted, but didn’t want to pay R250. The darting looks from table to table wondering what she’d missed. Finally, with a sigh we pay, and go have something to eat, ragged and weak from our ordeal, coming down from our high, bags laden.

I know that I’m not alone in my mania. We may not have the same addictions but I recognise the look on my sister’s face when she goes past a shoe shop, my husband’s glee at walking into a hardware store. It’s ok to have a little hit every once in a while as long as you don’t make a habit of it.

A Jewish tale.

2010-01-16T04:10:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow is A.K. my Tai chi instructors birthday so after class a few of us went for breakfast. Shelley, a Bulgarian Jew, who reminds me of an eccentric Italian mama, told us a story on why man lives for so long. Imagine it being told in a heavy Bulgarian accent to appreciate the full effect.

When God was creating the earth, He gave every animal a lifespan of twenty years and that included man. When mans twenty years were almost up he went to God and begged for a longer life. He had loved his life so much that he wanted to live for more than his allotted years. God shook His head and told man that it wouldn’t be fair to all the other animals if He made an exception for man. This made man very sad.

A few days later horse went to God and asked if He could make his life shorter. All he did was work and twenty years was too long to pull a plough and the cart. Please could he live for ten years and donate the other ten to man. God said He’d think it over.

Later donkey came to God and asked if his life could be made shorter by eight years and if he could donate the rest to man. Donkey was tired of carrying goods from place to place and he couldn’t bear to work so hard for another eight years.

Pig also saw God and asked for his life to be reduced, all he did was eat and he was bored, but God could give his remaining years to man. Rabbit asked the same thing, he was scared of the world, there were too many problems, and once again, he offered man his excess years.

A few more animals did the same and after God had added all the years’ together, man would get to live to 120 years old. God decided to grant them their wish. That is how man learned to live his first twenty years, with no cares and happiness. His next one hundred years; he worked hard like a horse, carried many burdens like the donkey, ate like a pig and was scared of life like the rabbit.

I loved the story even though it’s cynical like most Jewish tales.

Addicted to book clubs?

2010-01-15T12:55:00.000-08:00

I am a book addict (a bibliophile) and somehow I’ve become involved in three book clubs. I don’t really know how it happened they just sucked me in! Being part of these is another way to feed my habit, I am introduced to authors I never would have thought of reading, and they are fun too.

The first one that I joined was at my local library and it’s members are mostly over sixty, only Gwynneth the librarian and I are under fifty. It’s a comforting book club to belong to, no judgements, nobody competes for status we are all just there for one another. When Willie went to hospital, the ladies knew it was all right to call and ask me to drive them there for a visit. These women take one another at face value and are willing to go the extra mile. They are super supportive and always quick with encouragement. We talk about books, kids and grandkids, growing old gracefully and the hobbies they do to keep busy, which is mostly knitting. When I grow up, I want to be just like them.

I joined the second book club through an acquaintance, we started chatting about books during Joshes swimming class and she asked if I would like to join her for her ‘Books and Wine’ book club. I generally don’t drink so I was reluctant to go. Most of the book clubs I’d heard about involved mostly drinking and not much about books, and this one was no exception. Most of the members are German and we all know they love to go large when it comes to alcohol. Their redeeming factor was that despite the overindulgence they have fantastic personalities. Each girl (in true role reversal I’m one of the oldest in the group) is a professional, among them there’s a pilot, a nurse, a graphic designer and a teacher all are intelligent and competent. Most of us have children around the same ages so despite the cultural differences we have that in common. We talk about what’s happening in the world, our husbands, families and money. Sometimes I think we’re a little jealous of each other’s lives and the status held by some but our commonality holds us together. Plus they’re great fun, I laugh a lot when I’m there. After a while, I started to notice something strange, most of the girls at this book club seemed to have an older, better twin in my library book club. They are like the same people living in an alternate older universe.

My last and third book club was actually started by my friend Nisa and I, we wanted to get together some of our buddies and read something of substance. I have eclectic tastes and I tend towards the contemporary. It is here that I met the closest I’ve come to a literary soul mate. Selina and I love to read strange stuff. She’s challenged me with unusual novels and I hope I’ve done the same with her; she’s not as adventurous as I am but we’ll get there. Nisa is only just starting to get into the literate swing of things but we can count on her to say, “I haven’t read the book but I loved the movie.” We’re mostly Portuguese, which means we’re loud! It’s a peppermint tea and coffee book club, no alcohol. Funny I laugh as much if not louder with this bunch of girls and they’re just as professional as book club 2.

I think I belong to these because I needed to meet wonderful characters, great strong women who vary in age and class, all willing to give of themselves and have a lot of fun doing it.

Gone to the dogs.

2010-01-03T11:30:00.000-08:00

During the fireworks season my 12-year-old Daschund, Ally goes berserk. In previous years I’ve tried other things to keep her calm that haven’t worked, and this year I went to the vet to get something.

Who tests those little pills? Do they actually test them or are they just extremely expensive placebos for pet owners. You are lulled into a false sense of security that your pets will be drugged into a stupor and sleep through the whole explosive night. Recalling the conversation with the vet, he did say that each dog has a different reaction and that some don’t get affected at all… ahhh the plot thickens. Make me pay for the examination of two dogs, he wouldn’t give me medication without checking their hearts (R500) then give me sugar pills (R30 each). When they don’t work say, “Well I told you this might happen.” The start of a conspiracy theory, I think I should call Carte Blanche.

The vet recommended that I give the doggies the pills at 10pm, which meant that I’d have to leave the party, give them the pills and then drive back. My Dad was worried about drunk drivers and suggested I bring the dogs along, Dad can be very convincing, I agreed. The party started, the company was great; the conversation brilliant, the food tasty, the laughter and drinks flowed. Before we knew it, midnight struck and the fireworks started. My parents have a fantastic view of the city and suburbs and so we get the 360-degree visual display with accompanying stereo sound experience. It drives the dogs in the neighbourhood nuts and I was one of those doggy moms who stressed the whole of the New Year’s party.

Not only did Ally not become a calm, anaesthetised canine, even though I gave her both pills, she managed from the time we arrived at 8pm until we left at 3:30am to disrupt my evening. She scratched at the door so much she managed to remove the weather-strip. She barked, whined and tried to lick her gummy toothless way through the window. Mostly the guests ignored her and just put the music louder. My other daschie, Scratch accompanied her the whole night with his barking, locked away in another room. More stress for me.

My friend Selina, the psychologist would say I did it to myself; I chose to stress about how I thought people would react. At 11:30pm I grabbed her leash and we were attached to ourselves for the rest of the night. We made an odd twosome when I kissed hubby and the kids Happy New Year. Thinking back, the only people affected were my Dad and I. So that’s where I get the worrywart gene from!

The Santa dilemma

2009-12-29T10:59:00.000-08:00

A good friend, Gaia, and I were talking the other day about Santa and how she had told her children aged 6 and 8 that he didn’t exist. I was shocked (she’s a very open-minded person but very spiritual), I asked her if it was because it clashed with her Catholic beliefs. She laughed and replied that her parents had been very strict and had ruined Santa for her when she was young. She in turn had inadvertently ruined it for her younger sister; her sister had never forgiven her! Gaia then told me her story.

When she was about 8 years old Gaia was very naughty, as 8 year olds are. Her parents told her that Father Christmas was watching and if she carried on with her badly behaved ways Santa would bring her nothing but a stick to smack her bottom and chillies to put in her back-chatting mouth. Christmas morning came around and little Gaia sneaked down to the Christmas tree, what did she find propped against it? You guessed right… a stick with a string of dried chillies tied to it and nothing else! Gaia being the tough little girl that she was decided to hide the evidence and pretend that Santa hadn’t come.

Her parents came down from the bedroom and immediately asked where the stick and the chillies were? Gaia lied and said that Santa hadn’t brought them anything. Her parents then of course said that he had and N figured it out! She yelled at her parents that the only way that they could have known about the stick with the chillies on it was if they had put it there and that meant that Father Christmas didn’t exist. Gaia’s parents agreed and so the dream died for Gaia. Her little sister was standing nearby and heard it all, two dream murders in one morning.

The conclusion being that Gaia decided never to use the lie that is Santa to blackmail her children (that includes the tooth fairy, Easter bunny, etc.). She’s very implicit with them that they shouldn’t ruin it for any of their friends who do believe but the not so subtle eye rolls that they give when someone mentions Santa give it away to we who are in the know.

My children believe in as much make believe stuff as I can get them to and I can be very creative when it comes to explaining anomalies that they may find. I think that the longer they can believe that there are purely good beings that always have their best interests at heart the better. There is too much violence, anger and bad stuff in the world already, what harm will a little imagination do? Some of my fondest memories are of my sister, brother and I hiding behind a dividing wall in the lounge waiting for Father Christmas to arrive. We never saw him of course but the thrill of the hunt made us try every year. Then one year, I don’t even remember which, we stopped believing. Pity really.

'Tis the season to be wrinkled'

2009-12-28T11:46:00.000-08:00

It’s that time of year when maids and gardeners migrate to their homelands. The places they send their money to every month, to mothers who look after grandchildren so that a salary can be earned. Or to finish the house in their homeland that they'll only live in during the holidays or when they retire to look after their children’s children.

We don't appreciate them when they're around. “Where the hell did she put my little grater? I always put it here!” I say, getting more and more upset as my fingers flip over utensils I only used twice (like that olive pipper I really, really needed) and then a sheepish “Oh here it is.!” when I find it right where is should have been the whole time. That’s when I send out a little sorry into the universe for being hasty with my criticism of my hard working tolerant helper.

So Christmas time rolls around and I drop her off at the taxi rank with her 13^th cheque, the kids yell “Bye! Merry Christmas!” I drive away and the realisation sets in, I'm going to have to do the ironing, vacuuming, toilets and pots for the next four weeks. I calculate how long we can last without my doing the laundry. Will my husband do that old student trick of wearing jocks one day and then turning them inside out and wearing them again? Maybe I can teach the boys to 'go commando'. OK so hubby will never go for that, the kids… well they probably will.

Laundry day arrives, the washing is done and the pile of clean washing looms in front of me. My laziness makes me think about ways around my dilemma. I know from experience that folding shirts neatly, packing them into cupboards and wishing the wrinkles away will not make them silky smooth when I take them out to wear them. I usually use the tumble dryer to refresh the kid’s clothes and then fold them, so in my desperation I try it with our clothes too. A word of advice, jean wrinkles can't be removed in the tumble dryer so those I'll have to iron. I take them out and fold them carefully; an extra crease made means one that I'll have to force out later. The t-shirts come out all right, a little bumpy but not too bad. Oh well, maybe no one will notice if I only go out on overcast days and stay in the shadows.

Yesterday I had to go to the gym and of course, no ironed t-shirts left over, I’d gone through them all, even the one that has the hole in the side that I can sorta tuck in and hide. I chose one that didn’t look too bad and ventured out, super aware of how I looked but hoping that most people were on holiday or too much in the holiday spirit to notice. It was there in the gym that I started noticing all the other wrinkled t-shirts and sweat pants everybody else was wearing. I no longer feel alone, I belong to a sister and brotherhood of the maidless and wrinkled.