My Christmas Story...

My childhood was filled with very many special Christmas tales and experiences, but the run up to Christmas and the tree decorating with my dad on Christmas Eve will always resonate joy and wonder. 

Now it should be noted that not just any tree would do, and certainly not just any Christmas decs would adorn it.  No, it had to be a carefully chosen REAL pine tree.  To quote my dad, "Oh my fock - that plastic shit that the Chinese sell, that's just rubbish - that's for Chinks"! (Okay, he was known for his rather colourful, not always PC statements). Oh no, the only tree would be THE one that only he would know once spotted.  This after driving for several hours and many km's later from one road-side supplier to the next.  And about when my mom had reached the stage of absolute exasperation at "Wally wasting my damn time when I have all the cooking to do for lunch tomorrow!" - which by the way would be served with military precision at on the dot 12pm!!!!

Then there was the carting home of THE tree, half hanging out of the famous maroon 66 Valient that was so well known to all in Cape Town (which for many years was my constant source of embarassment). And of course the dramatic offloading of the tree with pine needles and kernels leaving a trail in its wake before finally finding its place of prominence in the nook in the lounge.

Then...wait for this...the unearthing of THE Christmas decs from its storage place in the ceiling.  Now these were decs that my dad had gathered in his travels around the world and were an absolute source of pride.  These decs were never replaced, NEVER.  Hell no, that would have been paramount to committing a cardinal sin in my dad's eyes.  For they all had a special story to tell.  And tell them he did!

The greatest fun was in putting up the stuffed little birds that had long lost their plumage, the special little Santa's and candy sticks, the right amount of silver and gold bells (okay they were tarnished way beyond being classified as either silver or gold) the little red apples, and then of course the tinsel that had to be angled just right for THAT effect. And then...oh this was the absolute best part...the kapok. Until his very last year that's what the little cottonwool-like snowballs were called by dear old Wally. 

And people wonder why I have this thing for Christmas?  Well its that one special part of my dad that I will always, always hold dear!  My dad and Christmas are synonymous!  He is My Christmas Story and always will be. 

So as Christmas Day draws closer, I'd like to take this moment to salute my Dad...Mr God, give that man a Bells on the 25th!!!

"In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer" - Albert Camus

If ever there was a year where I have discovered the true meaning of this quote, then 2011 was certainly it!

I've blogged at great length before of the many trials and tribulations faced during my annus horribilis, and just to make quite sure I don't go into withdrawal a few more have been flung my way.  For good measure I'm sure. Just in case..., okay you get the picture. LOL.

So, understandably I am looking foward to ringing in 2012 on a higher (read lekker dronk) note. In putting the shit that's gone down exactly where it belongs and then celebrating the good (despite everything there has been lots of that), which after the countless glasses of champers I intend drinking on New Year's eve I'm sure will be a pile high. Okay maybe I'll be a pile high, but again - you get my meaning!!

Crossing the finish line...

That's it.  80 blogs - I DID IT!!!!

It seemed like such an insurmountable task when we were first given that daunting target of 80 blogs to be completed by the end of the scholastic year.  My inital reaction was - is Marian blady crazy?! I mean, come on - when were we supposed to have a life? Oh, how I lamented my fate back then.

But the more I blogged, the more I found myself actually enjoying it. Where else would I have found such a captive audience (tongue-in-cheek) willing to be party to my many rants, tales of wisdom or offerings of wicked humour.  Blogging has provided me with a cathartic platform to lay to rest those ghosts of past that have haunted me for way longer that they should have. 

And here I am, slightly muddied and soiled by the whole experience but all the better for having done it. Mud has a surprisingly refreshing quality to it. A somewhat cooling effect - and after this arduous and taxing marathon , it's exactly what I need.

Open book test...

I thought I'd try my luck with a certain lecturer with the hope that he'd allow us to do an open book test for an upcoming exam.  Well, he kinda blew me out of the water on that one.  But what the hell, it was worth a try.

I rather like the idea of the 'take home' test another lecturer allowed us recently.  Now that was pure genius. For one whose life has become such a train wreck that really worked for me.

So I guess I'd better pull that proverbial finger out of my butt and get on with reading up on those notes if I don't want to fall completely flat on my face on Wednesday evening.

Then it's just that last assignment that's due on Monday...groan!!!!!

Oh what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive.

I'm so tired of people with hidden agendas.  Damn it man, how difficult can it be to be honest and true to those you deem to be friends? Surely the very fabric of what makes a friendship matter are those fundamental ingredients of truth, loyalty and integrity. The school I come from has taught me that these are non-negotiable if the friendship is to be considered meaningful.  That same school has further taught me that to be a true friend one should embody these qualities in every sense when eschewing it to a friendship.

I truly don't believe then that my expectations are out of whack when it comes to being granted the same consideration in return.  Yet for reasons beyond me, I find myself surrounded by so many wolves in sheep clothing lately.  Pretending to be friends and then displaying behaviour that is so contrary to what I regard friendship to be. How tiring this must be. Or is it second nature to those who deceive so adeptly, that very little effort is needed?

In recent times I've had to do quite a bit of  deweeding to rid myself of all the nettle that is choking the rich, fertile soil that is akin to the growth my friendship garden thrives on. Having done it, albeit with all the bruises and stings synonymous with such a painful process, I now look foward to seing the glorious splendour my little patch is sure to produce.

So over my annus horribilis!

This year needs to end.  I'm not wishing time away, but to kiss the buttcrack of what must surely have been my annus horribilis...well, all I can say is the sooner the better. I don't think I've ever been as sorely tested. 

Every bit of crap that could possibly happen to one person, was thrown my way this year. There was the run in with the then-boss early in the year whom I still think of as a total asshole, followed by the retrenchment (reading between the lines I'm sure you can tell that the two are somehow inter-linked), then the endless round of job interviews and subsequent rejections, not to mention the countless injuries on the softball field, and of course notwithstanding the stress and grey hairs that the studies brought - all of which has left me completely drained, exhausted I tell you!

Yep, I'm so done with this year...roll on 2012!!!

Fuck, no!

That about sums up my state of mind in the early hours of this morning.  I was one slide away from completing a presentation that took me all of 3 long hours to put together.  One slide away from doing the happy dance as I was just about ready to send it to my fellow group members who very kindly agreed to do the presentation in my absence. Due to increasingly hectic work commitments (didn't think I'd ever lay claim to that one again), I could not unfortunately make my way to college hence me doing the ground work for the group.

And then the unthinkable happened...the file became corrupted and just disappeared into friggin thin air.  I tried every means possible to retrieve it; but nothing, nada, zilch. If that's what dying feels like, I think I died a slow death.  Time of death: 3.45pm!

I had to start all over again.  I kid you not.  Right back to the very beginning. Points then to me for digging way deep when all I could think of doing was either blowing my brains out or killing that little mini-me HP piece of shit.  Neither seemed like an option when I realised that a presentation still had to happen, regardless - dead or alive - the thing is there're other members in my group who were depending on me, so dig deep I did. 

And here I sit at 3pm and am writing this blog more to keep awake than anything else.  As soon as I stop I run the risk of falling asleep at my desk, something I definitely can't afford.  After all I just started here yesterday.  As far as I know sleeping at your desk is a dismissable offence. I wonder if killing a computer falls into that category too? Grrrrrrr...

Christian the lion welcomes HRH Raisin

The hex has finally been broken! And with that awful spell lifted the way is paved for yours truly, aka Her Royal Highness Raisin, to take her first tentative steps back into the kingdom of asset management. 

Given my royal stature it is no surprise then that none other than the King of the Jungle himself, Christian was there to meet me on arrival yesterday.  And Christian actually remembered me from royal engagements past.  You see that's the thing with royalty, we're a tight little inner circle that pays court to our fellow regal beings.

So here I am trying to find my feet around this all too familiar territory, hoping that something permanent will come of it all. It's what I wanted, right?  After all I've been griping non-stop for the past few months about landing that job that would afford me those customs of old - as they say, be careful what you wish for, it may yet come true.

Where's that damn Klaas Vakie with his sleep dust?!

Will there ever come a time when I'll stop functioning (okay, that's a strong word as I really don't think that's what I'm doing here) on anything other than this ill-fated student mode? I swear, I have no idea what normal sleep patterns are about anymore. I wake up when my in-built alarm clock goes off at bloody 3am every morning. An alarm that I subconsciously set to get through the many assignments and exams in the quest for that much coveted B.Tech. Yep, I did this to myself. And all in the name of staying on top of things, staying ahead of the game so to speak.

So here I sit at friggin 4am. Yet another foray into the ungodly hours of the morning when the rest of the world lays a slumber, writing my 74th blog about that all evasive thing called 'sleep'. There's something very wrong with this picture, my peeps.

Klaas Vakie, where're you hiding boet? I need my zzz's so please, I beg you, get your slow-assed donkey over here and sprinkle some of  that magical 'vaak dust' on my royal forehead and...yawn...kedonk-to-pillow...ZZZZzzzzzzzzzz

Matric exam stress - hers or mine?

Thirteen years of hard slog and here we are - my daughter recently kickstarted her matric exams with her all time favourite, English (I say this with huge tongue-in-cheek and a heavy dollop of sarcasm). For despite my complete fascination and absolute love affair with the language, for some or other reason the apple has not fallen remotely close to this tree.  So much so that her grades through the years have skated dangerously close to 'meets the minimum requirements'. Eish!

Who do you think spent almost all of Sunday night, the eve of the dreaded English First Paper, doing toilet duty of note - yep, you guessed it: moi, me, mne, ekke. Not to mention walking the wooden boards in my passage to a well buffed gleam during the hours of her actually writing the exam on Monday morning. The beauty of it all is that madam steps into the exam hall without so much as even breaking a sweat.  Calm, I tell you and with such confidence, leaving me with her usual, "stop stressing mother - this one's in the bag."

When I picked Princess Pieface up 2 hours later I was the worse for wear - seriously, my hair (which as many of you will know is a wild mass of out of control frizz at the best of times) was standing on end and a sure indicator of my frazzled state of mind. And what greeted me was, "see, I told you not to stress. Yor, that was such an easy paper. I wrote and wrote but ran out of time..."

Will someone please pass that damn Prozac?!

A leap of faith.

When despondency was recently at an unhealthy high, my delightful furry friend reminded me that it's okay to throw caution to the wind and take a blind leap of faith. More importantly, my Bean proved that having the right people in your corner spurring you on is encouragement enough to springboard you past that emotional lull. People who are true to you. Those who when positions may have been reversed, knew you to be the one to buoy flagging spirits.

Taking that leap of faith is testimony and an honour to those amazing stalwarts of support, who even when the chips are down continue to have an unwavering belief in you. Go on then, jump - they dare you! I dare you!!

Bean did - he took that first leap and now bears the dubious crown of 'Jumping Jelly Bean Meister'. So much so that he keeps on raising the bar and the jumps seem to be getting alarmingly higher and higher. Could he be part kangaroo, part pug I wonder? Scary thought...

Brace yourself...

Some good news (at last). Recent ortho visit reveals that what was initially thought to be a torn ACL could be a pulled ACL. Why is this good news? Damn, but you lot can be pretty thick given half a chance. It - means - I - can - get - back - to - softball - sooner - rather - than - laaaaatttttterrrr! But brace yourselves, it does however have me in this ortho straight jacket for another month. Yikes!

But, if it means playing again...hell, I'll do it (mostly).  This thing's such a friggen las, man. Takes me all of 10 minutes to strap myself into it. And then there's that limited mobility - eish, not good for a kriewelgat like me.

Ely nose best...

I've been taught to handle rejection by using my Catholic teachings to great effect and 'turn the other cheek' or to practice resilience (probably has something to do with my Catholic upbringing as well, God forbid) and am expected to just muster through whatever crap gets thrown my way. Then to add insult to injury, all the cliched mutterings usually follow these rejections. Mutterings by people whom I love dearly and who mean well. But I'll be damned if the continuous, chipping away at the soul kind of rejections will have me accepting, 'everything happens for a reason'; 'every cloud has a silver lining'; 'it was not meant to be'; 'He only gives you as much as you can bear'...sound familiar? Come on, who the hell came up with all this bullshit to start off with.  Someone who perhaps had been hammered to the pavement so many times that his senses were pulverised beyond reason?!

Yes, I'm the glass-half-full kinda girl. But I'm also the girl who feels intense hurt at the hands of thoughtless people who eschew rejections with such unbelievable blase at my attempts to secure employment in their supposed concerns of good repute. The most insulting is what I refer to as the 'standard rejection letter'. I did a stint as an HR assistant once.  Then I was that person sending out those stupid letters with very little thought to what it must do to the recipient. Now that I am the recipient, the "We regret to inform you that your application has been unsuccessful. We wish you every success with your future endeavours." just doesn't cut it.  The worst of it all is that this usually follows three to four rounds of interviews at the given organisation. Why do this? Why set people up for a fall and fill them with hope and expectation? Why? There has to be a better way to do this!

This is just downright cruel. Oh wait, another response to the latest round of interviews for that position that I am told I am so right for. "Dear Charmaine, thank you for taking the time to meet with us. We regret to inform you however that your application has not been..." Noooooooo, when does this nightmare stop!!!

But wait, I'm supposed to have developed into the proverbial ely right? Does the memory bit also apply? You know...'an elephant never forgets'. When these tables turn - what, I'm just saying!

Breaking the (Piggy) Bank

Does it get any more pathetic than this...

I'm broke. Literally, there ain't no funds of any sort - nada, zilch - and its only the 14th. Just a month ago I was riding the crest of a glorious financially rich wave. What a joy. And then...payment of bills, settling debt and a tidy sum stashed away in a fixed deposit for the princess's college fees. All very necessary I know. But here I am, a near pauper.

Soooo, that leaves me with just one resource. The princess's piggy bank. It can't be all bad surely? I mean, I have put money aside for her college fees so that should make it okay then, right?

There I go with that Catholic guilt again.  What is it about us that puts thoughts of flagellation and purgatory, if not being damned to eternal hell before the simplest acts? Oi, if ever I get to see that Sister Frances who not only put the fear of God into me but is the main culprit of instilling the guilt factor, well enough said.  I have a huge apple to peel with that Sister. Maybe she'll have a couple of mates that I could lay my peeler into - Brother James, Father Athenatias, my mom, oh crickey - there's a school of Catholics out there that have a lot to answer for.

So guilt aside, my desperate and decrepit financial status will have me raiding the princess's virtual piggy bank this afternoon. We need to eat, okay. ABSA, here I come!

Starving...again!

What the hell's wrong with me? I have the most ginormous appetite lately.  I wonder if I have a terminal illness or something. But if it were what could it be.  Filled with paranoia I've trawled the Net in search of that one ailment that I'm sure will match these insatiable symptoms.  The best I could find was 'tapeworm'. Ag no man, I'm royalty for goodness sakes - we don't do worms.

The other possibility was 'pregnant'. No hope of that one either.  The closest I could get to being pregnant is maybe in my big toe. The immaculate conception of my big toe.  I kinda like the ring to that.  Sorry, my wacky humour taking over here.

Seriously man, what could be causing this ridiculous need to guzzle everything in sight? Oh shiza, now it comes to me.  I'm a comfort eater.  I eat when stressed, disturbed or the emotions are out of sync. Now what could possibly be causing such alarming distress.  Let me think - a shitload of college assignments and deadlines, that's what. Custard donuts, yes - ooh lekka. Will my damn stop button just function already!

4.30 am and the Royal Rumblings are gaaning aan...

Damn, I'm starving.  It's bloody 4.30 am for goodness sake. And the middle of the month at that with hardly a bean in my pocket let alone the pantry. Wait, there's cornflakes but I think the milk is past its sell by date.  Should I? No, maybe too dodge. Or what's that on the stove.  Shiza, the remains of last night's supper. At 4.30am, come on Char, even for you that's a bit crazy. Mr Bean, you joining me on this early morning feast? Yes? Oh I do love my little boy.  He so gets that Royal Rumblings MUST be sated. Tagliatelle drenched in a rich tomato source with a dollop of creme fraische, oh yum. A breakfast fit for a queen (um, and prince)!

So I'll graduate when I'm 40-something...

Who would have thought way back when that I'd even pick up a book and hit the study trail.  The Charmaine I was then would have said, "me, you must be kidding?!" I hated anything even remotely related to academia. The very idea would have sent shivers down my spine and had me heading off on the first ill-baked scheme that came to mind - and believe me when I tell you there were many. My life's mission back then was to live up to the lack of expectations so many had of me. That the adult me now recognises were at the behest of seriously messed up individuals who should have known better.

I am so thankful that through the very many positive influences and events that have crossed my path since my misspent youth, I've been able to turn my life around. To find direction. Purpose. And one of the very many goals I set myself since was to strive towards an education, to broaden both mind and soul. It hasn't always been easy to get there though for there have been many deviations and distractions. In short, life happened in between. A teenage pregnancy, very young marriage, very young divorce, slightly older though still young remarriage (to the same dude, I'll have you know), another pregnancy, countless jobs, softball (of course), relocations, illness (self), illness (parents), death (parents). Gosh the list seems endless, and when I actually see it on paper it kinda puts it into perspective. But fate dictates that they were all necessary beacons on my map of life, all meant to shape and prepare me for whatever may yet come. I look forward to realising my current goal of graduating with a B.Tech in PR. And so what if I graduate at 40-something?  That I'll graduate at all will be quite the accomplishment. For now anyway. It puts finger to that young, insecure, rather foolish 16 year old who was so lacking in worth and believed herself capable of so little. Rather, I look to my fast approaching 50's and say "bring it!" That 50-something I see learning to ride a motorbike, backpacking with my main dude across Africa, taking up ballroom dancing again, developing a junior softball team up to national level, doing a Masters in PR. I may yet have to change that title then to, 'So I'll graduate when I'm 50-something'. Mmm...

To blog or not to blog: that is the question...

Why blog? Why fill blog upon blog with rants or raves, or simple thoughts that may or may not set the world on fire? I guess it becomes relative to the scribe, for rhyme or reason will having meaning only to the one who writes. I blog because its cathartic, a means for me to vent at times, to express rapture and elation where there is reason to celebrate, a platform for putting feeling to paper, a way of making sense of some of the crazier happenings in my life.  Simply put, I enjoy it.  I feel lighter after I've written a blog, somewhat happier. To blog, or not to blog: that is the question. "Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune..." Through blogging I take up arms against whatever troubles may come my way and 'my pen becomes mightier than the sword' so to speak.  I am in control of my world, my thoughts - it all flows through from blog to blog. "To blog" I say, would definitely be the answer.

To dance with my father again...

Close to seven years ago I lost my mom to the 'Big C' - that awful invasive disease that breaths horror and dread in those who've had the misfortune to encounter it. My mom and I did not always have the easiest of relationships but I knew that there was a deep mutual love, so I counted myself as luckier than very many who were not blessed in that way. 'Marlena-the-evil-one' she was dubbed and yes she had the propensity to live up to the name at times. However that title does not begin to sum up the feisty, strongwilled, intriguing woman that I knew simply as 'mom'. She remained a bit of an enigma to me right until the time of her death. I never ever really worked out what made her tick or do the half of what she did. But what I can say is that if the choice were mine and there were a sea of moms that I could pick and choose from, she'd be my first and only choice. A phenomenal person if ever there was one, that was my mom. A legend in her time. So it goes without saying that as the 11th of October, her birthday, draws near each year I am filled with a quagmire of emotions.

What is even more significant about this date however is that as ironies would have it my father, who despite his many failings I absolutely adored, succumbed to cancer on the 11th of October two years back. Where the intense sadness comes in is that my parents shared a great love, but it was one that did not translate to absolute fulfillment during their time here on earth. My dad's philandering set him off on a path away from my mom and us kids, 25 years into the marriage. Something he came to regret and expressed as much years later. By that time though it was too late for reasons beyond their control for my parents to reconcile and take the still deep love they felt for each other to a place they would have preferred.

Given the history, the 11th of October has so many bittersweet emotions attached to it. I celebrate my mom's life on the day as its her birthday, but I mourn the man who was my dad on the anniversary of his passing. I think of all that was and what could have been. I think of two beautiful souls who did not fulfill their great love, but more importantly I think that maybe now my mom is finally looking into her beau's eyes with that absolute love that she held exclusively for her Wally and I hope that she is dancing with my father again. And maybe, just maybe the 11th of October will in time resonate less sadness and more joy of a time when my parents were testimony to how amazing a shared love can be and a time when they were my world.

The eve of season...

Woo hoo, I'm like a cat on a hot tin roof right now.  Why, you ask? Oh man, do I have to belt this out? - THE SOFTBALL SEASON STARTS TOMORROW, PEEPS! I can barely contain myself. A new club, great new bunch of ladies as team mates, new uniforms, new equipment - oo this is so exciting.  My kit has been washed, pressed and readily awaits cladding my gorgeous royal rump.

But wait, here's the downside. I can't play. A torn ACL in my left knee has well and truly put paid to that. Shiza, this is so painful - on the emotions that is. The physical pain I can bear, but oh my poor torn and shredded heart; now that's difficult to deal with.  I'll be carried to the field and deposited in all my finery to sit on the side and watch my much loved team take on their opponents in our very first contested game.  Torture, I say - pure, pure torture.

The upside - I know they'll do me proud.  How can they not?  The blood, sweat and tears have lain prep to a season that will see Titans taking the podium at the end, not just as victors but as conquerors of so much more. Bring it ladies! 1-2, 1-2, Boom Boom, Pow - gooooo Titans!!

Glass half full...

Being the eternal optimist, and somewhat of a modern day Pollyanna, has seen me viewing the glass that has proverbially glanced my hand from time to time as being half full. But my usual self-confidence and well-known brand of positivism has been tested to the hilt of late. Even to the point where I'm starting to question this glass half full mentality I've been buffing and pruning for almost all of my glorious existence.

A few rather interesting and somewhat dubious concoctions have been spritzed into that glass lately. Let's see, curdled cocktail number one was the retrenchment back in June; then the subsequent round of job interviews where I've literally sold myself to the 'Devil who wears Prada' and back would rank high as cloyingly rich cocktail number two. 

Oh yes, let's not forget the countless rejections that doggedly followed said interview trail, that would definitely be high up there as bittersweet cocktail numero tre  - if I have to hear another 'we really concerned that you may be overqualified for the position' I cannot, and will not, be held responsible for enacting some of the macabre fantasies that I've dreamed up in retaliation to these foolishly and glibly placed words (come on, if that was the thinking why take a candidate on a wild goose chase of countless rounds of interviews; surely they would know this from the get go of scanning a CV - are these dudes thick or what).

Then cocktail four, this balmy drink that's filled my glass way too many times for my liking has to be all the damn injuries I've suffered this year whilst playing the beautiful game - seriously, you really want me to tell you what the beautiful game is and what it represents to me?!  You're kidding right?! Where have you guys been. Oh, my work here is far from done. Ok, to the uninformed who've been living under a rock until now - the dislocated shoulder (admittedly that's an old one that keeps coming back to haunt me, followed by the fractured hand and the more recent ACL rupture of the knee that now requires surgery.) Oi, this cocktail has made me want to see that glass running on empty, and the sooner the better.

So before that fabulous cocktail number five presents itself, I would have to say that despite everything I can still see clearly through the half empty portion of my glass. My spirit (no pun intended) remains in tact and that I can only ascribe to my glass half full approach to life.  Yep, I said it - I'm still the eternal optimist. I really can't think of any other way to be. The really good thing about my glass being half full is that I get to dip my well manicured royal index into some interesting and exotic mixes. More so than I do the murky and somewhat unsavoury liquids that at times have made the quality of the contents of my glass seem rather unbearable. What's that you have there? Ooooh, a tequila sunrise - bring it, I say!

My Bridget Jones moment...

As some of you may know (like my many online rants have not laid clue to it) I was recently made redundant.  I hate that word by the way, 'redundant'. It just seems so stagnant and useless.  All of which I am not. Anyway, I've been doing the interview circuit with as much relish as a sodden cucumber relegated to a summer salad.

But I deviate.  The latest interview saw everything going swimmingly.  I made all the right noises at all the right times. Personally, I think interviews are such hogwash because that's what people tend to do. A brilliant PR job on themselves (at least seasoned interviewees like myself).  Hell, how will a prospective employer ever really know if the yarns being spun is anything other than what you say. No amount of Meyers Briggs or any other personality assessment could surely reveal that.

Again, I deviate.  Where was I? Oh yes, the latest interview.  I'm sure I made all the right impressions and then just as the interview was about to conclude (I was there for a full hour by the way - anything over 30 minutes is by my estimation a good sign) and I was about to blow them away with my well rehearsed exit speech, I hear and feel the zip of my skirt give way.  I kid you not, an inordinate breeze starts to chase my rear end as the gap grew alarmingly bigger.  Well, I hastily tried to salvage the situation by putting my one hand on the offending area while shaking the hands of my interviewers with the other. Rather than turn and expose my ample rear to the poor guys, I back tracked my way out the room only to trip over an ill-placed coffee table.  Talk about leaving with a bang!  And that's not all. I kept going in my ungainly fashion and felt the cold glass door smooching my royal rump.  I mean, seriously - why does this shit always happen to me.  Really, this one ranks high up there in 'life's most embarrassing moments'. Bridget Jones, sorry hun - 'you ain't got nuthin on me!'

The statute of limitations has expired on most of childhood trauma

The essence of Dr Gordon Livingston's premise in this instance is that for our lives to have any meaning then we should embrace it in its entirety in the present. That change is an inevitability, but in order to move forward we must be accepting of change and what it entails.  For some childhood was idyllic, for others though it was peppered by trauma. All of which would have some bearing on the adults we would eventually become. To remain trapped in the past though would be giving power to the catalyst or person/s  responsible for the trauma. However awful the trauma, releasing it to the past is when we truly move forward.  And by this I don't mean burying the pain or feelings associated with the trauma, I mean truly letting it go. This is something that's taken me a long time to master, and even now I sometimes come short. But my living my life in the present is more important to me than clinging on to something from old that may have affected my psyche negatively. I have learned that letting go of an experience, emotion or event that did not add value to my life and relegating it to the past where it belongs, is liberating and empowering in the extreme. And that feeling sure as hell supersedes any childhood trauma. That is what I prefer to subscribe to.

Only bad things happen quickly.

This Gordon Livingstone quote suggests that those things that result in happiness take time to develop. If I consider some of the bad things that have happened to me, then it does seem that bad things happen quickly. The rather unsavoury news that I was being made redundant was so quick and unexpected that it hit me for a six.  That one came completely out of left field and had me floored.  There was no way to prepare myself for it either emotionally or other.  When one of my good friends was felled by a heart attack, that too was bad news that shocked me to the core because there was no prolonged and protracted illness leading to his death.  It was quick, instantaneous. The outcome of the series of interviews that I'd gone on for that job I was so convinced was mine.  Then a mere day after the last meeting when I was so sure it was in the bag, the classic, "We're sorry but you were not successful in your application" just didn't gel with the scenario I envisaged. Given my experience, I would then have to agree that bad things do indeed seem to happen quickly.

Be bold and mighty forces will come to your aid

If ever there was a saying that would best some up the way I conduct my life then this is it. I've taken my cue from Star Trek (yep, I said it - I'm a huge Trekkie fan) and have 'boldly gone where no man's gone before'. The amazing thing is that when I've thrown caution to the wind and just followed my gut, these notions have often been galvanised by some almost supernatural force. To the extent that when I've successfully realised what I set out to do, that I feel that I may have been guided to that point not only be instinct but by some unknown power. Many think I'm crazy when I tell them that I believe I am protected and those that have gone before have become my guardian angels. That they steer me in directions that I sometimes lack the courage to explore.  Without these forces I know my life would be rudderless, without purpose. I've learned to surrender myself to where my angels wish to take me for they've proven to be able journeymen to my life's path.

My favourite Cat in the Hat book is 'I can read with my eyes shut'; because...

...the book demonstrates to little children how the imagination can be tweaked and images unlocked with the simple act of reading or being read to.  How words can conjure images of  wonder and adventure. That it's possible to close your eyes and let words take you to magical places far away. As an avid reader this book really appealed to me as a kid and could possibly be instrumental in the love I have for reading.  If memory serves me correctly, my mom read it to me for the first time when I was about two and I made her read it over and over.  When I eventually was able to read on my own, it was my first real read - and read it I did until it literally fell apart at the seams. It's such a bummer then that none of my kids share my passion for reading. Notwithstanding me reading a series of Cat-in-the-hats to them as young uns with the hope that the bug would bite. They'd rather watch the movie...now where's the fun in that?!

Conventional is a good fallback position isn't it?

Ya right, if boring is your thing.  For one who finds swimming upstream fun, exciting and exhilarating, conventional would never fly.  But if you into the ordinary and are content with that, then conventional's okay. Complacency is akin to conventional as far as I'm concerned and it's just not something I do well.  It's also just so damn safe.  Again, boring I say!

You cannot chase two rabbits at the same time.

In our very busy lives we often go chasing after more than one thing with the hope that we will catch them by the tail and make it ours. The problem with chasing more than one thing is that more often than not you can lose it all or at best end up with only one. It would be a futile chase indeed if the one you catch is the one you'd least want.  Should that happen the less damaging thing to the psyche would be to have some kind of back up plan that could act as a balm and almost a consolation prize of sorts. For there is nothing more deflating than ending up with nothing - especially after a grueling chase that could prove exhausting to say the least. To add insult to injury you may just have nothing to show for all your efforts. But in today's demanding climate, it is almost common practice to have more than one goal as our focus.  In that sense chasing after more than one rabbit would be almost par for the course. Be sure though that you know who your rabbits are so that when you catch them, it will be well worth the chase!

Nothing is more dangerous than an idea when it is the only one you have.

 "Nothing is more dangerous than an idea when it is the only one you have." — Alain

Ideas are wonderful; random thoughts that filter through the mind and eventually finds its platform in the form of an idea. But limiting oneself to just one idea is akin to stymieing growth .  And what is a life if it is not about growth and development of both mind and body.  The human mind is designed in such a magnificent manner that it is meant to be home to countless ideas.  Ideas that when fertilised and nourished can become life goals.  As one who has an idea a dime a dozen, to subject myself to the one-idea approach would be futile and completely soul destroying for all the reasons mentioned before.  I regard myself as being a rather focused individual who prides myself on constantly stretching my mind and thereby constantly evolving as a more informed, rounded person.  And I owe this to the very many ideas that have taken root and seen me progressing them to fruition, where real milestones and achievements have been realised from the the little sapling that was once just an idea.  Ideas - I remain intrigued not only by my own but the many that have been shared with me.  Some good and some, well pretty shitty ones, have been fodder for many a great conversation where even more ideas have taken sprout - and so the tree of life continues.

Am I able to accept what they were not?

As the adult Charmaine I sometimes look back and ponder on a childhood that though rich was somewhat lacking in certain areas. My parents were typical products of their time - they were taught that being good parents was all about providing physiological security, that the emotional side would somehow take care of itself and was definitely not high on their list of priorities in terms of my development. So was it a childhood filled with hugs, affection, emotional and morale boosting at the hands of my mom and dad? Mmm, probably not.  Did I lack for anything financially and materially? Hell no, I was the kid everyone wanted to know as I had all the latest gadgets and toys fresh off the dock from yet another of my parents many travels (they worked at sea). In that sense I was spoiled rotten. But was I the worse for wear because of some of the other deprivations? To a degree, yes - but where my parents could not provide in those areas they made damn sure they put a support system in place to make up for their inability to do so.  I was surrounded by love and cushioned by a vast network of 'secondary family' - aunts, uncles, cousins, nannies and the like. However, from where I'm sitting today I still feel I would have been better served by receiving all of that directly from my parents. Do I accept that they did all of what they could and am happy and at peace with the way I've evolved based on my earlier years? I would have to say, yes I'm good. They certainly gave me enough of a foundation to set me on the proper course, and for that I will always remain grateful to my mom and dad. I love them all the more because of, and despite, their shortcomings.

Get connected...

How often do we not get caught in the advertising lures (some say traps) that the myriad of telecom service providers have dangling out there. Even with the good old Consumer Protection Act that came into being on 1 April 2011 that was supposed to protect consumers from the over-zealous and lascivious marketing ploys of said organisations, there is still very little to stop those who can prove affordability from succumbing to the latest 'best deal'.  You know the one, 'for the unbelievably low price of Rx we give you...and that's not all...if you take up this exclusive offer by x date we'll throw in x..." Sound familiar? And they'll 'give you'.  Come on, seriously?! Yet we buy into it. The instant gratification and consumerism mentality that has befelled society is fertile fodder to these 'devils who wear Prada'. I, for one, recently signed up for a 3G service through a supposedly reputable giant in the industry for the princely sum of R150 per month that gives me 1.5GB free data with, yep you guessed, an extra 1.5GB 'night owl' thrown in for good measure. And the best part - that extra 1.5GB is yours for free but only if used between 12am and 5am.  A brilliant deal, right? If you don't sleep between those hours, yes! After all that is when most people are at their most productive (said tongue-in-cheek). I consider myself to be an intelligent consumer so how in the love of David did I willing allow myself to be led to the alter like this.  And it does get better...I lose connectivity with such regularity that my 'way cool bargain' has seen me clocking up more couch time at my psyche guru than my medical aid can keep up with. So next time you're tempted to sign on the dotted line when that 'too good to be true' offer presents itself, keep one thing in mind - IT IS TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE!

Have you figured out the second head fake?

Did you figure out the second head fake? Do any of us really?  Rather, I think most come up with life plans that are defined as dreams and goals.  Then the mission becomes about actively seeking to realise those dreams, sometimes with such drive and haste that little thought is placed on savouring the gifts that life presents along the way.  The gifts of time, family, relationships, love, health, and nature to name a few. Having twice come close to losing the most precious gift of all, life itself, I strive to live my life to the fullest - as though each day were my very last.  So that when I put head to pillow at night, I can close my eyes in contentment and satisfaction knowing that I did all that I set out to do in a way that felt right. I try not to get caught up in the hurly burly of life and to live simply and meaningfully. To embrace the beauty, joy, laughter, energy, good people, fabulous moments, and even those curve balls that sometimes come my way.  For life is not as complex as we sometimes make it.  And we do not have to come to the end of our lives to realise that.  We do not have to experience the pain of losing a dear one to know that our lives are not a dress rehearsal, that we need to live it well, that we do not have a second chance to make it better. As Randy Pausch, popular computer-science professor at Carnegie Mellon University who succumbed to pancreatic cancer, stated at his 'last lecture' "...its not about how to achieve your dreams. It's about how to lead your life. If you lead your life the right way ... the dreams will come to you. Did you figure out the second head fake?..." A phenomenal parting gift, at least to those wise enough to heed the lesson. Read more: http://www.time.com/time/arts/article/0,8599,1826574,00.html#ixzz1Tt6Kzspt

The last lecture.

My life has been a series of ever-evolving lessons. Lessons taught and learned from amazing people who have been both mentor and ally. It has been a journey where lecturers have imparted invaluable wisdoms and learnings that have fortified the cache I delve into when life throws some of its unexpected curve-balls my way. The lectures have been many, the lecturers even more so. God-willing, they will continue to present themselves as I continue on the path towards my final destination. For it is only at that time that will I take heed of the final lecture; when my final call comes, when I close my eyes to what I hope has been a remarkable life, one that I will be happy to leave my earth body to. For only then, will that final lecture have true meaning.

Why softball?

I get asked this question often. For me it's pretty simple. It's something I have to do. It's something that feeds my soul, the core of my being. Ever since I was first introduced to the game as a snot-nosed nine year old by a much loved aunt, I've been mesmerised. I love how through the sport I have formed and continue to develop life-long relationships with some pretty amazing people; how the discipline learned has influenced my thinking in so many other spheres, how it has aided in shaping me as a person; how it provides a platform for young children to reach greater potential - kids who if left to their own devices would otherwise succumb to society's ills; how it teaches that team work is much more effective than singular efforts; how it checks out of kilter egos; how it makes me feel alive; how it allows me to make a difference in a way that matters; how it provides a sense of accomplishment when a hard-won skill is finally mastered; how it brings people and even countries together; how it has a home for comic moments (and there are many, the first photo being testimony to how crazy and absurd it can become); how it rewards those deserving; how new rules and regulations keep emerging and evolving to make it a better sport, and the list goes on. Softball has always played such an integral part in my life, that it would be unthinkable to even imagine an existence without it. For what is life without softball?  Oh God, take me now before that happens as a life without the beautiful game would be inconceivable.

My big fat Big dream.

My dream is not just big and fat, it's obese! But in a good way (if obese can ever be good). I dream of starting my own PR and events management company and I feed that dream as only an overindulgent parent can.  I've been studying for close to a decade to have the necessary qualifications that will lend credibility to the dream.  For the more fertiliser I add to the mulch, the more I am guaranteed a crop of outstanding quality. Ripe for the picking. And pick they will! Soon, very soon my big fat dream will be realised and when it does I will live the dream with all the gusto the years of preparation has afforded. Hopefully then there will be room for another big fat dream to take its place. One that will be equally, if not more spectacular; and one that will need as much nurturing and attention as its predecessor did. But one that will gladly take centre stage when its cue is called.

The legendary masala steak & egg toasted sarmie (aka The Fix)

Anyone who's ever experienced that horrid, green feeling (aka the dreaded hangover) borne from a night of overindulgence, will know that there is only one sure quick fix - a slap up, greasy breakfast followed in quick succession by a petrol bomb (aka a Jive 2 litre). Okay, anyone that's Coloured that is (sjoe I can just see the PC brigade klapping me down with this one). But this is how my people have been doing it for years and gone on to tell many a 'hair-of-the dog' tale, but inevitably it all boils down to 'The Fix' - a masala steak and egg sarmie with everything.  Everything, being slap chips, salads and that special sauce. All this towered together between two toasted slices of white bread (sorry, but brown bread just won't cut it for the purposes intended). And don't forget to include that 2 litre petrol bomb, for how else are you going to wash this magical concoction down. All this to be had as soon as the first dodge takeaway joint opens. You know, about the time when the shakes meets Japie (this could get vile so I'm going to limit the description to being 'sea-sick'). Where then would you find 'The Fix' - well, having tested quite a few places (for research purposes obviously) I would have to say that The Farmstall in Ottery stands unrivaled. Man, they make a mean 'Fix'.  Don't believe me? Next time you have a need for a hangover cure, give it a shot.  Ons praat weer.

To the manor born.

"It's a dog's life" - often said with derision, as if it's bad, lowly or downright shitty. This pundit would therefore have no meaning for our Mr Bean - zero, zilch.  Rather, if the truth be known Mr Bean has a life of sheer indulgence, decadence and unimaginable luxury. I would sooner go without to ensure Mr Bean has that outfit that "he simply must have because this is so Bean". In fact, the non-existence budget gets shifted and shafted so that Bean gets fed only the best puppy food, rests his lovely head in a crib fit for a prince and has enough toys to ward off boredom. Why? Because that's what the vet said and my countless research on pugs has recommended. Remarkably, my husband has bought into this madness.  This from a man who is usually strong-willed and not easily swayed by that he deems fickle or frivolous. But Bean is our proverbial "laat lametjie".  You know, that one that comes late in life and rather unexpectantly takes up a big portion of your heart, and before you know it good reason flies out the window and you find yourself doing things that you would not ordinarily do. In our defense, I can however say that Mr Bean is the beneficiary of the unadulterated attention and time our earlier years of parenting did not allow.  Where those earlier times were taken up with trying hard not to kill our two elder kids with newly learned, yet dubious parenting skills, stressful and exhausting jobs and a myriad of activities that kept us on the merry-go-round of our life back then; we're now more restful and able to give our youngest more of ourselves.  Youngest? Of course, Bean is our youngest child. I look into those soulful, bulbous eyes and see a remarkable resemblance to his dad. Not to mention some of the familial quirks and characteristics - he snores just like his father, has a wicked sense of humour like his mom, farts up a storm like his brother and is quick to affection like his sister.  Yep, Mr Bean is definitely part of the Royal Raisin Clan and like anyone of regal bearing will know, he is without question 'to the manor born'.

Sleep...what's that?!

I swear I cannot be held responsible for what I do anymore. My defense? I have not had a full night's sleep since...oh, let me think...1987.  I kid you not - I refer to my whacked out state as 'LAH-T-H (Life After Harry-The-Helicopter)'.  Now you may be thinking, "who the hell is Harry".  Well, Harry's that unwelcome guest that only the sleep deprived have the bad fortune to have as resident in their non-existent z-land.  My Harry, aka as 'the husband', takes off without fail as soon as his head hits his zzzz-pad and sticks to his flight plan with stubborn zeal that no amount of thumping, pushing, prodding or a wrench shoved between his blades will cause him to deviate. No sirree, Harry flies, er snores, while I listen to the continuous drone that does my head in until I can take it no longer and reluctantly rise from the warmth of my bed to do arb things like write this blog. And the cheek of it all is that right on schedule each morning, he wakes up and says, "I didn't snore last night love, so you probably slept well". In my mind I go: "do I kill him now or later?!" I've done my research - in the State vs Cohen 1956, the defendant got off on a murder charge based on the premise of temporary insanity. Okay, so I made that up and am just kidding around (then again, I'm sleep deprived, maybe I'm not).

When you're her age, (over 80) what will matter to you most?

I'm going to turn this one on its head a bit, and make it 'when you at the end of your life, what will matter to you most?' and it is based on a conversation I had with my mom when she was on her death bed and had an urgent need to impart her final lesson to me. She expressed her intense sorrow at not having lived her life more in the way she would have preferred rather than the way she felt was expected.  It was so sad to see the one I knew to be so vital looking so crushed and defeated.  More so when she let me in to that pit of regrets as she knew the sands to her hourglass were running empty and there was no way she could do it differently. Nothing short of a miracle that is to give her that one gift she knew she would never have again - time.  Time to take long, leisurely walks on those foreign shores she passed through in her many travels, time to relish and not hurry those moments with loved ones, time to dance more, time to savour a joyous moment and not worry about anything else, time to be more feminine, time to let romance balm her soul, time to educate herself so that we would be more proud of her, time to live in the moment and just be, time to be a better mother, wife, sister than she thought she had been, time, time, time. She pulled me closer and rasped that if there's one thing I take from her, and try and make more of it is time. I feel that I fail her at times, even though I try hard to honour that promise extracted under such dire circumstances, and when I do I catch myself - for the one thing I know after seeing the life ebb away from my mom, is that when our time is expired it can never be retrieved. I can only hope that my consolation prize at the end of it all would be to have lived a life that mattered, where I can close the book to my earth life with satisfaction and contentment.

And here they are...

images of that moment in time when my daughter became the princess of her personal fairy tale. The night was filled with tenderness, joy and magic that will remain with her for a long while. Images that will remind her of how special she is not just to me but those who hold her dear. I am therefore understandably proud and hope that you take as much delight from these few pics as I did in the planning and creativity that led to the culmination of Jami's night of wonder.  Enjoy!

 

Why I have conversations?

So that the very many opinions I have can have a voice, would be the most compelling reason. For I believe it would be futile to have an opinion if there is no outlet or channel to direct it through. And the response to that voice is how a conversation is born.  To engage with someone else in this way stimulates the senses. It allows for similar thinking or differences of opinion to be leveraged off a conversational platform where people engage through the spoken or written word.  I love that connections are formed and relationships can develop through this basic element of human interaction. The flip side however would be when emotions run riot and the conversation becomes poisoned by negative feelings taking precedence over good sense. Where the conversation is peppered with aggression and destruction to the point where it is best for those involved to still the voices within that have given vent to the voices that out. For then conversation serves no good purpose and it is best that the silent voice be left to speak greater volumes in its contained vessel.

Which activities make you lose track of time?

My list keeps building, but to give you an idea here are a few that come to mind:

1) A romantic, satirical or funny book
2) Sitcoms/Series (Grey's Anatomy, Prison Break, The Good Wife, Brothers & Sisters, Men in Trees, etc)
3) Softball (playing or watching it)
4) On-line Scrabble
5) Social media (Facebook, Twitter, blogging, G-chat, etc)
6) Catching a good movie
7) Soaking up those first rays after a bleak winter
8) Spending time with friends and family
9) Cooking up a storm to be enjoyed by family/friends
10) Dancing
11) Daydreaming
12) Shoe shopping (this one can make me lose more than a sense of time, my mind has been known to be lost in the process)

If not now, then when?

This one's made for me, the queen of procrastination! If there is something that I can put off for another day, another time, then believe me I will. Especially those things that I think of as cumbersome or laborious, or just downright boring.  And I will come up with every conceivable reason as to why it cannot be done right now.  The reasons are plentiful and some have become legendary:  "it's too hot; I'm tired; because, just because (yep, I've been known to cite that as a reason); I need to pack the linen cupboard before I can get to that ('cos that's important, right); gotta watch Project Runway, I have restless leg syndrome (I kid you not, said that once) etc, etc". The strangest thing is that I'm the first to lament the supposed time constraints of my insanely busy life. This despite being given advance notice of some two months for that assignment that's due this evening for instance. What the hell is wrong with me? Why, oh why do I continue to put this absurd pressure on myself?! Oh, the classic "I work best under pressure" is the rejoinder I will proffer when pushed.  For how else would I explain this madness.

Are you aware that someone has it worse than you do?

This blog proved to be my most humbling. Too often I am caught up in the things I think I don't have without stopping for long enough to appreciate the very many blessings that I do have.  Of greater horror, scant regard is given to those who are so much worse off; those who would consider themselves wealthy beyond measure with my trove of treasures.  And though some may say I am lacking and somewhat decrepit on the material scale, what I have in other areas of my life far outweighs the supposed impoverishment in that sphere. There are so many who through no fault of their own have been born to dire circumstances and face a daily struggle to have the basic fundamentals necessary for survival. Things that those of better means take for granted - food to ease hunger pains that only those who have been their know the full extent of, water to quench a thirst so profound, shelter to ward off the elements, clothing to shield from weather so harsh, money, oh all these and more.  I say again, I am humbled to shame. Shame for thinking that I have it bad when there are those who have it so much worse. To those who despite their hardships carry their formidable load with such incredible dignity, I bow before you!

The calm after the ball...

There's a rather somber stillness that's set in now that the dust of the matric ball madness has settled.  Almost an anti-climax for some, for others like myself it's a welcome calm. No more run around to get that exact shade of green for the dress that though of simple design proved somewhat difficult to produce (something to do with the material that kept hooking); finding earrings to match the neck-piece, the last minute dash to the pharmacy for false eyelashes to replace the set I bought previously because it did not have glue; making sure the guests at the pre-dance gathering remained relatively sober so they would not think the dress was the target for their overly exuberant good wishes; basically nothing to do but bask in the after glow of a wonderful event that went off rather well despite the glitches mentioned.  I'm as pleased as punch I'll have you know - for this was quite the feat to pull off.  What with being unemployed and funds being dismally low and all.  Anyone who was witness to my daughter's matric ball would have been none the wiser as she and her partner looked the part - she lived her dream and by all accounts was the belle of the ball.  For her to have had that, makes all the effort that went before more than worth it.  Here's to you, my special Jami - clink, clink!

Check out the weekly offerings from my softball alter ego, 'Ballgirl-2-the-T'

Having recently given birth to our new baby, I am understandably as proud as any parent can be after such a momentous event.  We urge you to have a look at the weekly offerings from Titans Softball Club.  Each week yours truly will regale you with tidbits and tipples as our young 'un continues to develop into what we hope will be quite the contender in the softball fraternity. Hope you enjoy.  P.S. - feel free to comment as you see fit.  http://ballgirl2thet.blogspot.com/

Do you celebrate the things you do have?

Not nearly as much as I should. I am guilty of sometimes succumbing to that national past time of bemoaning all the 'should haves' and 'could haves' rather than expend the same amount of energy on what 'I do have'. When last have I taken the time to count the very many blessing that have been bestowed on me, things that I take for granted and carelessly relegate to that basket that keeps filling up with the "I'll look at that tomorrow". That I am arrogant enough to believe that another "tomorrow" will automatically follow is testimony to the scant regard I have for those things that are worthy of celebration. Things like the abundant love and support I am surrounded with from family and friends; the promise that each new day brings; the stumpy, dimpled legs that I'm convinced is God's whacky humour playing itself out - but nevertheless is testimony to the fact that I can walk, run, dance and play where many cannot; the good health I enjoy, the material wealth (well by the standards of those less fortunate, I would be regarded as wealthy); the sporting accomplishments; and oh, so much more.  No, I certainly have not celebrated any of these in the way they deserve to be.  So my resolution from here on is to do just that, celebrate what I have with relish and style.

Do you think crying is a sign of weakness or strength?

Like the rain that falls from the sky to wash away dirt and waste, so too are the tears that cleanse the soul.  So often we harbour hurts and pain for way longer than we should.  These negative forces churn away inside us and fester to a cancerous, bitter mess that harms not just our psyche but becomes fodder for physical ills. Unleashing those feelings with a good old sob leaves one feeling refreshed and so much lighter, allowing the warmth of positivity to flow in unchecked. For giving in to an ebb of tears is letting go of emotional gunk that blocks the channels of happiness that would rather be resident.  A sign of weakness?  Hell no, it is the weak who lack the stamina or courage to rid themselves of unnecessary baggage. It is the weak who will lumber along, dragging their heavily ladden souls through the quagmire of pessimism they surround themselves with. Those of strength on the other hand will stand up courageously in the face of life's challenges and cry an ocean to stand free. It is the strong that know that crying whether happy or sad, is a show of courage - the courage to have the whole world witness to what is in effect an emotion they are willing to embrace and let go of if necessary.

Write your bucket list / 100 things to do before you die?

1. Take that trip to Europe to explore the sights and for nothing but pleasure (the last time was to tend to a drastically ill sibling)
2. Start my own PR and Events Management consultancy
3. See my kids settled and happy in their adult life
4. Be the coolest gran (I'm hoping I'll be blessed with a gaggle)
5. Buy a Harley and learn to ride it
6. Go on breakfast runs with a pack of equally gung-ho Harley Grans
7. Stay in a pleasurable moment for longer and not worry about the millions of 'constructive and productive things' I imagine I should rather be doing
8. Get that B.Tech
9. Think about further studies once I've taken time out to recharge my batteries
10. Try at least one new thing per month that is for my personal delight
11. Really, really appreciate that I come first before all else
12. Rid myself of this hacking cough
13. Master first base (softball)
14. Forget about the love handles, lumps, bumps and wrinkles that have crept up over time and appreciate that they tell the story of my life well-lived
15. Never lose sight of the importance of love, kindness and warmth of spirit
16. Take Ballroom and Latin American classes
17. Buy a camper and tour Africa
18. Pay up the bond and live a life that is financially secure and stress free
19. Live more in the moment
20. Play in the rain
21. Indulge myself more

Like my life, this is a project in the making.  This list will continue to grow as my life takes new directions and I develop with each turn and twist. Watch this space...

What makes you smile?

The sun caressing my freckled nose. Warm, crunchy white sand squelching between my toes on the river bank of the majestic Elephant's River. The sight of my son as he comes through the terminal on his return from yet another long spell away from home. Random acts of kindness and the effect they have on the people being bestowed on.  Hot chocolate with a dollop of ice cream. A fire and accompanying glass of port to warm the cockles of my heart on a dreary winter's night. A good novel that I can escape in for a short while. My daughter's delightful laugh. The sound of Harry-the-Helicopter (aka my husband) taking off on yet another flight plan - it means he's alive and hasn't been felled by the ills that plague him. The look of pride on my family's faces when I walked up to the stage to receive my diploma in PR. Waking up to the promise of a brand new day. Bumping into what used to be a supposed 'hottie' who was just downright nasty and snubbed me way back when, looking rather bedraggled and anything but hot now (so I can be small-minded and smug too, get over it). The smell of one of my hubby's legendary steaks sizzling on a braai as it wafts through our home. Precious family time where all we do is just chillax and savour each other's company. Watching the mist rolling over the ocean from the deck at our special place in Betty's Bay. Catching the punch line to a particularly funny joke. My husband surprising me with a romantic gesture just when I was about to bemoan our flagging relationship.

Of all the forms of courage the ability to laugh is the most...

compelling! That would be the only way to complete that sentence.  I have found that laughter has offered so many elements to an otherwise ordinary life.  Where there has been strife, laughter has been the balm to let that dark, painful moment fade into obliteration. Where there has been joy, laughter has been the effervescent titillation to announce its pleasure. Where there has been celebration, laughter took up welcome residence. To prioritise laughter as an order of necessity in my life, has been the wisest and bravest choice taken. Without it my life would be somewhat meaningless.  Since I've been given this one shot at life, and don't treat it as a dress rehearsal, I am serious about ensuring laughter hogs the spotlight throughout my production. Paradoxical - serious about laughter? Maybe. But I remain true to the conviction that laughter is all essential to my very existence. To play on Shakespeare's "If music be the food of life", I will take literary liberty and say "If laughter be the food of life, play on."

How hard is it to follow instructions?

Easy you might think. But, if you anything like me who has the attention span of a gnat, then the basic concept of following instructions is anything but easy. My officially diagnosed ADHD may have some bearing here.  I really do have a problem with focusing my attention on any given thing for longer than a few seconds before my mind does its habitual orbit into cyberspace.  See, I'm already there - I rest my case completely.

I would be reading the first few words of an instruction and off I would go on a tangent with so much energy and vooma aimed at what I assume the task at hand should be. But boy, oh boy, do I get it wrong ever so often. So, short of popping a Ritalin pill a minute, I have come to train my overly active mind to still itself  for that fraction of a second, to breath deeply, to close my eyes and then open them slowly and then, only then take in the content before moving ahead. Works for me!

Andy Warhol said, "In the future everybody will be world famous for fifteen minutes."

I don't think Andy Warhol realised how prophetic that statement would be when first uttered back in the late sixties.  With the rising popularity of reality shows almost anybody and its dog seem to be hogging their 15 minutes of fame on the telly these days. The Kardashians - nobody knew who these people were until their reality show became an omnipresent feature of our lives.  A classic case of being famous for being famous.  And there are a shitload of similar shows that seem to have gripped the attention of people the world over.

Why would I be world famous? Though the choice may not be mine, I would like to believe that if I could be famous for a mere fifteen minutes then it would have to be for making a difference, small though it may be, but I truly do believe that I can. The wealth of spirit and kindness that I possess within, when espoused to my fellow beings may yet make the world of difference in their lives.  To be famous for that would be the proverbial cherry on top to living a life that matters.

A skill set called leadership.

Are leaders born or developed? This has always intrigued me as I believe that a bit of both applies.  Some people have natural leadership skills, and yet there are those who can be trained to develop leadership skills to the point where they could function as able leaders.  But great leaders, now that's something else. One site lists the following skills as being essential to being an outstanding leader:


Ten Basic Skills of Outstanding Leadership


• Integrity
• Vision/strategy
• Communication
• Relationships
• Persuasion
• Adaptability
• Teamwork
• Coaching and Development
• Decision-making
• Planning

And I would have to agree.  A great leader will encompass all of the above in his/her leadership skills base to be most effective when guiding a team or workforce towards predefined goals. A great leader not only embodies these skills but lives them and thereby is an active example of what good leadership is about. In my opinion the greatest leader I've encountered has to be former president Nelson Mandela.  I know it's become almost cliche to use our beloved Madiba as an example, but he stands head and shoulders about anyone else in this sense, and remains the one person I most strive to emulate.

"Rock journalism is people who can't write interviewing people who can't talk for people who can't read" (Frank Zappa)

What utter shit! Sorry, but this one really got my goat up. What an arrogant, ridiculous statement. Any journalist worth his/her salt will succeed in gripping the interest of a reader through a well-written piece where all the journalism principles that apply would have been incorporated prior to the material going to print. By denigrating the efforts of rock journalism implies that rock journalists are lesser beings, and horror of horrors aim their work at people who are even lesser still.  Like journalists in any other realm, rock journalists have to know their onions for their efforts to be believable and well received by their rocker audience.  So the next time some idiot thinks they can castigate rock journalists willy-nilly, I say "to hell with them, rock journalism rocks the world of rockers - big time"!!!!

List your top 200 achievements.

Really?! Top 200 achievements - now this is going to prove challenging I thought as I stumbled onto this blog topic. Wouldn't it come across as being rather boastful? But then again, why not? We humans are so good at pointing out our myriads of faults and failings and seem to have very few qualms of doing so in even a public sense. In fact, the denigration of achievements rather than the celebration of such has become a national past time.  So, I am heartened to be able to document my top 200 (though it could be said that I don't think I will come even close to that figure since my life is ever-evolving and my path is set to clock up many more as I continue on my journey). But, for the sake of posterity here are some tidbits that rank high thus far.

1) Being wily enough to guide a certain egg cell towards a certain sperm that ensured the creation of wonderful me. My being born has meant the world is a better place. LOL
2) Marrying my soul mate and bestest (for my own purposes, not spelled incorrectly) friend
3) The birth of my own two wonderful children
3) Maintaining childhood friendships into my adult life
4) Not only successfully achieving the National Diploma in PR but doing so Cum Laude (even though I had to fight for that one due to an oversight at CPUT)
5) Letting my world understand that I matter
6) Making myself understand that I matter
7) Hosting big events successfully (putting these babies together is no mean feat)
8) Starting and developing a softball team
9) Playing softball at age 43 (you have no idea how big this one is, what with a much maligned body that stubbornly refuses to co-operate)
10) Having the stamina and the will to continue studying
11) Being made head girl at high school
12) Standing proud and not denying my child when said head girl badge was removed after it was discovered I was a teenage mom (up to now the finger still goes up when I think of that conversation with that pompous, judgmental principal and her staff who thought I was a bad example to my fellow school mates)
13) Getting my driver's licence (shame the poor driving instructor was a candidate for a heart transplant after the ordeal I put him through)
14) Receiving the Chairman's Award at the Vikings 2011 Softball Presentation
15) Receiving numerous other awards in the softball fraternity over the years
16) Being a member of the LOC for the Junior Softball World Cup scheduled for later this year
17) Getting to grips with social media to the point where I am now an active tweeple and blogmeister
18) Forming a word in on-line Scrabble with total points of 145
19) Setting the platform for a life filled with simple pleasures
20) My girls' network (they've seen me through many a dark patch and celebrated my joys and achievements with equal gusto)
21) Making my parents proud of me (sadly, they've passed on but knowing that I can tick off the above list is testimony to all they've instilled in me)