2017 - MY PEN TO PAPER KICK-ASS YEAR!

"Keep your head down and finger to the grindstone," they said.
"But I can't see anything with my head down; and won't my finger get hurt if I put it to the grindstone," she said.


"If you want to advance here, then you have to tow the line," they said.
"Towing the line is so not my thing, maybe pulling the line along with my work mates would be far more effective," she said.


"Just do you job and you won't get into any trouble, plus that will guarantee you an increase and possible bonus," they said.
"I can't just do my job, I have to do more.  I'm at my best when pushing the envelope or, better yet, thinking out of the box. Besides, its my creativity, boisterous personality and ravishing mind that are my greatest attributes; constructs you said had such great appeal when first we met," she said
"Anyhoo, I don't live for increases and bonuses; I'm motivated by far more meaningful influences," she continued.


I believe I have a gift, an art if you will - I write! About everything and anything - and it is seemingly well received.  The challenge lies in developing a connection with the audience.  My personal missals are mostly from the heart, a relay of experiences that I feel people can relate to. They provide a sense of deja vu at times; and can even offer comic relief in the otherwise serious existences we seem so intent on leading.


There is power in the pen as I've come to discover. I'm a Communications Officer by trade and, to that end, am often tasked with issuing media releases and crafting speeches on a variety of different topics and elements that informs the environment and communities in which I operate. Whilst agenda setting allows me to direct my audience to receive these communications in an order of preference, I'd rather build a reputation for reporting factually and in a responsible and ethical manner - albeit how harsh that truth may sometimes appear. 


So yes, the PEN IS MIGHTIER THAN THE SWORD...but if left in the wrong hands or galvanised by skewered agendas and minds, the penmanship could prove to be far more devastating and destructive than ever imagined.


Through my writing, my quest for 2017 hence is to become a change agent of sorts, a positive one. To be a constructive conduit of influence in a hopefully meaningful, creative and inspiring way.


Yeah, I think "Kick-Ass" just about sums it up...

Leaving a shitty gravy train...to succeed at failing

I left a relatively (big emphasis on 'relatively') secure government job, to reclaim my soul. You see, I had the option of chugging along on the so-called gravy train until that mythical destination called "early retirement". But, the thing is, I probably would have been certifiably mad by then, or worse still - too broken to put back together.



So, I opted to jump off the lumpy-gravy train and instead hedge my bets on a gut feeling and a place where I felt at peace. And this is where my journey to failure at a rate of great success began:



😜 I failed at settling for anything mediocre
💃I failed at stilling the glorious tune in my heart that had me dancing at odd times, even in the rain
💔 I failed to let a broken heart become a broken soul
📵 I failed at letting electronics take away the joy of face-to-face communication or hand-penned letters sent the good old fashioned post office snail-mail way
👠 I failed at allowing good sense (or a depleted budget) to ruin my fetish for designer shoes (my logic: an outfit is not complete without the right complementary shoes - at least that's my story and I'm sticking to it)
🔥 I failed to dim the fire that guides my light, especially for those intent on dousing it with negativity or to make their own shine bright
🌞🌚 I failed to not feel joy when the sun rose on each new day, or when the moon lit up an ink-blue sky to announce the end of a well spent, purposeful day
☔️ I failed at running for cover when the heavens opened up in its deliverance of messy, wet puddles to splash in with reverence
🍕I failed at counting calories and instead delighted in relishing a slice of decadent plum pie topped with yummy fat-laden double cream
⚾️🏆 I failed at my spirit being crushed by a destructive few when they thought they were bigger than the beautiful game. Rather the game led me to a place where the people are beautiful and the sport even more so - a place where simplicity, yet generosity of spirit is found in abundance; a place where champions are born and dreams realized...



A PLACE WHERE I CAN BE AND JUST GET ON WITH THE BUSINESS OF SUCCEEDING AT FAILURE, A PLACE CALLED HOME!

What makes me sad?

I was brought up in a home where our parents ensured we had a good moral compass with which to guide us through life, and one which would set the way on how we behave and treat others.  We were taught that the common fabric that binds our society is decency.  At least that's what I held true until recently.  I've come to understand that unfortunately there are people out there who are seriously lacking in this core element. That while essentially good people, they have the capacity to do really bad, evil things.  Of late I've been subjected to hate mail on Facebook by a group of people whom I use to consider friends.  I truly don't know what I could ever have done to any of them to have caused them to go to such onerous lengths to discredit me in the worst possible way.  The posts have been disturbing in the extreme in that my character is being castigated at will, and there seems to be a great amount of glee expressed amongst those concerned at the pain they are knowingly causing.  Bearing in mind that this is an international public online site, and all who know the people involved and know me will have a clear understanding that it is me being referred to.  Of more concern to me is that these postings are being seen by my children who are hurt by the way their mother is being portrayed.  My daughter summed it up best when she said, "I really wouldn't want their kids to feel what we are right now.  I feel for you mom, as I know that you would never intentionally put anyone through what we as a family are going through at the moment. It is so hurtful to see what they are doing to you." And this is it, we are feeling this as a family.  After all when one family member is hurt, it affects the rest. As a parent, I have always striven to shield my children from harm.  This situation I unfortunately don't have any control over and that pains me.  I  wonder if those responsible are able to rest well at night. I question if there is not even a smidgeon of doubt that their behaviour and comments could be wrong, that they don't perhaps have even an iota of guilt or shame.  But then I am not God and I certainly do not stand in judgement of my fellow man, even when I have been wronged how badly by same.  I can only say that I would not do to others that I would not have done to me.  Then again, I would not do to them what they have done to me, even after all that has been thrust my way.  For I have only pity for these horribly disturbed and depraved people.  I can only pray that God affords me and my family a blanket of protection and that we may be kept from any further wrongdoing.

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...