Lioness gives male a real earful after playfight with cubs

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1353274/Lioness-gives-male-real-earful-playfight-cubs.html
Awesome on so many levels! *laughing* Too adorable!

Christmas and ghosts of the past

The ghost of Christmas present...

I woke up this morning to a call from Hamish. It was lovely hearing his voice and hearing of his plans for next year. Coming through, I was greeted by kisses and hugs from Jurgis and Romany (it's beneath Specs' dignity to show affection when no offerings have been proffered)... and a surprise at my desk!

Jurgis had snuck out early when all of Brazil was still fast asleep (including myself) after fireworks had continued into the wee hours of the morning to Steal my Christmas present. Yes... the ultimate romantic thief! Isn't it pretty? He swore blind that the blooms he cut (they would have been carefully cut to enhance further growth on the bushes - he's fussy that way) were outside the property.

The last time he did that, we were still dating. He'd stolen a rose from the neighbours for my birthday. That brought back memories : )

While looking for this photo, I found other photos, which had me thinking of people loved so much and long gone. My almost-Christmas baby - the reason we stopped celebrating... a photo of Hamish holding her. Ouma and Jurgis' dad, both laughing in the same photo - a very rare occurrence.

A little later, I called Tat and we switched to Skype. I met the family she is staying with. What nice people. They've included her beautifully in their entire Christmas tradition. It was fun meeting the gran in her red sequinned dress, looking very glam, I might add... and the dad who enjoyed sharing child-torment stories with Jurgis... and mom who was bustling in the background with dinner preparations. The girls were a joy too. Tat showed me the gifts she got. She's been spoiled. I'm glad : )

In the excitement of calling Tat, I forgot to put the turkey in the oven, so that went in later.... a good thing really. We had a light lunch of quiche while we waited. Of course, the day would not be complete without a kitchen disaster. I managed to scorch the cauliflower and marrows. Luckily, I could cut off the burnt bits and drown them in cheese sauce. Aside from the newly-named dish of 'smoky cauliflower and marrows', I made our usual green beans, roast potato, roast onion and, of course, the turkey. The green beans are interesting. I found a recipe many years ago for "American green beans". I have since learned that these are not exactly American per se. The beans are lightly cooked in garlic and salt. They're then tossed with bacon and olives - I use olive oil, as I have no olives on hand. Very scrummy!

The ghost of Christmas present...

I have absolutely no photos of my childhood Christmases, probably because they were such.. uh... interesting times. Ouma was, and still is, known for her dinners. It's one of the few things the entire family has always agreed on. She was an exceptional cook. Any meal with her was a time to fill up to overflowing with all things good and delicious. Christmas consisted of cold ham, tongue, carrot salad, potato salad, rice salad, asparagus salad, a leafy green salad. For dessert, there was always trifle... ooooooh for some trifle! Christmas cake too and usually ice cream. Oh and always a granadilla fridge tart!

The day is fading now, replete with good feelings and general post-turkey laziness. It's hot... really hot. Even Romany didn't want to get up to take a bone. We're lying draped over our chairs. Jurgis is busy reinstalling his drive. Luckily, he actually enjoys that. The fan is working hard at circulating the hot air. I think we may go to bed early tonight. Looking at this photo, I see Romany is starting to show his age. For the first time, he actually looks like an ageing dog. His black 'n tan Rottie muzzle is showing substantial white now. Jurgis' foot makes a good pillow ; )

Hope your Christmas day was good - or whatever you celebrated today, even if that was just life : )

Day by day

I call this the Metro Shuffle
Sveiki! A Lithuanian greeting, which means 'Health!'

Seems I never get the chance to write here. When I log in, there are friends to catch up on  and, by the time I'm done, I've forgotten what I wanted to say. Oh heck, who am I trying to fool? Honestly? I arrive on my blog, stare at the screen, trying to convert the week into words; thus scattering what little cohesive thought I started out with.

With this in mind, I'm going to attempt this in daily (or thereabouts) nibbles.

Last week, our focus for the week was on Tat's visit with the family in Lithuania. Jurgis enjoying his time there was one thing. It had been a dream of his for most of his life. She first stayed with Dalius and Oksana. The message I got was - I'm happy. In short, they were wonderful. I'll get the details later, as her pc died on her when she arrived in Lithuania and she hasn't been able to get it fixed yet.

From there, she went to stay with Teta Irena, Vaidas, Sonata and the boys. She was online more there and having a ball. When she was due to leave, she said it felt like she was leaving home all over again. I can't begin to express my thanks to all who made her visit there such a wonderful experience!

On Monday, I had no students (cancellations - joy!). It was good though. We were able to video chat with Tat via Skype and I finally got to meet the family. They're every bit as wonderful as Jurgis and Tat said they are. I can't wait to meet them in person!

On Monday we also go word that the front house is finally getting a tenant, but only for 15 days out of every month. That should be odd to deal with. Jurgis knows him, a nice enough guy, our landlord's business partner. We'll see how that goes. It does mean that Romany is once again restricted to just our half of the property, poor thing, though we do take him on walks more often now.

Tuesday started with a cancellation as I was walking out the door. I do wish they'd cancel before get all dressed up! That left me home for a couple of hours - good time to catch up with some correspondence. I later left for my next student after calling her to confirm the class. One bus, two metros and a 10 minute walk later, I was at the entrance to their office block and my delightful ringtone went off. I love getting calls because I love the tune! Anyway, it was the secretary. She needed to cancel.Ugh! Perhaps I just dreamed the earlier confirmation call.

Wednesday, I got to chat to a long lost friend (ok, not so long or lost) *and* my little girl! That was good. A surprise email made my heart skip happily : )

Thursday ~ dreaming of green pastures and soft, rolling hills ~

I dreamt last night that I was leaving an institution, a nameless, faceless multi-storey block with small, impersonal rooms. I was sitting on the bed talking to an elderly, long-dead friend and explaining why I was giving her a scarf, as I don't wear scarves and won't be needing it.

Two men came to blows in the metro car over the last half-inch of space and had to be separated by security. One guy, the shorter one, was told to get off. I felt for him, as he wasn't the instigator, but I guess the security guy felt he would be easier to control. The guy who was trying to pull punches was huge. Either way, they were both in the wrong. If the metro is full, you wait for the next one. The trains come through with only a minute or so between them during peak hour. It's not as though they'd have to wait a long time. The photo up above is where I decided to wait for the next one, but, believe it or not, there are those who'll still try to squeeze into that.

It was a surreal kind of morning. I swiped my security card through at the bank, only to be told "User blocked" - the kind of words that generally cause heart stoppage and panic. The nice lady at security consoled me with information that I'd be getting a sparkly new card. Whew! Apparently, they'd stopped that particular type of card. I got a temporary card and made my way to the student. At the back where the coffee machines are, there was a lady moving tables  and arranging mountains of diapers... in a bank? Turns out it's someone's baby shower. I waited. I got a message from an anonymous lady to call my student. Apparently he had a) lost my number and b) overslept, so there would be no class. Great! That gave me time to organise my new security pass. It's not a pretty yellow one like the old card, but it does announce me in bold letters as a "Professor". One very badly taken photo...


More good news this evening : ) The news isn't mine to tell and we're waiting for confirmation anyway, but it's starting to look as though 2011 is shaping up to be a good year. Ahh... nice!

I'm off to bed now. I woke up this morning feeling as though I was drugged and that feeling hasn't changed much. Does it show? =Þ

Oh... before I go... a few of you are TUT enthusiasts. Have you heard Mike Dooley's latest talk? It's awesome! If you can't find the talk, let me know and I'll upload it. It is available online at a few locations, but not for download. I saved it so that I can listen on my little ipod : )

To all my mothers

This is a repost.... edited slightly

One woman gave birth to me, but I had many mothers. This blog is dedicated to all the mothers out there... the women who were mother to me and to those who have the souls of mothers, but could never, for whatever reason, be one. My life is a series of moments where I changed hands... I went from mother to mother, each one holding my hand and leading me on to the next stage of my growth.

My first dedication, naturally, goes to my gran, the woman who raised me as her own. What I am today, is largely thanks to her. She empowered me to be me. Then there was Sophie. Sophie was the one who abba'ed me (carried me on her back), strapped to her back, Xhosa style, while she worked. She fetched me from school, gave me my lunch. She taught me to love samp and beans. I remember Aunty Val, the lady at Sunday School who took over when my gran took me there at the age of 3 to learn about God. Then there was Miss Brown, my Grade 7 teacher, an elderly spinster lady. Everyone dreaded getting to her class, as she was 'strict', but when we go there, we knew we'd reached a safe place to grow and thrive. We loved her and cried when we had to leave her. We cried again when she died.

Then there was Lynette's mom who said she'd happily adopt me. I cried on her shoulders quite a lot as a drama-queen teen.

The list would not be complete if I didn't mention the hostel moms at boarding school who put up with a lot of stuff 'n nonsense from us, listened to our crying and 'bullied' us into keeping cubicles tidy and doing homework. Now Margaret was hardly a mother-figure, but she was a fair deal older than me and knew how to be a wife and keep house. When I found myself alone in Cape Town as a newly-wed, she was the one who helped me with her unique mixture of humour and common sense. Aunt Molly was the one who later held my hand and let me cry on her shoulder after Ceinwen's death. She had lost her son too. She was just 'there' and helped me through a really difficult time.

Ros... my dear friend, sister, mother and the one who attended Tatiana's first grandparent's days. Ros had plenty kids of her own to keep her busy, but opened her heart, home and life to more as they appeared on her horizon. She was my spiritual mother and there in a very practical sense too. She was the one who helped me stay slightly sane through the trauma of leaving home. And Aunty Ruth *smiles* who was mother to all living creatures that crossed her path. It didn't matter whether you were a child, a woman, a nasty bullying pidgeon or a little turtle dove, whether you were a cat or a dog. Every creature was loved and cherished as only a mother can. My own "Mrs Pepperpot".

Once in Brazil, my mothers were online. The one who truly comes to mind is Felicity. Felicity was, to me, mother, sister, and very dear friend. She was there for me pretty much from the word go when I was struggling to adapt to this strange country and missing home sooo very much. Let me not forget Llynde, who has played a very important part in keeping my dreams alive and helping me grow in the talents she saw in me.

Many of these women are no longer with us, but I know their spirits are still with me, guiding me, keeping me strong and giving me comfort.

Strangely, this is the first time I have not had a mother-figure in my life. I look around me now and I see my fellow-mothers and sisters, those who are mothers and mother-figures to others, the women who go through the same joys, fears, hopes, dreams, sorrows that I do, who inspire me and light my journey. You are all so important to me.

Thank you!

 

Technorati Tags: mothers,mother,dedication

Weekender

Saturday morning found us going shopping. About half a mile from home is a shopping centre with a Walmart inside. Yes, it is the same company as most of you are familiar with, but the products and prices are vastly different, I think. It's not a bad place to shop. I think we'll use that from now on. The walk there is flat, past the smelly river, past a litter-strewn tributary (we pretended the water was sparkling... it could be pretty), past the rubble someone dumped on the sidewalk, past the football club where the norm is to park on the sidewalk so pedestrians get the dubious privilege of sharing the highway with trucks and other monsters. In all, though, not an unpleasant walk, if we ignored the persistent heat.

When we got home, I'd just sat down to some cold water when Romany started barking. We had a visitor, the same cousin from last week. He promptly usurped my chair in our tiny front room, rejecting the visitor's chair, but moving in such a way as to render the third chair useless. Guess who ended up with no seat again. I was a little more than peeved. It was my seat *insert temper tantrum* I felt bad about my annoyance afterward though, as he only stayed a short while and his sole purpose was to offer Jurgis a business proposition. That was... until he got kissy and huggy. He's a bristly bearded man in nylon shirts. I discovered I still have major reservations with the Brazilian custom of kissing and hugging virtual strangers and he was rather effusive in his displays of this particular custom.

When he left, Jurgis got stuck into the cupboard upstairs. It was alive with termites and had to be removed. I supervised with camera in hand. We ran out of bug spray and resorted to chlorine in the end.

Termites are a huge problem here....



Though the patterns they leave can be pretty. Jurgis said it looked like a map....



Today, Jurgis put up a couple more shelves in the bedroom. With less stuff on the floor, we discovered the room is actually fairly big. It will be nice to sleep in there tonight. My dilemma now is to decide what to pack on which shelf. Choices, choices!

Last week, a student gave me a movie he wanted me to watch, so that we can discuss it. The movie, Into the Wild, was at once an inspirational and depressing movie. It was based on the true story of Christopher McCandless. The cinematography was breathtaking, taking the viewer across America up to Alaska, a place I've long wanted to visit. The young man moves relentlessly towards his goal, leaving a trail of heartbreak.

The movie opened with one of my favourite quotes:

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods;
There is a rapture on the lonely shore;
There is society, where none intrudes,
By the deep sea, and music in its roar:
I love not man the less, but Nature more...
                                         Lord Byron

A quote from the movie I enjoyed... so much truth in this:

The sea's only gifts are harsh blows and occasionally the chance to feel strong. Now, I don't know much about the sea, but I do know that that's the way it is here and I also know how important it is in life not necessarily to be strong, but to feel strong, to measure yourself at least once, to find yourself at least once in the most ancient of human conditions.

Romany, I think, was bored with all the movie stuff...

del.icio.us Tags: move,visitor,movie,termites,romany,family

A week in review

This is absolutely 100% Dingo!!


I really should write as life happens or it's all forgotten. I learnt that the hard way with Tat. I was preparing her birthday gift which called for memories of her childhood. I lost so much detail because it wasn't written down. I have an abysmal memory. Just this past week was so full and I've forgotten much of it.

The first couple of days were spent with little accomplishments... unpacking a box, finding space for the plastic-ware... that kind of thing. Tuesday, I was halfway to a student when she cancelled... again. Most annoying, but it did give me a chance to go home and get some stuff done. Wednesday passed in a haze of students. Thursday was much the same.

Friday, I went in to teach and while I was there, I finally got a battery for my watch. Great! You know what an absolute bind it is to have to keep checking your cell phone for the time? After my student in town, I rushed over to Tat's old student who was to take a bag with her to Tat. She is the girl who introduced Tat to that programme. It turned out that she couldn't take Tat's bag, as she'd over-packed and needed an extra case for herself. She could at least take Tat's glasses and her birthday gift, which was really small. No teddies (where's her priorities?). She did take the coffee Tat asked for though. I left her feeling Tat's loss all over again, although I know it isn't a loss, as it isn't permanent and we are in regular contact, the whole thing just made me super emotional.

At 7pm, I headed out to the last student of the week. Security called him, but there was 'no reply'. I reminded security that the last time he said there was no reply, the student was in his apartment waiting for me, so would he please try again. Still no reply.

I called the student on his cell. You know when someone answers the phone and you know right away they've forgotten. "Hello Joe (not his name)." Silence. "Oh, it's you! Um...  *choice word*! I'm 10 minutes away from home in the traffic. I'll be there now." I reminded him that I would be waiting out in the street for him for 10 minutes, so would he kindly hurry up. He arrived 20 minutes later, his wife's arms laden with shopping. Guess where they were. He'd forgotten. I let him know that I was really angry. Waiting like a spare part at the security gate isn't my idea of a Friday evening. The worst part was that I'd asked him if he was sure he wanted a class on the Friday evening and he insisted! Gah. Ok, I think he's learnt his lesson. I hope!

Saturday morning, it rained and rained some more. I had to do shopping. Jurgis and I trekked out to the supermarket and  hardware store. We needed a doorbell, some doorknobs, a kitchen tap, and a few other odds 'n sods. We did the grocery shopping, then walked home (we have a nifty shopping trolley... one of Brazil's better inventions). As we got home, yet another random relative arrived.

Again, the house was a disaster (though we did have cups and glasses this time) with groceries everywhere and still no seating to speak of. This was the brother of the cousin who visited last week. He brought his son, aged 12, I think, who was clearly bored out of his mind with the old men (sorry Jurgis) talking family tales all afternoon. I confess, I was bored too. I tuned out to the talk because I struggled to understand him. He was nice though. He later took Jurgis to meet his gran's sister or cousin or some such relative. They ended up visiting a few other relatives at the same time. I stayed home to go through a couple of boxes. We have a vital suitcase with all our personal papers in and 'someone' has mislaid the key. *writes Saturday off for doing anything useful* Truth be told, I was grateful for the quiet time at home. Jurgis arrived home close to 10pm.

Today was a beautiful day. The sun was shining... the first real sun we've seen in ages. The sky was blue with fluffy white clouds drifting by. Jurgis worked like a trojan. He got the washing machine upstairs, so it's now under shelter. He finished the dog gate. It's very grand... and very heavy! The gate is made from old shelving he found here, no less than mahogany. Thing is, it was made last week, but needed the hinges and catch put on. I cleaned up the 'garden'. I tossed a lot of unwelcome plants and weeded the rest. The curtains were completed and put up. A couple more boxes were dealt with. All in all... good : )

 

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Our move so far

I'm sitting here at 9pm on the Sunday, ready to go to bed. I have a raging headache. I think it's because there's so much to remember and my head is busting from its seams.

Saturday morning, as per arrangement (SHOCK!), the removal van arrived. It was a grizzled old man and his young black sidekick. What an odd pair. The dogs surprised us by not trying to take their heads off. In fact, they didn't even bark. I shut Specs into the bathroom, so the move could carry on around her. Heidi was put into our bedroom along with the things they weren't to take.

The old man's comment? "You have too many big things!" We laughed. That about describes our normal accumulation of furniture. It's always big and bulky and if Jurgis has made it? Even worse. The truck did 3 trips. It must be noted here that it wasn't a very big truck. I would have taken photos, but I was too busy packing last minute stuff and cleaning. Through all of this, the dogs were either following me or sniffing at the removal guys.

On the third trip, I got each of the men something to drink, at which point we discovered the old man, whose truck it was, was a diabetic. The young guy chatted. Apparently he's a builder's assistant during the week, but is a bit of a gaming geek. He likes to go on gaming weekends, where he games and wins huge prizes. He didn't elaborate much. He was a likeable guy with an open, friendly face.

I had to laugh. as much as the old man said we had too much (he mentioned it frequently), he insisted that that absolutely everything was taken, even the stuff we wanted to toss. As fast as I put it on the toss pile, he'd fetch it and load it up. He had quoted us R$130, but because it turned out to be 3 trips, he increased it (we expected that, as the quote was given blind and approximate by phone) to pay his helper 'a little more'. On the way back, he took Jurgis to a pub for a beer (he paid... yes, that is strange, but he's a strange man), so that Jurgis could have the peculiar priviledge of watching the assistant down a large helping of 'pinga' (pure cane spirit) in one gulp as though it were water.

We then called a taxi to take the last of the bits, personal stuff and valuable documents, and the cat and bird. Three taxi numbers later, we found someone available. He took us and the critters to the new house where I stayed.

I nearly had a fit when I walked in. Absolutely *everything* was stacked floor to ceiling in the bedroom! All the essential stuff was at the back under everything. This little house has one bedroom, a lounge, bathroom and kitchen. Specs took one look at the whole thing and fled into the mess in the bedroom. No, I took no photos. I had only a vague idea where the camera was at that point and both cat and bird were in covered containers.

We fell into bed after an ordered pizza at about 8:30pm, exhausted, and slept through to 8am this morning. It was hot. This little house is so hot!

Today, we managed to get some semblance of order into the kitchen, wire up a 220 power point (thanks Jurgis), without which little will function in our household. Jurgis did most of the hard slog. The poor guy is bushed and we're nowhere near done. He had just set up my pc, scanner, printer, etc, as I had to print lessons and scan timesheets for tomorrow morning when we got a call. "I'm on my way. What is the address again?" It was Jurgis' out of state cousin down for a visit. OMG! Flat panic. Jurgis was in ripped jeans and no shirt or shoes. I looked a mess. The toilet had a ladder poised over it (the 220 power is from the shower, which is right next to the toilet). The pantry is quite literally bare. We were in no condition to have visitors. We were expecting her, but only a week later.

And here was me saying, ".... It's not as though we get visitors anyway."

Nilza arrived with her brother and his wife in tow. In the lounge, we had two computer chairs... a plan had to be made *fast*. As it was, I spent all that time on my feet over the scanner. Nilza had brought old family photos for me to scan. The idea was that I would film her and Jurgis talking, so that we could finally nail down some of the names, faces and characters in the family tree on her side. She is the one who could fill in all the gaps for us.

Aside from the trauma of being inhospitible and not being able to offer the guests anything but water, it was a lovely visit. Nilza was as sweet as I expected. She seemed to prefer talking to me and leaving Jurgis to talk to her brother, Dito. Dito's wife wanted to talk technicalities of scanning (she plugged in her scanner and assumed it would self-install the way her printer did). Jurgis and Dito got along famously, ending the afternoon talking war wounds *sigh* What is it with old men? ; )



I took them out into the little 'garden' of pot plants and took photos there. The sun was excruciatingly hot. I think that's where the headache came from. Only Nilza seemed ok with it, but she comes from an even hotter state. After they left, I discovered they'd come all the way from Santos to visit! Santos is a beach town and an hour's  drive on the freeway, depending on traffic. In holiday season or funky weather, the trip can take 3 hours. They left after making us promise to visit them and stay a while. I felt so bad that they had come all this way and not been offered anything now. I honestly thought they lived in the neighbourhood, as Nilza said she'd visit while she was staying with someone right here and she knows this area well.

In all though, it was good. At the start, I apologised to Nilza for my bad Portuguese. Her reply was, "Don't worry. I can understand you." Now that was a novelty for me. The reaction I usually get is, "Huh?" or "Não intendo. (Don't understand)" with a blank expression. As they left, Dito turned to me and said, "We're cousins now too." That was sweet.

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"Daar is 'n haltjie, Dwaal..."

For some time now, George has promised me an article about my mom in a popular South African magazine. Apparently, she was interviewed while travelling around the country. As far as I know, she was headed up to Johannesburg from Port Elizabeth at the time. He finally sent the article, which had a photo of her, but nothing else, other than her age. This is a woman who, in her 60's would go for a walk to the beach for an outing... the beach being a mere 8km or 5 miles away.

I hope the article is typed out well enough. I had difficulty reading most of it. My dear brother sent me the page scanned in at super low resolution. The final image I received was only 800 pixels in height!

Incidentally, 'dwaal' is the Afrikaans word for 'wander'. Or we can say 'he is in a dwaal', meaning, he's quite lost or has total lack of concentration or focus.

Herewith the article:

3 April 2003
Whistle stop on the wastelands

A poet described this part of the Karoo as grey and godforsaken - he was partly right

In the third instalment of his railway adventure, Dana Snyman hops off the train in the middle of nowhere to find a remote place aptly called Dwaal and bumps into a collection of fellow travellers with stories to tell.


 

I WISH the police would hurry up and bring back Kitte's motorbike. I need a ride to Dwaal. I'm stuck on a desolate stretch of the N1 somewhere between Colesburg and Hanover and getting tired of waiting.

At the crack of dawn I got off the East London-bound train only to discover I'd stranded myself in the middle of nowhere. Hanover station looked as if it had been hit by a Scud missile - derelict and deserted. There wasn't even a bench on the platform.

I wanted to get away as fast as possible. The problem was the actual town of Hanover was more than 10 km away.

I managed to hitch a ride with Johnny van Wyk in his wheezy Mazda. He dropped me off on the N1 where I encountered Kitte Honibal and his dog Boetie. They were also heading south, with a makeshift trailer Kitte had crafted out of two old bikes and a chicken coop gate.

He'd been towing the trailer with a 125cc motorbike, but in Trompsburg he'd sold the clapped-out machine to a guy named Chris. But there were all sorts of complications with the transaction and now he's expecting the police to bring the bike at any moment.

Kitte had a narrow escape in Trompsburg. Someone offered him work. "I don't want to work now, man, I just want to get to PE and go out on the sea," he says, pointing to the enormous sailboard perched on the trailer. As he gestures, I notice deep scars on his right wrist. Knife wounds?

I sit on a rock at the side of the road and contemplate how I, almost middle-aged, have landed up in the company of a boardsailor and a dog named Boetie in the middle of the Karoo at 10 o'clock on a Wednesday morning.

It's been almost a week since I started my train ride from Musina to Cape Town. On the journey, I've encountered people you'd never meet if you did the journey by car - taxi owners, truck drivers, hitch-hikers, barladies, idlers and drillers. Not that Kitte would describe himself as a drifter, even though it's been years since he held down a job and most nights he sleeps under the stars.

"I'm actually writing a book about drifters," he says. He shuffles off and digs around in his trailer until he finds what he's looking for, a grubby file containing his writings. He reads aloud about a drifter who killed another with a brick. But we're only just into the story when he stops abruptly and asks, "What the hell are you planning to do in Dwaal?"

IT'S because of a poem that I want to visit Dwaal - Uys Krige's poem Tram-ode.

In Std 9 our Afrikaans teacher read it to us. It's about faraway places with lovely names that hold a special attraction for restless souls: Putsonderwater, Kilimanjaro, Pilgrim's Rest, Baardskeerdersbos... The poem goes on: "Daar is 'n haltjie, Dwaal, te midde van die vaal godverlore dor Karoo..." (There's a little stop, Dwaal, in the middle of the grey, godforsaken, barren Karoo...). Ever since hearing that, I've wondered what life's like in Dwaal.

But trains don't stop in Dwaal any more. You have to get to Hanover and pay Seef Farmer R40 to take you there in his HiAce.

That's another thing I'm beginning to realise about South Africa. Wherever you go, there'll always be a taxi driver, pastor, teacher or somebody else willing to give you a ride if you pay. Every town, it doesn't matter how small, has what township people refer to as a "hiking spot". Just stand there and you'll soon be on your way.

I feel a little sad to be leaving Kitte behind. He looks much more content with his lot in life than the lawyer with the Audi A4 who drank beer with me in Colesberg and told me three times that he'd met Bob Skinstad in Durban. Something still bothers me. What caused those scars on Kitte's wrists?

He seems to read my mind. As we say goodbye, he opens his file, produces a letter and waves it under my nose. It's an affidavit from police in Brits noting that the marks on his wrists weren't the result of a suicide attempt, they were caused by an angle grinder that slipped while he was helping to overhaul a bus.

"Ja, life can be very hard, my friend," he says. "But never for a moment would I consider suicide."

Dwaal is about 20 km from Hanover on the railway line to Noupoort. Seef drops me off some distance from the village because I want to do the last bit of the journey on foot. I want to dawdle into Dwaal.

In the glory days of train travel all these small stations had station-masters, proud men who paraded along the platforms in their blue uniforms. There was an annual competition to find the neatest station in the country. And there was the baboon that worked at a station near Uitenhage in the Eastern Cape.

In his book, Everlasting Footprints, NG Bezant recounts how Jack the baboon helped to operate the signals at the station in the 50's. Jack's boss, signal master John Wide, recruited the baboon to help him after he lost his legs in a train accident.

Uys Krige was right. This is a dull part of the Karoo. But not godforsaken.

There are all kinds of hardy bushes near the roofless station building. I've been standing on the derelict station platform for a few minutes when, as out of nowhere, steps an elderly gentleman. Anneries van Wyk turns out to be a retired builder.

He tells me he once worked as a builder in Maputo when it was still known as Lourenço Marques. Then his mom died and he had to come home. He flew back to Bloemfontein in a Boeing - a Going, as he calls it. That flight has been the highlight of his life so far.

"The Going is a wonderful thing, you can sit up in the air and drink tea, but it's so calm that the tea doesn't even make waves. We'd been in the air for only 18 minutes when the driver up front told us, "buckle up, we're going to land now."

Anneries hauls out his tobacco pouch and slowly rolls a cigarette. We stare into the distance.

That's all there is to do in Dwaal - stare into the distance.

I NEED to get out of Richmond. I'm tired of drinking apple juice.

I ended up here after hitching a ride from Hanover in a truck. I want to get back to Merriman tonight so I can board the Trans-Karoo, but there's a long wait ahead because the train is only due at 1am.

I'm sitting with At van Rooyen on the pavement next to Richmond's main road, chatting about the Levi's advertisement that was filmed here last year. Occasionally people give us apple juice, litres of the stuff.

Last night a truck overturned on the N1 nearby. It was full of fruit juice. Last week a truck carrying potato crisps overturned. Before that it was a truck with StaySoft.

"Last week there were chips all over the place," says At, an unemployed mechanic. "I ate so many that after a while I didn't want any more chips."

Most people in Richmond struggle to make ends meet, so in a bizarre way the truck accidents are a blessing.

A local explains: "This is a small town. If there's an accident, the police go out first. If all three police bakkies go out, we know we've been blessed again. But we don't drive out to the accident immediately. We wait at the garage until the police return. Then we ask them, 'Is there anything?'"

"If they say, 'No, there's nothing,' we know there's something. We climb into our cars and go out and load up."

An old white Mazda roars around the corner. It's Pastor Jonathan Groen who operates as a taxi driver in his spare time. He'll take us to the station. It turns out At is also heading for Cape Town.

But we have to stop on the way to see Gert Swiegers, the king of Boeranje who lives in Murraysburg. He apparently has a lot he wants to get off his chest...

MAIN PICTURE: Dana Snyman discovered that there's not much to do in Dwaal other than daydream.
RIGHT: Kitte Hanebol (right) with his sailboard en route to Port Elizabeth. With him is travelling companion Christo Bester and dog Boetie.
BELOW RIGHT: Annatjie van der Merwe (63) and dog Peggy try to hitch a ride from Colesberg.

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A letter to my daughter

A Daughter's Gift
She is ever-unfolding: growing, changing, becoming. Her gift - like the gift of life itself - is the renewal she brings to your own spirit, as she aspires to be all that she might be.



A Daughter's gift
by Robert Sexton

When I imagine
the life you will live
I think of the pleasure
Your presence will give.

I see the joy your smile will light
and the wonders you'll weave
when your dreams take flight.

I feel the hope
that will grow with your grace
and the difference you'll make
to each heart you embrace.

I imagine your life
as I know it will be;
for, my daughter, you've given
all this to me.


Dear Tatiana,

Considering we usually have difficulty keeping quiet, we've had remarkably little to say lately. I know, for me, it has been because my mind and my heart have been too full with too much to say. I suspect it's the same for you.

Tomorrow, we will take you to the airport. A whole new world awaits you... a whole new life. I know you'll do well. I still have that busy-body mom thing going on where I want to tell you to take an umbrella or make sure you have your own pack of tissues in your bag. Instead, I guess I really want to tell you to never stop smiling. It is your smile that people fall in love with, that smile that lights up your whole face and makes your eyes shine. It's not for nothing that within weeks of moving into a new place, people all along your route greet you and know your face. You are well loved. Remember that. Just do your best at whatever you do and do it with that smile we all love. Be happy. Be yourself.

I'm going to miss you so very much. You have taught me to laugh. You taught me how to make the world around me a bright place. You did that for me... my ray of sunshine. Not a day goes by that doesn't have us laughing... belly-aching, tear-streaming, unconstrained laughter. You're my other half (my other head?). You think people will still stare up there? Nah... if they do it will just be because you're pretty and have a radiant smile. You're crazy, you know. I'll miss that craziness. There aren't many people who see the world as strangely as we do. I'm going to have to take notes, so we can laugh over them when we talk. Thank goodness for technology!!

Again... so much to say and the words won't come. I know you know those words though. You know me so well and yes, we've said them so many times before.

A posse ad esse.

I love you!
Mom

PS. Did we pack tissues??

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♫♪ We wish you a Merry Christmas ♪♫

May the Joy of the Season
Fill your heart and home

May the Love of Friends and Family
Surround you where you go

May our Wishes for your Happiness
Follow you through the year

~ o O o ~



My day started out wonderfully with a phone call from Hamish. Coffee and gifts followed. I loved them all, the lavender candles, the gorgeous, super-soft socks that I'm so tempted to use as a pillow (these socks are really the softest thing I have ever felt!), a new keyboard (mine has been limping for a while now), a webcam. Yes, I finally caved in on the webcam. Students have asked for it and with Tat going to England, the webcam will be nice. Tat rather liked her beret. She's wanted one for ages. Jorge, I think, was most enamoured with his bottle of Chevas ; )


The webcam was fun to play with. I still think it will take courage to use with students, so we'll see how that goes.


I did manage to talk to a couple of friends today. It was great! Thanks : ) Our most profound apologies for the bad singing =Þ In short, it's been a lovely day. I hope your day was also good.

♫♪... and a Happy New Year! ♪♫

 

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The potpourri of life

Today, our internet has been more down than up. I think it showed some life only when I went out to teach. I think it's hiding from me.

My one blog friend, Susan, is a music teacher in China. I love when she posts snippets from her classrooms. This was my early morning smile today:

Later in the hour, I allowed them to come to the piano and "create" a song. On the spot. This was interesting ~ and showed so many different aspects to the personalities in this class. For some, it was a way to transcend their struggle with learning a new language. For others, it was a way to show off what they already knew, what they've already been studying in private piano lessons. And for others ~ it was simply impossible to do. They were too shy, too new to a very foreign place from native lands such as Sudan, Yemen, and Finland. They need to watch and wait awhile.

One little boy from Germany confidently approached the piano with a knowing, expectant smile and played a lovely, sensitive piece he was obviously making up. I knew he doesn't take piano lessons ~ and what the piece lacked in musical structure was compensated for in emotion and peace.

As he walked away from the piano, I said, "Justus, how did you think of such beautiful notes to play?"

His bright blue eyes sparkled with light and life, "I looked at myself in the wood of the piano. I saw my heart. I saw my brain. And then the music came."

I've been a little quiet here. I had, on top of my other students, a new student who wants daily, sometimes twice daily classes on Skype, Monday through to Saturday. She suggested Sunday too, but... ! Each class is an hour and half long. It has been a juggle trying to fit her in and boy, is she hard work! Her English is fairly basic, but she needs advanced business English for some deals she's trying to pull off with an American company owned by Chinese business men who communicate in English. If you've ever heard the Chinese speak English, you may realise the challenge. Of course, not all Chinese speak challenging English, but my experience of them is that their English is hard to understand, especially for those not familiar with it. I have more options for students through Skype. I'm going to encourage it.

I spoke to my mom. It sounds like such a simple thing to do. The last time I spoke to her was briefly in 1994 when my gran died and I called to inform her and before that only in 1988 at the time of Ceinwen's funeral. She sounds old. Apparently she's not being cared for, not that it surprises me. She's stubborn too and refuses to go into a place where she can be cared for. I had so many questions to ask her. Perhaps I'll try when I call her again. Her speech, at times, was hard to understand. She's wheelchair bound now with Parkinsons. I don't know much about Parkinsons. My brother says she'll still probably outlive us. I'm half inclined to believe that is true. She's one tough old lady. My sister... it is so weird thinking of her as a woman. My mental image of her is as a innocent child of 7 or 8. She sounds confident in herself. I am now on a self-appointed mission to find her two kids. As my brother pointed out... "so there are more van der Merwes wandering around out there."

Tat has a student, a child, 7 years old. Her mother takes her Barbie dolls away because she messes the dolls' hair up. Some people are just odd.

My one friend wrote a very beautiful poem some years back. She put it on the net. It is now all over. Sadly, people have been passing it on without her name attached. Many are distributed as 'Author unknown'. Now someone has published a book with her poem in it as 'Author unknown'. The book has a massive copyright blurb in the front, but they took someone's poem without getting permission. Sad and so unfair.

 

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Random access memory

All the computer boffs will think I'm going to talk about my pc, but it's really just my memory... the one I access randomly for randomly unimportant and occasionally important stuff. I started this blog yesterday. My pc shut down on me (ok, so there's the pc bit) and I lost it all. I didn't have time to go back and redo it. Aren't you lucky?

I miss my friends. I see and talk to more people now, but nothing replaces talking to my friends.

Luckily I'm too busy to let it get to me too much.I'm loving my birthday present... a book on reflexology I've wanted for a long time. Transit time is perfect for study.

Having no secrets from the past to haunt me is freeing. Ok, we all keep one or two secrets, but, for the most part, nothing is hidden anymore.

A note to someone who is very important to my very existence... where you are is defined by the people in your life, whether you see them daily or whether you talk to them long distance. A friendship over thousands of miles can be just as fulfilling and real, possibly even more so, than a friendship with someone you see regularly. You are loved.

I'm going to advertise. Then I will be busier. That is probably good.

On Saturday, Tat and I went to one of the newer shopping centers, Shopping Bourbon. Snazzy! It even has a Starbucks. Laugh if you like. I've never seen one before. To give you an idea, most shopping centers have benches. This shopping center has leather armchairs. Cushy! Drool-worthy stores too.

I seem to have a perpetual blocked nose and sore throat from the pollution now.

The photo is a random one from my archives, taken at São Paulo zoo. I've forgotten what the camera looks like. I'm missing my little point and shoot all the more now.

 

Technorati Tags: thoughts,friends,family

Little bug

No, I'm not talking about the arrival of the Conticker virus or whatever, though I'll be dealing with worms tomorrow, I'm sure (more red tape).

Two things reminded me of my mom today. Kippy blogged a similarity to her mom and Heather sent me a news article from a site that also sells these absolutely brilliant South African t-shirts. I shamefully pinched this photo from the site. Hopefully I'll be forgiven on the grounds of advertising for them.

My mom, Annatjie (we add the 'tjie' onto the end of names to create a diminutive), would call me Gogga or Goggatjie - 'little bug'. She never had much to say to me, but she'd tickle me whenever she saw me. I am extreeeemely ticklish, or I was. I have learnt to control it, much to Tatiana's disgust. I remember her laugh too. There are times when I laugh and I catch myself mid-laugh, thinking... Omg... that sounded like my mom. Not the actual laugh, but a certain quality to the laugh. I can't explain it. Certain facial expressions are hers too.

My mom is old now, confined to a wheelchair after a fall. She has Parkinson's. I never knew anyone with Parkinson's until I heard that. Apparently, she's as feisty as ever though. She's

I was looking for a photo of my mom. It seems I don't have one scanned in. I need to sift through my old photo box again.

 

Technorati Tags: ma,annatjie,memories

Digging into the past

I was talking to my brother the other day and I suggested, rather strongly, that he calls our mother to talk to her. She's old now and very frail. When my gran died, not that I'm saying my mom is about to die, I lost, with her, a lot of the old stories and family history. The same goes for Jorge's dad. When he died, all that was lost. Today, this makes me sad. My mom is our final link to the older generations. This photo is of the first page in our family Bible, which was handed down to the oldest daughter in each generation. As I was raised by my gran, the Bible came to me when she died, so it skipped my mom's generation.

Yesterday, I received an e-mail that linked to a page that had interview questions on for genealogy purposes. It reminded me of Kippy's blog on the subject too. 'Interviewing' our family members seems a little odd though, but, I think, depending on the person, it can be fun. I can't see myself ever doing a straight interview with an older family member... none that I know anyway. My mind does tend to ramble and rush around grabbing at straws when face with an intense conversation over the past though, so I think that having a list of questions one can refer to can well be handy.

I think that what I would like to do is interview the younger members of my family with these questions, or at least some of them. Ok, again, not an interview, but as a basis for digging into the past. Perhaps using an 'interview' format will make it less intense as well? Nah... if the past is intense, it is bound to be an intense process. I actually think a list of questions like this is great blog fodder too, encouraging writing one's memories. What do you think?

The list:

1. What is your full name? Why did your parents select this name for you? Did you have a nickname?
2. When and where were you born?
3. How did your family come to live there?
4. Were there other family members in the area? Who?
5. What was the house (apartment, farm, etc.) like? How many rooms? Bathrooms? Did it have electricity? Indoor plumbing? Telephones?
6. Were there any special items in the house that you remember?
7. What is your earliest childhood memory?
8. Describe the personalities of your family members.
9. What kind of games did you play growing up?
10. What was your favorite toy and why?
11. What was your favorite thing to do for fun (movies, beach, etc.)?
12. Did you have family chores? What were they? Which was your least favorite?
13. Did you receive an allowance? How much? Did you save your money or spend it?
14. What was school like for you as a child? What were your best and worst subjects? Where did you attend grade school? High school? College?
15. What school activities and sports did you participate in?
16. Do you remember any fads from your youth? Popular hairstyles? Clothes?
17. Who were your childhood heroes?
18. What were your favorite songs and music?
19. Did you have any pets? If so, what kind and what were their names?
20. What was your religion growing up? What church, if any, did you attend?
21. Were you ever mentioned in a newspaper?
22. Who were your friends when you were growing up?
23. What world events had the most impact on you while you were growing up? Did any of them personally affect your family?
24. Describe a typical family dinner. Did you all eat together as a family? Who did the cooking? What were your favorite foods?
25. How were holidays (birthdays, Christmas, etc.) celebrated in your family? Did your family have special traditions?
26. How is the world today different from what it was like when you were a child?
27. Who was the oldest relative you remember as a child? What do you remember about them?
28. What do you know about your family surname?
29. Is there a naming tradition in your family, such as always giving the firstborn son the name of his paternal grandfather?
30. What stories have come down to you about your parents? Grandparents? More distant ancestors?
31. Are there any stories about famous or infamous relatives in your family?
32. Have any recipes been passed down to you from family members?
33. Are there any physical characteristics that run in your family?
34. Are there any special heirlooms, photos, bibles or other memorabilia that have been passed down in your family?
35. What was the full name of your spouse? Siblings? Parents?
36. When and how did you meet your spouse? What did you do on dates?
37. What was it like when you proposed (or were proposed to)? Where and when did it happen? How did you feel?
38. Where and when did you get married?
39. What memory stands out the most from your wedding day?
40. How would you describe your spouse? What do (did) you admire most about them?
41. What do you believe is the key to a successful marriage?
42. How did you find out your were going to be a parent for the first time?
43. Why did you choose your children's names?
44. What was your proudest moment as a parent?
45. What did your family enjoy doing together?
46. What was your profession and how did you choose it?
47. If you could have had any other profession what would it have been? Why wasn't it your first choice?
48. Of all the things you learned from your parents, which do you feel was the most valuable?
49. What accomplishments were you the most proud of?
50. What is the one thing you most want people to remember about you?

Thank you to Eileen for referring me to Geni.com, a super, fun, and easy site where the entire family can interact to build the family tree.

Technorati Tags: history,stories,interview,family

Hoesê?

I posted the photo of Jorge and I as a group challenge on the subject of 'humour'. The South Africans will 'get' this one.

I'm the hard of hearing one in the family. Jorge, on the other hand, has selective hearing, but we often tease him about being deaf because he is so 'tuned out' a lot of the time. For our anniversary, Tatiana sent us an anniversary card from home with "Hoesê?" (translates directly to "How say?" or "What??" with emphasis) on it. Correctly written, it would be, "Hoe sê...", as a lead in to asking something like, "How do you say....?"  "Hoesê" in this form, though, is a catch phrase in South Africa. It comes from an old TV series where one of the characters would often shout that term. Seffies... please help me out with the name of the program. It is killing me!
PS. Did any of that make any sense to anyone who didn't know what it meant?

Technorati Tags: hoese,jorge,anniversary,south-africa,corrianne,fun

Birthday boy

 

Jorge, the family clown, trouble maker, stirrer of the year...

Over a mug of his favourite Malzbier, we asked him, "How does it feel to be middle aged?"

"I don't feel middle aged," said he.

Tatiana reached over and twirled the curl over his growing bald patch. "So how does it feel to be going bald?"

I think he snarled.... before he got his revenge.... Ooh yes... he got his revenge, right Tat? ; )

Happy Birthday Jorge!

Technorati Tags: jorge,birthday,family

Calling Major Tom

So we got a message today. Jorge's brother, Henrique, is finally off to Australia... the start of a new life. We just got, "Cheers mate! We're on our way!" They leave South Africa on the 14th. They're currently living with Marlise's family and have already sold all they need to sell. I think we'll have no contact with them until they land in Australia. We then have to wait to hear from them.

I'm thrilled for them. I wish them every happiness and smooth sailing on this new journey. I can't help being a just a little envious though. Ah well... our turn will come : ) Funny, I was busy working on my new Multiply theme when I got the message. Somehow fits.

Before our phone line went down, we had had incredibly dry weather. That ended a couple of days before we got telecoms back. We have since had nightly storms and pretty much constant drizzle. Apparently a record amount of rain for August? Don't know where they get that from. Yes, it has been raining and we've gone from constant bone dry to constant damp, but still...

My sewing machine has finally gone in for repair/maintenance. This machine was given to me by Jorge when Tatiana was just a couple of months old. It has worked very hard. It has taken me through soft furnishings in 10 houses, much of our clothes these past 18 years, self-employment doing soft furnishings for others, and so much more. If they had told me it was past repair, I wouldn't have been surprised. They had never seen this model of machine. It is old, for one, and secondly, was bought in SA, where machines are very different to here. Repair quote, a very surprising R$50 (US$31). Nice! I have a pile of fabric and a major deficit in pants. I need to get sewing. Shopping for clothes in this land of midgets is... well... challenging ; ) On the other hand... sewing time means time away from the pc. Oh dear... *sigh* I can't win haha!

Technorati Tags: henrique,immigration,australia

Weird conversation

Photo by Jorge on his trip to Lithuania

Jorge is a strange character. His usual reaction to death or the announcement of someone's death is a super-tactful, "Sh*t happens." Apologies for the expression. I'm quoting very literally. I say, super-tactful, because he has been known to insert some black humour at that point, unless checked. I've always believed that this is because he has no earthly clue how to deal with the subject. Emotion of any sort in himself or anyone else makes him incredibly uncomfortable.
This morning, he called an elderly spinster who apparently knew him and his family when he was just a tiny tot here, before they moved to South Africa. She also knows the Lithuanian lot well. The lady, Irene, was talking about another lady (I forget their connection) who is recently widowed and having a hard time adjusting. She's 70 and her husband was 75. This got Jorge talking about death and then, graves. He has this dream of returning to Lithuania to buy the land his grandfather owned.

This was different. He now wants to find out exactly where his grandfather was buried here in Brazil, so that he can take a handful of soil from his grave to his grandmother's grave in Lithuania. He then wants to renovate her grave because it has been neglected. Those who know Jorge, will know that this is really strange talk from him. He never met his grandparents. In fact, he only recently met his aunt for the first time, his uncle having passed on before he made it to Lithuania.
We have never, as a family, given much credence to burial places. I believe that the grave is empty. It is merely a symbol... a marker. The spirit of the person lives on in our hearts and lives. A meaningful tribute, to me, would be to plant a tree or something in their memory. Jorge is about as unsentimental as they come, so this kind of talk had us wondering if he was feeling... uh... well. Is my husband getting sentimental in his old age? He is, you know... in many ways. Then there are days when he totally blows that 'persona'. Confusing guy....

Technorati Tags: jorge,graves,death

Father

teasing tormenting playing laughing

 

collaborating helping teaching being
a father

Technorati Tags: father,jorge,tatiana

Making a difference

My friend, Michelle, on blogger gave me this award. Thank you, Michelle! You brightened my day. I found her through a poem she wrote, and the friendship grew. I am honoured to be on her friends list, never mind her thinking my blog is worth reading. If anyone deserves this award, she does. Her blogs are not only very readable, but speak to the heart. She's 'good people' : ) I would give her the award, but she already has it. I do know that I need to find people to give this award to. Shouldn't be hard... there are some amazing bloggers on my list.
First off, what do I look for in a blog? I like blogs where I can see a little of the soul of the writer. I like personal blogs, not blogs copied from the latest e-mail or news report, though I do happily read those too. I like blogs that tell me about your life and where you are. I like blogs that let me connect to a person on the other end. Herewith, a few, who, in my opinion, for various reasons, deserve the "Excellent blog award".

1. Kippy - Kippy always has something thought-provoking to offer, and often fun too, not to mention the visual appeal of her photography
2. Heather - Her photos and words have a deep emotional appeal. On most things, we speak the same language. Her blog is for contacts only though
3. Eileen - Her world is just so different and she presents it in an entertaining and very readable way. Her art is a joy to experience
4. Lisa - Fun and funky. Her world is multicoloured, much like her little car. Her blogs are never less than fascinating
5. Port Elizabeth Daily Photo - because the place means so much to me and the photos are sooo well worth it!
6. Libby - Open, honest. If anyone can look on the bright side, it is her and she cooks the most fascinating food. Reading about her travels would be enough to have me going back
7. Catherine - a relatively new friend. I love her blogging style. She takes the punches life gives in her stride and laughs at them. I love her outlook on life. Just her avatar makes me smile

Ah... I'm leaving it at 7. There are more here who are wonderful bloggers who are just a little quiet right now. Then there are those who are great bloggers by their interaction with other bloggers... their friendship. I was just saying to a friend yesterday that I have a wonderful contacts list. Most of those on my list are really good people and friends worth having : )

I found this video on a page I visited. Do watch it. I think it would be incredible if we could all turn to at least one person, acknowledge them and tell them how much we appreciate them... and why!

 

And to close... some reading for my photographer friends: Click here

Technorati Tags: inspiration,encourage,acknowledge,friends,video,photography