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 |  A public journal? Sounds like a really bad idea! |
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Life is like a box of chocolates a dance floor!
Sometimes you're in the spotlight, sometimes you're not. Sometimes you know the steps and sometimes you feel way out of place. Sometimes you are a graceful ballerina, sometimes people are careless and they knock you down. In the end, we're all just looking for that grand finish. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
Gosh, is June really over?? I haven't even gotten myself together yet. Yikes!  Well, there are no prompts on Sundays so I'm just going to format the drive and see what needs dealing with:Tomorrow is my last day in the office. The farewell party on Friday was sweet. The CEO said a few words about each of us that is leaving. He was really kind about me, said he threw me in the deep end when I arrived (I was made acting head of the department after a week) and he was glad to see I managed to swim. I've enjoyed this job so much! My little one is approaching the terrible twos... Hahaha! Girl has attitude! I'm really glad I'll be home with her now. My friend and mentor, Anneke, told me once "No-one is as concerned about my child's character as I am" and that's why I quit, so I could be there with her to shape and mold her into a strong and kind woman of God. I miss my parents. They live quite far away; to drive to them takes at least 2 days. Friends, don't take your parents for granted if they live near you. Joyce Meyer was in Windhoek this week. I am an outspoken cynic when it comes to "Christian Celebrities" but I am happy to report that she was down to Earth and sincere. She spoke about doing what you can right now and letting God do what you can not do. I can love my family and be there for them always. I can't wrap them in cotton wool and keep them away from any hint of pain. A very close friend of mine passed away in May this year. She had 3 young children. I'm struggling to accept that she is gone. I've cried so often but not enough... Her kids were at church today, my heart breaks every time I see them. The Bible says God will not give you more than you can handle; I have to believe that her kids are strong enough to handle loosing her now... I'm not. I changed my review bio recently and said that I wouldn't review any "blatantly pushy religious or marketing material" (I guess it's the cynic in me...) and now I've been going on about God and church all post-long. Typical. Guess I'll have to edit my bio. God is such a big part of my life, I can't call this a 'journal' if I don't bring Him into it. It's nerve-wracking though, as soon as you say you're a Christian people start watching you with a magnifying glass to see when you screw-up. Chances are I will screw up, I apologise in advance. Another close friend is visiting from London this week. It's been wonderful to see her after 2 years. It's weird, though, how someone can change so much and yet be exactly the same..? (See, screw up number 1: 'thou shalt not be judgy'- *wrist slap*) |
Before the  arrives, let me get a response in for today's prompt: "You're stranded in a foreign city for a day with no money and no friends. Where do you go; what do you do?"The short answer is; you cry until someone helps you. This prompt brings back an amazing memory of my visit to South America in 2003. I fear that this is going to be a long post, but please bear with me, it was a great experience! In February 2002 I met the most beautiful Argentinian girl. Her name is Maria-Luz. She arrived at my school for an exchange programme for a whole year. The family that she stayed with treated her like a second class citizen, especially the girl that was in the same grade as us. If ever I have wanted to punch someone in the face it has been that year when Maria Luz was so badly treated. What a terrible welcome for a 16 year old girl who had come to a new country to experience new cultures and share her own. After about 2 months, Luz was struggling with English (and all the other subjects as a result). I was intrigued by her and tried helping her in English class. The teacher asked me one day to help her with the homework. She was so happy to come home with me instead of having to go back to that awful household. We chatted all afternoon and by the time my mom came home I was asking if she could live with us. My mom was understandably nervous to commit (we did not have a lot of money to spare) but after a few short weeks she moved in!! We bunked in my room and the best year of my life began. Maria Luz was worldly but loving. She is so beautiful and so spellbinding. The following January she had to go back to Argentina. She promised to bring me to Argentina at the end of the year but I wasn't going to hold her to it. My last high school exam was on 17 November; Biology, if I remember correctly. On the 18th, I left the country (as I have mentioned before, High School does not fill me with any sense of longing or nostalgia). My uncle heard that I was making my maiden voyage out of the country and sponsored me USD 10 that happened to be floating around in his pocket that day. So, when I stepped onto the flight to Brazil, that was the extent of my cash reserves. At an immature 17 years old, I was notably naive. My philosophy up to then had been 'just go with it'. As I touched down in Brazil, my excitement got the best of me. I had about 4 hours to myself and USD 10 to spend on whatever my heart desired! The shops were fantastical; it was amazing how such 'normal' things could appear so foreign and unusual. I was sure to go into each shop and investigate all my options. The one shop had 2 aisles of biscuits! It was amazing! I walked the aisle at least a dozen times, oblivious to the passage of time. Finally, I chose a box of coconut biscuits. The alien Portuguese crackled over the intercom repeatedly and I relished the strangeness of it all. With a good 30 minutes to spare before boarding was to start I made my way to the gate number shown on my ticket. As I approached my stomach sank, it was far too quiet. Perhaps I had read it wrong? I checked the ticket and looked up at the gate number, it was the same. A man on the airport staff saw my confusion and approached me. I showed that I did not understand him and handed over my ticket. Outside the window a plane sped up along the runway and began lifting it's nose. The man pointed at the plane and shrugged. I burst into tears.  The other staff members immediately swarmed me and I tried to explain that I was supposed to be on that plane. Somehow I managed to figure out that they had been calling me on the intercom because I was the only passenger that had not arrived yet. When I didn't pitch after 20 minutes they thought I wasn't coming. They told me I'd have to book another ticket. I took out my wallet and showed them the change from my biscuit purchase; about 4 dollars. The tears kept flowing. The man told me to calm down, they would see what they could do. At least, that's what I think he was saying through the sign language and broken English. I had no money and no way of contacting Maria Luz or my parents. I was stranded in Brazil. A teary teenager is bad for an airline's image, so two hours later I was exhausted but thankfully on a plane to Paraguay. Maria Luz had been waiting for me there, she'd be worried sick. She might even leave after waiting a couple hours. Bleary and fretful, I walked into the airport not knowing what I would find. The crowd waiting for the passengers was disproportionate to the number of people getting off the plane. It seemed like whole families were camped at the arrival gate. My bags had arrived before me and sat like a monument in the middle of the room. Amazingly, no-one had taken them. I scooped up my bags and headed into the unknown. Above the crowd I saw the unmistakable face of Luz's father. He towered over the other welcomers and his brow was deeply furrowed. I waved and called to him. Luz's face came into view after a few steps, I sighed with relief. The 8 weeks that followed were some of the most amazing times of my life! Maria Luz, mi hermanita, te extraño! |
| We've been over my love of Douglas Adams' Hitchhiker's Guide so there's no need to 're-hash those eggs' (as my hubby likes to say). Today my office colleagues are throwing a farewell party for me (and 3 others that resigned since I did). It promises to be a good time, although a little sad, I'm sure. I have thoroughly enjoyed working here and being challenged constantly. The thought of not having to deal with the office politics is liberating but I'll admit, I'm also a little anxious. Will I be bored? I hate being bored!! My folks would often fetch me an hour or two late from school so I spent a lot of my teen years being bored. The solution was to carry every possible activity with me at all times. Since then, I've had a hunchback and a huge bag full of books, wool (yarn for the yankies) and snacks with me at all times  Even now as my 'to do before I leave' list blooms, my bag has The Blind Assassin and two different types of wool in it. Not to mention the avocado and rusks. There won't be time, but just in case... As my 'permanent vacation' looms let's talk holiday choices quick: Urban or rural? This, as with most things in life, depends heavily on perspective. I live in Windhoek, Namibia. It is the capital city of the country but is comparatively 'rural' when looking at cities like Paris or Sydney. Windhoek boasts a generous population target of about 400 000 people. It's in most senses, a small town. When travelling locally, there is no option of urban, Windhoek is as urban as you can hope for, so I resign myself to rural-er. Namibia is beautiful! A land of stark contrasts and variety. Our little family takes short breaks when we can to lodges and farmhouses around the country to unwind from the stresses of city life (please not my tongue is firmly lodged in my cheek right now) but if I had my choice... I'd vacation in Milan or New York, any place where sitting at a coffee shop is an event. Although, I'd probably never convince my small town husband to come along so the big city runs the risk of being a lonely place for this tourist. |
Let's talk funny... CJ Reddick  asked the Circle what the funniest thing they've seen lately is...In light of the over-arching theme of my blog; "Antics of a dancing monkey", I found this word definition pretty hilarious... "Monkeyshine" Yes, it is a word! I saw it on the inside cover of the newspaper where they offer a definition of an unusual word each day. Definition: mischevious behaviour or 'antics'.  Awesome!!!Have you ever used this word before??? It is now my mission to come up with a story that seemlessly uses this word! |
| My nerdiness is like an ice-berg, obvious to the eye in the light of day and yet still surprising when fully revealed. Anytime I must go to the dictionary before starting a blog post is a great day! So, hi Prosperous Snow celebrating  . Thanks for making my day.Tranquility is not a characteristic that I possess in bounds. This mythical 'Halcyon' that calms the raging sea does not visit my chaotic nest much. My seas rage. My mind extrapolates. One place that I always found peace beyond understanding was the school library (like I said, my nerdiness is unmistakeable). The other place was in a cricket game. In South Africa Cricket is a big thing; If you are American, I'll save you the trip to Prof. Google... It's a sport loosely similar to Baseball in that one guy from team A has a bat and is trying to score points while the entire team B are scattered around the field trying to get him out. The differences probably outweigh the similarities. The most stark differenece is that one cricket match can take up to 5 days! It was during these games that I would find true serenity. I would sprawl out on the couch with a good book, a warm blanket and a cup of tea. I'd read a few pages, watch the highlights for a while then gently nod off to sleep, startle awake and repeat cycle. It was bliss! |
Dear Blog, I'm sorry for neglecting you for 4 days!! Yes, I know we missed the wildly philosophical and thought inspiring "Who shows you the way?" prompt but I will make it up to you with this one...   Let's talk MUSIC! When the music suddenly stops playing and there's that awkward silence, the stage looses it's magic. At once, you're just a fool in a bear costume that now feels hot and heavy and the audience's eyes burn into you like flaming arrows. You look left for support from the stage manager, she shrugs and takes off the headphones. You look right for the director; he just threw down his clipboard and walked away. The red velvet curtain inches down, creaking and pausing. Some idiot in the back starts a slow clap and the rest of the monkeys follow suit. The earth finally opens up and swallows you whole. Life without music sucks! Beware: Shameless Plug ahead...I'm fascinated by the idea and process of memory. I've even started what I hope will be a novella or at least a creative essay on the subject: "Memory's Dance (now in book form)"  Music is like scent; it can evoke an emotional state or a memory long forgotten so that you feel the years peel away. Suddenly, you are the little 8 year old belting out "But I won't do that!" by Meatloaf in your neighbours lounge, or the sound of Credence Clearwater makes the air smell like pancakes and you could swear it's Sunday morning. "Scar tissue" by the RHCP transforms me into a tempestuous teenager who feels misunderstood and rebellious. My musical tastes change with each new album release and I can look back on the genres and see my personal history (I even went through a Backstreet Boys stage...). Right now the sound track to my life includes: "Jesus loves me" and "the wheels on the bus" Hehe... and I'm jamming all the way!  Life without music would be tasteless, like boiled chicken- yuck!  |
| CJ Reddick : Hi "Blogging Circle of Friends " BCOF: Hi Calvin. CJ Reddick : Say, tell me; what was your first job?BCOF: Uh... (scratches collective head) (In the background) Dance-Monkey ~ We've got this : Ooh! Ooh! Pick me! Pick me! (Think "Donkey" in Shrek) Ah hem, well, ok. Let's start... My parents moved from Johannesburg to Durban in the late 80s to start open an "Elna Passap" branch (A popular brand of sewing machines). The shop was located in a small shopping centre in a small coastal town. My father serviced and fixed machines while my mother convinced women (and men, I assume) to buy the latest and greatest machines on offer. She has an enviable ability to get people to spend money. It's a talent. My dad has excellent mechanical acumen. He was perfectly capable of doing the job, it was just a little boring. It was not long before he went in search of adventure. Adventure appeared in the form of George Smith (not a psuedonym . George was the manager of the shopping centre; he was social and lively and liked to drink almost as much as my dad. They planted their bottoms firmly in the seats at the centre's Bar: 'Dieter's', and pretty much stayed there for about 10 years.My older brother and I would hang out in George's office after school to keep from causing a rucus in the mall upstairs. The public lavatory was easily accessible, as the name implies. One day a shopper came banging on unlce George's door complaining that someone was in the ladies' taking a bath! Hahahaha!  George rushed off to find an ederly woman with no top on splashing herself with water from the sink facet. Shortly after this George had coin access mechanisms installed on the bathroom doors. You had to put in 20c for the door to open. The collecting chamber would get emptied every few days and my job (eager, as always, to be useful) was to count the money in the chamber and exchange the coins for notes at the bank. I was probably around 7 or 8. That was the peak of my finance and accounting career experience. |
I must say, Blogging to the prompt beat is a tough dance move to conquer, at least with any semblance of grace. I've been wracking my brain each day and simply surrendering on some... But today, the prompt has inspired me! Thanks again to Lyn's a sly fox  of "Blogging Circle of Friends " for the prompt:You're awoken from your midnight sleep in your favorite chair to your dog barking wildly in the living room. Pulling her aside, you look out the window, only to see a face staring right back at you. Whose is it? Why are they there? I'm not sure how we are meant to interpret these prompts but I've gone with 'loosely'. This actually happened to me. Disclaimer: there's no dog or face, but there is a window and a hand. For this story, we must travel briefly back in time to 2005, Grahamstown, South Africa. I was studying drama and English literature at Rhodes University. Grahamstown is a bubble, a frozen blips on the time space continuim, a universe on its own. It is not like any other town I have known. Being a student in Grahamstown is expected. Being a professor is acceptable. Being poor makes you invisible to everyone else- I guess this trait is not so unique. I was blurring the line between student and poor so sometimes the 'other side' would slip into view. After leaving the 'res' halls because we could not afford it, I found a small room to rent off campus. It was, quite honestly, a shed... an outdoor shed that someone had carpeted and called a 'room for rent'. Ha! It had one tiny window that opened onto the street outside. I fear that I might be over selling the story at this point but I guess there's no going back now... The town is picturesque; old heritage buildings as far as the eye can see; tall jakaranda trees bursting with purple flowers, wide, old roads for horse-drawn carts back in the day, quaint cafes overlooking the main street. Idyllic is the word! However, even the spoiled, rich and very irresponsible students that graced the uni's halls could not ignore the poor foundation that the town was built on; the huge squatter camp that encircled the town housed more people than the town itself. To overcome their invisibility, some young kids from the squatter camp around the town took to painting themselves white or gold, or some other demanding colour so that we would all have to stop and notice them. Then they would literally perform like dancing monkeys in the street hoping for a few coins to be tossed in the hat as we walked by. These kids put on quite a show. We'd all be transfixed, applauding their efforts and scratching through our wallets. We didn't even notice the other pair of little hands that would dig into our pockets to relieve us of cell phones and other valuables. It was quite a hussle. Now, I must speculate. These talented performers were limited by one temporary asset; youth. It's fascinating to watch a group of young boys all painted red, dancing on the street corner. It is less enchanting to watch the same group of boys once they are grown and shy. So, what happens to these performers when they pass their prime? I suspect one such young man took the skills he had learnt and did his best. One night, as spring approached and the ice started to melt, I was sitting in my little shed reading (Emily Dickenson, if I remember correctly). I had opend the window so I could hear if anyone arrived outside; I was hoping to here my boyfriend (now husband)'s deep growling Honda Prelude idling outside. With the anticipation of possibly seeing my beau that night my eyes flicked up to the window in between stanzas. After hearing the street outside go quiet I looked up out of reflex and saw a bizarre thing; a hand. Like an independent agent on a mission this large, manly hand moved into my personal space and fumbled around for, I guess, valuables, as though my house, my space, was a pocket to be rummaged through. I was struck dumb and just watched as the dismembered limb felt unsuccessfully around the bare window. I don't know what the hand was hoping to find, but I realised then that the bubble exists so long as we are not willing to see other people's need. I picked my last packet of 2 minute noodles off the counter and placed it in the hand. It instinctively clammed shut over the packet and retreated. Then I heard feet scurrying away. |
| One way or another my mind always comes back to branding. These marketing professionals are so sneaky... We don't even realise it's happening but before you know it, you've got a brand perception being rooted in your mind through the unintentional hearing of a catchy and overly repeated radio advert. Prosperous Snow celebrating asked the "Blogging Circle of Friends " to write about "Song Stuck in My Head. I have a song stuck in my head..." The song that is taunting me today is a silly jingle for flu medication (Reminder: I'm in the Southern Hemisphere so it's chilly round these parts! And we're all lamenting the stuffy noses and burning fevers). Perhaps you guys know it? It goes: "Med-Lemon, Med-Lemon. Med-Lemon in the morning, Med-Lemon in the evening. Med-Lemon, Med-Lemon! Med-Lemon when the flu gets you down!" "Has the seed of brand recognition been successfully planted?" she asks sniffing and reaching for the tissue box. To the side she calls, "Babes, I don't feel well, please pour me a Med-Lemon..?"  By the way... Is anyone on WDC watching Fifa!!?? |
I'm still riding the high of the "Invalid Entry" entry. What trip! A great story is a fascinating creature. It has a magical ability to unite people across the world and across cultures in a moment of shared experience and memory. Thanks to Lyn's a sly fox and Wordsmitty ✍️  for taking the trip with Doug and me...This brings me to the prompt: Have commenters about your blog post ever made you change your mind or helped you make a decision? Tell us about that time. Most of my blog at the moment is retrospective. Perhaps I could answer this question in a few months time. Right now, I'm a bit green. I'm enjoying having a reason to write each day and thriving on the feedback from fellow WDC members!!! Today, I realise that my favourite part of this platform is the interaction with readers! *love* |
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