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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 ** |
When I was in school, I roamed the halls blindly with my nose firmly buried in a book. Everyone told me I'd miss high school when I left. It's been 11 years, I'm yet to miss it one tiny bit! I guess I miss having 6 hours to read each day  One of the books I read, while risking life and limb through the treacherous halls of teenage-hood, was The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. It is to date my favourite novel! I dream of being able to craft comedic scenes with such deft  Something that has stuck with me for over a decade is the quest to find the answer.  Note: spoiler! Do not read on if you intend to read this novel at some point. So, it's just us now  Hello friends, do you all have your towels?  So, here's my response to Lyn's a Witchy Woman  's prompt from "Blogging Circle of Friends "  (If you know some awesome riddles please share with us...): If the answer to the question of life is 42, what, please tell me, is the question???  |
| I woke up today thinking about the word 'interweb'. This word is used seldomly these days, except when someone is tired of saying 'Internet'. I don't like to repeat words too often, so I end up using it a fair amount (I work in the ICT industry, so the online world is a large part of my business vocab...) This morning, though, I was imagining the links and connections (physical and 'wireless') that criss-cross the world. Even just between us here on WDC, the whole world links back to one central place. So, as I cause ripples in the web by landing on my blog this morning, I have to wonder if there is a giant robo-tech spider lurking in the shadows of the ether, feeling all the ripples and deciding who to eat. On that eerie note, let's prompt... Lyn's a Witchy Woman has asked: "Is your personality more like your mother's or your father's?"Before I answer that, let's discuss 'personality'... When you take personality tests, the categories seem pretty evenly juxtaposed: socialite vs loner, leader vs follower, introvert vs extrovert, sanguine vs melancholy. While people can lean more heavily in one direction, I don't think it quite so clean cut. For example, my husband found recently that he is a 'learned extrovert'. What a fascinating statement! It basically means that he is an introvert but has taught himself to act like an extrovert in situations when it benefits him (work, social settings, church, etc). So, when we met, he was extroverted and socially engaging. Very early on in our marriage, however, I realised that he is NOT an extrovert. When a social situation is unavoidable, he transforms into the social butterfly I dated and happily dances around, entertaining everyone. As soon as we are alone, he is exhausted from the effort. I scratched my head and furrowed my brow for 5 years, then last year he was 'diagnosed' At least now I know.So, if personality can be 'learned' then mine has definitely evolved. When I was younger and living under my parents' roof I was very much like my dad. My mom would lament that the two of us were exacly the same; 'thick skinned'. In actual fact, I think we were just rude. We do still share a lot of loves; hoarding, strong coffee, story telling and entertaining the masses whenever the stage is offered :) The apple might not fall far from the tree, but the measuring stick is in approximate measures. |
Good Morning world!  (and good night Elle - on hiatus  )The Blogging Circle of Friends has asked: Describe your first memorable experience exploring and spending time in nature. Were you in awe? Or were you not impressed? In KZN, 'Nature' is a beast that people must beat back with a panga to stop it from over-taking the world... If a person sits still outside for just a short while, the grass might engulf them and an avocado tree might sprout from their abdomen. The municipality spends thousands of man-hours each year beating the beast back from the edges of the roads and bridges, keeping Nature in check. Driving through the streets of my home town is like driving through a tunnel of green. It is awe-inspiring and a little frightening for any visitor to the area. I took it for granted, as youth tends to do about anything of value. Then, I moved to Namibia, a dessert country. The shock took about 2 years to wear off! But that's a story for another prompt. Looking back at my sub-tropical youth, I see the important role that nature played in shaping who I am. I am confrontational and loud, just like Nature in KZN. I can be rude and forget my 'place' from time to time. At 28 years old, I am still being "shshed" constantly. While no-one has taken a panga to my extremities lately, I have been pruned. This is not necessarily a bad thing... No-one is born a saint or a 'good person', and character development is seldom a pleasant experience. Nature, left to it's own devices, is destructive and lonely. But a tended garden is a happy place to kuier . Now, after that introduction let's get to the prompt...I love Nature. When I was younger and wanted to escape my family, I would sneak outside and hide in the garden. I had numerous hiding places; on the roof of the house, in the gigantic avo tree that hung over the pool, in the pool itself or at the very bottom of the garden where no-one would want to come looking. When I was a bit older, I would even leave the property. Nature would follow and I felt safe. I would walk the 20 minutes to the beach and feel comforted by the roaring ocean and its cool, wet hugs. I was not in awe or unimpressed by Nature. Nature was a kindred spirit, a confidante, a friend. Now and then, when I want to take off the 'Dancing Monkey' outfit and just be a regular ol' Monkey, I climb a tree and reminisce. |
| At the risk of filling this blog too quickly, I'd like to add a second entry for the day... I live in Namibia, a country in Southern Africa. My dear and beloved Africa... Now let's see what's in the news today: "Marauding Lion evades capture"- Seriously! that was a headline in the New Era Newspaper!! "A day in the life of a taxi driver"- BTW, taxi drivers are notoriously rude, so, why do I care? "'I will shoot these dogs,' said assailant" "Agricultural Diary"-this is a column! Haha! I have specifically left out the horrifying acts of domestic abuse and 'baby-dumping' to avoid changing my blog rating. Tell me, world, have you had a 'marauding lion' in the news lately??? |
Hello World!  So, I'm responding to my first blogging group prompt. This one is from the Blogging Circle of Friends. They've asked: are you a better sport as an adult or more competitive than you were as a child? Easy enough... In school, I was, simply put; a nerd  I roamed the halls with a book to my nose  and was even chastised by teachers for "reading too much". Can you imagine!?  I played tennis, was on the swim team and did drama... What do you think? Was I a competitive child? The thought of running around a field with 20 other girls with sticks chasing one small hard ball was ridiculous. The 'cool' group played netball and I was not cool so I didn't even try out. If I didn't get the spot I wanted in the school play ('Rizzo' in Grease), I would feel bad, but only because the teacher had been rude when I tried to sing... (cough)Living on the South Coast in KZN, I truly loved the beach. Everyone was 'cool' on the beach.  On Sundays they held "Nipper" classes. Kids up to about 13 could join and learn to be a life guard. It is sort of like going to "Brownies" before "Girl Guides". Anyhow, my folks would promise, each week, to take us for the class but, each week, we'd over sleep and miss it... So, no, I was not competitive at all! In fact, I was lazy.As a young adult I developed a dangerously close relationship with an eating disorder. I was never diagnosed but, that close up, the line is blurry. I was competing against myself, trying always to be thinner than yesterday and eat less. If no-one commented on how thin I was I felt like I had lost the round and would buckle down for the next one. Now, having borne life and approaching 30, I feel like I came in last on this race. For my daughter's sake, though, I try avoid dancing with 'Competition' but it is difficult... The thrill usurps reason and before you know it, everyone else has disappeared and all I see is the Competitor in the mirror. |
| I did it I handed in my resignation today! My contract has been extended 'bit-bit' for a year but now it's officially ending. I'm feeling... dizzy  Getting to this point in my life has been a Biblical 'wandering in the dessert' (excuse the pun; Namibia being a dessert  I'll stop now...). Ok, I'm being melodramatic, it's only been 10 years (not 40 as in the Israelites' version) since I left high school, but it took me that long to figure out what I was going to do with my life; Corporate Communications and Branding. Let's just pop in on the hormonally challenged and starry-eyed, 17 year old me... Scene: Mother and 17 year old Daughter are driving to nowhere in particular Mother: Wow! I can't believe you're in matric ! Time seems to race by... Daughter: Ya, it's crazy. Mother: Are you sure you want to go to Rhodes? Daughter: Yip. Mother: (looking up at a billboard for Coca-cola) You would be great at branding. Daughter: Huh? Mother: You know, managing brands for big companies like Coke. You have such creativity and enough cynicism to keep you grounded. Daughter: Nah, I'm going to study dance... There are not enough face-palms to show how stupid I feel in retrospect: after studying dance for 3 years and then realising I wasn't good enough to make a career out of it, I ambled around the dessert until 2013 when I finally tripped and fell into Corporate Communications. The timing was kinda sucky, my baby was 6 weeks old when I went for the interview... Now, a year later, I've decided to quit my job that I thoroughly enjoy and stay home with my little girl. I'm thrilled to be with her (she brings tears to my eyes with a simple look) but I'm sad to stop writing for a living... I've decided to open a consultancy and work from home Eeek! Offering content writing and brand positioning consultation services.I hope my baby isn't obstinate like I was and she realises that mommy does actually know best. One more for the road; |
Wow,I just had a surreal flash back!! After lunch I casually popped a 'hard candy', menthol and cherry flavour, into my mouth. Innocent enough... That little red sweet released minty, cherry memories of 20 years ago. Memories that I probably shouldn't share. What the heck! Let's do this! You have, after all, voluntarily stepped into this alternative universe. I was about 8 years old and my parents lived very much hand-to-mouth. Each day after work they'd see what coins they could scrape together and head down to the local convenience store to buy the essentials; smokes, beer and bread (in that order). My dad had hurt his knees in a motor bike accident years before and would avoid getting out the car at all costs. Perhaps the accident had less to do with it now that I'm looking bad through wiser eyes. Nonetheless, I'd get a hand full of coins and a three part list. Walking into the brightly lit shop, I would torture myself by walking up and down the sweets aisle a few times before filling the basket with anything. After gathering the necessary items, I would walk the sweets aisle once more. The chocolate bars were too big and the bags of sweets too noisy, but the Halls menthol candies were just the right size. I'd slip one in my pocket and casually walk to the counter. I did this almost every time I went into this particular shop so I'm sure the staff cottoned on at some point. The cashier would give me a side glance as I asked for packs of cigarettes kept behind the counter. "My dad's just outside, he sent me in for him..." I'd try to explain. "Ok, fine." She'd never mentioned the candies that lay in my pocket. I'd run out to the car and throw the bags on the back seat. The trip home seemed impossibly long, I was eager to be alone with my candies. That cherry menthol flavour will always take me back to my cupboard where I would sneak them one at a time until my tummy hurt and I wasn't lus for dinner anymore. I've known various other people, adults mostly, that have developed thieving habits at one time or another. There's always an underlying issue; attempting to gain control, wanting attention, craving an adrenaline rush. I'm sure there is a psychological explanation for my petty klepto period, gratefully it was outgrown a long time ago. I do feel a character being birthed though...  |
You might have realised by now that I am not a prissy, froo-froo type. I don't get dolled up and fuss with make-up. If you're lucky, I might brush my hair before leaving the house... I called it 'laid back'.  So, while rushing through my errands at the mall yesterday, I somehow fell down a rabbit hole and ended up in a psychedelic, parallel world... I popped in at a hairdresser to make an appointment (it's been almost a year, so even I felt it was necessary). From the outside it looks like an average hairdresser; bizarre gold walls (they're always painted some strange colour, right?), washing stations, co-ordinated staff outfits, blow-dryers, even one of those curl dryer space helmets (do you know what I'm talking about??) and mirrors, lots of mirrors. Now, I say 'a' hairdresser, not 'my' hairdresser, because it's almost been a year! No-one there is going to remember me, right? I stepped in to the gold salon and was greeted by the owner and head stylist (pun intended ) sitting behind the counter. "Hi, I'd like to make an appointment. Perhaps next week?""Hmm," she said eyeing my lazy, pleb pony tail. "What do you want to do?" "Just a trim, I'm trying to grow it." She walked around the counter and pulled at my hair tie. "It's grown," she said plainly. What? Maybe she is confusing me with someone else, I thought. "Let's do it now?" "Uh, well... I guess I don't- OK." I had nothing better to do. From there I was whisked to the basins like 'Belle" being carried by singing birds. A young girl washed my hair with more love than I have given myself in years. I was a plant in the sunshine, beaming with happiness. She patted my head with a towel and then draped another warm and soft towel around my shoulders (Note: I am in the Southern Hemisphere so 'cold' is an understatement today!!!  ). I was then relocated to the centre spot in front of a mirror that reflected various other mirrors in the room. My head spun from vertigo as I tried to figure out what was happening behind me and what was happening in front of me. It was a lot like being in a 'fun-house'. The head stylist came gliding over as though she did not touch the ground. I watched her intently as she began combing through my mousy hair."How's the house? Are you still enjoying it? And the baby? She must be so big by now..." She really did remember me! "Wow, you remember that?" "Of course, darling! Didn't your mom come visit?" "Yes, yes she did, earlier this year." "She must have enjoyed seeing her first grand child! Are you going to visit her?" What the -!? This woman remembered every detail of a conversation we had over blaring hair dryers 10 months ago? "Yes, we decided to go in September." Just then, I noticed that she was dressed in gold, what an odd colour to wear. She seemed to blend into the walls as though the boundaries between her and her salon were blurry. She was the salon and the salon was her. Her eyes darted constantly around the room keeping close watch on each stylist and each customer in turn. She seemed to know exactly what was happening everywhere. Suddenly she abandoned her combing and attended to another customer. I tried following her with my eyes but she got lost in all the mirrors. I could see her reflected in at least 3 different places but I didn't know where she was. She expertly mixed colour in a bowl and handed it to an understudy. Then she was back with me, tugging and snipping at each fine hair. A moment later, the hairdryer was out and she was talking again. "Are you at home, yet?" "Not yet, end of June." I said with a smile (I'm very excited!). "That's great." Then after a beat, "When are you going to colour this hair? I'm just itching to add something to it. Not bleach, you should never put bleach on this hair, promise me? We'll add a little highlight, maybe some copper tones." I was transported to a magical, possibly animated, world where a fairy-god mothers exist and things happened by just being spoken. My hair shone with vitality. I could see the subtle highlights dancing in the light, strawberry blonde and little copper. It was beautiful. I was beautiful. The magic faded and my hair was back to brown but it was still beautiful; shiny and bouncey. "Your mom would love a bit of colour," the hair dryer stopped and she fluffed my hair one last time. "You should come in before you go see her and we'll do it." I left the salon feeling like a Disney princess; totally out of place in the dull and ordinary mall.  |
| Ah, I remember the moment I feel in love with dance. The day plays in my mind like a ballerina in a music box, round and round. It was in my living room, early 90's but you'd swear it was a swanky jazz club in the swinging 60's. I was maybe 6, probably younger and uncle George came to visit. The adults didn't sit at the dining table and politely clink their glasses together over a civilised meal... No, not my parents, not George. The brandy was flowing and the music pumped in the lounge. (Disclaimer: While my parents were never good at getting us to go to bed, my brother and I were not partaking of the brandy... We were precocious, not abused). George is a friend of my dad's. He fits that archetypal role of an off-duty mid-century soldier. You know, the soldiers in smokey dance-halls, dancing with every girl there. He could swing, boogie, waltz, fox-trot... You name it, George could dance it! [I say 'could' not posthumously, he is still alive and kicking, kicking just hurts now so he doesn't do it as much]. So, on this particular summer night (it's always summer in Kwa-Zulu Natal), the adults were... lubricated, and the music was happy. My dad sat in the king's position watching the court jesters entertain him. George was the head jester and he orchestrated the performance. Each lady took their turn to be swung around the dance floor until they were 'uitgepit' (a beautifully description Afrikaans word for 'tired', it directly translates as 'out pipped' ). Then it was my turn. George jumped up on the coffee table and took my hand. "Chantilly Lace" blared from the surround-sound speakers and we danced a fast and possibly dangerous jig on about 3 square feet of table. My little heart thundered with happiness. What a night! I have loved to dance ever since! |
I am married. Happily and in love.  Some women wait their whole lives for their wedding day. From absurdly early ages, they imagine themselves transformed into the butterfly princess and sparkling with radiant joy. They spend months primping and preening, prepping and fretting until finally that day arrives. This was not my experience. I blissfully played in the mud and told my University boyfriend that I was not interested in marriage. (Knowing that you are a dancing monkey, makes you far less interested in the Parade.) My husband and I met at university in 2005. He was a foreign student from a neighbouring country, Namibia. I was a South African from another province (South Africa's version of states). Not long after that, I was living in Namibia and fighting for work visas every few months. Then, one day, with 19 days left on my visa, we decided, rather matter of factly, that it would be easier if we got married. With much less than 19 days to prepare for marriage, we took the bold step into a court house. Almost 6 years later, and with a shockingly beautiful little girl added to our family, we are going strong. I never wore a white dress or got walked down the aisle by my father, but I have an immovable love and he is my dream come true. Perhaps one day, we will take the time to dress up, gather the audience and put on the performance, if only for the photos.  Tell me, did you get married in an unconventional way? I'd love to hear your story! |
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