Having a weird mom builds character

 

Having a weird mom builds character

5 May 2024

I’ve heard it said, many times before. That one of the key factors in building character, is having a weird mom.

 

Which quite frankly, explains a helluva lot.

 

I think Albert, Katrine and I have that covered. Our darling mom, Maggie, has certainly ensured that she’s lived up to her end of that deal. She definitely did her bit. 

 

And man, has she. Thanks Maggie!

 

She is constantly doing the wackiest, oddest things ever. And as such, I think it’s aided us in not sweating the small stuff. In taking things in our stride.

 

Now this has made me wonder. Did she pass the baton forward, to her girls. Cause aren’t we both moms too?

 

I suppose that the most equipped people to answer that question would be our kids. They’re in the firing line so to speak.

 

Which means that I can unequivocally confirm, we’re carrying on with the family tradition. And very proudly so.

 

My kids often bemoan their weird mom status. I’m sure that’s code for the fact that they’re actually celebrating it. Right?

 

And as such, I’ve got absolutely no doubt at all. That our girls, will be weird moms too. And delight in the privilege while they’re at it. Cause why be boring and normal, right?

 

The wonderful world of Noma Bar and negative spaces

 

The wonderful world of Noma Bar and negative spaces

30 April 2024

Have you ever seen something randomly, and just absolutely fell in love with it?

 

So just the other day I was aimlessly scrolling through Facebook. And I saw something purely per chance. As one does.

 

And the next thing I knew, I went down a wonderful, magical and imaginative rabbit hole.

 

Those kinds of things are usually my very, very best!

 

So pray tell. What did I see?

 

Well, it just so happens that I saw an image of Mr Spock.

 

Aaaaaahhh, yes. Mr Spock. Blegh. So what. I’ve never been a Trekkie, so I was just about to scroll past. And in hindsight, I’m actually surprised that I didn’t do just that. Star Wars? I absolutely LOVE Star Wars. But Star Trek? I’ve always found it very meh. So not my jam at all. Even as I kid.

 

But then something caught my eye. And once it did, I couldn’t believe it. Moreover, I was intrigued. And I wanted more and more and more.

 

And what a treasure trove I discovered. Cause Noma Bar is an artist who has perfected the art of negative spaces. He cleverly uses minimalist images and quirky characteristics of famous characters, to paint a whole picture. Mostly doing this, whilst only using two colours.

 

So take Mr Spock for example. I was just about to scroll past the image of him, when I noticed that the winking eye was in fact, the very famous Star Trek salute. And I was helluva impressed. It intrigued me how he could portray so very much. But actually doing so very little.

 

And as for Steven Spielberg? He perfectly encapsulates Steven Spielberg by using key images from three of his most famous movies – Jaws, ET and Jurassic Park. Absolutely brilliant! See if you can spot them.

 

Noma Bar has the ability to create a soulful and evocative image by using simple clean lines and almost provocatively highlighting a distinctive feature or character trait. Albeit of a famous person, movie character or even a concept. And I think it’s truly genius! Enjoy!

 

I present to you, Noma Bar.

 

 

 

 

I took my wedding ring off. Once.

 

I took my wedding ring off. Once.

26 April 2024

I’m rather fond of My Grantie. In fact, I absolutely adore him.

 

In addition, I’m also partial to the institution of marriage and all that it represents. Maybe because I’m in a very happy marriage. Funny that! I love being one half of a partnership and being married to my best friend. I love the symbolism attached to marriage and as such I’ve never taken my wedding ring off. My Grantie put it on my finger at our beautiful wedding on the 6^th of April 1996, in my grandparents’ garden, in front of all of our gathered friends and family. And it’s a day that is forever immortalized in my mind as being absolutely golden. Every single thing was perfect! It’s no surprise then that I’ve never taken my ring off.

 

But perhaps, that’s not 100% true. Cause I did in fact take it off. Just once. And I didn’t really want to do it then either. I don’t remember the details too clearly, but I do remember crying a lot when I was forced to do just that.

 

I had always wanted a big family. And am so happy that I got to have at least three beautiful kids. In a perfect world, I’d love to have more. But alas, My Grantie was never keen and that ship has clearly sailed by now. My eggs are no doubt hard boiled and way past their sell by date. Which is a pity. If I thought that there was any chance of possibly sneaking another one past him, I’d give it my very best shot. Believe you me!

 

Not long after Luke was born, I was already eagerly looking forward to having another baby. But I had thought that 3 years would probably be a good age gap, so I was willing to work round about that schedule. Very patient on my part if you ask me.

 

And we were over the moon when I fell pregnant, right on schedule and our 2^nd baby was due on the 28^th of February 2001. I remember being so excited to announce our happy news. Wanting to shout it from the rooftop. Telling everyone that I could in person and phoning those that I couldn’t see to tell them too. Such an awesome time in one’s life.

 

Until it’s not. And you go for a regular scan and the doctor says that the baby is looking a bit small and they then spend a disproportionate amount of time looking around on the sonar screen. Being ominously quiet while they’re doing just that. Finally announcing that a follow-up appointment was needed just two weeks later. So I was a bit worried, but it would be fine. It would all work out. I was convinced of that.

 

But alas, the follow-up scan was not the joyous occasion that I had eagerly anticipated in advance. Sadly there was no heartbeat and I remember the doctor telling us this. And this awful, heavy, dreadful silence filling the room. For a seemingly very long time. Complete and utter disbelief. I simply could not comprehend that it was possible. Please say it wasn’t so.

 

Unfortunately it definitely was and a few days later I was scheduled to go in for a D & C at our local hospital. Not a nice experience at all. It wasn’t that it was physically painful. I don’t recall that at all. But emotionally I was completely and utterly distraught. Remember shortly before going into surgery, when the nurses came around and asked me to remove my wedding ring. I was gutted. I begged them to let me keep it on, as it meant that My Grantie would still be with me. But they wouldn’t budge. Protocol, policies, procedure and such was quoted. Which I do understand. They’re merely covering themselves, but it was symbolic to me too.

 

And so I took my wedding ring off once. But never again.

 

When I was wheeled out of surgery, it just so happened that my house doctor was also in the pre and post recovery room. He is a very, very dear friend, whom I love very much. And just seeing his familiar face meant the world to me. But it also opened the flood gates. Somehow think it was the first proper ugly cry I had had since my Dad had passed away two years previously. He assured me that all would be fine in the end, that we would have another baby and that he was very sorry for our loss. And I’ll always remember his empathetic kindness.

 

Of course, he was right. A few months afterwards, I fell pregnant again. And Amber was born with a mere 3 year and 10 month age gap between her and Luke.

 

One of the strangest things that I can recall with vivid clarity from that day, is that before and after my surgery, I was in the maternity ward at the hospital. I suppose it could also be called the gynaecological ward. And though I do know that it is not intentional, I thought that it was a bit cruel. Before and after my surgery I could hear babies crying. Lots of happy new fathers and siblings in the hallway outside of my room. New grandparents too. It was such a happy and wonderful place for them. And it struck me that there was clearly a lapse in compassion in the medical system.

 

Anyway, things obviously worked out the way they were meant to all along. Maybe it made me appreciate my kids all that more.

 

I still think about that baby every so often. Especially close to his or her due date. But the ache is no longer as harsh or as fresh as it had been. I still have some of the early scans pics and a few clothing items that we had bought. But time mellows things. And I did end up fortunate enough to have two more babies thereafter.

 

In hindsight I’ve thought it’s also uniquely symbolic that I did something so unique for that baby. Something that I didn’t do for any of my others. I took my wedding ring off. And for a small slice of time, it was just the two of us.

 

Now as for my Grantie, he’s never taken his ring off either. Because he can’t. His wedding band consists of two rings that are linked together. And they’ve become so tight that there is no way he could get it off again. Which suits me just fine…

 

 

 

 

Filling in official forms, makes my head hurt. A lot!

 

Filling in official forms, makes my head hurt. A lot!

25 April 2024

I’m rather fond of admin and don’t mind doing it at all. Weird, right? Cause I think most people hate it.

 

Now I’m not saying that I actively go out there and look for admin stuff to do, but I’m quite happy to just knuckle down and do it. It’s kind of non-thinking work. You simply just get on with it and usually you can see the results of what you’re doing. The pile of papers gets less, your inbox shrinks, stuff gets chucked out and everything sort of goes where it needs to go. So the end result is rather satisfying. In addition I'm methodical, so I find it all rather logical.

 

So given the above, it might be quite surprising to discover that filling in official forms, does not fill me with joy. At all.

 

There are so many senseless boxes to tick. And should you tick them or make a cross? The boxes are really small. You always have to use a pen and I’m more of a clutch pencil kind of gal, and have a great fondness for an eraser (my kids have urged me to not use the word rubber…). So many boxes seem to require the same information over and over again. And I sometimes find the simplest of questions on a form rather challenging.

 

I mean given the fact that my postal address and residential address is the same, why should I need to tick where I would like to receive my correspondence? It’s the same bloody place. Besides which, why does anyone actually need to know where I live? It’s not that I mind, but having to fill my whole address out twice means that there’s lots of room for error. Also, when last did I receive anything in my actual physical mailbox outside my house? Everything is done via email, right?

 

I’ve recently started a new job and I absolutely LOVE it!!! So grateful for the wonderful opportunity, awesome company, fantastic working environment, fabulous colleagues and really great bosses. In fact, I thoroughly enjoy my role in my new job. I’m learning and growing and I’d like to believe that I’m making a valuable contribution. Well, maybe not just yet, but definitely in the future. One that will hopefully increase as I skill up and become better at my job. For now, I’m thinking I’m probably more of a bother than a help, but in time I'm positive that this will improve once I’ve gained more experience.

 

But just the other day, I had to fill out a really, really basic one page form for my boss. So yes, it was a form for SARS with a lot of little boxes to tick and complete. And I had to fill in an employee’s personal details, ID number, Company number, employment dates, financial details, etc. But let’s keep it real. I had all of the information in front of me. Albeit in a different format. It was a very simple matter of transposing information from one form to another. Hardly rocket science.

 

Apparently it was not that simple. For me. My boss printed a single page for me to complete. It didn’t take long for me to make my first mistake. In black ink. But fear not. Was I not issued with my very own bottle of Tipp-Ex at work? Surely this would be a very quick fix. So I painted the mistake away, blew the Tipp-Ex dry, made my correction and studiously completely the form. Delighted that I was finished, I took it to my boss and proudly gave it to her.

 

She took one look and said that it would not be accepted by SARS. So she printed me another copy. Felt a bit embarrassed, but it’s just one page after all and anyone can make a mistake.

 

Completed my 2^nd attempt and realized that I’d filled in a wrong line. Knew by now that Tipp-Ex was not an option. So I sheepishly went to my boss and explained that I’d unfortunately made yet another mistake. Apologised and asked her to print it for me again.

 

My 3^rd attempt went really, really well. And I finished the whole thing. Before I realized that I’d filled a December salary amount into a January block. I could not believe my stupidity. By now I was mortified. My first reaction was to drop my head on my desk and I got the most inappropriate and uncontrollable attack of the giggles. Couldn’t believe that I’d done it yet again. Cringed at the thought of bothering my boss yet again to ask her to print me a 4^th form.

 

Still I could not stop giggling. Eventually sent Grant a message and told him what an #eejit I was. Finally plucked up my courage, tried to school my face into a look of remorse (which I really felt, but I do tend to giggle inappropriately when I get nervous, ruining my sincerely remorseful look), knocked on my boss’s door and confessed once more. To top things off I giggled while confessing and over explained what had happened.

 

To be fair, she was most patient with me. Didn’t blink an eye. And went ahead and printed me another 3 copies. Just in case. And just as well… She's clearly a wise woman and had sized me up by this stage.

 

Delighted to report back that I finally completed the form accurately and without mistake. However it did take a rather disproportionate amount of time, paper and ink.

 

Now, this fear-of-form-filling moment of introspection, made me think of other forms. And I had to wonder if anyone else ever felt the same way?

 

And then I remembered…

 

There was this one time my Amber had to go to the doctor and I accompanied her. Once we announced our arrival at reception, the receptionist handed over a clipboard and form that needed to be completed with Amber’s personal details. I knew for a fact that I DID NOT want to complete this form. In addition, I could turn my aversion into a learning experience for Amber. Which made me think. Had she ever really filled out an official form of any kind?

 

I delighted in handing the clipboard over to her and informing her that it was time for her to fill in her own form. One of the “perks” of being an adult.

 

It was a lengthy process and she had lots of questions along the way. And hey, I so get it. I also find forms confusing. Clearly, I’m not very bright. Not saying that she isn't. But I know for a fact that I'm not. She was a first-timer.

 

We got to the bit where they asked for the contact details of her next of kin. So I told her that she could simply add my name, surname, contact number, etc.

 

The following question on the form was, “Relationship”.

 

Now I didn’t think that would be a hard one for her to complete. In my opinion, the relationship question was an easy one. I’m her mother, hence my details. Piece of pie.

 

Until she stumped me with a question she whispered loudly to me…

 

“Why would they want to know if I’m single or if I’ve got a boyfriend?”

 

I guffawed. As did the receptionist.

 

So there you have it. Forms are truly baffling. To many of us. In addition, it’s also clearly a hereditary condition. Sorry Amber!

I met this totally new person when I had each of my kids. And it was never the baby.

 

I met this totally new person when I had each of my kids. And it was never the baby.

12 April 2024

Nothing quite prepares one for the magic of meeting your baby for the very first time.

 

It’s a uniquely surreal experience. Much anticipated, and it’s a day filled with excitement and so many emotions. Awe, wonder, amazement and gratitude are amongst the flood of many feelings that assails one. And I think the same can be said for most moms and dads. I do understand that there are exceptions to this rule. And I have deep empathy for those who don’t share the same emotions that I did, for whatever reason. There can be so many of those.

 

However on the whole, it is a life changing event that stands out forever more. Etched in one’s memory. It’s like finally unwrapping a gift that’s been brewing and cooking for nine long months. And even longer than that, for those of us who first started planning to have a baby. After all, conception might not happen immediately. It can be years in the making. And I think the same goes whether you give birth or whether you adopt. It’s about embracing a whole new life into your world and accepting full responsibility for this tiny, needy, vulnerable and impressionable little person. One who is fully and completely dependent on you for every single thing.

 

In fact, when you stop to think it about it, it can bring you to your knees. And make you feel like you need to sit down. If you had the time to do so.

 

It’s a mammoth task. One that takes an entire lifetime to invest in. As your kids get older, you may no longer need to feed and bath them and care for their most basic needs, but the nurturing and concern for their wellbeing and happiness never stops. For the rest of your life. I think that one of the facets of what makes it such a complex thing to wrap one’s head around, is that it’s not merely caring for their physical needs. That’s merely one rather one-dimensional part of it. It’s their emotional needs too. Ensuring that you play a vital role in shaping an adult who is well adjusted, before you let them loose onto the world. Confident, kind, loving, caring and completely equipped for the many challenges that we face in life.

 

I had given some headspace to this before having kids. But not much. I was too focused on having a cute little baby to love. And I just couldn’t wait for them to be born. For me, the wonder has never stopped. Not when they became toddlers, little kids, bigger kids, teenagers or even young adults. I absolutely adore my kids. Sappy, but true. Maybe it’s nature’s way? I also think that few things are more pure than a mother’s love for their child. It’s honestly a thing of beauty.

 

So imagine my surprise, when once I had my kids, the totally new person that I met, was not only the baby.

It was me.

 

As a Mom.

 

Now, that was quite a revelation and a big source of amazement.

 

Maybe I should have expected it, but somehow I did not. Oh I loved My Grantie absolutely. And I still do. I loved my mom, sister, brother, their partners, and my nieces as well as my whole extended family. And still do so to this very day.

 

But nothing could ever have quite prepared me for the rush of unconditional love that enveloped me like a warm comfy blanket, when I became a mom. I think motherhood does this for most of us.

 

I didn’t become a whole new person when each of my kids were born. In many ways, I simply became who I was always destined to become. I had just not anticipated the exceptional depth of feeling and emotions. The way it completely flooded me and took hold of my heart, soul and being.

 

I’ve heard it said before and I absolutely agree. Having kids, is like having your heart outside of your body.

 

To this day, it’s been the most joyous, most challenging, most fulfilling and most incredible experience of my life. And it continues to be just that, every single day. That doesn’t change when they get older. I’m still a mom. I’m still their mom.

 

And funny enough, like they’ve grown with my nurturing and love, so I have grown with their nurturing and love. It’s such a beautiful and honest exchange. Absolutely unconditional.

 

And I am so exceptionally grateful, for the phenomenal blessing of being a Mom.

 

And of getting to know me, as a Mom.

 

I think I like me. And that’s pretty cool.

Baby Luke - the one who made me mom when I had just turned 25

Baby Amber - with her flair for drama from the get-go. All purple and blue.

Baby Cole - I was 31 and absolutely thrilled that I managed to squeeze a 3rd baby past Grant

Yes, I paint hollowed out eggs for Easter. Bite me.

 

Yes, I paint hollowed out eggs for Easter. Bite me.

8 April 2024

I do so love myself a festive season. Of any particular kind. Xmas and Easter? Bring it on. Sadly, we’re not very big on Halloween. Cause I suspect I could’ve gotten really sucked into that one big time.

 

So Easter was last weekend. And we had a lovely family meal with all of the kids and Amber’s boyfriend, Rob too. Such a super chilled and relaxing day.

 

And I know that most people don’t decorate for Easter. Look, I get it. It’s not for everyone. In fact, loads of people don’t even decorate for Xmas. You do you, and all that. Each to their own.

 

But I am so very, very fond of an occasion. Of any kind. And at this time of the year, Easter is as good an excuse as any. In addition, it gives me a marginally legitimate reason to decorate and indulge in some crafting.

 

So pray tell, what do I do? Well, I paint hollowed out eggs. And lots of them. Yip. I know I’m kinda nuts. And most people don’t really get the point it all. But that’s okay. Cause I get it. I grew up doing it and it’s an activity interwoven with many happy memories of wonderful times together. In the home that I grew up in when I was still a children. I enjoyed it when my children were little, when some of them were a bit bigger, and even now. They’ve all given up and no longer indulge. The youth of today. No stamina, I tell you. Even now, when I visit my Mom over Easter time, we all indulge and paint big time. And usually some of my kids will pick up their paint brushes too.

 

But as for me, I GO ALL OUT!!! And I absolutely love it. Never let it be said that I don’t go the whole hog. Cause truth be told, I’m rather fond of hogs too. Which brings me to another point? Why isn’t there a whole celebration for the wonderful, miraculous pig?

 

So here’s the thing. You don’t just randomly paint hollowed out eggs. First, you have to ensure that they get hollow in the first place. Which means scrambled eggs on the daily, or almost daily. In addition, there’s pancakes, waffles, flapjacks and the like. You’ve got to painstakingly making teeny tiny little holes, blow out the insides and then meticulously wash them. It’s also takes a bit of time for them to dry. Then you’ve got to give them a few base coats so you’ve got a solid colour to begin with. Having a wishy-washy background is not nice at all, and it diminishes the overall effect of the final product. So, I’m thorough. Ensuring that my foundation is good.

 

It is extremely fair to point out, that though I love crafting, I’m honestly not particularly artistic. At all. Juvenile at best. On a really good day. So I go for something that will have an overall good effect. Swirling curly-cues, symmetric details and a fair bit of fluffing it as I’m going along. Look, it doesn’t really mind if anyone else likes them. Cause I do. And it makes me happy. Not just the final product, which I invariably love cause it’s to my tastes. But because I love the process of it all. Even just unpacking my Easter eggs from previous years brings me joy. And I so love looking at them.

 

Apart from the odd egg shell that breaks from wear and tear and the difficulty in storing them without them becoming damaged or cracked, I still have most of my painted eggs. Every year, my need for storage becomes bigger and more complicated. Cause how do you really ensure that they don’t break? Eggshells are fragile things at the best of times. Without the benefit of the gooey goodness inside the eggshell, it’s even more prone to cracks and breakage. Let’s just say it’s complicated.

 

And through my collection of the creations of past years, it’s been wonderful to see how every year has a colour scheme or pattern of choice. I display my eggs proudly throughout my house on as many available surfaces as possible. All in the hopes that my cats won’t destroy them. So far, so good. But I don’t want to jinx it too much. I display them in glass bowls and vases, sorting colours and themes together and love the overall effect. Such a fun thing to do.

 

So this year, my colours are red (beeeeeeg surprise), white and black. And I’m loving it. So awesome and I’m loving the end results.

 

Found it quite funny that I’ve had quite a few friends sending me messages or commenting, saying that Easter does not feel complete without seeing my egg collection posted on Facebook. So hurry up already. Most flattering and sweet.

 

Alas, I’ve promised my Grantie that I’ll finish up this weekend. And pack it all away again. Mostly I suspect he’s just tired of scrambled eggs. Can’t blame him really, I’m also feeling as though I’ve peaked on my egg consumption. Because of his heart, we watch his egg intake in general and usually stick to 2 eggs a week. But we might have relaxed those restrictions a little bit over Easter. Not too hectic. The kids helped with the eating of eggs too. But I think we’re all tapped out. In addition, we finished the last marshmallow Easter eggs a few days ago. So it really is time to move on.

 

So I give to you, Easter 2024. Enjoy! Yes, I know I’m mad. Grant reminds me often enough.

 

Actually, on second thought. It wouldn’t be fair to pack everything up straight away. Cause the newly painted eggs have not yet had their chance to shine in the spotlight. To enjoy being displayed. So perhaps I’ll stretch it out for just a little bit longer. But will refrain from tackling anymore. Restraint, is a very, very hard thing to do. But I’ll give it my best shot.

 

Anyone for scrambled eggs?

 

My Grantie's cooking adventures. Or lack thereof.

 

My Grantie's cooking adventures. Or lack thereof.

6 April 2024

Aaaaahhh! My Grantie and cooking. He does so love to try out a new recipe. Quite the budding chef, I tell you.

 

So pray tell, how does his "trying-out-new-recipe-cooking-adventures" go? To be honest, rather well actually. As he doesn't cook them.

 

He masterfully peruses the world wide web. And finds a delectable dish that he's absolutely dying to try out!

 

We're all informed of this rather loudly. He heralds it, if you like.

 

It starts off with a proclamation - "I'm making supper tonight. I want to try something new and different. And I've found this awesome recipe. It looks really easy". It is fair to point out at this juncture, that there’s no purpose in wasting a good heralding, without ensuring that you’ve got an audience. So he does like to guarantee that we’re all assembled in the same vicinity.

 

This is known as Phase One. We've seen this pattern repeated often before. At this stage, the kids and I share looks. Amber always sniggers. Not even pretending to hide her mirth. Sometimes out of earshot (though also sometimes intentionally within earshot) she'll mutter something along the lines of, "We all know what that means".

 

Phase Two of his culinary master plan is to head off to the shops to buy the ingredients. Occasionally he gets all of the necessary ingredients. However, this is not guaranteed. Probably mostly because he doesn’t always make a list, but rather just peruses the recipe on his phone, whilst doing the shopping.

 

Then for the duration of the day, he speaks about this endeavour. Much planning involved of when he should start with his preparations. And beautiful visions of how good the end result will be. As well as  proclamations of his culinary brilliance.

 

During Phase Three he goes over into action. Ingredients and cooking utensils are assembled. And to be fair, he does really try. Prepping ensues with lots of concentration, attention to detail and dedication to his task.

 

The real problem, seems to always lie in Phase Four. Namely the effective execution of his cooking adventure. It mostly starts off really well with great gusto and eager enthusiasm. But invariably, he hits a proverbial snag. And becomes stumped.

 

Maybe it's the monotony of reading a recipe over and over again, trying to decipher what it all really means. Interpretation can apparently vary greatly. And I can't really blame him. I can so identify. Which is possibly why I'm less adventurous in the kitchen. I suppose I do have quite a vast and tasty repertoire (At least I’d like to think so. Everyone eats what I prepare and dish up. There’s a chance they’re fearful of not liking it. Who can tell?). And fairly often, I add to my collection of dishes. But somehow new recipes are often tricky, labour intensive and generally demand a greater investment of time. This is properly proportionate to the reason why they are so delicious in the first place. Ingredients are no doubt more exotic. Techniques are sometimes different. Spices and flavouring unusual and unique. But there is without a doubt an element of complexity.

 

Which leads us right up to Phase Five. This phase is more often than not announced with a, "Babes can you quickly help me please".

 

And how can I deny him? His recipes are always nice. The intentions are so pure, albeit that they're mostly aimed at his stomach. And he's usually done lots of the legwork by this stage.

 

And thus, I sweep in. And somehow, he conveniently disappears.

 

But I know this. It's part of our dance. So I'll cook the meal. Actually happy to make something new. Ever hopeful that I'll be able to add it to my cooking arsenal in the future.

 

It's usually absolutely awesome! And we're all thrilled with the end result.

 

And then follows Phase Six. Now this is the bit where My Grantie asks us if we all enjoyed the new recipe he cooked for us. Which leads to lots of ribbing, teasing, comments and laughter. He always says this with such confidence and glee. Delighted with his mastery. Even gloating if you like, with an evil glint in his eyes.

 

Finally he follows this up with Phase Seven. Where My Grantie makes me a delicious cup of coffee. Thanking me and praising me for my efforts. Ensuring that I'll help him again next time.

 

He's a very, very clever man. Can't fault his logic, devious scheming or dedication to his craft.

 

The end justifies the means. And we all win.

 

In other news, he's cooking supper tonight.

 

Now in the interest of full disclosure, I must amend the statement above. Cause here’s the thing. Since I wrote this blog yesterday afternoon, it’s only fair that I give an update as to last night’s cooking plan.

 

Cause yesterday morning My Grantie phoned me, to let me know that he had a wonderful idea for supper. Moreover, he’d already gone to the shops and had bought all of the ingredients. He also informed that he would start preparing the chicken so long. Dicing and marinading and getting everything at the ready.

 

I left home at about 4pm yesterday afternoon and only got back again, close to 7pm. So perhaps I was foolish in assuming that he’d be preparing the meal. You know, the meal he conceived of and shopped for. Imagine my surprise when I got home just before 7pm and the kitchen was pristine. I foolishly asked him if he’d already prepared supper and had he packed it away somewhere, as there were no telltale delicious smells either.

 

And he looked at me as if I’d grown another head. “I never said I’m making the supper. I thought you would”.

 

Speechless. Alas, lots of the prep had been done. It didn’t take too long. And it was very yummy indeed. So much so, that both of the boys and My Grantie had some for leftover lunch today. So who’s the real winner here?

 

My Grantie. Well played, Baby. Well played.

Sea glass

 

Sea glass 

2 April 2024

For the absolute longest time, I have been enamoured with sea glass. I don’t quite know what it is. Apart from the fact that it’s possibly an analogy for life and the passage of time. How very small we are and how life smooths out our rough edges. This is a lengthy process, yet the end result is just so very, very beautiful.

 

I really detest litter. Simply can’t stand it. Any walk along the beach, or even just a random stroll, sees me picking up litter. I don’t focus on ugly stuff or negative things. So I don’t go through life, seeing the rubbish on the ground. I definitely do look up, appreciate and absorb the beauty around me. Yet at the same time, I simply can’t walk past a discarded straw, bottle top or lollipop stick. By removing it, I like to think that I amplify the beauty that is already there.

 

Few things give me greater satisfaction than looking for sea glass. Especially at our most beloved family holiday house, Kleinbaai. I’ve been doing it for years. And during any time spent at Kleinbaai, I religiously go on a sea glass hunting expedition, at least twice a day. Whilst we’re still busy driving to Kleinbaai, I’ll consult the tide charts, planning my excursions. The first low tide after a spring tide is always the most fruitful. So those are my favourites. However, after every single high tide, the low tide reveals sea glass treasures. And oh boy, are they beautiful!

 

Sea glass hunting sees me going with 2 bags. One for sea glass and one for rubbish. Hardly surprising, but the rubbish bag gets filled far quicker than the sea glass bag. So I suppose that’s actually encouraging. Or depressing. Depending on your point of view.

 

So exactly what is sea glass? Well as the words suggest, it’s shards of broken glass that have been tumbled and smoothed by the ocean. Rough edges now round. Sharp corners now delightfully no longer sharp. In addition, the glass is now longer transparent. More of a milky dusting, due to the endless pounding of the waves, the crashing of glass against rocks and exposure to the elements.

 

I can’t help but wonder how old some of my favourite pieces are. How long ago were they simply discarded and tossed aside? Much as I hate litter, I too was once guilty of throwing glass into the sea. Albeit that it was a message in a bottle to my Dad. A letter I wrote to him, to let him know how we were all doing and telling him how much he was missed and loved. Did shards of that bottle eventually find it’s way back to me again? How long does it take for sea glass to become proper sea glass? I suppose it’s like asking how long a piece of string is. It surely depends on the tides, the rocks, and nature’s unpredictability. Which somehow adds extra allure. Because it’s a mystery.

 

I can weave romantic tales to myself. That all of my sea glass treasures came from messages in bottles. Yet, even I know that it’s highly unlikely. Most often the culprit is beer and wine bottles. The colours that are found most often are white, brown and green. But even within that limited colour range, the palette seems to be endless. So many beautiful shades, that I can sort them out according to their tinge. You get olive green, bottle green (duh), light green and so it goes on.

 

I’m always on the hunt for elusive blue sea glass. After each sea glass hunting expedition, My Grantie eagerly asks me, “so what did you get?”. He’s super indulgent and patient with my obsessions and hobbies. And then I unpack it all and proudly show of my best treasures. Every so often I find a little piece of blue. And my excitement knows no bounds. Those finds are celebrated and greatly praised.

 

Now what do I do with these treasures? I sort them into colours and shadings and I put them in bottles and jars. Dotted around my home, mostly in the bathroom. And also in my garden. And they bring me so much joy. Gaining something so fabulous from other people’s discarded waste. How cool is that?

 

I always take a pic of all my sea glass finds at the end of a Kleinbaai getaway. And then, once the pic is taken, I go through my loot rather meticulously. New, sharp and in my opinion, pieces non-worthy of being classified as old sea glass, are thrown in the bin. Where it probably should’ve landed up in the first place. Not in the sea. Never in the sea again. But rather in the bin. Which most likely means it ends up as landfill. But at least it’s no longer in the sea. And some of it has pride of place in my home.

 

I’ve often wondered how I could make my own sea glass. Cause if I could, I’d go all out. I’d go for broke and the colours of the rainbow – red, purple, yellow, orange, pink, etc. And would you believe it, but you can actually buy glass tumblers. Predictably they’re rather pricey. And it’s a lengthy process, involving multiple stages of rotating and grinding the glass in a nifty little machine, with various gradings of sand.

 

However on the odd occasion, I’ve also considered going the route of my quirky Oupa Willem. He was a firm believer in the miracle of the humble toilet cistern. Why, clean water runs through it multiple times a day. He used this very same method when it came to making his own olives. Yip, table olives. As the bottling of olives starts of with a very long process of rinsing the olives multiple times a day for a few weeks to remove the bitterness. Before you eventually add it to a brine to cure it. To be fair, he only enlightened us with his olive rinsing method, long after we’d already indulged in multiple bottles of his brand.

 

Ironically, he didn’t do this to be funny. Or different. It was just the way his mind worked. It was logical to him. Expedient even. Now as for my Ouma Helene, she would’ve gone for the shock value of such an action. And delighted in it too.

 

But I’m going to stick to old school. Cause the elusive hunt for the very best pieces, whilst I go for solo walks along the sea, is definitely part of the magic for me.

 

If it ain’t broke (if you know what I mean), don’t fix it. Age old sea glass, tempered by nature is completely and utterly magical for me.

 

And thus my hunting will continue. Some of the very best pleasures in life are free. And take a long time to acquire. Which is why they are so special indeed.

 

Hard to believe, but the pics below are all from different visits to Kleinbaai. Cause such is the haul every single time. Crazy!

 

 

Why I love to blog and write

 

Why I love to blog and write

1 April 2024

Soooooo, until I picked up my “pen” again on the 5^th of March, I hadn’t blogged for absolute yonks! Doesn’t mean I hadn’t thought about it though. Cause I had. Quite a lot actually. I had had many blogging ideas swirling around my head for ages. But life got busy. As it does. And I got distracted. As I do. Extremely frequently, in fact. Cause all it takes is for me to… Alas, I digress. See how easy it is?

 

My mom and aunt always encouraged me to start it up again. And I had a few loyal blog followers, who would mention it to me on occasion, but I thought they were just being polite. And sweet. People are naturally kind in my opinion.

 

And then, on the 5^th of March, the idea popped up in my mind again and I got such an instant rush of happy endorphins when I remembered how much joy and happiness blogging gave me. I had found it so fulfilling, entertaining (yes, I do actually find myself funny) and creative. And I thought, “No man! Enough already! Just bloody write something again for a change”. So, I’m probably rusty. And apart from lengthy WhatsApp messages to friends and family (they’re terribly long suffering, yet patient with my long messages – kind people, all of them), I hadn’t done “proper” writing for a veeeeeery long time. But it’s like riding a bicycle, right? Right? I mean surely, something will spark again. So here goes…

 

There once was a girl called Helene

Just kidding

Done that before

Still think it’s funny though

(Doesn’t rhyme at all – note to self, practice more)

 

For now, I’m absolutely loving it. And thoroughly enjoying it. But at the same time, there’s also a nice discipline to it. If you don’t make time for the things that feed your soul, you won’t find time to do just that. It’s also such a happy hobby. Cause that’s my focus when I write. I write about things that make me happy. My observations of the world around me. My take on things if you like. And it’s also a way to remember things with greater accuracy and more details in the future. Because I can jog my memory through a blog I had written.

 

Looking back at my blogs from the earlier years when I first started, I’m filled with gratitude for doing it. I somehow managed to permanently capture so many of the wonderful memories of my children’s childhood years in stories. Silly little things really. The every day. The average. The daily things. Odd things they’d say and do. Experiences we had.

 

Cause here’s where I’m at now. In the blink of an eye, they’ve all finished school. Dancing lessons, hockey practices, school orals, studying for exams, the daily packing of lunches, supporting my kids along the sport’s field, the endless stream of social dances and school gatherings they attended, basically just all of it. It’s gone. It’s over. Never to be repeated. And had I not recorded so many of those average daily activities, in words, they would’ve been lost. Yes, I’ve got the memories and so do they. But we have different perceptions of the same experiences. One forgets so easily. Life is fast paced. And you simply move onto the next thing. You get sucked into life and living it.

 

For now, I’m enjoying playing with words again. I do love them so. And I’ll continue to write as often as I can. Because truth be told, if I don’t, I’ll resort back to long, lengthy messages to friends and family again. And they need a break.

 

Maybe one of the purest pleasures of blogging, is that I selfishly do it for me. Because I enjoy it so much. I get lost in a thought and the words just tumble out. Never quite knowing where it’s going to go or when it’s going to end. It just falls into place. Unfolding as I’m doing it. Which is possibly part of the joy in blogging. Unfurling as I paint pictures with words.

 

And I genuinely forget that others read it to. Quite surprising really, as I do share every single blog on my social media. You’d think it would be expected, but somehow for me, it’s not. And thus I always find it surprising when someone comments on a post or a blog. Or when they say something to me in person. Maybe because the irony is, that though it is called social media, it’s not really all that social after all. And one becomes disconnected from the fact that there might be someone on the receiving end of what you’re putting out there.

 

So thanks to those (diligently my mom, Maggie and my aunt, Bettie) who read my blog, for doing so. For your kind comments and reactions. For your encouragement and support.

 

With fondest love,

 

Helene

 

 

 

 

I once fell head over heels in love with an Octogenarian

 

I once fell head over heels in love with an Octogenarian

30 March 2024

Being happily married, and about 32 at the time, it took me completely and utterly by surprise, that I once fell completely and utterly in love with an octogenarian.

 

My Oupa Alby had died when I was about sixteen years old. I think it was in 1988. And we had all just assumed that that would be it for our Ouma Cathy. She would simply be single for the rest of her life. In fact, I am quite convinced that she thought exactly the same.

 

And then, when she was about 81 years old, roughly 17 years after Oupa Alby died, she invited my Mom, my sister and I for a visit and lunch. It was always a treat to see her and spend time with her. She lived in Durbanville at the time in a lovely secure retirement village. It was an awesome spot, with a spacious home and a beautiful big garden, just the way she liked it.

 

And upon this occasion, Ouma told us about her friend, Pietie. They had been to school together, when they were kids, in their home town of Malmesbury. And would you believe it, but he lived really close to her and they’d met up again. We thought it was a lovely sweet story and were happy for her that she’d made a “new” friend and that she’d have some more company. But to be fair, we didn’t really think much more of it. Apart from gratitude for a wonderful friendship.

 

Now, the next time we went there for lunch again, we met Oom Pietie. And he was a delight! By this time, he was mentioned constantly in phone conversations. So personally, I felt as though I knew him already. In addition, I was very fond of him for making Ouma so happy and I was so grateful for their endearing friendship. It was adorable.

 

And then a few weeks later, when we went for lunch again with Ouma Cathy, Oom Pietie was once again there. But we were expecting it by this stage and he was truly lovely. Such a kind and sweet person. Old word charm from a forgotten era, and a true gentleman. Impeccable manners, always dressed smartly, hair ever so neat, extremely polite, friendly, engaging and yes, indeed lovely. His marvelous sense of humour was a fantastic additional bonus. And whilst we were all busy chatting, Ouma Cathy just piped up and said, “Pietie en ek gaan trou”. Which for those non-Afrikaans speakers, translates as “Pietie and I are getting married”. It was very unexpected and a big surprise, yet we were so thrilled for the two of them. They were like a couple of teenagers in love. Even holding hands. My heart! So very cute!

 

On the 22^nd of July 2006 they were married at my uncle’s restaurant in St Helena Bay. And it was such a fabulous celebration of second chances, "young” love, true friendship and families melding and joining. All of us instantly took to Oom Pietie’s family. His awesome children, who in turn had also completely embraced Ouma Cathy and welcomed her, and by definition us, into their family fold. I even recall Oom Pietie making a very naughty speech at their wedding reception, after the service. Joking about the thing that all newlyweds do. You know, hanky panky. And we thought it was very cheeky and loved his sense of humour even more.

 

Somehow, Oom Pietie, quickly became Oupa Pietie. And they had 15 wonderful years together, before Ouma Cathy went to a special farm. Shortly after they got married, they moved to a lovely retirement village, very close to me. And I saw them often. Random little visits all the time. I’d visit them and they’d pop in and visit me and my family. But then Covid happened and with it things became more complicated. During Covid I did their shopping for them weekly and once lockdown restrictions eased up, I was once more able to visit them. During hard lockdown, I could not enter the retirement village. And on the odd occasion, when they were allowed to leave their home, they'd meet me at the gate, and I'd hand them their groceries, after it had been dutifully sanitised. Albeit at a safe distance. It was always a delight. I completely understood the need to keep elderly people safe from Covid and minimise exposure. But it was hard.

 

I loved brightening their days with thoughtful little gestures. I’d drop their groceries off for them and always include a handwritten lyric from an old Afrikaans folk song. Or an old Afrikaans poem. Amber would bake them treats and I’d take them spoils. But in the same vein, they were exceptionally thoughtful towards me and my family too. Plant cuttings from their garden, a brand new watering can so I could water my garden and so many other incredibly kind gestures. They would always ensure that they had my favourite sweets on hand and insisted that I take a handful each time I left. The kind of thing that grandparents do.

 

I was terribly worried about Oupa Pietie, after Ouma Cathy passed away. And I couldn’t bear the thought of him being lonely. So I ensured that I visited him as often as I could. And I phoned him regularly too. I was also in constant contact with his children. Occasionally he’d join us to watch the rugby. And I thoroughly enjoyed any time spent with him. His kids live far away, so often when I’d visit him, I’d do a video call with his kids, so they could see him too. When Grant and I had Covid, he got in his car, baring in mind that he was in his 90's by that stage. He bought us pizza’s and dropped it off for us. Extremely unexpected. I just got a phonecall from him, telling me that he was outside with a surprise for us. He even brought us some groceries too on another occasion.

 

One of the things that I loved the most about him, was his heart. It was so very, very soft and small. And absolutely pure. He often got emotional and weepy. Every time he’d see me, he’d tear up. Every time I left, he’d tear up again. Somehow, he truly loved me unconditionally. I felt so honoured to have a special place in his heart. And I know that it was unreserved, sincere and completely mine. We just had a bond. Based on love. As uncomplicated as that. Pure, simple, genuine and just so heartfelt.

 

The feeling was entirely mutual.

 

Towards the end, he got confused. But it didn’t matter. He was happy in the world where he was. He got to see my Ouma Cathy. Spend time with his first wife. Visit with his parents. See his son. And enjoy his beloved farm. All in his head. His eyes would glow and often mist over. He was in a happy place, filled with happy memories.

 

He finally went to a special farm last year. To be with my Ouma Cathy, his first wife, his parents and his son, who sadly died when he was so very, very young.

 

I miss him dearly. Think of him often. And remember him fondly.

 

He was unique. Special. And he was my much beloved Oupa Pietie.

 

Rus sag, Ou Groote. Ek verlang vreeslik baie.

 

Jy was ‘n baie dapper muis gewees. Asseblief stuur baie liefde vir Ouma.