Foefie, her Robin, and the twenty year age gap

 

Foefie, her Robin, and the twenty year age gap

4 April 2024

Funny how having an age gap can sometimes play a role in a relationship. Yet sometimes also not.

 

This goes for all relationships, albeit friendship or romantic. So many of our pre-conceived ideas are woven into our perception of a number. When you break it down like that, it’s odd, right? I was never really all that much into maths… I mean is there really a wrong or right?

 

From my observation of romantic couples, there’s usually a relatively small age gap. The man is generally older. Usually by a maximum of five years or so, but mostly it’s less than that. And the most commonplace norm. Give or take, here and there. When the woman is older, there are always comments and a fair bit of ribbing that goes on.

 

My Grantie is just shy of five years older than me. And it’s funny how it’s impacted on silly things. Like our frame of reference when it comes to the music we grew up with in our childhood homes. Which also makes sense, as there is more than a ten year age gap between his parents and mine. It also played a role in the music we listened to, once we became teenagers. Which is the age when most people first start diving into developing their own sense of taste with regards to music. As well as what they’re exposed to on the radio at the time. What was popular, what was being played at parties, what they slow danced to when they had their first smooch, and the like.

 

And as for fashion choices, age can definitely play a role here too. Back in the day, My Grantie had a blanket jacket. Shudder! Gladly I never witnessed it in the flesh. For those of you not in the know, those jackets were made of the kind of grey stuffing recycled fabric, that is used for dog’s blankets nowadays. I somehow just missed that fad. And I’m ever so grateful for it. Nothing wrong with it per se, I just skipped it because of timing. Lucky me!

 

My sister is nearly seven years younger than me. Loads of commonality having grown up in the same home. She listened to my music when I was a teenager, whether she wanted to or not, as I had a keen interest in music, and tried to lay claim to the Hi-Fi at home as much as possible. When my annoying parents weren’t annexing it, that is. And by definition, we also listened to our parents’ music choices. Yet, she soon also developed her own musical and fashion choices. And thus by default, I was exposed to her “younger” tastes.

 

Now what is interesting to me, is the fact that my darling sister’s husband is exactly 20 years and 6 months older than what she is. Quite a substantial age gap, without a doubt. Yet it’s never been an issue. Her husband, Robin has always been youthful. In looks, his outlook on life and basically just the essence of him. And as the years have passed, their age gap has become less noticeable, and the gap has shrunk. However when they first got together, she was just twenty years old and he was forty. It was a thing. Mostly I suppose because at age forty, you’ve got some life experience under your belt, not just years. She was an unencumbered twenty year old, having just finished studying, on the brink of starting her life. A huge blank canvas to be filled. Whereas Robin had already done a fair bit of painting on his canvas. It stands to reason. He had two previous marriages, three kids and loads of living he’d done already. And she had not.

 

I remember them being in the starting phases of their relationship. There was a huge spark. Though in hindsight, the term spark seems far too mild. Katrine came home one night from going out with him (one of their first dates) and sat on the bed with me and My Grantie and we spoke about it. Was the age going to insurmountable? Should she dive in further before she was even more smitten? Was there too much stuff and “baggage”? Now baggage as such, is not a necessarily a bad thing. But it takes a brave twenty year old to take on two ex-wives and three kids – let’s keep it real here. And I remember saying to her, that the future is always uncertain. What if he was the one? And that having a chance at unequalled happiness in the now was worth the risk in my opinion. Could she really turn her back on it?

 

I don’t think my words were particularly profound, but she’s often reminded me of them and what an impact they had. And she has always said that Robin feels that he owes us a huge debt, for batting for him in those early days. But I saw with utter clarity, that you can’t deny yourself in the now, for fear of a possible what if sometime down the line. I’ve always believed that love conquers all. That it’s the most powerful life source on earth. Able to accomplish anything. And that if you followed your heart, yet still went in with your eyes wide open, you would find true happiness and fulfilment. And I know that in their case they did.

 

The rest I suppose, is history. She was already more than halfway in love with him by that stage. And him with her. I’m sure he had many of the same concerns at the time. But their love was strong enough then. And continues to be even stronger now. Yes, it was challenging. Especially in the early days. No doubt about it. A huge help was the fact that Robin’s awesome kids absolutely adored her from the get-go. They’re clearly very bright kids. Robin said that from the first day they met her, whenever they saw him or spoke to him on the phone after that, she was the first person they asked about. And they nagged to see her and spend time with them. She filled a hole for all of them. And it wasn’t just Robin who fell in love with her. But it was a family. How precious and special is that. For a large part of his younger two children’s lives, they lived full time with Robin and Katrine.

 

Almost twenty five years later and they’re stronger than ever. They’ve both found true love. Their beautiful daughter, Honey is now seventeen years old. And they’re such a fabulous blended family. The other kids are adults now, have all flown the nest and are living in different countries. In fact, my sister recently became a granny. How cool is that! Twenty year age gap. Pfffffft! So what!

 

So here’s the point I’m actually coming to. Shortly before Robin and Katrine got married, he wrote her, without doubt, one of theeeee most beautiful songs ever. It’s called “I got lucky”. And it’s an extremely poignant song about second (or third) chances. And love. The magic of finding your person. And I absolutely love the song. It’s heart achingly sweet. The melody is beautiful. But add that to the very significant lyrics, and the songs becomes even more special. A true tribute to love. Hardly surprising that he sang it to her at their wedding.

 

I listen to it fairly often via Spotify. And just two days ago, I was driving in the car with Cole, and I played it and said to Cole, “Just listen how awesome the lyrics are. The words are amazing”. And as we got to the opening line, “Saw you standing in the gold of the morning, In the garden of your Momma and your Father’s house”, The One and Only Cole piped up… “He should’ve said, say you crawling in the garden”. So salty and so typically Cole. It made me burst out with laughter.

 

My boys have somehow adopted a bizarre age gap code. Honestly don’t know where it comes from. But both of them never wanted to date girls more than two years younger than them. Remember both of them commenting on friends in High School who were dating younger girls. For example a boy in Matric dating a girl in Gr 8 or Gr 9, and both of them saying, “It’s like dating a child”. So funny. And it always made me laugh. Personally, I feel that there’s lots to say for the advanced maturity of girls as opposed to boys. However that’s a topic for another day. It’s also fair to note, that the age gap between a 14 year old and a 18 year old is rather big. And that the gap clearly diminishes as one grows older.

 

Alas, an age gap is what you make of it. Cause all you need is love. Love is all you need.

 

I have included the Spotify link to Robin’s song, “I got lucky”. And just for fun, I’m posting a few of the first lines of the song lyrics too. Enjoy!

 

https://open.spotify.com/track/2e7cvYJnIJosrfoar0slxT?si=e241c9a596b6434a

 

Saw you standing in the gold of the morning

In the garden of your momma and your fathers house

Saw you standing in the gold of the evening

Oh lo, there's a smile upon your mouth

 

All the birds in the sky that day

They sang to tell me you were on your way, oh

Everybody has some bad luck, it's true

I got lucky when I found you

Family pic - Xmas 2023

Wedding day - 13 June 2004

My mom, sister and I - each parenting a teen

 

My mom, sister and I - each parenting a teen
14 October 2014

Never in my wildest dreams, would I ever have envisioned this scenario.  The one where my mom, sister and I, are each parenting a teenager.  At the same glorious time.

What a funny twist of fate.

Last week, saw the three of us, spending two nights together.  This is always a highlight.

Yet every so often, we’d find ourselves grumbling about “our” teenagers.  Cause though my mom and sister are each parenting a stepchild, they’re fulltime mothers to those stepchildren.  Kids who live with them, that they’re raising, and that go to school from their homes.

But while I’m whinging about my annoying and hormonal sixteen year old teenager in Grade 10, my sister is whinging about her annoying and hormonal seventeen year old teenager in Grade 11, and my mom is whinging about her annoying and hormonal eighteen year old teenager in Grade 12.  Crazy!

Through consultation with my posse, I can concur that there is definitely a recurring theme.  Self-obsession.  Self-indulgence.  As well as a decided preoccupation with food, clothing, their social lives and their virtual social media lives.  Furthermore, there is large scale disenchantment with parental rules, the necessity for formal education and the by-their-standards abysmal amount of money at their disposal. 

How cruel life treats them.

It is awesome to have my girls on my side.  My mom and my sister.  Who better to consult with, and to bounce ideas off? 

Many of my friends who are parenting teenagers, sadly no longer have the luxury of a parent to consult.  Their mothers have passed on.  Are no longer there.  Not only is my mother still around, she’s also right in the very thick of parenting a teenager.  I can tap directly into the power source, from someone that I greatly admire and respect as a parent (just look how great my brother, sister and I turned out - J).  I can actually see her parenting at the same time as me.  In addition, I thought that without a doubt, my sister’s kids would be younger than mine.  She’s nearly seven years my junior.  Yet three of “her kids” are older than my eldest.  Funny, that!

How peculiar, that we’re all dealing with it at the same time?  The very same joys.  Kids and their curfews.  The dangers of social drinking.  Have they been secretly smoking or not?  Have their cell phones and i-pads morphed into their hands?  Their shoddy attitude towards chores and helping around the home.  Their propensity for thinking they are far superior to us, in every possible way.  Their assumption, that their intelligence far surpasses ours.  Their body language, which portrays their frustration with our pedestrian attitude towards all things they deem we don’t understand. 

It is indeed true what they say – rent a teenager.  They know everything.

Few people can make me feel more thick, dense, and all round stupid, than my teen.  And I’m clearly not alone.  They have a disdainful way of talking down to one.  As if they’re explaining stuff to a toddler.  And not a very bright one at that.

Anyway, such is life.  Grateful for the support.  Cause all three of us, are in the same boat.  At the exact same time.  Perhaps we should look for a life raft for three?  Abandon ship? 

Alas, it is a  wonderfully enlightening experience doing this jig together.  Cause we compare notes, and laugh together.  At our kids.  At each other.  And at ourselves.

So I’ve had a scary thought.  If we’re all parenting teens of a similar age, does that mean we’ll all be grandparents at a similar stage too?

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Katrine, the gin in her ear, and the dentist

 

Katrine, the gin in her ear, and the dentist
14 August 2014

It is a well-documented fact, that my sister has an extreme fear of dentists. 

No, I don’t think you understand.  Extreme.

Now to be fair, as a profession, dentists are generally not all that well liked.  Which hardly seems fair to them. 

They don’t hurt people on purpose.  In fact, in order to prevent hurting people, they give them an injection, that anaesthetises them.  Minimising pain. 

In addition, they’re usually kind enough to wait before commencing with drilling work, until the drugs have kicked in and your mouth is blessedly numb.

So do they deserve all this bad press?  All this paranoia?

Well, yes. 

I’ve got my own theory.  It’s not so much the pain, as the creepy noises when they’re drilling away and working.  The awkward conversation they’re trying to make, while you’ve got a spit-sucker and numerous dental equipment in your mouth, and you can’t answer back properly.  The dentist smell.  The silly little pictures on the ceiling, or the mobiles they have dangling from the roof.  The stomach churning you experience in the waiting room, listening to someone else having some work done in the chair.  The stupid little cups, with mouth wash, that you end up dribbling down your chin.  That idiotic fat-tongue feeling afterwards.  For me there’s definitely a correlation between the fat-ness of my tongue and my IQ.  The fatter and clumsier my tongue feels, the more intellectually challenged I become.  And act.

Yes, so it’s perfectly clear – I’m not really a dentist fan per se.  Or should I say, either.

Yet, I don’t have the whole irrational fear thing going for me.  I mentally take a slice of time, the bit while I’ll be at the dentist, and I put it in a bubble.  I remove my body from my brain, disconnect, and simply get on with it.  I don’t think about it before the time.  And to be honest, I’m never really hurt at the dentist.  Actually I rather like my dentist a lot.  She’s kind and gentle.  And she understands my garbled talking while I’ve got the spit-sucker and dental equipment in my mouth.  I’m guessing that learning how to really listen to people with speech impediments, forms a large part of dental training and school.

But my sister, Katrine?  Well, she takes dentist-fear to a whole new level.

She cries when she makes the appointment.  A few times.  Usually over the phone to the receptionist.  Then in remembrance of having made the appointment, she cries.  Numerous times.  Dread fills her stomach and wets her palms.

The day before an appointment is usually the worst.  For her and her family.  She’ll break down a few times.  Crying intermittently.  But by now, her family understands.  Her husband and kids humour her.  Tease her.  Yet treat her with empathy and kindness at the same time.

The drive to the dentist is interspersed with tears.  And she normally succumbs to a fresh outburst of tears, upon entering the reception area.  Often blubbering on the shoulder of the receptionist.

I remember when she had to have her wisdom teeth removed.  She came to stay with us, and I took her and fetched her from the dentist, and was basically there to hold her hand and calm her down.  We had reason to phone the dentist’s rooms before the removal, just to double check some or other detail.  Can’t quite remember what.  But we needed to ask the dentist something about the painkillers she had to use, or something like that.  And upon explaining our need to get some info, the receptionist put her hand over the telephone receiver and told the dentist in a loud stage whisper, “It’s Mrs Auld – the one that cries so much”.  True story.

Part of Katrine’s process in between crying, is indulging in excited and fast nervous chatter.  Talking about anything and everything.  Usually too fast.  Not making all that much sense.  I believe adrenaline kicks in and she powers on, on pure hysteria.  Hoping that the sound of her own voice will calm her down.  It doesn’t work.

While over in England, she had cause to go to the dentist again.  A familiar dentist, she’d used before. 

She followed her usual pattern.  Tears.  Anxiety.  Stress.  Fear.  Nervous chatter.

And then, in an effort to calm her nerves before her appointment, she decided to go down to the municipal pool with her daughter, for a swim.  She assumed it would be both relaxing and distracting.

However, she got water in her ear.  And couldn’t hear a blessed thing.  Now she’s pretty deaf at the best of times.  Having water in her ear, simply amplified (very funny), the problem.

I think she just felt off kilter.  And terribly out of sorts.  Not in control.

Now she’d heard this old wives story about getting water out of your ear.  Supposedly the density of alcohol is different than the density of water.  Which would help to burst the water bubble trapped in your ear, leaving you water-free once more and able to hear perfectly.

And so, mere minutes before leaving for the dentist, she asked her stepson Cory, to quickly give her a hand.  The first liquor she grabbed hold of was a bottle of Gin.  Cory happily obliged, tipped a bit in her ear, and I’m assuming didn’t spill too much in the process.

However, marvellous though this plan seemed on paper, it didn’t work.  The water was still in her ear.  She still couldn’t hear.  She was still crying.  She was still scared.  She still chattered nervously and way too fast.

And now she stank of alcohol too.

I believe she cried in reception when she got there.  Cried in the chair, when it was finally her turn.  Kept on saying pardon, cause she couldn’t hear.  Kept on giggling nervously in between.

She was mortified when she realised that the dentist must think she’s really odd.  Apart from the crying and babbling that is.  And then she tried to explain why she reeked of alcohol.

“I’ve got some Gin in my ear.”

I believe he gave her a very, very odd look.  Most likely mentally making a note, “Sure she’s a young mother – must remember to phone Health and Safety.  She doesn’t sound all that stable.”

Recognising his very strange look, Katrine then compounded it by waving her arms around, pointing at her ears, and saying, “I’ll take it any way I can get it.  Just shove it in.”  Yes, that would be the nervous chatter I told you about.

I’m surmising that by this stage he was visualising rehab at the very least.

However, I suppose on some level, he was rather used to her by now.  Having lived through more than one consultation before.

She eventually joined the dots between the reeking of alcohol, the wild gesticulating, the odd expression, the tears, the excessive chatting, and the bubbling too. 

And upon explaining the situation to him properly, he burst out laughing.  And thought it was very, very funny.

 
Which I believe in turn made him question not only her dental health, but her mental health too.

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I open my mouth and a mom jumps out

 

I open my mouth and a mom jumps out
19 November 2013

Every so often, I open my mouth, and much to my horror a mom jumps out.

I swear!  It’s most bizarre.  I’m not quite sure where she comes from.

And at times, I’m tempted to swivel my head around, to see exactly who really spoke.

Only to find, to my surprise, that I’m the only adult.  Which more than likely, means it was me.  Unless there’s a really sneaky, invisible, ventriloquist, who hangs around me quite a lot.  And an opinionated mom-one at that.

I’m not quite sure precisely when it happened.  And if it was all just overnight?  Perhaps it crept up on me, and thus I barely noticed.  Sort of bit by bit, it lulled me into a false sense of security, that I’m still young, unencumbered, cool and hip.

Which, according to my kids, I’m SO not!

Personally, I’m thinking maybe it happened gradually.  And that as my kids have gotten older, so my mom-talk has too.  It’s had to adapt and grow with them.  No longer do I make cutesie baby talk, and praise them for using their own spoon to feed themselves.

The goal posts have most definitely shifted.  And both the kids and I, have had to move with the changing times.

Still, whereas the meta-mom-phosis for most of us mothers, is gradual, and possibly starts at the onset of pregnancy.  Maybe even earlier, with the planning of a pregnancy phase.  For some it really happens overnight.  Sometimes even during the day.  I will never forget, my twenty one year old sister, and her brand new, if slightly older boyfriend, and his kids, joining us for a family weekend away.  Up to that age, Katrine, had been my much loved younger sister.  The baby of the family.  And perhaps in my eyes, she was still the little four year old, who tagged behind eleven year old me, all of the time.  Or rather, the annoying eleven year old, who tagged behind the “cool” eighteen year old me.

Also up to this stage, Luke, at age two, had been the only grandchild in the family.  And I was the first of the next generation of moms.  And was very hard at work playing proud-Mommy-good-Mommy all of the time.  We were all just hanging out together, relaxing and having some fun, when the next minute my twenty one year old sister opened her mouth, and I swear a mom popped out!  She said, “Alex, my sweetie, it’s getting a bit cold.  I think you should put a sweater on.”.

I do believe, I incurred a nasty bout of whiplash.  I could not have been more surprised than if my sister had sprouted a set of horns and a trunk.  Because just like that, she not only became a mom, she became an adult.  And I have never forgotten that.  At the same age, I was not in the child zone at all, and I was amazed by her maturity.  And still it did not stop there.  For the remainder of the weekend, she cut up food into bite sized chunks, whisked kids through the bath and helped put them to bed.  Rather eye opening, I tell you. 

A few years later, those lucky kidlets, became her bonus children.  And how funny it is for me, to get teenage parenting advice from my baby sister, who is now currently busy rearing her third teen.  And all I can say, is RESPECT!  I’ve just got the one, and I’m barely coping.  And somehow she’s made it all look rather easy.  She’s got a great relationship with the kids, and they all absolutely adore her.  Furthermore, they genuinely like her.  A very hard thing to achieve with a teenager.  As general dislike of adults, is usually the norm.

And she’s not a pushover.  She’s strict.  They do chores.  She makes them do homework, and study and help with their baby sister.  Still, they gravitate towards her.  It’s truly amazing.

And so, perhaps I should take a page from her book.

And get me some bonus children…

Occasionally, they even like you better than your own.

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Katrine with three out of the four Auld offspring

An Auld full house

The awesome Aulds

With just a ten year age gap between them, Katrine and the lovely Kati, have the most amazing and special bond

Three of the Auld gals - sadly Alex is missing in this pic. Me-thinks she's the photographer.

Fantastic family

 

Katrine and Cory

Many moons ago - Katrine was growing Honey at the time. Absolutely LOVE this pic!

 

Meeting my niece for the 3rd 1st time

Meeting my niece for the 3rd 1st time
7 September 2013

My darling sister and her lovely family, are heading home to sunny South Africa, after a stint in the UK of over five years.  And my heart is overflowing with love and joy.  I quite simply can barely contain my excitement.  A part of me has been missing, and I’m longing to have it back.  I need to feel whole again.

During their time abroad, they managed to come home for one family vacation.  A most glorious occasion.  However for the rest, we’ve had to rely on phone calls, email, sms’, WhatsApp, Skype and Facebook.  All marvellous inventions and wonderful communication tools, yet still they seem so lacking.  Inadequate substitutes, for real face to face contact.

We’re doing a daily countdown and counting off sleeps.  Willing the days away in our eagerness to see them again.  And luckily for us, they arrive a day before schools break up, and so there will be much merriment over the holidays, at my mother’s home in Tulbagh, Muisnes.  The cousins are looking forward to reconnecting and seeing one another again.  And having a bit of down time from school, in order to facilitate this bonding, is a wonderful stroke of luck.

Yet I find myself in a rather odd position, of looking forward to meeting my niece, Honey, again for the third first time.  And bizarre though that may sound, it is technically true.  I played a role in her life up until the age of eighteen months.  Katrine and I lived about forty minutes’ drive from each other and we’d meet up quite often, and just hang out for a morning, whilst my older kids were at school.  Alternatively while Robin would be away on a tour, she’d come and spend a night or two with The Pottie.  Such a fabulous treat for us all.

But wonderful as those times might have been, I fear that quite obviously, Honey will have no recollection of them.  It stands to reason.  In addition, we did family weekends away at the holiday house, Kleinbaai.  Giant family get-together days at my grandparents, and fantastic sleepover visits to my mom.  These were awesome, as one really bonds so well, when you’re away together.

And then, in the blink of an eye, it seemed that they had left.  England seemed a universe away.  Not just a mere continent.  And at 18 months old, Honey was hardly an awesome conversationalist over the phone or Skype.  So keeping our relationship alive was difficult.  And I suspect she must have thought that I was the loud lady that lived in the computer when we did attempt to Skype.

Luckily for us, the Aulds were able to do one golden family vacation.  And so at just over two and a half years of age, we all got to “meet” Honey again.  She was positively edible!  A real little cutie.  However, I suspect we were all a little bit too much for her.  Loud and overbearing.  And let’s not forget the sheer numbers factor – us Lombards outnumbered the Auld family (then only three of them, as Alex and Cory weren’t living with them yet) by quite a lot.  It took Honey most of their holiday, to vaguely acclimatise to our huge family and to sharing her mother’s attention.  Perfectly understandable and it must have been completely overwhelming for her.  And then, just as she was warming up to us all, she was gone again.

And now I’m looking forward, with bated breath, to meeting my six and a half year old little niece once more.  We’ve managed to build up a relationship of sorts, via our various means of communication.  And as regularly as I see photos of her, on my sister’s Facebook, so too she “sees” me on mine.  The cousins already have strong bonds and adore one another.  Sending gifts and cards, even letters has most certainly helped.  Still, “meeting” her for the third first time should be really special.

At six years old, she can now hold her own conversation.  She has her own tastes.  In fact, if Katrine is to be believed, she’s rather strong willed and knows exactly what she wants.  She has a favourite band, her own unique style of dressing, cute little sayings, British accent, etc.  And so I believe that once the oddity of seeing one another again, has passed, we’ll become firm friends.  And have very regular contact again.  In fact I’m setting my sights on being her favourite aunt.  Yes, yes, I know – I’m her only aunt.  But still.  I’m the cool, funny aunt.  The one that spoils a lot, pays lots of attention to her and has her back.

Family is special and I value the people in mine dearly.  I have sorely felt the absence of those not here.  And I look forward to increased family get-together chaos, as our numbers will grow a bit again with the pending Auld arrival.

However, I have come to realise, that much as we have lost out on, we have gained most certainly too.  I suspect that we will from this point on, have a deeper appreciation of our accessibility to one another.  Of not having the restraints of the cost of an overseas flight between us.  And time zones too.

Furthermore, as much as I have missed out on the regular day to day life of my precious little niece, so too my sister has missed out on my three kids. 

Gone are the three year old, five year old and nine year old of five years ago. 

And so in a few days’ time, not only will I be meeting my niece for the third first time again, I will also look forward to introducing my sister to my fifteen year old teenager.  My eleven year old tween.  And my nine year old big boy.

Happy times to follow indeed!

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Little Miss Honey Auld enters the world on the 11th of March 2007 - Welcome little girl!  We love you lots already!

 

Proud Dad, Robin, showing off his gal just after she's been born

 

Having a little naked girl cuddle - too cute!

 

 

An Auld farewell

 

Big family doo to give the Aulds a grand send-off

 

And they're visiting us!  Taking Honey for a walk at Kleinbaai.

 

Bonding with the galla

 

 

These are the three kids that said goodbye to my sister and their cousins

 

 

And after their holiday

 

 

And now.  Huge difference.  Time for a catch-up me-thinks.

 

 

And that's why I still need my Dad

And that's why I still need my Dad
6 July 2013

A while ago I wrote a blog about how I still need my Mom.  Practical, every day examples of why she is still so important in my daily life.  Illustrating clearly how vital she is and how valuable she is to her whole entire family.  To every single one of us.

It made me realise just how blessed I am to have her in my life.  How appreciative and grateful I am for the depth, colour and ever present humour she brings to my world.

Though at the same time, it also made me realise that the same applies to my dad too.

I still need my Dad.  For some things, only he will suffice.  There is no substitute.  Simply no one else will do.

There are questions only he can answer.  Memories that only he can help to recall.  Stuff that only he can do.

No one else can quite come close to giving an awesome hug like him.  His hugs were legendary.

When we were little he used to sing the laughing song, which basically entailed lots and lots and lots of laughing.  The whole song long.  In fact, I don’t recall there being any words at all.  And he just did it so well.  His rendition always brought forth peals of laughter from those listening to him.  Perhaps it was his deep voice.  Perhaps his facial expressions.  Still the end result was most amusing and hugely entertaining.

And then there used to be a programme on TV when I was small that was quite simply called "Rooi en Blou".  Which translates as red and blue.  It was these little red and blue clay blobs, and they used stop motion animation, to manipulate the balls into shapes and then they would interact with each other.  Perhaps the forerunners of Wallace and Gromit?  They made the funniest noises.  Having whole indecipherable conversations.  And he could mimic their voices or rather sounds perfectly and did so quite regularly, purely for our pleasure.  We used to love it when he did those for us.  I include a clip and I’m sure it might jog a memory or two.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v=Qb9X214wIFo

He often used to reminisce about his youth.  Remembering radio programmes him and his brother used to listen to.  And I used to love when he told of all his naughty antics at school.  And believe you me, he was a real naughty little bugger.  Still those stories all sounded so fascinating and adventurous.  His tales of fighting on the border and his army days.  Meeting my mom and their courtship.  The wonderful stories he could tell about my grandparents and great-grandparents.  Visits to Ouma Maggie on the farm.  Speaking about all he learnt from his various art teachers.  How they enriched him and made his world bigger.

I miss the smell of oil paints that always seemed to cling to him.  The pervasive air of greatness, of knowledge, of goofiness, the ever present bulge in his shirt pocket courtesy of a pack of Gauloises Plain cigarettes, his deep and husky voice, his beautiful green eyes, his 'stache (very few men can truly rock a moustache, yet he did so with an amazing amount of panache), his sense of humour, his perceptiveness, his creative spirit, his visionary abilities, his people skills, his fabulous laugh, his arsenal of quirky sayings, the way he used to hum with pleasure whenever he ate cheese, the look of concentration on his face when he was busy with a painting or a sketch (I loved watching him at work), the funny way he was able to type remarkably fast even though he only used two fingers, his love of music always blaring in our house, his constant imparting of little titbits of knowledge, his very focal viewpoints on things he felt strongly about, his level of comfort in going against the grain and upsetting the apple cart, his firm belief in right and wrong, the way he absolutely never used an indicator because "it's obvious I'm going to turn here", the way he adored my Mom, the love that shone out of his eyes whenever he looked at any of us.

There are so many little things, that I still need so much.  That only he can give me.  That I still need him for.  Stuff I need to see, learn and hear from him.  It fills me with sadness, that he just isn't there anymore and at times it is still able to take my breath away.  Will it ever stop?

Perhaps that's the way it is supposed to be?  Ensuring we think of him always.  Still, I have had some people in my life, who have passed and haven't made much of a dent at all.  Yet his absence has left a huge gaping void.  A hole that can never be filled.

But then I take a good look around me and I see him once more.

His eyes greet me every morning when I look in the mirror. My home is magnificently adorned with his beautiful artworks all around – two incredible paintings in my bedroom alone..  Oil paintings, sketches, drawings, even wooden carvings.  His music is played often and I see his character and personality in the family he left behind.  Even in the grandchildren he never got to know.  Cole has inherited his drumming skills, Luke his artistic ability, Amber his sense of humour.  As he is getting older, my brother, Albert, is exhibiting more and more of his mannerisms and looking more like him too.  And so the list goes on.

And so in this manner, perhaps indirectly I still have physical manifestations of him all around.  And these truly fill me with joy.

Some people leave this world, with a barely perceptible ripple.

Frank D Frost left an earthquake followed by a tsunami in his wake.  And maybe therein lies his greatest gift to us.  Because how could we forget him?  He left us so much to remember him by.

Though he only lived for 46 short years, he made a huge mark on this world and on the lives of many around him.  Never to be forgotten.

Fourteen and a half years later, the ripples are still rippling.  And his life is still celebrated by those who knew him. 

May those waves never stop.  I enjoy riding them too much.

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Receiving my degree from Stellenbosch University - my Dad's mom, Ouma Cathy, took the pics.  She was so excited, that she pushed down too hard with each pic that she took on her little mik-en-druk, and subsequently chopped everyone's heads off.  This is one of the best ones we've got.  I believe this was a very proud day for my folks.  I was 20, my Mom was 39, and my Dad was 40.  Amazing!

Celebrating my folks' 25th Wedding Anniversary - unbeknownst to all of us, I was already pregnant with Luke, and Frankie was already sick

Fame at last - My Dad had his own street named after him at Oppikoppi - Frank Frost Freeway

Oupa Frank and baby Luke - this was taken just six months before he died.  He was already very sick at this stage.

A favourite family pic, taken of the five of us, at my wedding

Two very proud teenagers, showing off their brand new baby, the day I came home from the hospital

We lived in Clanwilliam for a stint, and this was taken during the height of flower season, in the open veld right next to our house

Celebrating baby Katrine's christening - I had the honour of carrying her into the church, and I do believe that this is the only dress I wore during my childhood, as I was very much a tomboy and hated dresses with a passion!

A family pic taken many moons ago, when I was still a teenager going through a very bad hair-phase