tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62597553054985595812024-03-21T20:59:40.165+01:00The Soutpiel Phenomenonhow I became a soutie... and why I've chosen to go homeLisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11604061770730118201noreply@blogger.comBlogger66125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6259755305498559581.post-48350294372558727022012-09-22T11:55:00.002+02:002012-09-22T11:55:13.492+02:00Mountain Passes of South Africa!I am blessed to have one of those dads that does not allow himself to stagnate --- physically, mentally and technologically! When cell-bricks first came out (oops, cell-<i>phones</i>) he was one of the first to sign those inevitably fine-print riddled cell-phone contracts. His business, <a href="http://www.autolink.co.za/" target="_blank">Autolink</a>, was one of the first independent car dealerships to have their own website -- in 1994 -- triggering a cross-country trend. His highly competitive involvement in <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wt1j7wiS5Zk&feature=relmfu" target="_blank">racing yachts</a> also allowed for much gadget-buying and brain-stretching with GPSs and the like, and most recently, his <a href="http://www.goprosouthafrica.co.za/" target="_blank">GoPro</a> cameras! Even his mountain-biking and <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NnYBf963IoY&feature=plcp" target="_blank">4x4ing</a> involve the GoPros --- and, most memorably - as only grampas can do - a GoPro video of his and Layla's ferris-wheel adventure at the Waterfront. Oh yes - and don't forget the video of <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AcuQI2lS1ec&feature=plcp" target="_blank">Lloyd, the vegan llama</a> who violently snubbed my dad's offerings of biltong with literally litres of the most vile green slime, from head to foot. And then still had to walk the three longest, foul-smelling kilometres back to the caravan to soap the trauma from his skin and memory. Ah! Such is the life of the intrepid, camera-wielding adventurer!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5BdL5r_YemP2dAFzqgj58iLdHof30A6aMxMVkixsvyh8WwiZsIXfsfukO3aFRxQbyvj4DP3RcoFfFDrwxuHWF0TqhmVdqn-TOeEjVO9_Ixn061CDVQJb3L-r-VjG_fJ27nUEvw9nKQvE/s1600/mountainpassessa.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5BdL5r_YemP2dAFzqgj58iLdHof30A6aMxMVkixsvyh8WwiZsIXfsfukO3aFRxQbyvj4DP3RcoFfFDrwxuHWF0TqhmVdqn-TOeEjVO9_Ixn061CDVQJb3L-r-VjG_fJ27nUEvw9nKQvE/s320/mountainpassessa.JPG" width="320" /></a>The last year has taken my dad into a whole new creative space, and the culmination of many, many hours of adventuring, filming, researching and editing, is his new website, <a href="http://www.mountainpassessouthafrica.co.za/" target="_blank">'Mountain Passes of South Africa'</a>. (A little bit of background to my dad and his love affair with his Landcruiser: when I returned from the UK in 2006 to find my dad the very proud owner of a 4x4, I was aghast, appalled, ashamed. You see, my dad brought us up as nature purists (aka 'nature snobs' - though for which I am still incredibly thankful):competitive dinghy <a href="http://pacer27.co.za/" target="_blank">sailors</a> who looked down upon the wild, noisy motor-boaters and hikers who scorned the lazy, motorised Sunday jollers who we viewed as almost abusing nature. But - the flip-side to this story is that 4x4ers are generally great respecters of nature and eco-enthusiasts, so I have had to revise my previous opinions! My dad's passion for seeking out the more remote mountainous beauties of South Africa is good to behold. It relaxes him immensely, <i>and </i>has inspired his writing and film-making --- pushing his previously unrequited creative needs. Additionally -- and very proud I am -- he brings an incredible about of enjoyment and inspiration to readers of South African travel and adventure mags like <a href="http://www.gomag.co.za/" target="_blank">Go!</a>, <a href="http://www.getaway.co.za/" target="_blank">Getaway</a>, Weg!, the <a href="http://www.landcruiserclub.co.za/" target="_blank">Landcruiser Club</a> and many more. So... without further ado, I am off to take a squizz at his most recently uploaded mountain pass adventure - the <a href="http://www.mountainpassessouthafrica.co.za/find-a-pass/western-cape/item/52-pakhuis-pass,-cederberg.html" target="_blank">Pakhuis Pass</a> in my beloved Cederberg! <br />
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<br />Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11604061770730118201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6259755305498559581.post-47564791770999700562012-09-06T19:47:00.002+02:002012-09-06T19:47:48.438+02:00Spring Into Action!Spring has arrived --with a rainbow of feathery flourishes, oodles of hope and the most gentle of sunshine. Feathers? What have feathers got to do with the price of eggs? Everything. But, this is a little secret I'm hiding for a few more weeks. So, hold <i>both</i> your thumbs and wish upon a zillion stars for me - because... (*deep, excited breath/sparkling eyes*): this may just be IT for me!<br />
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<b><i><u>My Spring Diary:</u></i></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxQcMtqAQqRyWnLjAxSKSHvxNk6yxnU3hyphenhyphenTTSdwaE8043fXIbKxkw48Xcce1JYujIPMgb7hjfkDw1WXsdF9fQpGU7PbGyb0DPmq9y9LU0JnafsAGaOuIezxfLHNuNpiwfxDebWPB8ZruM/s1600/74326_501497507278_558717278_7512456_2486525_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxQcMtqAQqRyWnLjAxSKSHvxNk6yxnU3hyphenhyphenTTSdwaE8043fXIbKxkw48Xcce1JYujIPMgb7hjfkDw1WXsdF9fQpGU7PbGyb0DPmq9y9LU0JnafsAGaOuIezxfLHNuNpiwfxDebWPB8ZruM/s320/74326_501497507278_558717278_7512456_2486525_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Layla + Nate when they were 18 months old! Nothing better than cousin-cuddles!</td></tr>
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<u>1st September: </u>At long last, after more than a month<span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" id="fbPhotoSnowliftCaption" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption"> of conjuring up wildly happy hats from feathers, faux birds, silk and lace
for <a href="http://www.homeofhope.co.za/">Home Of Hope</a>'s Spring-themed charity fundraiser, it was time to party-with-heart! With Layla being spoiled by her Aunty Mandy (new Hello Kitty leggings and veritably drowning in aunty-kisses) and co-entertained by Nate: her somewhat Tarzan-esque cousin, I headed up the coast to Blouberg's 'On The Rocks' --- a restaurant, um... on the rocks. Of the less crowded end of Blouberg's beach. And with a view that, um... <i>rocks</i> one's world! The event raised R43 000! (And 103 extremely rowdy, untameable ladies who jabbered relentlessly through all the speeches, but who gave copiously from their deep heart-pockets!) The Home of Hope deserves its own blog post --- but if you have money (even R20 a month, on debit order), toys, clothes or time to gift them, please contact me or them directly (via their website.) I'm going to be teaching the little ones 'creative developmental play', basic literacy and art. And --- more critically-than-even-oxygen, loving them. Get loving, guys! </span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view from Pakalolo's, on Blouberg's beachfront.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" id="fbPhotoSnowliftCaption" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption">I was WAAAAAY too early for the function --- and my Facebook status that day says it all: </span></span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" id="fbPhotoSnowliftCaption" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption"> </span></span><i> I'm grabbing a luxuriously solitary
coffee at my old haunt on Blouberg's beachfront to sit and simply soak
up 'my' mountain, and revel in my wild passion for this city that never
ceases to delight and inspire me!</i></blockquote>
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<u>2nd September:</u> Church. And then a spontaneous ice-cream -------- and then garlic-riddled lunch at Blouberg'd Primi Piatta. Glorious. Deliciousindulgentextravagant ---- well, just plain YUMMY!<br />
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<u>3rd/4th/5th September:</u> My mommy-brain can't remember... (A joke/truth I have probably told too many times already: when Layla was delivered via frighteningly dramatic C-section, the surgeon was in such a mad rush that he took out my brain instead of my placenta. Ya, well no fine...)<br />
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<u>6th September:</u> Beckoned seducingly outside by the suddenly warm sun, Layla and I made today #1 of our Gardening Adventure (though I knew I had to, tragically, hold a funeral for my two bonsais which died in this epic Cape winter we just had...) BUT: (my time's running out at the keyboard) our time was cut screeeeeechingly short by Layla's discovery of a sudden inundation of termites ---- of Biblical proportions! 7 minutes of Gardening Adventure Day #1 in total. And no tiny-tree funeral.<br />
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Time's run out. <br />
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<br />Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11604061770730118201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6259755305498559581.post-28989121636932244632012-04-12T14:42:00.000+02:002012-04-12T14:42:07.533+02:00Sympathetic Soutie's (Slightly) Grim GrumblingsAutumn has arrived amidst the bucketing down of a thousand cats and dogs. Dramatic, dark and very, very wet. For the first time in my life I am actually tempted to buy an umbrella! Even seven years in the UK didn't cause me to do the umbrella-thing -- despite its notorious reputation as the rainiest of places. (A red umbrella, brand spanking new, still lurks somewhere in my cupboard: a bon-voyage gift before I left for my second stint in the UK. Suppose the giver thought it an apt gift? I'd have preferred them to have cancelled my flight!)<br />
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Today, however, is a delectable 30degC. Now I need an umbrella for the <i>sun</i>! Anyway - my boet arrived in Cape Town this morning for a 4 day visit with his wife and my niece: almost two years old, and meeting her for the first time sans the veil of Facebook.The thoughts I can't seem to squish and squash away into the already overstuffed back corner of my mind are these: I haven't seen Shane in 10 years. Will we see each other again in our lifetime? Will this be the first and last time Layla and her new cousin Kyla see each other? Or are our relationships destined to be lived out and filtered through Facebook? Not an unhappy conundrum I feel like writing about today but should probably be explored. A question rolled around in all of our ex-expat or expat hearts like a sticky, dirty marble we'd prefer to ignore.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2tXublZn9DLXEZSUld1rMywFGLuAhYrO83CHvtXNRTTkN4-uTl3t79OYdU3GLtAvBJQrMCKGb_jAqH18rph3EnUG4sDzT0x6NucoDl-c_cIQakozjBtrBkf0aeucsnBvBjd_RXggnU3s/s1600/youngjuetmoi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2tXublZn9DLXEZSUld1rMywFGLuAhYrO83CHvtXNRTTkN4-uTl3t79OYdU3GLtAvBJQrMCKGb_jAqH18rph3EnUG4sDzT0x6NucoDl-c_cIQakozjBtrBkf0aeucsnBvBjd_RXggnU3s/s320/youngjuetmoi.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
I managed to write a (brief) post on my <a href="http://contemplating-my-navel.blogspot.com/2012/04/sympathetic-soutie.html">Contemplating My Navel</a> blog this morning - and I touched on the new friendships I have with two non-Soutie expats: a Korean family, and an Indian family. Head over <a href="http://contemplating-my-navel.blogspot.com/2012/04/sympathetic-soutie.html">there</a> for a squizz!<br />
Time to get back downstairs and soak up as much time with my brother as I can. Before it's too late. ( Grim, but true, eh?) So, ciao/adios/totsiens till next time.Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11604061770730118201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6259755305498559581.post-38913713944008007302011-12-14T12:36:00.000+01:002011-12-14T12:36:10.306+01:00Wild, Wild Wailing Wanting!<br />
Eish. No blogging in over 2 months of wordlessness. So - where to begin? Hmmm....<br />
Perhaps a few little jottings about the Mother City? Cape Town, the cradle of all that I am, the archive of all my most precious, magical memories.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgclOHhyoBY6Mg48XsLfO8_kbyil2oDlcs7RRDgxRk8lJAlh50FmEK8N5dV1xvYaN1TiBChoecGj5Tgz38PJYnsmXrOlilk4CbbjykHHY1GD4j1wgDAKHFnRKd0Irj8gvBjoJ01T53L/s1600/lala+nate.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgclOHhyoBY6Mg48XsLfO8_kbyil2oDlcs7RRDgxRk8lJAlh50FmEK8N5dV1xvYaN1TiBChoecGj5Tgz38PJYnsmXrOlilk4CbbjykHHY1GD4j1wgDAKHFnRKd0Irj8gvBjoJ01T53L/s320/lala+nate.jpg" width="320" /></a>After two months back in Cape Town, it seems surreal and preposterous that I ever actually <i>chose</i> to live away from it. England for 4, and then another 2 years (reneging on my vow to never return to the muddiest of isles!) A year and a half in Grahamstown in the Eastern Cape -- dry, a little too rustic and quaint for this Capetonian and distinctly and painfully lacking in friends and family. (Sjoe - it feels soooooo good to be writing again.)<br />
'Bananas in Pyjamas' is on the TV, babysitting Layla in her new granny-made buzzy-bee 'tutu' --- so I'll make hay-words while the TV-sun shines!<br />
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A lekkerly special adventure I took Layla on, was to meet up with my sisters and Layla's little cousin, at Mouille Point's lighthouse, and walk across to the Blue Train - where I remember being joggled and boggled around inside it, around and around the simple little play-park, the turquoise sea glittering a little way off. HELL of a noisy - to the point of near-pain and temporary tinnitus - Layla adored every minute of it, especially the pitch darkness of the tunnel. Nate, her little cuz (2 months younger than her) wasn't quite as excited about it all - not surprisingly with all that cacophonic rumbling! He had a similar sort of reticence when Layla called him into that yellow sound-pod at the Iziko Museum (remember from all those school outings? the glass submariney thing under the gargantuan whale skeleton?) Layla fell immediately in love with the symphony of whale-song that fills the pod - but Nate would only venture in once, gingerly, with a Marie biscuit for Madame MarineBiologist! Conversely, he is such a rough-and-tumbler - frighteningly fearless - where Layla is hyper-cautious, whining for my hand to climb down even the lowest little step. Amazing, the little people!<br />
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After that, it was the V&A Waterfront for lunch and two exhausting tantrums from an overtired prima donna. (No, not me!!) Tantrum #1: That 'Build A Bear' shop. (*groan*) Layla spotted a pink surfboard. And 'wanted' is the most extreme understatement of the century. And Nate just watched his cousin, worried about her and absolutely angelic in his not-wantingness! Tantrum #2: The ferris-wheel. Damnit!! Layla's current l'il passion is the fun-fair. And her sighting of the ferris-wheel ignited another state of 'want' that caused me to hunt through my wallet in frenzied desperation for R40 for the ticket, instantly slapping a silencing smile on her tear-wet face. And then... that crushing claustrophobia of parental realisation that: there was not enough money in my wallet to pay for the ticket, and not enough con-artistry in my arsenal to talk her out of her VERY bitter disappointment. Yebo. Fun at the fair, eh?<br />
Last week, however, I was able to make good on my promise to take her for a ride on the ferris-wheel. (The ticket was R80, by the way. Under 3's go for free.) And - the views from our little spot of circling tourist-heaven left my heart hammering in '<i>And I live</i> <i>here!</i>' bliss, awe and gratitude.<br />
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No more animated (in every sense of the word) bananas bouncing around on the TV, so time to do the 'adios' thing!<br />
Love,<br />
Lisa<br />
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<br /></div>Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11604061770730118201noreply@blogger.com2Cape Town, South Africa-33.9248685 18.4240553-34.346497500000005 17.7923413 -33.5032395 19.055769299999998tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6259755305498559581.post-59654762888671346942011-09-10T18:55:00.000+02:002011-09-10T18:55:43.047+02:00The Write Stuff (*snigger-worthy pun*)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4vBK4dquOQRgWsE8uGPxhRVmfZki7xgG43oqzMb5Wbl76N43axGqfNxqoALRbSXK_TqDi-fAsKNTeKsWZybwp1snsHfUHUUiW7rZhFRYSYi0SM0gnQKeK7eZSmpK2WLmf9Xqq8I0zGGc/s1600/IMG02211-20110908-1014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4vBK4dquOQRgWsE8uGPxhRVmfZki7xgG43oqzMb5Wbl76N43axGqfNxqoALRbSXK_TqDi-fAsKNTeKsWZybwp1snsHfUHUUiW7rZhFRYSYi0SM0gnQKeK7eZSmpK2WLmf9Xqq8I0zGGc/s320/IMG02211-20110908-1014.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Princess Goofy-Ballerina : 30 months old already!<br /></td></tr>
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MUCH has been consuming my midnight, noon, morning and every-other-time-of-day oil - from greenly snotty noses, phlegmy coughs (my personal favourite) and crochetty toddlers to writing, writing and more writing! Of course I am having an absolute ball - but I ache for the day when Layla can go to playschool. (113 days of aching to go, koeksister. <i>Vasbyt en sterkte!</i>)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRS7QKMfC0Uz-EtvTfv8u4v64z5Pnl0RUR5n08y5sXXPmeuP7j5mStG-gidhu8sJDPyUNor8ROBStKUfV2-DyJ-fYt3CWKTbWQnGkoYj-rfyrv2zTqvrULrGWQw9CBLndx7OhP8HUXrc4/s1600/justlanded.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRS7QKMfC0Uz-EtvTfv8u4v64z5Pnl0RUR5n08y5sXXPmeuP7j5mStG-gidhu8sJDPyUNor8ROBStKUfV2-DyJ-fYt3CWKTbWQnGkoYj-rfyrv2zTqvrULrGWQw9CBLndx7OhP8HUXrc4/s1600/justlanded.jpg" /></a>A very efficient new website for soon-to-be expats, <a href="http://www.justlanded.com/">Just Landed</a>, caught my attention on Twitter. Though the editor is keen for me to be a features writer for them, focusing on the South African's experience of living in the UK, I am more busy with writing and guest-blogging than I ever thought I could be! Hopefully we can reach a happy compromise?! Despite the fact that I know I will never be an expat every again (unless kidnapped by force -- and then hopefully by a devilishly handsome Italian who would feed me only dark chocolate, red wine and romance by candlelight in his Tuscan villa) my <i>mission of passion</i> for the expat phenomenon deepens with each home-soil month. Perhaps a book is waiting in the wings?<br />
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There are so many of us expatters and ex-expatters (the ones in the UK are the cowpatters!) writing about our journeys and joltings that it proves just how life-changing, mind-opening, heart-growing and trajectory-altering the expat experience is, whether permanent or temporary.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVaGnGdbhbQA_BeteQr6cLZZ5yz4CehhOvHs_ALgdae5BbcqBDmK456PvTse3O_Ili3umcVeOtJ7nHGhLsueWBXNS5BEbITLb9re3Ann2v2L93nEtcNNS26zTi2sLSUkptGUiRkmibPp4/s1600/mpondondo+snow+sunset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVaGnGdbhbQA_BeteQr6cLZZ5yz4CehhOvHs_ALgdae5BbcqBDmK456PvTse3O_Ili3umcVeOtJ7nHGhLsueWBXNS5BEbITLb9re3Ann2v2L93nEtcNNS26zTi2sLSUkptGUiRkmibPp4/s320/mpondondo+snow+sunset.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">English Snowscape by Uber-African, Dave Rieger</td></tr>
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A friend of mine, Dave Rieger, a South African expat in the UK's East Midlands, has also begun writing (at last - and what a treat!) His style? He is expertly cynical satirist with such sophisticated (dry!) humour that it often takes me a mini-eon to catch his quips - but he also pushes my thinking-boundaries. His most recent blog post details a business-related adventure through the mango plantations of Brazil. Being quite the<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/the-best-rieger-shot/5278653080/sizes/m/in/photostream/"> photographer</a> as well, his blog is definitely worth subscribing to! Here is the link to his blog: <b><i><a href="http://mpondondo.wordpress.com/">A Ramble From Mpondondo</a> .</i></b><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;">Here are links to my most recent articles (and always juiced up with lots of eye-candy!<br /><br />My first two blog posts as a writer for <b><i>Boutique Mademoiselle Vintage</i></b> (a Canadian e-magazine that specialises in all things vintage)</span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;">*<a href="http://www.boutiquemademoisellevintage.com/dev/2011/09/02/blameitonchanel">Blame It On Chanel</a><br />*<a href="http://www.boutiquemademoisellevintage.com/dev/2011/09/02/2teaspoonsofwishfulthinking">Two Teaspoons of Wishful Thinking</a> (where I nepotistically but still genuinely celebrated my sister's jewellery business-boutique!)</span><div class="im">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;"><br />There have a couple of updates to my own 3 blogs:</span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;">*<a href="http://contemplating-my-navel.blogspot.com/">A Self Indulgent Little Yarn</a><br />*<a href="http://thesoutpielphenomenon.blogspot.com/">Expats & Eskimo Kisses</a><br />*<a href="http://sampandsushi.blogspot.com/">Sublime, Sublime Simplicity</a> (farmhouse zen: a recipe with eggs in tomatoes!)</span><div class="im">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;"><br />Also recently published at an SA magazine reviewing e-mag, Hy-Se-Sy-Se<br />headed up by poet&wordsmith, Elsibe Loubser.<br />*<a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_1477410333">The Metaphysics of </a><a href="http://www.hy-se-sy-se.com/yes-well-convince-you-knitting-is-cool-part-1">Knitting</a> (my story is below the first one!)</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;"><br /><b>As always, I THRIVE on feedback and comments (however cheeky!) So - leave<br />your thoughts, or even a simple 'x' as an encouraging kiss!</b></span></div>
Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11604061770730118201noreply@blogger.com4Lorraine, Port Elizabeth, South Africa-33.966667 25.5-33.9930055 25.460518 -33.9403285 25.539482tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6259755305498559581.post-59309492626549397402011-08-05T15:01:00.000+02:002011-08-05T15:07:11.329+02:00Grahamstown, Fled (again...)<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4dTnpJC53I4mprYoiWk7x2N6SE2DmyMUiHDk94KVzaDguQ9E_iJ1BS1vHZP31HvUDxeABMy8WnX0iemRDgkQyCX5DbGLzrXRuOSK_2jlB5JwMqzG_CBeuSf-5I4PGA-dJ6KXHWnehzDc/s1600/%253D%253Futf-8%253FB%253FSU1HMDE4MDgtMjAxMTA4MDUtMTQwOS5qcGc%253D%253F%253D-731331"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4dTnpJC53I4mprYoiWk7x2N6SE2DmyMUiHDk94KVzaDguQ9E_iJ1BS1vHZP31HvUDxeABMy8WnX0iemRDgkQyCX5DbGLzrXRuOSK_2jlB5JwMqzG_CBeuSf-5I4PGA-dJ6KXHWnehzDc/s320/%253D%253Futf-8%253FB%253FSU1HMDE4MDgtMjAxMTA4MDUtMTQwOS5qcGc%253D%253F%253D-731331" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637357745258336306" /></a></p><p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIsuZ7jPN5n0uTjCuDRdSmAYKBf6NiVkewlx5EYFpIqhlu3YpZVc7wh9RZwZCZ5roO1YdSv1HfQliwrtjtGg-qYlLCrw2oKR-c6kY4wPA9XbZo-7qhse33o-0Gp6y7m9lh9yA7W07_EGg/s1600/%253D%253Futf-8%253FB%253FaGFuZC5qcGc%253D%253F%253D-732926"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIsuZ7jPN5n0uTjCuDRdSmAYKBf6NiVkewlx5EYFpIqhlu3YpZVc7wh9RZwZCZ5roO1YdSv1HfQliwrtjtGg-qYlLCrw2oKR-c6kY4wPA9XbZo-7qhse33o-0Gp6y7m9lh9yA7W07_EGg/s320/%253D%253Futf-8%253FB%253FaGFuZC5qcGc%253D%253F%253D-732926" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637357749336705906" /></a></p><p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2m6pYt47ezAIG-k_LYd5gJrZKVvaspVH3wRRfO74vF-thlz1wGEyJqrQ22DvK2Ang_4aUG-PKNLoZy30o8B9AWDnyBB0s5_7zSVrFjpVF0VG9M2Y7RloH42ellXyI8_YkwI0uByig_8A/s1600/%253D%253Futf-8%253FB%253FY2luc2F1dC5qcGc%253D%253F%253D-734744"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2m6pYt47ezAIG-k_LYd5gJrZKVvaspVH3wRRfO74vF-thlz1wGEyJqrQ22DvK2Ang_4aUG-PKNLoZy30o8B9AWDnyBB0s5_7zSVrFjpVF0VG9M2Y7RloH42ellXyI8_YkwI0uByig_8A/s320/%253D%253Futf-8%253FB%253FY2luc2F1dC5qcGc%253D%253F%253D-734744" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637357760378924754" /></a></p>I'm cramped into the over-packed back of our 4x4 bakkie while Craig navigates us safely from Grahamstown to PE on the notoriously dangerous N2 - terrorised by giant kudu at night, and giant arseholes by day. Overtaking on blind turns is apparently the most fun to be had on this bleak, rainy day in the bundu - and everyone's playing except us! The low-cloud's massively decreased visibility adds a bonus bullet of fun into this Road Russian Roulette. (*eish*)
<br>A few months ago, we were witness to an all too regular South African statistic: a taxi accident that left limbs, and screams, and blood steaming off the summer-tar -- the minibus a crushed accordian of dead and alive. It had only just happened... I desperately wanted to stop, to console or offer my hands in help...but with my little girl in the car, I had to let it go. (At least there were already about 15 cars parked along the side of the road. We crept past too slowly; wordless prayers poured from my eyes: tears.)
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<br>(The length of the journey and unrestricted access for a Blackberry addict to her device resulted in the additional 2 photos: my to-do list for when I get my internet set up on my laptop this afternoon (13 months to the day since our arrival back in SA!!) - and my poison for 'ce soir': a Leopard's Leap Shiraz Cinsaut!)
<br>'Men must live and create. Live to the point of tears.' Albert CamusLisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11604061770730118201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6259755305498559581.post-81112283179133468292011-08-04T08:53:00.000+02:002011-08-04T08:57:14.438+02:00A-maize-ing!<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGa3aFWBT-0NqKKumoISK5iJYmr2EDCdPT99cufzk7rwADmb23ftpyMhUAISlSXM_snziTjfo_ndlyR9MrtqKyK3kHdFjOHGT1IKTAePSVpaN-9qe-vIBXgRlS_XOnh6cbH8RTVBE-b5A/s1600/%253D%253Futf-8%253FB%253FSU1HMDE3NjEtMjAxMTA4MDQtMDgwMy5qcGc%253D%253F%253D-734439"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGa3aFWBT-0NqKKumoISK5iJYmr2EDCdPT99cufzk7rwADmb23ftpyMhUAISlSXM_snziTjfo_ndlyR9MrtqKyK3kHdFjOHGT1IKTAePSVpaN-9qe-vIBXgRlS_XOnh6cbH8RTVBE-b5A/s320/%253D%253Futf-8%253FB%253FSU1HMDE3NjEtMjAxMTA4MDQtMDgwMy5qcGc%253D%253F%253D-734439" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636891326256202514" /></a></p>I guess this should really be a post for my 'Samp & Sushi' blog which is an emaciated little waif of a blog --- and some advice that Blackberried to me yesterday suggested I may just a few too many blogs... So: I'll 'hide' that one -- and if I am overcome by a desire to write about South African food -- I'll do it here, ok?
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<br>One of my favourite things is the juncture between culture, food and graphic-design/packaging : and exactly why I chose this packet of Ace porridge from the breakfast shelves in Pick 'n Pay! I certainly know more than a handful of South African who would reject it with scorn for the exact same reason I chose it: it's Africanness. How just looking at it amongst the rest of the Kelloggs and Bokomos tells you about a dry, dusty red road, and the long walk home, her groceries gracefully balanced upon her head, and slumbering toddler upon her back. It must be the unfettered absence of visual seduction: no strong cardboard boxing, or glossy, hallucinogenically gaudy graphics emboldened by brand ambassadors we can't say no to: the jean-size dropping, white leotarded brunette brandishing her tape-measure like an accusing snake, or the 'Mommy, I want ________' cartoon-lures.
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<br>For me, the Ace packaging makes me taste the maizey soulfulness of my gran's 'pap en wors'. It sings to me about the samp-and-beans of my schoolday afternoons. Perhaps, though, it is a reminder of poverty: your own? those whose less-ness terrifies you, or exhausts your nights with guilt? I know a few older South Africans who even struggled to digest the concept of cous-cous (pun unfortunately intended) : that it wasn't an 'African' food but an African food. (Do I need to explain that? Leave me a note in 'Comments' if I need to!)
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<br>(I've got a horrible boomerang cold, and a dramatically different toddler to entertain solo till 9pm - so best I conserve what brain and body energy I DO have!)
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<br>Liefde as altyd en vir ewig, my Suid Afrika,
<br>Lisa
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<br>'Men must live and create. Live to the point of tears.' Albert CamusLisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11604061770730118201noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6259755305498559581.post-39994143775240895632011-07-31T13:06:00.001+02:002011-07-31T13:08:10.156+02:00MY hindsight, YOUR foresight : grab it by the balls!!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS_Mn5DIxz7A-FK-2Avb-Za1MlwasBsc4qgV74GYbhrTwzpS7O6d16LquWmEsBCuzSbdpXEQoVwPT4p2Jsfw0p9CRYScyMS2nC2I2k-yLoMRzwgn7QR2sGFXDmHauVApwF6Aoj5JbTsBc/s1600/beachnannajuly2011.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS_Mn5DIxz7A-FK-2Avb-Za1MlwasBsc4qgV74GYbhrTwzpS7O6d16LquWmEsBCuzSbdpXEQoVwPT4p2Jsfw0p9CRYScyMS2nC2I2k-yLoMRzwgn7QR2sGFXDmHauVApwF6Aoj5JbTsBc/s400/beachnannajuly2011.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5635471420731687154" border="0" /></a><br /><!--[if gte mso 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mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-ZA">As absolutely, bloody marvellous as the Internet is, there are some vile little flaws that daily drive me bananas. For example, <i style="">just</i> as I finished a painstakingly heartfelt tweaking of a prior blog post and hit ‘publish’, all my changes had vanished. Ka-boom – in a puff of Google-smoke! </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-ZA"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-ZA">C’est la vie, non? A year on into our homecoming, and this is perhaps the lesson we have learned most exquisitely. Now, remember that ‘exquisite’ can relate to both pleasure <i style="">and</i> pain. And pain there has certainly been. As you will see in my previous post, I was unable to sugarcoat the disappointment and trials of the last 12 months, even though there were a number of cowardly moments when I wanted to delete the post before publishing it. That yellow-streaked pride of mine at being such a devout South African recoiled in horror at my honesty. It screeched, a banshee, in my ear: “Why on EARTH would you hand yourself over on a plate for those expat-wolves that hunt you down? Do you WANT to die a slow, Mzansi death, listening to the cracking and crunching of your bones between their teeth?” But, I had always been honest in my pro-SA liturgies – though that never required courage - only passion and joy. Now, I had to let my pride slither off me, a sad little snake, and be bravely, terrifyingly real. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-ZA"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-ZA">Being this honest made me realise the coming home is not for the faint-hearted or the cowardly. Coming home requires every ounce of strength, love, compassion and patience you had no idea you were capable of. And the truth is that you don’t possess it. Your homecoming draws it out of you, teardrop by sigh by sob – until, a year later, you find yourself astounded at the deep, exhilarating depths of your heart, where peace is the air you breathe in this canyon of your heart. (Yes, yes, the drama, the drama. But how else could I describe a journey that tears your dreams apart? A journey that unravels who you are, so that you pick up the Ariadne-thread of yourself right at the beginning, knitting yourself together again, in a stronger, more intricately beautiful stitch.)</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-ZA"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-ZA">I wrote that article for you. So that you can reap the rewards of my (kinda humiliating) hindsight. Do not let your heartache overwhelm your head. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12pt;"><span lang="EN-ZA">1. WAIT for the very best job – IN the town/city that makes your heart sing (and where your mother can drop off a milktart and a box of tissues when you’re sick, or where you can have a family braai every single night if the mood took you, and the <i style="">piks</i> could sleep in Aunty Mandy’s room while the conversation sizzled hotter then the <i style="">wors.</i>)</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12pt;"><span lang="EN-ZA">2. And SAVE, SAVE, SAVE, damnit!! When my sister shared a mouldy, grey little flat with a mix of Brazilians, Polish and Aussies in London, she was so hellbent on saving, that she would use only one, papery square of already 1-ply toilet paper --- or drip-dry! (My nugget of wisdom? It may be hellishly miserable for a year, but if you can starve, scrimp, scavenge and save, you will come home to the comfort you deserve.)</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12pt;"><span lang="EN-ZA">Saying that, it really hasn’t been as bleak as I made it out to be in my previous post – I just wrote it on a particularly sad and blue day. So, to even out the little sadnesses, here is a list of incredibly precious South African moments that have blessed my heart in the last 53 weeks:</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12pt;"><span lang="EN-ZA">The wild vastness of the African sky… that if you gaze into it for long enough, you will into its turquoise sea of peace.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12pt;"><span lang="EN-ZA">Starlit braais in the middle of winter after a balmy, dry day spent in awe of the African sun’s luminous and loving warmth.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12pt;"><span lang="EN-ZA">Samp-and-beans made especially for me by our nanny who still works for our family, and who used to walk to pick me up from playschool when I was three – and whose cheese snackwiches rival Jamie Oliver’s most gourmet sarnie! </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12pt;"><span lang="EN-ZA">A spectacular moment of Africanness: Regal, graceful Nguni cattle walking across the road --- in the middle of the town, and in the suburbs. The delight of its surreality made me actually slam my brakes on, mouth agape in wonder! (Other variations on this very Eastern Cape thing that continues to be a novelty for this Mother City girl are the wild donkeys let loose to graze the pavements’ grass --- and, on one occasion, to rummage through our garbage bags all the way down our driveway! There have been herds of pedantic goats stuck, undecided, in the middle of our road. Driving back from Joza (the location) and executing my first (immaculate!) emergency stop since my driving test in 1997, so I could protect a mommy-donkey and her little one who decided he needed a drink of milk, and stopped in the middle of the highway for a dawdling suckle. Bonus? Flagging down a passing Department of Roadworks vehicle, I was bursting with pride as out the car spilled smiling and efficient Department of Roadworkers, who – with infinitely gentle patience – coaxed the pair safely across the road. (I was proud because the flak our government gets blinds us all to what they DO get magnificently right! There have actually been many moments of municipal efficiency in my last year here in Grahamstown, and – the odd, random minor catastrophe (though those are only hearsay – and probably a gross exaggeration. *wink*)</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12pt;"><span lang="EN-ZA">I could go on for pages and pages and paaaaaages, but let me say <i style="">adios</i> for tonight --- and see you sooner rather than later. (I always say that, don’t I? Eish… sorry….) But: there is light at the end of my erratic-blogging-tunnel: I have a benefactor who is gifting me with the blessing of internet so I can write full-time! I can finally have those daily word-parties I’ve been dreaming about --- and make a nice little living from it! </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12pt;"><span lang="EN-ZA">And so, on that triumphant note, see you (I promise) <i style="">soon</i>.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12pt;"><span lang="EN-ZA"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12pt;"><span lang="EN-ZA"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12pt;"><span lang="EN-ZA"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12pt;"><span lang="EN-ZA"> </span></p>Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11604061770730118201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6259755305498559581.post-63720805823609750782011-07-24T17:43:00.000+02:002011-07-24T16:37:47.454+02:00A little Soutie...<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGef1tSPchcfNgECpYDlnK4-8aFfpRIzw1G6QcLpGqzvSRT6Oc97OQwjfMKlqBJKFtZ_qaDIzKcDAYG-Q36rjaUv4ogGEHSz97wD65z5a8VqunLCft9xIjUCqOrZEYZglOnoC7mow_7hQ/s1600/%253D%253Futf-8%253FB%253FOCBDcm9zcyBTdC5qcGc%253D%253F%253D-767457"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGef1tSPchcfNgECpYDlnK4-8aFfpRIzw1G6QcLpGqzvSRT6Oc97OQwjfMKlqBJKFtZ_qaDIzKcDAYG-Q36rjaUv4ogGEHSz97wD65z5a8VqunLCft9xIjUCqOrZEYZglOnoC7mow_7hQ/s320/%253D%253Futf-8%253FB%253FOCBDcm9zcyBTdC5qcGc%253D%253F%253D-767457" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632928066826576482" /></a></p>It has taken me a month (or maybe more) to overcome my dread of Blackberry-cramp to write a new blogpost. Sorry, guys. But better late that never, huh?<br>In the last month I've spent more time in Cape Town and Port Elizabeth than Grahamstown. Craig and I have both been unable to help hating, ever more frustratingly, the winter of our Grahamstonian discontent - hence why we take shelter in our hometowns so often and for so long. And more and often, much to my repatriated pride, I'm beginning to wonder if our decision to flee home was just a wee bit too hasty? Perhaps if we'd rearranged our living and spending arrangements, and stayed on another 2 years, we may have been able to return to South Africa with the ability to buy property : and also to have waited for the best possible job-offers in Port Elizabeth. (I didn't mention settling in Cape Town: my dear, darling husband is VIOLENTLY averse to the apparent iniquity of (my) Mother City... *sigh/adolescent_eye-rolling*) And though these thoughts of a too-hasty-return plague us more and more often, the deep joy and peace of being in Africa, and in the divinely appointed bosom of our wonderful families still (kind of) keeps these almost-doubts at bay. <br>Our little house, decrepit, devoid of storage so we drown in cyclic chaos and regularly prone to heavy flooding and blocked drains hasn't helped our sense of homecoming serenity. Even my life-creed of: "what is healing but a change in perspective" didn't help, despite the gorgeous idea of Anais Nin's: "In chaos is fertility." Our most recent little domestic crisis is an about-to-overflow septic tank right at our front door!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (I'm not a fan of using more than one or two exclamation marks, but this sh*tty problem is the final, final straw. Really.)<p>When we first got to Grahamstown, we rented a delightfully quaint Settlers cottage with a 'Bible' front door (a wooden cross set into it) and warm, creaky yellowwood floors that gleamed with the polishing of 200 years of feet. (See pic insert) The garden's dappled shade saved us from the dry, summer's heat - and this garden taught me to cherish our indigenous floral heritage --- and to develop a succulents obsession (and a minor cuttings-kleptomania!) We also indulged in almost nightly braais - slap-bang in the middle of 'winter'. Glorious. Heavenly. Utopic!<br>And then, we moved into the school's accomodation: a miniature section of a boys' hostel, replete with a urinal and two small and low-set basins. Fab. Utterly v*kken fab.<p>Ag - I really shouldn't complain - but hell's bells: the fact we still pay rent for this humiliation... Aai, aai, aai...<br>But having to live like this, with pilfering and sloppy builders, floods and frog infestations (I didn't mention that, did I?) is humiliating and exhausting. The other thing about moving into such a tiny little dorpie is that I am so far away from the my family, AND there are no jobs for me as a writer and artist. Unless you are a teacher or lecturer, there is very little scope for a meaningful career. <p>And so, my advice for those of you planning a homecoming is this: save your geldtjies bedonderd -- and make sure the city or town you choose to settle in contain your family, friends and career opportunities.<p>PS. A big, big 'sorry' about my unusually sombre approach in this post, and even though I nearly deleted it all (twice!) I felt that we should always give what we have learned to others.<p>
<br>'Men must live and create. Live to the point of tears.' Albert CamusLisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11604061770730118201noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6259755305498559581.post-42023393515920647112011-07-24T14:27:00.000+02:002011-07-24T13:22:00.454+02:00It has taken me a month (or maybe more) to overcome my dread of Blackberry-cramp to write a new blogpost. Sorry, guys. But better late that never, huh?<p>In the last month I've spent more time in Cape Town and Port Elizabeth than Grahamstown. Craig and I have both been unable to help hating, ever more frustratingly, the winter of our Grahamstonian discontent - hence why we take shelter in our hometowns so often and for so long. <p>More and often, much to my repatriated pride, I'm beginning to wonder if our decision to flee home was just a wee bit too hasty? Perhaps if we'd rearranged our living and spending priorities, and stayed on another 2 years, we may have been able to return to South Africa with the ability to buy property : and also to have waited for the best possible job-offers in Port Elizabeth. (Cape Town was my dear, darling husband is VIOLENTLY averse to the apparent iniquity of (my) Mother City... *sigh/adolescent_eye-rolling*) And though these thoughts of a too-hasty-return plague us more and more often, the deep joy and peace of being in Africa, and in the divinely appointed bosom of our wonderful families still (kind of) keeps these almost-doubts at bay. <br>Our little house, decrepit, devoid of storage so we drown in cyclic chaos and regularly prone to heavy flooding and blocked drains hasn't helped our sense of homecoming serenity. Even my life-creed of: "what is healing but a change in perspective" didn't help, despite the gorgeous idea of Anais Nin's: "In chaos is fertility." Our most recent little domestic crisis is an about-to-overflow septic tank right at our front door!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (I'm not a fan of using more than one or two exclamation marks, but this sh*tty problem is the final, final straw. Really.)<br>When we first got to Grahamstown, we rented a delightfully quaint Settlers cottage with a 'Bible' front door (a wooden cross set into it) and warm, creaky yellowwood floors that gleamed with the polishing of 200 years of feet. The garden's dappled shade saved us from the dry, summer's heat - and this garden taught me to cherish our indigenous floral heritage --- and to develop a succulents obsession (and a minor cuttings-kleptomania!) We also indulged in almost nightly braais - slap-bang in the middle of 'winter'. Glorious. Heavenly. Utopic!<br>And then, we moved into the school's accomodation: a miniature section of a boys' hostel, replete with a urinal and two small and low-set basins. Fab. Utterly v*kken fab.<br>Ag - and I really shouldn't complain - but hell's bells: the fact we still pay rent for this humiliation... Aai, aai, aai...<br>But having to live like this, with pilfering and sloppy builders, floods and frog infestations (I didn't mention that, did I?) is humiliating and exhausting. The other thing about moving into such a tiny little dorpie is that I am so far away from the my family, AND there are no jobs for me as a writer and artist. Unless you are a teacher or lecturer, there is very little scope for a meaningful career. <br>And so, my advice for those of you planning a homecoming is this: save your geldtjies bedonderd -- and make sure the city or town you choose to settle in contain your family, friends and career opportunities.<br>(A big, big 'sorry' about my unusually sombre approach in this post, and even though I nearly deleted it all (twice!) I felt that we should always give what we have learned to others.)
<br>'Men must live and create. Live to the point of tears.' Albert CamusLisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11604061770730118201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6259755305498559581.post-29209743246338947552011-05-19T13:12:00.000+02:002011-05-19T12:11:29.849+02:00Megamind vs Malema<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBpW2Xv6ICXx_s-SWwXJSmcP2-nfDCRuoVVDVlkD5QWYLgyTghi2HaRHXhC5s4jW43300_A1NBRo7NtjJ9gvVzyxTF7zUJ_SqsJrSpohtASbbl-oxavAYnfWLAz2y8dpCJFOp0R24HVLc/s1600/%253D%253Futf-8%253FB%253FSU1HMDEwMDMtMjAxMTA1MTgtMTYxNi5qcGc%253D%253F%253D-789855"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBpW2Xv6ICXx_s-SWwXJSmcP2-nfDCRuoVVDVlkD5QWYLgyTghi2HaRHXhC5s4jW43300_A1NBRo7NtjJ9gvVzyxTF7zUJ_SqsJrSpohtASbbl-oxavAYnfWLAz2y8dpCJFOp0R24HVLc/s320/%253D%253Futf-8%253FB%253FSU1HMDEwMDMtMjAxMTA1MTgtMTYxNi5qcGc%253D%253F%253D-789855" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608367826622089058" /></a></p>Laptop dusted in sad neglect on a chair in the lounge, its screen dotted with sticky toddler fingerprints. Why? I'm just too busy: mothering, playing, handcrafting toys from scrap fabrics and mother-of-pearl buttons circa 1890 - 1950 who are supposed to be Megamind and Ben10, making a hopefully exhibit-worthy body of art, tidying up, and gardening: weeding, gingerly avoiding spiders, throwing obese/constantly gorging caterpillars over the wall, nurturing my succulents and their cuttings with obsessive love, mourning the death-by-negligence of my rare 'Serissa foetida'/'thousand stars' 4 year old bonsai, and carefully tending to my baby stinkwood bonsai in green-fingered repentance! (As it is, I'm typing this on my Blackberry at Club Duvet while Layla sleeps next to me!) <br>Though my heart hungers to write for this country of ours, I just can't seem to find the time. At least I get to talk about it a LOT - and get pro-expatriates thinking, and encourage repatriates or potential repatriates in the return home. But still... I just feel like it's not enough. <br>Speaking of pro-SA activism, an expat friend of mine just messaged me to ask if I still have Julius Malema's cellphone number. My first reaction was humiliated hurt. Because I failed miserably - letting many fellow patriots down, and delighting many skeptics. Or - DID I fail? <br>Here follows the messaged chat:<br>D: Do you have Malema's cell number still?<br>Me: 1. It turned out to be a really sh*tty idea.<br>2. But: it sparked the most amazing healing and transformational debate after my story was published in various newspapers and news blogs both in SA and the UK.<br>3. It got thousands of South Africans thinking after my interviews were aired on the headline news bulletins on Cape Talk, Radio 2000, Highveld Stereo and Kfm.<br>4. I made some very special friends.<br>5. I facilitated some fiery confrontations which started in pain, woundedness, mistrust and disappointedness - and which ended in phenomenal transformation and relational healing. <p>Sometimes we have to risk looking foolishly, madly, idiotically idealistic to achieve a deeper-lying victory than the first, superficial thrust of our mission.<br>(Why did I 'fail'? Because I came home. And coming home consumed me entirely: my time, my love, my energy, my mind, my creativity. Being there for my little daughter was critically more important for me than nurturing my revolution of patriotic, open-minded, transforming love. I had to put my ego aside as I chose to fail so I could win. Ah - I'm a saint, aren't I? *wry eyebrow raising*)<br>And so, with Blackberry hand-cramp setting in, it is time to say adios till my next rare and random pocket of free time.<br>
<br>Sent via my BlackBerry from Vodacom - let your email find you!Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11604061770730118201noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6259755305498559581.post-10457803810358972502011-04-15T11:03:00.000+02:002011-04-15T10:01:15.576+02:00A Domestic AffairBellville Home Affairs - being chilled to the bone on an already frosty Cape autumn day by an aircon on steroids! Arrived at 8.53am, got parking in a cinch (getting to proudly watch a brisk and efficient municipal team of street cleaners finishing up from what must have been a VERY early start to the day, leaving the streets immaculate!) Saw a bergie's Pick 'n Pay trolley double-deckered with neatly tied bundles of treasure - and instead of it being the eyesore so many South Africans despise with such absent compassion, I let my linger on the sight of Africa. Of my South Africa. As I always say (ad nauseum) : "What is healing but a change in perspective?" So next time something pees you off about our country, do a 'bollemakiesie' and discover the childlike joy of seeing everything upside down!
<br>(A queue of only one more person, so better finish off here, tik-tik-tikking away on my Blackberry which is letting me blog again at last!) Want to tell you next time about: the irony of our UK-born children's Golden Ticket of the apparently divine, worshipped and much coveted British Passport. And my next blogging opportunity after that? My sister's Bantry Bay burgalry!
<br>Ciao, mense - later praat, ne? X
<br>Sent via my BlackBerry from Vodacom - let your email find you!Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11604061770730118201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6259755305498559581.post-89824570588628919612011-04-12T11:07:00.000+02:002011-04-12T10:05:15.111+02:00A is for Apple, Anxiety, AfricaDriving back from Grabouw - the tranquil apple farming valley nestled quietly between mountains that can only be so savagely romantic as to be undeniably South African. (Yip, I'll always be the passionate little soutie drama queen *wink*) I've made absolutely bloody sure to save this as a draft as I go along after my blogging disaster on Sunday... (I typed up what I felt to be one of my most heartfelt pieces ever - and it simply vanished into thin air as I saw Melanie waiting for me in their driveway: AAARGH!!!) My folks drove me from Durbanville to Grabouw for me to see one of my most precious friends 'for one last time': and the bittersweet anxiety of my heart at a): the sweet: finally being together on our home soil after 7 years of what we thought surely an impossible fantasy and... b)the bitter: that it was only the most temporary of realities: Melanie and her little family are merely in a soutie-transit between the UK and Sydney Australia... (My Blackberry battery's running low... So better say ciao from my heartsore little plekkie in Mel's mom's bakkie as she drives me away back to Durbanville...) More later x
<br>
<br>Sent via my BlackBerry from Vodacom - let your email find you!Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11604061770730118201noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6259755305498559581.post-80767281323202346122011-04-05T14:57:00.005+02:002011-04-05T15:08:35.969+02:00Mngqusho (Can You Click?)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiHS-yBIppZfq9_AMiotEpJlFh-lVxo-XSJS15PZfQNUaULtdzUhNWMufzf2GVMZnc_kxGXEu7PgL797XveQ6kvUeKnFhrpEWoHt-xGKeFNOPnqffO17_Cj-H7f9A2UqqY55p1TNmVwzc/s1600/woza-samp-beans-3747-p.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 275px; height: 385px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiHS-yBIppZfq9_AMiotEpJlFh-lVxo-XSJS15PZfQNUaULtdzUhNWMufzf2GVMZnc_kxGXEu7PgL797XveQ6kvUeKnFhrpEWoHt-xGKeFNOPnqffO17_Cj-H7f9A2UqqY55p1TNmVwzc/s400/woza-samp-beans-3747-p.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592085386881278962" border="0" /></a><br />Because food is a passion for me - and because, as South Africans, we have such adventurous palates, I wanted to introduce my newest blog to you: called 'Samp & Sushi' (*wink*) I'll be posting random tidbits of gastromic trivia, taste experiments, South African and 'world food' recipes that are foolproof, sinfully sublime and DEFINITELY not hip-proof!<br /><br />Have a squizz and... as always: <span style="font-style: italic;">blerry</span> well comment, <span style="font-style: italic;">mense</span>!!Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11604061770730118201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6259755305498559581.post-70077633965558943612011-03-28T11:08:00.007+02:002011-03-28T11:22:52.840+02:00Safrophiliac Moves Back (to SA and her old Soutpiel blog!)<div class="date-outer"> <h2 class="date-header">Here are the posts from my 'Safrophilia' blog that just lacked the passionate oomph of this blog!</h2><br /><br /><h2 class="date-header"><span>Friday, March 25, 2011</span></h2> <div class="date-posts"> <div class="post-outer"> <div class="post hentry"> <a name="1415904027498992856"></a> <h3 class="post-title entry-title"> <a href="http://safrophilia.blogspot.com/2011/03/put-your-patriot-pride-on-parade.html">Patriotic Pelargonium Pride Parade!</a> </h3> <div class="post-header"> </div> <div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-1415904027498992856"> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.sunlandherbs.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/10/Pelargonium_graveolens.EricHunt2005WIKI.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="http://www.sunlandherbs.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/10/Pelargonium_graveolens.EricHunt2005WIKI.jpg" width="320" border="0" height="212" /></a></div>After watching Carte Blanche's feature on the German pharmaceutical rape of the Eastern Cape's pelargonium crops, the budding (no pun intended) gardenista in me jumped at the idea of expanding my gardening repertoire from my current succulents obsession, while simultaneously raising awareness about this mass pillage. The local Xhosa whose sole source of income comes from the trade of pelargoniums (for their potent medicinal properties) to the local and foreign pharmaceutical giants are being blindly robbed - specifically by one German company (who have, ironically, always been such avid anti-apartheid supporters...)<br />But, my bugbear with South Africans (and though it seems to be universal human nature - but I'm picking on ourselves because the health and future country of <b><i>ours</i></b> is my life's purpose!) is twofold: that though this kind of corruption has been brought out into the open via the mass-watched medium of Carte Blanche, how many of us will actually step into the breach and take personal responsibility to do something about? And we don't need to fix the problem as a hugely maginficent South African superhero, but we can, as Mother Teresa says: "We can do no great things,<br />only small things with great love." Do you even ask yourself, when faced with a specifically South African problem or tragedy, ask: "What small thing can I do to help? How can I be a small part of the solution? What small thing can I do - out of great love - for my country and my people?" How many of us use our lack of time to bow out conveniently as a coward? Or say just one person (i.e. ME. YOU) could never hope to make even the slightest dent in the problem? Well... For starters, God has given us creative brains, compassionate hearts and a conquering will. We can CHOOSE to NOT unthinkingly follow the trends of the herd. We can come up with a solution that fits in with our unique personality, talents and situation within the South African social and working scene. Perhaps we could boycott said German pharmaceutical company by not buying their products and also raise awareness among friends and colleagues to do the same. Are you a letter-writer? Blog it. Write to newpapers and magazines - and suggest solutions readers could act on.<br />Oh yes. My second bugbear about The Pelargonium Problem: did anyone notice it was not a South African source of corruption? So many of us (here and abroad) hang on for dear life to this sick notion that the rest of the 'first' world is NOT corrupt. This is a 'first' world country - that has always professed support for a liberated South Africa - hypocritically robbing the previously oppressed and STILL poverty-stricken among us. Sies, man! Grab our South African reality by the balls - and DO one SMALL thing: for you, for us, for our children. (It's a blerry mission to get a British passport; infinitely easier to do one small thing out of great love.)<br />Bugbears aside, my passion for succulents never stops growing (too many accidental puns today...) And though I've only ever been partial to roses, I am cultivating (groan *pun*) a new love and respect for our South African flora. Pelargoniums, here I come! (Hey - maybe one of us could donate pelargonium cuttings and seeds to the blighted pelargonium farming community highlighted by Carte Blanche to replace their pillaged stock and save them from spending their depleted livelihood on seeds? And don't so cowardly accuse me of idealism, capiche?)<br /><br /><br />PS. Another tiny step made with great love and a leap of faith? Read, research, reach out! Discover more at <a href="http://thepelargoniumproject.blogspot.com/2010/12/carte-blanche.html">The Pelargonium Project</a> blog!<br /><i><br />Sent via my BlackBerry from Vodacom - let your email find you!</i> </div> <div class="post-footer"> <div class="post-footer-line post-footer-line-1"><span class="post-author vcard"> Posted by <span class="fn">Lisa</span> </span> <span class="post-timestamp"> at <a class="timestamp-link" href="http://safrophilia.blogspot.com/2011/03/put-your-patriot-pride-on-parade.html" rel="bookmark" title="permanent link"><abbr class="published" title="2011-03-25T04:52:00-07:00">4:52 AM</abbr></a> </span> <span class="post-comment-link"> <a class="comment-link" href="http://safrophilia.blogspot.com/2011/03/put-your-patriot-pride-on-parade.html#comments">0 comments</a> </span> <span class="post-icons"> <span class="item-control blog-admin pid-64217467"> <a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=4175272604779693252&postID=1415904027498992856" title="Edit Post"> <img alt="" class="icon-action" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/icon18_edit_allbkg.gif" width="18" height="18" /> </a> </span> </span> <div class="post-share-buttons goog-inline-block"> <a class="goog-inline-block share-button sb-email" href="http://www.blogger.com/share-post.g?blogID=4175272604779693252&postID=1415904027498992856&target=email" target="_blank" title="Email This"> <span class="share-button-link-text">Email This</span> </a><a class="goog-inline-block share-button sb-blog" href="http://www.blogger.com/share-post.g?blogID=4175272604779693252&postID=1415904027498992856&target=blog" target="_blank" title="BlogThis!"> <span class="share-button-link-text">BlogThis!</span> </a><a class="goog-inline-block share-button sb-twitter" href="http://www.blogger.com/share-post.g?blogID=4175272604779693252&postID=1415904027498992856&target=twitter" target="_blank" title="Share to Twitter"> <span class="share-button-link-text">Share to Twitter</span> </a><a class="goog-inline-block share-button sb-facebook" href="http://www.blogger.com/share-post.g?blogID=4175272604779693252&postID=1415904027498992856&target=facebook" target="_blank" title="Share to Facebook"> <span class="share-button-link-text">Share to Facebook</span> </a><a class="goog-inline-block share-button sb-buzz" href="http://www.blogger.com/share-post.g?blogID=4175272604779693252&postID=1415904027498992856&target=buzz" target="_blank" title="Share to Google Buzz"> <span class="share-button-link-text">Share to Google Buzz</span> </a> </div> </div> <div class="post-footer-line post-footer-line-2"><span class="post-labels"> Labels: <a href="http://safrophilia.blogspot.com/search/label/corruption" rel="tag">corruption</a>, <a href="http://safrophilia.blogspot.com/search/label/eastern%20cape" rel="tag">eastern cape</a>, <a href="http://safrophilia.blogspot.com/search/label/pelargonium" rel="tag">pelargonium</a>, <a href="http://safrophilia.blogspot.com/search/label/xhosa" rel="tag">xhosa</a> </span> </div> <div class="post-footer-line post-footer-line-3"><span class="post-location"> </span> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div></div> <div class="date-outer"> <h2 class="date-header"><span>Monday, March 21, 2011</span></h2> <div class="date-posts"> <div class="post-outer"> <div class="post hentry"> <a name="7908231713269172317"></a> <h3 class="post-title entry-title"> <a href="http://safrophilia.blogspot.com/2011/03/random-rambling.html">Random rambling...</a> </h3> <div class="post-header"> </div> <div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-7908231713269172317"> Having neither internet at home nor time to sit at my PC with a cup of coffee to write up a storm, I've decided the best time and place to write is on my Blackberry! And so I shall brave the perilous finger/knuckle/wrist agony that comes from tapping away at the miniature keypad to satisfy my word-lust! (For some reason, I can't upload my posts to my Blogger blogs - and Wordpress just won't install... Grrrrrr!! So quite how I'm going to update from here ANYWAY is still an irritating mystery...)<br />I'm gatvol with my Safrophilia blog: because the name just seems too generic and not specifically 'me' enough... So I will try to transfer the relevant blog posts to my Soutpiel and Navel blogs sometime this week! I also want to begin writing more magazine and newspaper articles focusing on my obsessive passions du jour : expat vs repatriation, South Africanness, and mothering/parenting issues informed by attachment parenting vs 'breaking them in like a horse' parenting a la Gina Ford. As one of my favourite GP-Mommy-Bloggers says: parenting is not about 'managing an inconvenience'! (See, I am already cantering happily along on my high horse and I'm not even writing a topically specific blog post! As arrogant as it may be perceived to be so opinionated, it is actually a critically vital part of being human and being a self-actualised, unique individual - as long as one's opinions are not a form of approval-seeking copycatism. Opinions are both matters of the heart and the mind, so should also be well-researched and thought through.)<br />Getting progressively more 'naar' typing here in the backseat of an exceedingly bouncy bakkie, so time to adios before our arrival at the dilapidated but still entertainingly educational Port Elizabeth aquarium! </div> <div class="post-footer"> <div class="post-footer-line post-footer-line-1"><span class="post-author vcard"> Posted by <span class="fn">Lisa</span> </span> <span class="post-timestamp"> at <a class="timestamp-link" href="http://safrophilia.blogspot.com/2011/03/random-rambling.html" rel="bookmark" title="permanent link"><abbr class="published" title="2011-03-21T05:40:00-07:00">5:40 AM</abbr></a> </span> <span class="post-comment-link"> <a class="comment-link" href="http://safrophilia.blogspot.com/2011/03/random-rambling.html#comments">1 comments</a> </span> <span class="post-icons"> <span class="item-control blog-admin pid-64217467"> <a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=4175272604779693252&postID=7908231713269172317" title="Edit Post"> <img alt="" class="icon-action" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/icon18_edit_allbkg.gif" width="18" height="18" /> </a> </span> </span> <div class="post-share-buttons goog-inline-block"> <a class="goog-inline-block share-button sb-email" href="http://www.blogger.com/share-post.g?blogID=4175272604779693252&postID=7908231713269172317&target=email" target="_blank" title="Email This"> <span class="share-button-link-text">Email This</span> </a><a class="goog-inline-block share-button sb-blog" href="http://www.blogger.com/share-post.g?blogID=4175272604779693252&postID=7908231713269172317&target=blog" target="_blank" title="BlogThis!"> <span class="share-button-link-text">BlogThis!</span> </a><a class="goog-inline-block share-button sb-twitter" href="http://www.blogger.com/share-post.g?blogID=4175272604779693252&postID=7908231713269172317&target=twitter" target="_blank" title="Share to Twitter"> <span class="share-button-link-text">Share to Twitter</span> </a><a class="goog-inline-block share-button sb-facebook" href="http://www.blogger.com/share-post.g?blogID=4175272604779693252&postID=7908231713269172317&target=facebook" target="_blank" title="Share to Facebook"> <span class="share-button-link-text">Share to Facebook</span> </a><a class="goog-inline-block share-button sb-buzz" href="http://www.blogger.com/share-post.g?blogID=4175272604779693252&postID=7908231713269172317&target=buzz" target="_blank" title="Share to Google Buzz"> <span class="share-button-link-text">Share to Google Buzz</span> </a> </div> </div> <div class="post-footer-line post-footer-line-2"><span class="post-labels"> </span> </div> <div class="post-footer-line post-footer-line-3"><span class="post-location"> </span> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div></div> <div class="date-outer"> <h2 class="date-header"><span>Sunday, March 20, 2011</span></h2> <div class="date-posts"> <div class="post-outer"> <div class="post hentry"> <a name="8317375761792118540"></a> <h3 class="post-title entry-title"> <a href="http://safrophilia.blogspot.com/2011/03/bitch-at-braai.html">The Bitch at the Braai</a> </h3> <div class="post-header"> </div> <div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-8317375761792118540"> <em>Yet another month goes by without internet at home. Was it really FOUR months ago that I last blogged here?? So much has happened that, to merely reiterate the cliche, I wouldn't know where to begin! But that doesn't matter because I'm going to leave that all out and bring you up to date on where we are at right now:</em><br /><em>We are still living in Grahamstown (Eastern Cape) and I am finally beginning to feel like I belong in this dusty, gossipy little 'city'! At the beginning of December we moved into the accomodation the school converted for us from what used to be a boys' dormitory - hence the lack of internet and phoneline: it all has to be approved by the governing body, yadda-yadda-yadda. Being right across the road from the school means that I have the use of the car because Craig walks to school. Layla and I also spend an hour or so actually at the school - having tea in the staffroom during breaktime, helping Amy* in the library, sitting in on the music lessons, watching the (world class!!) marimba band practise, playing in the primary school's playground etc. </em><br /><em>*Amy: Amy and her husband and 18month old Tom are also recently returned from the UK as of three months ago. So watch this space for more confirmation and information that it is the right thing to do to come home!</em><br /><em>Anyway - that's all desperately boring compared to what kept me awake last night: what happened during our braai last night!</em><br /><em>Picture this: Wors, chicken kebabs, lamb chops. Salad. Garlic bread. Coke. Red wine. Simple, unextravagant fare, but a feast for the average South African. (And if you know what it's like to furtively braai so your British neighbours aren't offended by the braai smoke - and to have driven all the way to the South African shop for astronomically expensive wors - then you will understand just how much more beautiful and meaningful it is to braai on home soil!) And the point of that parenthesis is that the South Africans who entered into the very heated argument with me last night have NEVER lived away from South Africa --- and they are adamant that there is no future here, they want to move overseas etc. (You know the story.) </em><br /><em>Anyway, back to what was actually argued about. I can't really even remember what started it all off - but whatever it was snowballed out of control too quickly for me to keep my heart under lock and key. And so it was that I placed my heart on the table for all to see - and I think they mistook it for a lambchop! They stabbed at it with forks and spat it out again: I am distasteful, apparently, in my own particular South African outlook. I was defending the fact that South Africa is quite normal as a country. The particular point-in-fact was the corruption in our government. And when I reflected back at them the recent corruption by MPs in the UK who funnelled money into their own accounts to buy second and third houses for themselves, I was looked at as though I was an inexperienced little child who had no right stepping into their little bitch-and-moan. Ag, there is so much, much more that I want to tell you about this whole thing, but my free-mommy-time is running out (as usual) but I PROMISE to try and write again in the next few days before I forget the specifics of the debate. If only I could have recorded it on camera: it was a perfect microcosm of our whites' political attitudes</em> du jour<em>. </em><br /><em>(a little note re: the post title: I am obviously The Bitch at the braai, but the 'bitch' is also the aggressive and apathetic bitch-and-moan. Just thought I should point out to you what a literary genius I am *wink*)</em><br /><em>Here is a quote from the novel by Andre Brink I'm reading at the moment, "An Instant in the Wind": </em><br /><em>Too white for the truth.</em><br />What a brave man to have written this story in 1976... I think that if you can arrive at the point of realising, if you are white, that<span style="font-size:large;"> the truth</span> does frighten you/make you aggressively defensive etc, then you have arrived at a place where you can begin to invest in the present state of our country as a South African. That critical moment of change in perspective in just one mind will ignite the change in the other minds around it. But why is the white mind so lazy and terrified to apprehend the truth then? Hmmm...<br /><em>Here are some recent pics of our continued and increasing joy and peace at being home.</em><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhODgryMa3xkLUifsDHAfUZNxfCqupXezEFgvHxtqY5ZfGdvdYNJalYA9aMSEb_FmT0TtmzLnZkKUjpNFakixoiAjKsdyehE8BVijTlfDo3UZjS2IVIX4soFOxUWdxMf_l0oHQl4mhO/s1600/airportgoodbye.bmp" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhODgryMa3xkLUifsDHAfUZNxfCqupXezEFgvHxtqY5ZfGdvdYNJalYA9aMSEb_FmT0TtmzLnZkKUjpNFakixoiAjKsdyehE8BVijTlfDo3UZjS2IVIX4soFOxUWdxMf_l0oHQl4mhO/s320/airportgoodbye.bmp" width="320" border="0" height="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Granny and Layla share the most special of kisses only grannies and grandchildren share - and something so frustratingly, saddeningly impossible on Skype...</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwkPuYgFrY5gkn1fZoFJdl7GvoAaldEDrYs2P066VNpnvrJ92tFF_A4EHfO_7mc89LJicIa6luyIjQw4VXEivZG0_dbfn3uTa30of7ei7_0To48ZgoA-b3s91EIfTeLTyYt_Vcl6Gr/s1600/bedside2.bmp" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwkPuYgFrY5gkn1fZoFJdl7GvoAaldEDrYs2P066VNpnvrJ92tFF_A4EHfO_7mc89LJicIa6luyIjQw4VXEivZG0_dbfn3uTa30of7ei7_0To48ZgoA-b3s91EIfTeLTyYt_Vcl6Gr/s320/bedside2.bmp" width="320" border="0" height="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">My bedside table: an antique hand-embroidered 'lappie' from my best friend in Cape Town, a silk scarf that belonged to my late mother-in-law, my late grandfather's bottle of Old Spice from the 1960s...</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCOfsbwzm6kLOH8RoD5B5yaifLF5PCLIUfm0bDXeRWdqihuUqtdBQh6uLsSR_v6ZFCcE1gF2A8ST2cnVD9dn2f5B8tc0_gZRabekI-xtj16cbW3L46foENJ4WnMQ0wmYQVhcf39PvC/s1600/boyscar.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCOfsbwzm6kLOH8RoD5B5yaifLF5PCLIUfm0bDXeRWdqihuUqtdBQh6uLsSR_v6ZFCcE1gF2A8ST2cnVD9dn2f5B8tc0_gZRabekI-xtj16cbW3L46foENJ4WnMQ0wmYQVhcf39PvC/s320/boyscar.jpg" width="320" border="0" height="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Layla playing with our neighbours, Darry and Lukes, washing the tricycle they have given her. They also lived in the UK for awhile, but are another proud and very happy returned South African family! (We just never managed to make friends like this in our little English village... Lovely friends, but still somehow detached...) It was, um... bloody lonely!! (Apologies to Jody and Dylbo who we gratefully met in the last two months of our stay in the UK!)</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsHRD5q9BMqpE4M-3OLqkRpxv_1NDZICGAQxoyA70_UIx5dwRGdKxL8LmZHpLWy7sSOInZk_pyfDXtkChtxdl9R2LBXhTI_kuO2YFv551rKVY5TWrplG4ccZgAWqBnUyOgIFVpr9Y0/s1600/camping.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsHRD5q9BMqpE4M-3OLqkRpxv_1NDZICGAQxoyA70_UIx5dwRGdKxL8LmZHpLWy7sSOInZk_pyfDXtkChtxdl9R2LBXhTI_kuO2YFv551rKVY5TWrplG4ccZgAWqBnUyOgIFVpr9Y0/s320/camping.jpg" width="320" border="0" height="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Layla's first camping trip in the Wilderness! It was incredibly special to see my little girl experiencing all the magic of these idyllic Wilderness holidays that made my girlhood so magical...</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYi4bgeupEkDWrMcSlEPTZSAVmx5TjXnlHw5K5Ok7O4MC6Ju4VXUwvtJTXIHuLHDVZ3bdlntjq5cbUIXxyG6dkpc4IPN5_v7ZsHXVnzdbS_gIeMuWmxEAHf13CGQqxyck7JrIRq2mU/s1600/canoe.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYi4bgeupEkDWrMcSlEPTZSAVmx5TjXnlHw5K5Ok7O4MC6Ju4VXUwvtJTXIHuLHDVZ3bdlntjq5cbUIXxyG6dkpc4IPN5_v7ZsHXVnzdbS_gIeMuWmxEAHf13CGQqxyck7JrIRq2mU/s320/canoe.jpg" width="320" border="0" height="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">To hear the hero-worship in Layla's hysterical glee as Granny pulled her along in the canoe is something, again, that Skype just fails at heartbreakingly!</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikDdqbiHqF9aTcqQWPkmTGsFgsxzGuXC_4gAnRGFzpC0SBXqSP431X4jSqoqWN09klILyj7Q0zNhsHj8HBDQq80j7iDOYGRcm8JzNLp7Qu7azwNpDv1FZ3ATvCY7nPT8OpZdBuhGVF/s1600/grannyspur.bmp" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikDdqbiHqF9aTcqQWPkmTGsFgsxzGuXC_4gAnRGFzpC0SBXqSP431X4jSqoqWN09klILyj7Q0zNhsHj8HBDQq80j7iDOYGRcm8JzNLp7Qu7azwNpDv1FZ3ATvCY7nPT8OpZdBuhGVF/s320/grannyspur.bmp" width="320" border="0" height="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">And what could replace the perfect 'South Africa as home' combination of the Spur and Granny?!</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqJcN7Cbs3_WLyrqAOm8QVZ-yu3bpiFE0i2Y01LXI0xpc8_PjiZnSoChQmligP87fYcw65gBwbdnfIXKHbQSZkQg9JrX-me7mNPf_TVtnksRd2i4avmZ3H2iUQy2Oag8hg6lRr1C_h/s1600/grannyspur2.bmp" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqJcN7Cbs3_WLyrqAOm8QVZ-yu3bpiFE0i2Y01LXI0xpc8_PjiZnSoChQmligP87fYcw65gBwbdnfIXKHbQSZkQg9JrX-me7mNPf_TVtnksRd2i4avmZ3H2iUQy2Oag8hg6lRr1C_h/s320/grannyspur2.bmp" width="320" border="0" height="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiZF_8w8f-fayLED0qkUy6v7W0xfR-E3SM4Vyg4GQAAiMNTzVc2PigPlPmagmo2nYhFvFwB11agjoN5WprwSIxKsbNzxr-LWiFXiLn3MCTtImx3Qn3mRi232cD6g7rN8LC6W65jTda/s1600/stevo.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiZF_8w8f-fayLED0qkUy6v7W0xfR-E3SM4Vyg4GQAAiMNTzVc2PigPlPmagmo2nYhFvFwB11agjoN5WprwSIxKsbNzxr-LWiFXiLn3MCTtImx3Qn3mRi232cD6g7rN8LC6W65jTda/s320/stevo.jpg" width="320" border="0" height="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Layla wouldn't let me put her warm top on before a braai - only 'Teve' (her beloved Uncle Steve) was allowed to!</div><br /><em>Adios for now. Another post later this week detailing the attitudes expressed during the Bitch at the Braai.</em><br /><br /><em>Liefde,</em><br /><em>Lisa</em> </div> <div class="post-footer"> <div class="post-footer-line post-footer-line-1"><span class="post-author vcard"> Posted by <span class="fn">Lisa</span> </span> <span class="post-timestamp"> at <a class="timestamp-link" href="http://safrophilia.blogspot.com/2011/03/bitch-at-braai.html" rel="bookmark" title="permanent link"><abbr class="published" title="2011-03-20T00:58:00-07:00">12:58 AM</abbr></a> </span> <span class="post-comment-link"> <a class="comment-link" href="http://safrophilia.blogspot.com/2011/03/bitch-at-braai.html#comments">0 comments</a> </span> <span class="post-icons"> <span class="item-control blog-admin pid-64217467"> <a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=4175272604779693252&postID=8317375761792118540" title="Edit Post"> <img alt="" class="icon-action" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/icon18_edit_allbkg.gif" width="18" height="18" /> </a> </span> </span> <div class="post-share-buttons goog-inline-block"> <a class="goog-inline-block share-button sb-email" href="http://www.blogger.com/share-post.g?blogID=4175272604779693252&postID=8317375761792118540&target=email" target="_blank" title="Email This"> <span class="share-button-link-text">Email This</span> </a><a class="goog-inline-block share-button sb-blog" href="http://www.blogger.com/share-post.g?blogID=4175272604779693252&postID=8317375761792118540&target=blog" target="_blank" title="BlogThis!"> <span class="share-button-link-text">BlogThis!</span> </a><a class="goog-inline-block share-button sb-twitter" href="http://www.blogger.com/share-post.g?blogID=4175272604779693252&postID=8317375761792118540&target=twitter" target="_blank" title="Share to Twitter"> <span class="share-button-link-text">Share to Twitter</span> </a><a class="goog-inline-block share-button sb-facebook" href="http://www.blogger.com/share-post.g?blogID=4175272604779693252&postID=8317375761792118540&target=facebook" target="_blank" title="Share to Facebook"> <span class="share-button-link-text">Share to Facebook</span> </a><a class="goog-inline-block share-button sb-buzz" href="http://www.blogger.com/share-post.g?blogID=4175272604779693252&postID=8317375761792118540&target=buzz" target="_blank" title="Share to Google Buzz"> <span class="share-button-link-text">Share to Google Buzz</span> </a> </div> </div> <div class="post-footer-line post-footer-line-2"><span class="post-labels"> Labels: <a href="http://safrophilia.blogspot.com/search/label/corruption" rel="tag">corruption</a>, <a href="http://safrophilia.blogspot.com/search/label/government%20medical%20care" rel="tag">government medical care</a>, <a href="http://safrophilia.blogspot.com/search/label/grahamstown" rel="tag">grahamstown</a>, <a href="http://safrophilia.blogspot.com/search/label/home" rel="tag">home</a>, <a href="http://safrophilia.blogspot.com/search/label/mps" rel="tag">mps</a>, <a href="http://safrophilia.blogspot.com/search/label/skype" rel="tag">skype</a>, <a href="http://safrophilia.blogspot.com/search/label/south%20africa" rel="tag">south africa</a>, <a href="http://safrophilia.blogspot.com/search/label/south%20african" rel="tag">south african</a>, <a href="http://safrophilia.blogspot.com/search/label/uk" rel="tag">uk</a>, <a href="http://safrophilia.blogspot.com/search/label/wilderness" rel="tag">wilderness</a> </span> </div> <div class="post-footer-line post-footer-line-3"><span class="post-location"> </span> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div></div> <div class="date-outer"> <h2 class="date-header"><span>Tuesday, November 23, 2010</span></h2> <div class="date-posts"> <div class="post-outer"> <div class="post hentry"> <a name="8689308666429657245"></a> <h3 class="post-title entry-title"> <a href="http://safrophilia.blogspot.com/2010/11/violets-in-mountains-have-broken-rocks.html">The Violets in the Mountains have Broken the Rocks...</a> </h3> <div class="post-header"> </div> <div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-8689308666429657245"> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Q3g7dLG0WzWhXuN9uiKJ5jvCYJMrNuZ_BscZEzXKzpc8ru2QnfyUkUPMYvmm1B5b9Yu1usioFYr5a1yHBi1YDKmvk-lRSr_X-Xu6QfHz-3yKtmqK_qiKoZCO_py7IsZ42PAzPzo5/s1600/plush.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Q3g7dLG0WzWhXuN9uiKJ5jvCYJMrNuZ_BscZEzXKzpc8ru2QnfyUkUPMYvmm1B5b9Yu1usioFYr5a1yHBi1YDKmvk-lRSr_X-Xu6QfHz-3yKtmqK_qiKoZCO_py7IsZ42PAzPzo5/s1600/plush.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_6EQz3Iv7hgqZdDNF9H9SIOSPPIK2aNeHkRGqEK5Fui1EIzbtzdH1DWPaiB7V4VMGkwRYVV4klphCGJpGTxC-li39pVjYsj6Q0xitfADZ24sdjxRqZ9mYst_iSo-egfCabhdCrsai/s1600/roryeliot.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_6EQz3Iv7hgqZdDNF9H9SIOSPPIK2aNeHkRGqEK5Fui1EIzbtzdH1DWPaiB7V4VMGkwRYVV4klphCGJpGTxC-li39pVjYsj6Q0xitfADZ24sdjxRqZ9mYst_iSo-egfCabhdCrsai/s200/roryeliot.jpg" width="138" border="0" height="200" /></a><i><b>Grooves:</b></i> Plush (Rory Eliot - who I had the honour and joy of befriending when I worked as the art director for a fashion brand in Cape Town a few years ago, and we sponsored him and his band in clothes and publicity/gigs.)<br /><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguIdOlKMPUYQnsu3yaDf7GgUNYajK51sZlhgoNljICcRUZyKs2tVZ1wc-IxLRFKK-MQCDeveiTpO2QoPsy8pL8lBYKNGnx_9cbNILKoFLeEdHH1hkAHh-pdOodkE63q7hcJNZ_U8Ex/s1600/S6300726.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguIdOlKMPUYQnsu3yaDf7GgUNYajK51sZlhgoNljICcRUZyKs2tVZ1wc-IxLRFKK-MQCDeveiTpO2QoPsy8pL8lBYKNGnx_9cbNILKoFLeEdHH1hkAHh-pdOodkE63q7hcJNZ_U8Ex/s200/S6300726.JPG" width="181" border="0" height="200" /></a></div><i><b>Beverage:</b></i> Earl Grey (it's that delicately decadent bergamot it's scented with... hmmm...) from a white teapot, festooned in painted pink floral filigree - and sipped from a cup handmade by Nosiphiwo: from the forming of the virgin porcelain, to the painting and glazing. (Hence why I recruited her so quickly into the Oodade ranks!)<br /><br /><br /><i><b>Weather: </b></i>deliciously cool, calm and drizzling with a misty rain that transforms my garden into a rainforest paradise!<br /><br /><br /><br />After my last blog entry about the glories of our Makana municipality, the reactions it catalysed made me realise just how mindblowingly heart-based this whole South Africa/UK is: people react, their hearts volatile, and their brains not quite engaged. Facts are ignored, and fears and ideals blindly embraced. {Because I absolutely avoid conflict whenever possible in my lust to be loved and liked be everyone, writing about such a layered and paradoxical situation is pretty tough. I find myself wanting even those who negate what I have to say to accept the experiences that have shaped my understanding of the 'in vs out' South African dilemma. To accept my facts and feelings as a kind of living parable about how the grass can be greener on the other side only if you water it with your pro-UK convictions, and taking extra-careful care to tend the weeds of homesickness that creep into the garden of your heart, mercilessly.<br /><br /><blockquote><span style="color:blue;"><b><big>A nation that destroys its soils destroys itself. Forests are the lungs of<br />our land, purifying the air and giving fresh strength to our people.<br /> { </big></b>Franklin D. Roosevelt }</span></blockquote><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><blockquote><br /><div style="color: rgb(191, 144, 0);"><b><big>I refuse to have an emotional attachment to a piece of ground. </big><br /><big>At one end of the scale it's called <i>patriotism</i>, at the other end </big><br /><big>of the scale it's called <i>gardening</i>.<br /></big></b>{ Bob Shaw }</div></blockquote></div><span style="color:maroon;"> </span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFtFKMmgyKC19MtMs6JhA9Ytn7KP3TOHFaeEuQkNF70HsNxIojGr7Ew0KdW5DxAYIXsQyENjvuY5REGu7Wp9e_cRUjf4TrDn677ZCeP7ex1X6FW2HEQKT_-eaedXXgrJYH-8HURoQJ/s1600/JDG-front-cover.15115543.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFtFKMmgyKC19MtMs6JhA9Ytn7KP3TOHFaeEuQkNF70HsNxIojGr7Ew0KdW5DxAYIXsQyENjvuY5REGu7Wp9e_cRUjf4TrDn677ZCeP7ex1X6FW2HEQKT_-eaedXXgrJYH-8HURoQJ/s200/JDG-front-cover.15115543.jpg" width="181" border="0" height="200" /></a></div>As the <a href="http://www.janesdeliciousgarden.com/home">gardening guru</a> of the book I'm reading says, "Weeds are a mirror of the condition of the soil - so pay attention to them and use them to read the condition and health of your soil." (I ad-libbed that - sorry, Jane!) Weeds can be suffocated, blow-torched away, pulled out at the roots or poisoned to death. Or, they can be seen for what they are: a symptom of the poor condition of the soil : acknowledged, weeds can be a blessing. Weeds can spur you into redesigning your garden, getting you more in touch with your earth, improving the health of your soil --- and, as a consequence, the fruits it bears. (Let's hope that wasn't too obscure an analogy?!)<br /><br /><br /><blockquote><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="background-color: white; color: rgb(0, 0, 64);"><b><big>The violets in the mountains have broken the rocks.<br /></big></b>{ Tennessee Williams }</span> </div></blockquote><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgugr2De7DIkhyphenhyphengDAfbar54IDoWkTi5ONXA-waeAc7ROFS14P7JWAUf7Pn513gz45GkEmBHPuQ2QMtgpSdhwB1GJMQvywutBnoDHzyaX6WZt8-uDQT7QPfAp62FWqDzPj0oY8WPEoot/s1600/virgingardener.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgugr2De7DIkhyphenhyphengDAfbar54IDoWkTi5ONXA-waeAc7ROFS14P7JWAUf7Pn513gz45GkEmBHPuQ2QMtgpSdhwB1GJMQvywutBnoDHzyaX6WZt8-uDQT7QPfAp62FWqDzPj0oY8WPEoot/s320/virgingardener.jpg" width="320" border="0" height="320" /></a></div>Anyway, as someone who thrives on getting so messy with paints and glues and other random art materials that it has shocked the socks off some people, I've not really taken the same pleasure in getting dirty in sand and soil. But perhaps that's more to do with my terror of the spiders that lurk behind leaves, ready to pounce! But, since buying The Virgin Gardener and reading my pops-in-law's <a href="http://www.janesdeliciousgarden.com/home">Jane's Delicious Garden</a>, I've had an epiphany: <b><i>we are one with the earth.</i></b> (Not the New-Agey sort of 'One', but 'one' in the sense that ... (*oh gosh* I've been reading an anthology of quotes about gardening -- and they're all so perfect : the most perfect and practical philosophy, that I can't quite find my own words now... And to simply cut+paste <a href="http://www.gardensimply.com/gardening-quotes.php">a thousand quotes</a> onto this page would be an enormous cheat... I think I'll go away for a few days to dig deep for my own words about this discovery that is slowly changing my life: my outlook, the pace at which I live and love, my priorities... Come back in a few days, ok?)<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHZNXZFKBSKBvHhkZ573mcqgDLQQPAMdTNi-RQ3cignsg11oyBEqcgqx3h7SV6tfEqLvSSAXAUTPv3Ak_eUBD7PPaGWa65Dr1SXC5nyYvHfwigPUSvCcMTxM6fE_4rDiZQURpM2MEt/s1600/S6300711.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHZNXZFKBSKBvHhkZ573mcqgDLQQPAMdTNi-RQ3cignsg11oyBEqcgqx3h7SV6tfEqLvSSAXAUTPv3Ak_eUBD7PPaGWa65Dr1SXC5nyYvHfwigPUSvCcMTxM6fE_4rDiZQURpM2MEt/s320/S6300711.JPG" width="240" border="0" height="320" /></a></div>In the meantime, here are some of the fruits of my labour: each one a miracle that heals, delights, soothes and excites. (My favourite plants right now are succulents - and, quite fortunately so, what with this Eastern Cape drought which means water is too precious to waste on acres of lawn and thirsty plants! When we move into our new little plekkie at the end of the month, I'm going to get rid of most of the lawn and replace it with vegetables and succulents, layed happily between winding paths of stones...) </div> <div class="post-footer"> <div class="post-footer-line post-footer-line-1"><span class="post-author vcard"> Posted by <span class="fn">Lisa</span> </span> <span class="post-timestamp"> at <a class="timestamp-link" href="http://safrophilia.blogspot.com/2010/11/violets-in-mountains-have-broken-rocks.html" rel="bookmark" title="permanent link"><abbr class="published" title="2010-11-23T00:21:00-08:00">12:21 AM</abbr></a> </span> <span class="post-comment-link"> <a class="comment-link" href="http://safrophilia.blogspot.com/2010/11/violets-in-mountains-have-broken-rocks.html#comments">0 comments</a> </span> <span class="post-icons"> <span class="item-control blog-admin pid-64217467"> <a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=4175272604779693252&postID=8689308666429657245" title="Edit Post"> <img alt="" class="icon-action" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/icon18_edit_allbkg.gif" width="18" height="18" /> </a> </span> </span> <div class="post-share-buttons goog-inline-block"> <a class="goog-inline-block share-button sb-email" href="http://www.blogger.com/share-post.g?blogID=4175272604779693252&postID=8689308666429657245&target=email" target="_blank" title="Email This"> <span class="share-button-link-text">Email This</span> </a><a class="goog-inline-block share-button sb-blog" href="http://www.blogger.com/share-post.g?blogID=4175272604779693252&postID=8689308666429657245&target=blog" target="_blank" title="BlogThis!"> <span class="share-button-link-text">BlogThis!</span> </a><a class="goog-inline-block share-button sb-twitter" href="http://www.blogger.com/share-post.g?blogID=4175272604779693252&postID=8689308666429657245&target=twitter" target="_blank" title="Share to Twitter"> <span class="share-button-link-text">Share to Twitter</span> </a><a class="goog-inline-block share-button sb-facebook" href="http://www.blogger.com/share-post.g?blogID=4175272604779693252&postID=8689308666429657245&target=facebook" target="_blank" title="Share to Facebook"> <span class="share-button-link-text">Share to Facebook</span> </a><a class="goog-inline-block share-button sb-buzz" href="http://www.blogger.com/share-post.g?blogID=4175272604779693252&postID=8689308666429657245&target=buzz" target="_blank" title="Share to Google Buzz"> <span class="share-button-link-text">Share to Google Buzz</span> </a> </div> </div> <div class="post-footer-line post-footer-line-2"><span class="post-labels"> </span> </div> <div class="post-footer-line post-footer-line-3"><span class="post-location"> </span> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div></div> <div class="date-outer"> <h2 class="date-header"><span>Thursday, November 18, 2010</span></h2> <div class="date-posts"> <div class="post-outer"> <div class="post hentry"> <a name="5892738657408471334"></a> <h3 class="post-title entry-title"> <a href="http://safrophilia.blogspot.com/2010/11/jasmine-jazztea-municipal-magnificence.html">Jasmine JazzTea & Municipal Magnificence!</a> </h3> <div class="post-header"> </div> <div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-5892738657408471334"> Hot already at 10am. I have the morning to myself - and over the moon about the new look I created for my blog this morning: fresh, happy-happy-happy and real!<br /><i><b>Sipping: </b></i>steaming jasmine green tea.<br /><i><b>Grooves: </b></i>Thelonius Monk<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglDjWI6zTcenRpNCbzoBAmAcZO5I5kFdqP_GVgiCEDfryyesd5mB0sTU80FViUXZsN69zwKUT7NiX8HTUfO4l_WDJgtvnRz7QaAuHzPwLqwOrAEuZPEacbt8pSMVYMGpFdRSkeH2gd/s1600/S6300659.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglDjWI6zTcenRpNCbzoBAmAcZO5I5kFdqP_GVgiCEDfryyesd5mB0sTU80FViUXZsN69zwKUT7NiX8HTUfO4l_WDJgtvnRz7QaAuHzPwLqwOrAEuZPEacbt8pSMVYMGpFdRSkeH2gd/s200/S6300659.JPG" width="150" border="0" height="200" /></a><i><b>Social State:</b></i> thought I was alone, but my house has been hijacked through the Trellidor <i>nogal</i> by a lightning-bolt of somebody's errant ginger cat: last time I tried to chase outside for fear of a sneezing/eye-itch attack, we ended up in the bedroom, with him almost getting stuck as he scrambled and slipped on the wood floor to take refuge in the two-inch dusty blackness beneath our bed! (This is the second cat visitation we've had - and probably due to the birdfeeder Layla and I put up in the peach tree in the garden a few days ago... Ah, the cycle of life...)<br /><br />re: this post-title, I've been wanting to write to our local municipality to thank them for making me a very happy and smug South African citizen. (And before any bitter reposts are slung my way, I will say that - yes - there are some sh*tty bits to South African municipal/governmental issues, but there are also good and bad bits to every other country in the world: e.g. the postcode-lottery in the UK on which hospital you end up in!) Anyway, I'll put my happy experiences in point form for the sake of keeping you here (*wink*)<br /><br />1. My very first Sunday evening in Grahamstown, and it's time to bath Layla and get some supper on the go. It's the middle of winter, and darkening out. And we are suddenly plunged into a most primal state of electricitynessless! Now what?! Nothing showing on our switchboard. Our neighbours all have electricity. Hmmm... On a Sunday evening, who can we call? Not the Ghostbusters - but the emergency number for the Makana Municipality. Expecting the Electricity Department, someone (damnit, I meant to remember his name!!) answered, "Fire Department. How can I help you?" Turns out Grahamstown is such a small place (a genuine <i>dorpie</i>) that whether your mains have burst or your house is ablaze, all emergencies are routed to the same place! Within 30 minutes, two guys arrived in their Makana Municipality <i>bakkie</i> at our door, looked at the switchboard and had as sorted in no less than 10 minutes! Oh yes, and may I mention they were Xhosa (intelligent, skilled, professional, friendly) <i>and</i> they didn't try to steal or pillage?! <i>(*Very wry chuckle*)</i><br /><br />2. Another great moment that made me proud was after 3 months of anxiety about the dangerous crossroads a few metres from our house, seeing a beaming (and sweating!) municipal worker picking up the orange cones (do they have a proper name?) after painting bright, white yield markings on the road! Awesome!!<br /><br /><i>(Gosh - that tea was good...) </i><br /><br />3. After really getting into the brilliant recycling thing in the UK with their red and blue crates, and the way they alternated the black household refuse bin with the brown garden waste bin, I missed the <i>lekker</i> feeling I got from minimising my waste there. In Grahamstown, there are no black bins! I was a bit appalled, and quite ashamed to find myself thinking the <i>'Welcome To Africa'</i> thought... Seeing the black rubbish bags thrown out into the street each Morning, only to be ripped apart by foraging <i>bergies</i> and dogs, dirty nappies, rotten food and broken glass strewn everywhere, made me angry-sad-confused-deeplydisappointed ---- but it also galvanised me into action! I phoned the municipality's sanitation department, expecting (thanks to news-induced stereotypes) apathy, but was instead met with eagerness and interest, as well as information about a plan to introduce recycling to Grahamstonians who're apparently notoriously <i>hardegat</i> about not bothering to recycle! And what happened? Nothing? Nope. A few weeks later, exactly as promised, my packet of black refuse bags arrived, so that I could spend the money I would normally have spent on black bags on either clear or orange plastic bags, which would then act as the receptacle for all recyclables. These would be collected by the same rubbish truck, but taken to the recycling plant which is overseen by an NGO creating employment and environmental care.Well done, Makana Municipality! And, THANK YOU!!!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvCAeQ0fL1-TL9G5pYRb4eNXrS9_j9gd_jmEVZNBzClCHU_VycgjYwceZj7aOammyL-eFpYuuP_Lx4sLCrjzkSVmk03bV_50OguJFZIX60j_e_5IQ6bqAQSYN5eA-wVcNtECs7LMlI/s1600/S6300654.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvCAeQ0fL1-TL9G5pYRb4eNXrS9_j9gd_jmEVZNBzClCHU_VycgjYwceZj7aOammyL-eFpYuuP_Lx4sLCrjzkSVmk03bV_50OguJFZIX60j_e_5IQ6bqAQSYN5eA-wVcNtECs7LMlI/s320/S6300654.jpg" width="320" border="0" height="240" /></a>4. Because my job at Kip McGrath turned out to be a stunningly empty promise on behalf of it's manager, we haven't been able to pay for medical from Craig's teacher's salary after paying R5 500/month rent: and Layla's ears have tormented her (and me) with sleepless nights and irritable days, so when the GP here said it was imperative she have grommets, we were crestfallen. How would be solve our daughter's pain with no money? But, our kind doctor got us in at the local government hospital as state patients so that an absolutely <a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_1918553584">phenomenal EN</a><a href="http://www.entsurgery.co.za/">T</a> oversaw the initial investigation and operation, and our GP and the other doctor in his practice did the anaesthetic: and all for nothing. (*Sjoe... Wow...*) And to top it all off, every single hospital staff member was impeccably kind and efficient. The building, inside and outside, sparkled with being clean, and cleaned with great care and pride, with lovely art adorning the walls and smiles on every face! The whole Day Of The Grommets is an entirely other story which I'll save the next rainy day - but here is the picture of a completely pain-free Layla, post King Cone ice-cream! </div> <div class="post-footer"> <div class="post-footer-line post-footer-line-1"><span class="post-author vcard"> Posted by <span class="fn">Lisa</span> </span> <span class="post-timestamp"> at <a class="timestamp-link" href="http://safrophilia.blogspot.com/2010/11/jasmine-jazztea-municipal-magnificence.html" rel="bookmark" title="permanent link"><abbr class="published" title="2010-11-18T01:14:00-08:00">1:14 AM</abbr></a> </span> <span class="post-comment-link"> <a class="comment-link" href="http://safrophilia.blogspot.com/2010/11/jasmine-jazztea-municipal-magnificence.html#comments">1 comments</a> </span> <span class="post-icons"> <span class="item-control blog-admin pid-64217467"> <a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=4175272604779693252&postID=5892738657408471334" title="Edit Post"> <img alt="" class="icon-action" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/icon18_edit_allbkg.gif" width="18" height="18" /> </a> </span> </span> <div class="post-share-buttons goog-inline-block"> <a class="goog-inline-block share-button sb-email" href="http://www.blogger.com/share-post.g?blogID=4175272604779693252&postID=5892738657408471334&target=email" target="_blank" title="Email This"> <span class="share-button-link-text">Email This</span> </a><a class="goog-inline-block share-button sb-blog" href="http://www.blogger.com/share-post.g?blogID=4175272604779693252&postID=5892738657408471334&target=blog" target="_blank" title="BlogThis!"> <span class="share-button-link-text">BlogThis!</span> </a><a class="goog-inline-block share-button sb-twitter" href="http://www.blogger.com/share-post.g?blogID=4175272604779693252&postID=5892738657408471334&target=twitter" target="_blank" title="Share to Twitter"> <span class="share-button-link-text">Share to Twitter</span> </a><a class="goog-inline-block share-button sb-facebook" href="http://www.blogger.com/share-post.g?blogID=4175272604779693252&postID=5892738657408471334&target=facebook" target="_blank" title="Share to Facebook"> <span class="share-button-link-text">Share to Facebook</span> </a><a class="goog-inline-block share-button sb-buzz" href="http://www.blogger.com/share-post.g?blogID=4175272604779693252&postID=5892738657408471334&target=buzz" target="_blank" title="Share to Google Buzz"> <span class="share-button-link-text">Share to Google Buzz</span> </a> </div> </div> <div class="post-footer-line post-footer-line-2"><span class="post-labels"> Labels: <a href="http://safrophilia.blogspot.com/search/label/ent" rel="tag">ent</a>, <a href="http://safrophilia.blogspot.com/search/label/grahamstown" rel="tag">grahamstown</a>, <a href="http://safrophilia.blogspot.com/search/label/makana" rel="tag">makana</a>, <a href="http://safrophilia.blogspot.com/search/label/municipality" rel="tag">municipality</a>, <a href="http://safrophilia.blogspot.com/search/label/recycling" rel="tag">recycling</a>, <a href="http://safrophilia.blogspot.com/search/label/setters%20hospital" rel="tag">setters hospital</a> </span> </div> <div class="post-footer-line post-footer-line-3"><span class="post-location"> </span> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div></div> <div class="date-outer"> <h2 class="date-header"><span>Monday, November 15, 2010</span></h2> <div class="date-posts"> <div class="post-outer"> <div class="post hentry"> <a name="2773894289010736771"></a> <h3 class="post-title entry-title"> <a href="http://safrophilia.blogspot.com/2010/11/back-home-4-months-and-counting.html">Back Home - 4 months and counting...</a> </h3> <div class="post-header"> </div> <div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-2773894289010736771"> Since I last had a chance to write, I decided to send my little princess to playschool 5 mornings a week as the seeming randomness of only going on Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Fridays confused her - so as of this week she'll be at school every day, which also means that I can start writing again! (Not being able to write was, and I'm not exaggerating, like drowning. And drowing very, very slowly.)<br /><br />Twice-a-week updates are what I'm aiming for, though I'd write every single day if I could! But there is so much happening at the moment, that I'll need to use this time that Layla is at school more wisely than I have ever used time!! For example, our house at the school (where we'll only be paying about a fifth of what we pay now (i.e. R5 500/month) and I think/hope that'll include water and electricity as well!) will be ready for us by the end of the month - so I've got to try and pack up our things here without Layla actually seeing me packing the boxes. Twice since we've arrived back from the UK, I've needed to repack our boxes when I was in Cape Town: first, when the boxes arrived in South Africa via Allfreight's fabulous service, and I needed to unpack them to check what was damaged/what I wanted to take with me back to Grahamstown. And then second, when I was in Cape Town two weeks ago, I spent many hot hours in my parents' attic sorting through the random bits of furniture and repacking my stuff for freight-by-truck to Grahamstown. And both times, Layla's anxiety levels skyrocketed upon witnessing this packing of boxes. Seeing just how perceptive and deeply sensitive my child has made me rethink my entire <i>modus operandi</i> of parenting... But more about this at a later stage.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8Eea_iOO64cLwjMRcvhhKoX2hgTibC-bCtgbmG_4wgPKDTnJkY6f3kAfEQoZEX8HH4QMxfZjUve2wJfxdKnJ_K8qz9ISRjMUTk0w-Qq_vaicmiRwxXvUWvst74dBHgEVjY3LAlebd/s1600/mimi2.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8Eea_iOO64cLwjMRcvhhKoX2hgTibC-bCtgbmG_4wgPKDTnJkY6f3kAfEQoZEX8HH4QMxfZjUve2wJfxdKnJ_K8qz9ISRjMUTk0w-Qq_vaicmiRwxXvUWvst74dBHgEVjY3LAlebd/s320/mimi2.jpg" width="320" border="0" height="212" /></a></div>And then there is the matter of me finding work for next year. Perhaps an art teaching position at St Andrews? And if that doesn't pan out, then I'll focus on setting up a studio for the collective/co-operative I've set up with two of my friends. At the moment, we're each working from home, but if I can find a space for us to work from together for next year, then we'd be able to work that much more quickly and efficiently! Our company's name is <span style="background-color: white;font-size:large;color:black;" ><b><i><span style=";font-family:Georgia,";" >Oodade</span></i></b></span><span style=";color:white;" > </span>which is the Xhosa word for 'sisters'. Inspired by the work <a href="http://www.collectjewellery.co.za/the-jewels/">my sister</a> commissioned me to do for her space at <a href="http://www.kamersvol.com/">Kamersvol Geskenke</a>, as well as by the bond of sisterhood I share with my fellow South African women, Nokwayiyo and Nosiphiwo arrived in my life like sunshine and blessings with their grace, warmth, joy and industrious talent! I'll link back here to the Oodade blog I've set up (*wink*)<br /><br />Not much Safrophilic news there, but I thought I sommer just had to write AND to explain my long absence from these pages.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirFV0vIXSZ0Qnc-8s2P4wp6Hu0M0ZeMsifJlB_XHwvgVloE2FNFXUChn1qSba_5c3VSyv96sNwFeFxjawDZSigZmwiAghH24Ir6uGLNlcgI8CauJsc9zVff9_-ne-8MVIkqdnKcd3p/s1600/black+pieta.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div> </div> <div class="post-footer"> <div class="post-footer-line post-footer-line-1"><span class="post-author vcard"> Posted by <span class="fn">Lisa</span> </span> <span class="post-timestamp"> at <a class="timestamp-link" href="http://safrophilia.blogspot.com/2010/11/back-home-4-months-and-counting.html" rel="bookmark" title="permanent link"><abbr class="published" title="2010-11-15T00:09:00-08:00">12:09 AM</abbr></a> </span> <span class="post-comment-link"> <a class="comment-link" href="http://safrophilia.blogspot.com/2010/11/back-home-4-months-and-counting.html#comments">3 comments</a> </span> <span class="post-icons"> <span class="item-control blog-admin pid-64217467"> <a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=4175272604779693252&postID=2773894289010736771" title="Edit Post"> <img alt="" class="icon-action" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/icon18_edit_allbkg.gif" width="18" height="18" /> </a> </span> </span> <div class="post-share-buttons goog-inline-block"> <a class="goog-inline-block share-button sb-email" href="http://www.blogger.com/share-post.g?blogID=4175272604779693252&postID=2773894289010736771&target=email" target="_blank" title="Email This"> <span class="share-button-link-text">Email This</span> </a><a class="goog-inline-block share-button sb-blog" href="http://www.blogger.com/share-post.g?blogID=4175272604779693252&postID=2773894289010736771&target=blog" target="_blank" title="BlogThis!"> <span class="share-button-link-text">BlogThis!</span> </a><a class="goog-inline-block share-button sb-twitter" href="http://www.blogger.com/share-post.g?blogID=4175272604779693252&postID=2773894289010736771&target=twitter" target="_blank" title="Share to Twitter"> <span class="share-button-link-text">Share to Twitter</span> </a><a class="goog-inline-block share-button sb-facebook" href="http://www.blogger.com/share-post.g?blogID=4175272604779693252&postID=2773894289010736771&target=facebook" target="_blank" title="Share to Facebook"> <span class="share-button-link-text">Share to Facebook</span> </a><a class="goog-inline-block share-button sb-buzz" href="http://www.blogger.com/share-post.g?blogID=4175272604779693252&postID=2773894289010736771&target=buzz" target="_blank" title="Share to Google Buzz"> <span class="share-button-link-text">Share to Google Buzz</span> </a> </div> </div> <div class="post-footer-line post-footer-line-2"><span class="post-labels"> Labels: <a href="http://safrophilia.blogspot.com/search/label/boxes" rel="tag">boxes</a>, <a href="http://safrophilia.blogspot.com/search/label/collect%20jewellery" rel="tag">collect jewellery</a>, <a href="http://safrophilia.blogspot.com/search/label/grahamstown" rel="tag">grahamstown</a>, <a href="http://safrophilia.blogspot.com/search/label/kamersvol" rel="tag">kamersvol</a>, <a href="http://safrophilia.blogspot.com/search/label/oodade" rel="tag">oodade</a> </span> </div> <div class="post-footer-line post-footer-line-3"><span class="post-location"> </span> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div></div> <h2 class="date-header"><span>Friday, October 15, 2010</span></h2> <a name="6842306930298011351"></a> <h3 class="post-title entry-title"> <a href="http://safrophilia.blogspot.com/2010/10/quick-history-of-ex-soutie.html">The Quickest History of an ex-Soutie's Repatriation Ever!</a> </h3> <div class="post-header"> </div> <div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-6842306930298011351"> After crashing heavily to earth from quite shitty burnout, I've decided to end all my other blogs and writing commitments in an effort to simplify my life. Hence this new space where I can write about anything and everything in the context of South Africanness (where before I had a blog for my South African concerns, a blog for random generalities, <i>two</i> separate blog for Soutpielness, and a weekly column about motherhood. And on top of it all, that whole Malema project, my 'news revolution' AND all the newspaper articles I was writing and the resulting radio interviews. Eish - no wonder I burned out! Seems as though multitasking is something my female DNA lacks...) And so, I am back with a vengeance: to write purely from a selfish desire, tap-tap-tapping words out to the rhythms of my own particular heart.<br />A quick history of our first 3.5 months back in South Africa?<br />1. Living, as a devout Capetonian, in the Eastern Cape for the very first time, has been both intriguing and a bit of a drag. Grahamstown is hot, dry and dusty - and when the wind blows, there is nowhere to escape to (unless you are a student and the Rat & Parrot can slake your thirst/drown your sorrows for you. But I, alas, am too old at 32, too skint of pocket and - I'm not quite sure that a rowdy drinking hole is the most wholesome environment for an excitable 19-month old princess!<br />2. Craig's job as a primary school teacher at a Model C/government school is fairly peachy, while I was horribly let down by the company that 'promised' me a job upon my arrival in Grahamstown. No such luck. I should have gotten a written and signed commitment from this chick - but instead, she um-ed and aah-ed for weeks while I pestered her for opportunities. Eventually, I did one day of negligently-taught training and then one day of work, whereupon I received a Harry-casual sms saying I needn't come in the following week as the student had changed to another day. Ho-hum (*seething frustration/sense of betrayal*). Because we worked our finances when we were planning to come home to SA to within a hair's breadth of survival versus homelessness, I naively misplaced my trust in this girl in my excitement to return home. And so, with Craig's teacher's salary, our rent of R5 500 (excluding water and electricity) etc etc, we have had to tighten our belts a little more than we thought (I have lost 5kg!) Thankfully, we were able to still afford numerous doctor's appointments for Layla's incessant ear problems, ranging between R220 and R300 (Eastern Cape vs Cape Town prices) as well as all the medicine needed. (We'll get medical aid next year once I am also working.) When she had a bad fall once Saturday evening when I thought she'd broken the occipital bone under her eye, we took her to the clean and efficient-enough government hospital where, contrary to stereotyped doubts, we did <i>not</i> encounter any gunshot/rape/stabbing victims! (I'm sure there are government clinics and hospitals which have plenty of these, but Settlers Hospital made me proud!) I was also able to use the government mental health hospital for free <i>and</i> get free medication. The cherry on the top? Layla is having grommets inserted in a week's time by an absolutely phenomenal ENT specialist -- <i>as a government patient</i>. WOW!<br />3. Layla goes to a gorgeous little playschool three mornings a week - her classmates adore her as the youngest little soul among them! (She'll probably be fluent in Xhosa by the end of the year!) Her and I walk to school the three mornings a week, stopping to chat to new friends, neighbours and all sorts of warm, kind strangers. (Admittedly, there is a darker side to how Layla struggled with the move back to South Africa, but I'll leave that for another day...)<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_yQ5m9vXxxfVu9IRfCaKZXQVkgikCaqOQHhPEwv4lmPHh1FMtlRd2BTdaM7lVJ4W0BdRyZEg0LE6FaFpt3TaLBETI4ebsYL1nn078OI1SJuB1leKOJAZ3jS3JeIpzyGMGZ18Y4Zab/s1600/3+xhosa+children.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_yQ5m9vXxxfVu9IRfCaKZXQVkgikCaqOQHhPEwv4lmPHh1FMtlRd2BTdaM7lVJ4W0BdRyZEg0LE6FaFpt3TaLBETI4ebsYL1nn078OI1SJuB1leKOJAZ3jS3JeIpzyGMGZ18Y4Zab/s320/3+xhosa+children.jpg" width="320" border="0" height="212" /></a></div>It's time for me to get my jersery on (freak thunderstorm and perpetual rain yesterday, with icy temperatures after the most summery winter I've ever experienced with highs sometimes of 30deg!) and walk to 'Little Blessings' and see my Layla's eyes light up when she sees me! </div> <div class="post-footer-line post-footer-line-1"><span class="post-author vcard"> Posted by <span class="fn">Lisa</span> </span> <span class="post-timestamp"> at <a class="timestamp-link" href="http://safrophilia.blogspot.com/2010/10/quick-history-of-ex-soutie.html" rel="bookmark" title="permanent link"><abbr class="published" title="2010-10-15T02:15:00-07:00">2:15 AM</abbr></a> </span> <span class="post-comment-link"> <a class="comment-link" href="http://safrophilia.blogspot.com/2010/10/quick-history-of-ex-soutie.html#comments">2 comments</a> </span> <span class="post-icons"> <span class="item-control blog-admin pid-64217467"> <a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=4175272604779693252&postID=6842306930298011351" title="Edit Post"> <img alt="" class="icon-action" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/icon18_edit_allbkg.gif" width="18" height="18" /> </a> </span> </span> <div class="post-share-buttons goog-inline-block"> <a class="goog-inline-block share-button sb-email" href="http://www.blogger.com/share-post.g?blogID=4175272604779693252&postID=6842306930298011351&target=email" target="_blank" title="Email This"> <span class="share-button-link-text">Email This</span> </a><a class="goog-inline-block share-button sb-blog" href="http://www.blogger.com/share-post.g?blogID=4175272604779693252&postID=6842306930298011351&target=blog" target="_blank" title="BlogThis!"> <span class="share-button-link-text">BlogThis!</span> </a><a class="goog-inline-block share-button sb-twitter" href="http://www.blogger.com/share-post.g?blogID=4175272604779693252&postID=6842306930298011351&target=twitter" target="_blank" title="Share to Twitter"> <span class="share-button-link-text">Share to Twitter</span> </a><a class="goog-inline-block share-button sb-facebook" href="http://www.blogger.com/share-post.g?blogID=4175272604779693252&postID=6842306930298011351&target=facebook" target="_blank" title="Share to Facebook"> <span class="share-button-link-text">Share to Facebook</span> </a><a class="goog-inline-block share-button sb-buzz" href="http://www.blogger.com/share-post.g?blogID=4175272604779693252&postID=6842306930298011351&target=buzz" target="_blank" title="Share to Google Buzz"> <span class="share-button-link-text">Share to Google Buzz</span> </a> </div> </div> <div class="post-footer-line post-footer-line-2"><span class="post-labels"> Labels: <a href="http://safrophilia.blogspot.com/search/label/government%20medical%20care" rel="tag">government medical care</a>, <a href="http://safrophilia.blogspot.com/search/label/grahamstown" rel="tag">grahamstown</a>, <a href="http://safrophilia.blogspot.com/search/label/grommets" rel="tag">grommets</a>, <a href="http://safrophilia.blogspot.com/search/label/playschool" rel="tag">playschool</a>, <a href="http://safrophilia.blogspot.com/search/label/south%20africa" rel="tag">south africa</a> </span> </div>Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11604061770730118201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6259755305498559581.post-36256424126772282662011-03-27T23:52:00.002+02:002011-03-28T00:23:22.769+02:00Maybe Two Blogs ARE Better than One?!Well, well, well... Long time, no see, eh? Despite having created a new blog that was meant to incorporate my '<a href="http://contemplating-my-navel.blogspot.com/">Contemplating My Navel</a>' ideas with my fervent <a href="http://safrophilia.blogspot.com/">Safrophilia</a> into one more manageable headspace for me, it is actually not really tickling my fancy. It's just that my Navel blog satisfied the whimsical, chatty writer in me, while my near-obsession with South Africa and (ex)patriotism found a place to rant, rave and ... expose the truths and lies about the expat experience and what it feels like to come home. (Sjoe - I nearly went off on a tangent on my high horse there...)<br /><br />Anyway, I will try to bring all the relevant posts from my Safrophilia blog back here - and now that I've finally figured out how to post to my blogs via my Blackberry, I am no longer a manically frustrated prisoner of no-internet-at-home! I am also hoping to do more writing for newspapers and magazines (not so sure about doing any more radio interviews...) : MORE SOUTH AFRICANS NEED TO KNOW THAT IT IS OK TO BE HONEST : about EVERYTHING!<br /><br /><br />Eish ... I am desperate to write more but my bambino is calling for her mama...Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11604061770730118201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6259755305498559581.post-17892041204023747782010-11-15T09:16:00.002+01:002010-11-15T09:17:29.946+01:00Safrophilia...Howzit everyone!<br /><br />As part of the wholesale decluttering of my life, I've streamlined all of my writing commitments into this one, new blog called 'Safrophilia' (meaning: the love of all things South African!)<br /><br />Check it out : <a href="http://safrophilia.blogspot.com/2010/10/quick-history-of-ex-soutie.html"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Safrophilia</span></a><br /><br />Love, love and more love,<br />LisaLisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11604061770730118201noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6259755305498559581.post-30940487839643548212010-09-24T22:57:00.005+02:002010-09-26T08:35:42.756+02:00Spruitsdrift Musings...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjxk255Gjyj03QCphXdXa9L0PUrh_N2nI8BtKd9Q5Uevh1DFAv6GxSVKXeydGWoz9ZZcjaNZ6GdU5f33V-1ySJqmaWFTwgdRfYGPERSEZJbf1FNYmExzQ2UFf3jDJoLztvgAXdBsw0GkI/s1600/craiglayla.bmp"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5520590321094819794" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjxk255Gjyj03QCphXdXa9L0PUrh_N2nI8BtKd9Q5Uevh1DFAv6GxSVKXeydGWoz9ZZcjaNZ6GdU5f33V-1ySJqmaWFTwgdRfYGPERSEZJbf1FNYmExzQ2UFf3jDJoLztvgAXdBsw0GkI/s320/craiglayla.bmp" /></a><br />Howzit, guys! I'm visiting my folks in Cape Town (which feels magnificently exotic and oh-so-glam after 2 months in the Eastern Cape!!) and, because of a <a href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6259755305498559581&postID=2148173558441413468">divine comment </a>from a family coming HOME after a stint in the States, I just <em>had</em> to quickly link back here to my Homecoming Revolution blog update! (Repatriation is busy work, indeed! *wink* So there has been minimal time to do any proper writing... lol!)<br />Nevertheless, here is the <a href="http://www.homecomingrevolution.co.za/blog/?p=849">link</a> to some recent news. There is (as I seem to write every single blog post) just so much I wish I could tell you about moving back home, but time is too tight for words (literally.) At least I now have internet, so updates will DEFINITELY be more frequent and delicious with repatriation details - so post your comments and ANY questions and I'll answer them as soon as I can :)<br /><em>(The 'Spruitsdrift' in the title is a not-so-oblique reference to my love affair with red wine - of which my parents always have an abundance!)</em>Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11604061770730118201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6259755305498559581.post-21481735584414134682010-07-30T17:52:00.004+02:002010-07-30T18:06:30.490+02:00South Africa FOREVER! (last days in the UK, and first days back *home*)Below lies the depths and shallows of the few thoughts I've managed to find time to scrawl down... If ONLY I had managed to write every day... (*sigh*) Oh well. The writing that follows is quite incomplete - but I'm desperate to let you all know how my first 4 weeks in SA have unfolded! More to follow as and when my dear little pudding Layla allows! (*wink*)<br /><br />"After I lost my last post to the Web-Gremlins, it was kindly suggested I use Notepad -- and what I love about this app is that it feels like I'm typing on my very own personal typewriter! Granted, it ain't a real vintage one that clack-clacks away with satisfying realness, but it's better than nothing - and at least this one won't run out of ribbon! <br /><br />Anyway, today represents our 7th last day in England – and I can’t help but think that we will never again set foot on this muddy isle that has been my home for 6 years in an 8 year period. But… that’s what I thought the first time I left the UK for home, so perhaps I should not be so hasty with my wild supposings! Admittedly, my reason for returning to the UK was to study for a very concise two year period, and then take my newly acquired knowledge and skills back to South Africa (where this particular Masters degree is not offered.) But, a number of factors conspired to abbreviate this dream, and it was replaced by an even greater dream: we became parents to the most phenomenally delightful and inspiring little soul who taught me everything I needed to know about creating the fulfilment that evaded me for 31 quite tedious and searching years! Never before have I loved, laughed and cried with such ferocity as I do now that I am Layla’s mother. What a joy, what a miracle! Anyway, I am blabbing about something else entirely now – a topic for the book I am going to write about the Soutpiel experience --- so save up your pennies and look out for it on Amazon! (*wink*)<br />Last night, in a bid to squeeze in as much time with my friends as possible, I conjured up a feast from the dregs in our freezer – texting Anne and Lorraine: “I’ll supply the supper, you guys supply the plonk!” And what fine plonk they supplied – and in such fabulous abundance! Two bottles of Australian red, and one French white (which is still in my fridge, awaiting its role as gift for our dinner hosts tomorrow night: the neighbours we’ve been meaning to do dinner/braai with for 2 years running, and it took us leaving the country to spur us all into action and make a date! Crazy.) Anyway, I was bitterly disappointed when Anne sms’d me to say they’d be late: I was in an inconsolable state of dire craving for the promised vino after a day of such aggravated stress that, when Craig asked me how my day was, I venomously spat out the following maxim: “I would rather have my most stressful university exam over than relive today.” (And that’s being pretty damn brave – because the exam in question was an English exam I was devastatingly unprepared for – and was so excruciatingly nervous that I ended up dry-retching in the loos at least 3 times during the 3 hour paper! That’s one of the problems with being a perfectionist; I ended up with a 90% average for that paper, so the moral of the story is … oh dear, I’m getting side-tracked again!) Supper was: four decadently huge cloves of fresh, crushed garlic gently warmed in lashings and lashings of butter, lightly salted and scented delicately with ground black pepper and just a hint of chilli. On the stove, I threw two packs of capalleti (Microsoft Word is trying to tell me capalleti should be ‘cataleptic’ though it’s the perfect word to describe my state of mind earlier that day trying to make those blasted phone-calls, but more about that later!) filled with prosciutto di Parma and mozzarella, which I boiled to soft, melting perfection, drained and then tossed in the butter and garlic. Our aunt, who is taking over our lease and moved in last night with her husband and two teenage boys, brought all her herbs and lettuces to transplant into the garden here, and her selection of mint, chives and parsley was just perfect for my spontaneous night of cooking – and after plucking a very generous handful of the freshest parsley from outside the kitchen door, I snipped it all up with my trusty kitchen scissors, missing my mezza luna in storage in Cape Town but with so much less angst than normal, with only 7 days to go… Although I’ve never been a big parsely fan, making me automatically think of that verlep piece of parsely they used to stick on top of the packs of raw mince in Pick ‘n Pay, it was the most surprisingly perfect herb to accessorise the pasta with! <br /> When Anne and Lorraine eventually did arrive, Layla was blessedly asleep and we sat outside in what can only be described as an evening so quintessentially English in its birdsong, bleating sheep in the nearby field, the soft warmth of lilac night, and all perfumed by sun-kissed roses and orange blossoms, that I suffered what can only be called pangs of nostalgia at the thought of leaving this English idyll. <br /><br /><br />Monday. 6 days to go. CRISIS – acceptance and strength that can be developed? One-room living ; no internet.<br /><br />The lack of initiative of call-centre staff… Tesco car insurance etc. EXCEPT: Allfreight. 5 days to go, and I am incredibly frazzled, frustrated and exhausted – at the end of my tether. Layla… No cell reception in house – have to ask neighbour to use her landline. E-on overcharged despite my call on Friday. On the verge of tears. Brittle. <br /><br />Tuesday. 4 days to go. Yesterday, my friend Jodie whisked me off to Kettering so I could cash a cheque – and all on a very tight schedule what with us closing our account on Thursday. (Layla is asleep still – and not surprising after heading to bed at 11pm last night! Goodbye drinks with Laura, Jules and Wends: Old’s pub The White Horse, and then pub-hopped to our ‘local’ for food. The barmen – the one sitting outside in the front saying we must have a safe journey. And then the broken-armed one and his bizarre surliness/friendliness: ‘curt’. The old man next to us rolling his eyes and listening in to our conversation. Must again attempt to tie up the loose ends after I gave up yesterday with Tesco Car Insurance: the call-centre chick told me to I should have hung on longer until someone answered the phone on Friday – after I ranted at her about the fact that they have now charged us another month when I didn’t want them to but couldn’t get through to them on Friday…. I was so angry I was shaking and LIVID. Whatever happened to that thing called ‘service’ by employees who were hired for their initiative? And then Craig comes home and doesn’t understand quite why making these phonecalls is such an incredibly difficult thing. I was hurt that he didn’t give me the support I needed but merely threw solution after solution at me, when all I needed was for him to hug me close and ask me to tell him, in all its gory, anguished detail, about how bloody stupid the people on the other end of the phone are, how nerve-wrackingly trying Layla was, how upset I was… Today I will try again – at Maggie’s house. <br />Lay awake till past 1am. The oppressive heat, and being trapped in our little room. Listening to the soft whispering of Maggie’s water feature, and further in the distance, the church bells tolling midnight. Mentally mapping out my day, I remembered I needed my list back from Dinee, and in case I missed her in the morning, I clambered out of bed, fumbled for a pen in the dark, and not finding one, went to the bathroom with my eyeliner – but it was too blunt to write more than the D of Dinee, so out came Craig’s shaving foam which I smeared across the mirror, and inscribed my very uncryptic message with a piece of Layla’s foam toy seaweed – and was intercepted by a venomous looking spider which I promptly dispatched with a blast of furniture polish, drowned in liquid handsoap and then swooshed down the basin drain! <br />Thursday. 1 July 2010. Just two sleeps until the day we fly, and then that night of semi-slumber on the plane. Last time, Layla slept on my chest, breastfeeding often due to the bizarrely different circumstances and the dry, dry air. This time, she’ll probably want to play,…………………Moms and Tots party.<br /><br />20 July 2010, Tuesday. I am desperately sorry I didn’t steal the time from who-knows-where to jot down the facts and feelings in those last days in Walgrave. It was a manic, manic time – and my first week back home in Cape Town pretty much matched its level of frustration, exhaustion, emotion and constant activity (mostly in the forms of organising and looking after Layla.)<br /><br />I sent my mom an sms yesterday saying, “I’ve had more fun in one day here in the middle of winter than in 6 years in the UK!” At 27deg, who would have thought it was winter?! Layla asked after her daddy all day long. And this morning, woke up asking for him, and we managed to at least catch him as he was was locking himself out the door – but Layla was inconsolable in having to say goodbye. If there was one thing I would re-do about that first week in SA, it would be sticking close to Craig’s side: Layla struggled terribly with missing him. (I’ve managed to find Finlay the Fire Engine on SABC3, and she’s plonksed down in a chair watching in televised bliss – one of her few constants that remind her of her first..)<br />Library/ pep and jet.<br /><br />Much later, sipping a glass of vino and scoffing the last of Layla’s leftover French toast to the magnificent cacophony of Radio Algoa and Layla’s bathtime screeches. (How did I manage to convince Craig to give me some much needed (understatement) time-out by bathing Layla? Hmmm… I didn’t employ any of the usual female wiles, e.g. lustrously batted eyelashes etc. so perhaps it was the stain of unhinged mania colouring my voice and eyes that did the trick? <br /><br />22 July 2010, Thursday – and I see the clock on my laptop is still set to English time… Somehow I quite like this little connection to my former life in Walgrave, Northamptonshire so for the meantime, I’ll leave my clock set an hour late. Layla’s having a zizz after a long night spent soothing her through her teething: this time, it’s her eye teeth. And after these are through, I think all that’s left for us to endure are her second set of molars! Spur has a special for Monday evenings here: buy one, get one free (how very English!) so, with Layla in tow, we reacquainted ourselves with the delights of beef burgers and the world’s greasiestly delicious onion rings – and, new to the Spur recipe of success: wireless! My ageing laptop died a number of times during start-up and for no apparent reason I could fathom, until it made its final irritating exit just as I managed to log onto my Facebook. Grrrrrr! Oh, for a snazzy, new notebook (*sigh*)! There is just so much I need to have documented in the way of facts and feelings in terms of this move back home – but it was such an intense period of time, jampacked with organising, (un)packing and hellos and goodbyes that there was, excrutiatingly, no time to even jot down a line or two in my journal. Were it not for the Layla, the move would have been infinitely easier, so if you’re contemplating a Groot Trek of your own, do it before the bambinos arrive on the scene! <br /><br />Looking back to more than a month ago when our boxes arrived from Allfreight, I realise I’m going to have to tackle writing about it all in an ‘organic’ sort of way, instead of systematically and chronologically, because if I start at the very beginning, I will never get to today! And so, let me tell you about how today started:<br /> After Layla’s sizzling temperature and teething pain had me (and her) up in the earliest hours of this morning, I finally managed to give her something to bring her temperature down and soothe her back to sleep, and we lay cuddled together till nearly 10am when a sharp rat-tat-tat at the door woke us. Decidedly unglam in my jarmies and non-salon bed-head, a smiling middle-aged woman introduced herself to me in a gush of welcoming – and invited Layla and I to lunch with her and our other older lady neighbours at the French Quarter. And as temptingly divine as that sounded to someone so detrimentally deprived of luxury, I refrained on various accounts too boring to mention here. But said middle-aged neighbour didn’t merely arrive to a)introduce herself and b)invite me to lunch, but also to c)tell me about the near-burglary that happened last night to our neighbours just across the road from us – a married couple our age with no kids but a noisy hamster! Louise and Brad had been watching a DVD on their laptop in bed, the random noises Louise heard being casually blamed on the hamster and their washing machine – until the outside motion-sensor light slammed on and voila, there was an unwelcome interloper, knife blindingly shiny against his hat-to-shoes blackness. (Now, I use that word ‘blackness’ with deliberate caution – but I’ll get back to this later.) Rugby-induced foot blister and all, Brad (limping today) in all his shouting glory, charged after the man down the road, while his wife got the apparently breathtakingly efficient local security company, Hi-Tech, to haul their asses down to the crime scene! The sweet ol’ duck warned me to keep my security gates locked at all times and to keep the panic-button on hand (i.e. around my neck). Awful. Admittedly, in my accentuated state of homecoming bliss, I’ve overlooked being as security-conscious as I maybe should be – so maybe this was a timely little wake-up call for me. One of my biggest bugbears about this whole ‘The Crime’ vibe is that so often the fear that so many of us allow ourselves to succumb to is just as destructive to ourselves as individuals/a collective as an actual mugging or burglary. And please, I’m most definitely not underplaying the trauma violent crime exacts upon us, but the daily, unconscious fear that robs us of our present joy is so devastating that it has the power to destroy our future as a nation. One of short stories for Matric English was called ‘Once Upon a Time’ by Nadine Gordimer – and it describes a young (white) family who, in an attempt to protect themselves from violent intruders, crown their walls with coils upon coils of barbed wire, alarming their house with a wailing siren should anyone arrive uninvited. Their little boy, chasing the family cat, ends up getting himself caught in the very barbed wire that was intended to protect him, and each wrench and twist to escape wraps him up tighter in its bloody embrace. His tortured screams are confused with the house alarm by his parents – a sick, sad irony but which rings with a poignantly South African truth: “*********quote about fear************”. And so much about the fear we cultivate as South Africans is intrinsically wrapped up in our apprehension of blackness as whites. And hoo boy, don’t the media just abuse this notion to sell more papers and advertising?! Using the word, ‘cultivate’, in relation to fear describes how fear is something that is a) growing and b) needs feeding and tending/attention for it to thrive. And it is more like a weed than a rare orchid in that it runs destructively out of control in the blink of an eye, is ugly to behold and painfully riddled with spiky thorns; and once in the garden of your heart, almost impossible to get rid of. But, as any seasoned gardener can profess, once you recognise and then accept there is a problem (not pretending, through denial, that the weeds are a delightful fynbos hybrid to be prized), diligent and daily weeding is the simple remedy that requires only commitment and love. “Love casts out all fear,” is something I’ve been trying my whole life to completely grasp in my relationship with God, but only right now, this warm winter’s Grahamstown morning while my daughter sleeps and my jasmine green tea cools, as I wrote those words about how fear is like weeds, do I so fully understand, in my heart and in my head, how true love banishes fear. <br />Because so many people have accused me of rose-tinted idealism in my understanding of the South African condition, I’ve wrestled with their accusing questions of, “Let’s see what you have to say when you’re robbed/raped/hijacked!” And honestly, I can only say that I will be angry, terrified, traumatised, bleeding/..."<br /><br />(and, I am SO sorry that there is nothing more, but more WILL be posted up here as soon as I possibly can! COMMENTS PLEASE!!! They make each word worthwhile!)<br /><br />Below is a pic of Layla and I mere minutes before our departure for Heathrow!<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN4IUpLdfzBbk7BC2mokZk-62nRvS3UplCpWbQEXdt0Qhla2aD-eBWbwLY3SGZ86fY4ezFWRv6DgF6lRK0VS2S-Yf40Dy52IUiTp4IcZVGkV9rY6oi2B6TEvsyVYHqpQ8gnexZdJYACvI/s1600/S6300498.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN4IUpLdfzBbk7BC2mokZk-62nRvS3UplCpWbQEXdt0Qhla2aD-eBWbwLY3SGZ86fY4ezFWRv6DgF6lRK0VS2S-Yf40Dy52IUiTp4IcZVGkV9rY6oi2B6TEvsyVYHqpQ8gnexZdJYACvI/s320/S6300498.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5499730935926953490" /></a>Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11604061770730118201noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6259755305498559581.post-65094291390512242182010-06-20T13:40:00.006+02:002010-06-20T13:48:33.680+02:00The Last EVER Blog Post on English Soil?!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5GH_h9b_cqL4bifWHISFEZXdOB5PcKTMO-xVEJoudBZq6lC0XEYjCbn3rRsc8CO1TXZ2HJbVL6UGB4dfs13_fhcHAEAv01drGNYUeUwtIYVuLPkNvO1PNiAYLHxaCSgHpAzCeQZ-orPk/s1600/S6300385.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 196px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5GH_h9b_cqL4bifWHISFEZXdOB5PcKTMO-xVEJoudBZq6lC0XEYjCbn3rRsc8CO1TXZ2HJbVL6UGB4dfs13_fhcHAEAv01drGNYUeUwtIYVuLPkNvO1PNiAYLHxaCSgHpAzCeQZ-orPk/s320/S6300385.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484820883215417474" /></a><br />With our internet connection stopping on the 23rd, this may be last blog post for awhile... Read about the boxes, the tears --- and the JOY! <br /><a href="http://www.homecomingrevolution.co.za/blog/?p=738">"Only 14 Days till Mzansiness!"</a> (<a href="http://www.homecomingrevolution.co.za/">Homecoming Revolution</a>'s blog for expats and returning South Africans called 'African Souls')<br />PS. This is my landlord's wife, Katie, when we had them over for supper the other night... The goodbyes are, perhaps, even more painful and stressful than the logistical organising and actual move...Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11604061770730118201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6259755305498559581.post-74847550492704584712010-06-09T09:50:00.004+02:002010-06-09T10:00:59.775+02:00'n Doos of Twee<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-5FcAVTYc-JdR4PgYzpH2v5Vek8Eq3g3fYawUTMAP7-DeU4yqSWAYcTSUY0UrTCw2XDy3oKfyjLXSl7EDyw_bLsMD0jgAFXQUxFK2DxsP80u_DBsrzPxWcnnaxkjGqcdlmzi144Cxuqw/s1600/S6300263.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-5FcAVTYc-JdR4PgYzpH2v5Vek8Eq3g3fYawUTMAP7-DeU4yqSWAYcTSUY0UrTCw2XDy3oKfyjLXSl7EDyw_bLsMD0jgAFXQUxFK2DxsP80u_DBsrzPxWcnnaxkjGqcdlmzi144Cxuqw/s320/S6300263.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480679188161918898" /></a><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">'n Doos of twee</span> - and our packing-up is suddenly a million times easier! Visit my <a href="http://www.homecomingrevolution.co.za/blog/?p=658">article</a> for Homecoming Revolution's <span style="font-style:italic;">African Souls<span style="font-weight:bold;"></span></span>.Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11604061770730118201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6259755305498559581.post-76494943251797931512010-05-27T09:08:00.012+02:002010-05-28T16:21:30.929+02:00How To Return From Exile!Sjoe. So much to do - and only 5 weeks of time left to do it in! Mind you, not that I'm complaining! The sooner we can get on that plane, the better. All that stands between me and Heathrow, Terminal 5, is an endless list of loose-ends to tie up. (Needless to say, this miles-long list is quite welcome in its sense of signalling 'the final chapter' after I made a rather radical decision to begin packing up six whole months ago - and the house has been this kind of topsy-turvy, semi-packed chaos ever since: something I do not recommend at all to those of you planning your own Groot Trek.)<br /><br />1. The car. Our sweet little blue Fiat Panda needed an MOT (plus new tyre!) and a year's worth of tax, and don't even talk to me about the insurance: and all just a month before our EDA. Eish... what a monumental waste of 250 Big Ones. <br /><br />2. Phoning all the utilities etc. to explain we're leaving the UK (forever! YAHOO!): i.e. water, electricity/gas, council tax, Virgin (broadband, tv), BT (phone)<br /><br />3. At least we don't have an ounce of debt - so the banking side of things is easy-peasy. But Craig has had to organise that his post-dated salaries go into his brother's UK account who can then transfer it to us in SA.<br /><br />4. Furniture: I have four incredibly <a href="http://contemplating-my-navel.blogspot.com/2010/05/musing-magpie.html">precious pieces of furniture</a> that I wish with ALL my heart I could send home, but the shipping costs (even for half a container) was just too expensive, so I am going to have to find loving homes for these beautiful things. (I've run out of time to eBay them - but I reckon I could've gotten some nice cash for 'em if I'd been a bit more on the ball!) On the plus side, Craig discovered a company that can ship four boxes home for us (door-to-door) for only 150 GBP (and I better order them tomorrow! *where are those Post-it notes when you them?!*) In these four boxes will go Craig's rather gargantuan collection of Stephen King books: an altar to his impassioned devotion to this writer of some really brilliant stories, and... some totally crap ones! That leaves me with three boxes into which will go my little antique cups/saucers, lovingly folded scraps of rich, raw silk, crochet hooks, an eclectic family of books, my journals, some of Layla's tiny newborn clothes I can hardly remember her being able to fit into...<br /><br />5. Our landlord, a feisty fishing fanatic (owns two fishing/hunting shops and is currently adventuring in Cuba, hunting down bone-fish!) bought the house we live in the year Craig and I were born! And - he also had a pet rabbit, and - his bunny's favourite spot was also the cool stone tiles around the fireplace! Anyway, he is an utter darling - and because we haven't had any estate agents involved (as well as no officially documented lease!) we haven't had to worry about sorting all of that out.<br /><br />6. Um... I can't really remember everything off the top of my head - but I feel<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdDL2t7q7F6i2lI8buBsHiKcX3VHKn4jiYaAa18IY7wcOgVAUT7VVMuR3WvIjcnEaNHyu72E8vVGn3Y9r5fCmmc32uq9BalmIxEKrYHrOiASWt3Eyr0qkqrKxLx9RX6noqfUXPmpLE_CU/s1600/house.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 210px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdDL2t7q7F6i2lI8buBsHiKcX3VHKn4jiYaAa18IY7wcOgVAUT7VVMuR3WvIjcnEaNHyu72E8vVGn3Y9r5fCmmc32uq9BalmIxEKrYHrOiASWt3Eyr0qkqrKxLx9RX6noqfUXPmpLE_CU/s320/house.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476325836754607410" /></a> pretty much on top of it all. A nice feeling, really. Oh yes! We'll be renting a gorgeous old Settlers Cottage with lustrously warm yellow-wood floors and an exciting little garden for Layla to explore - and then we've also found a perfect car: air-con (for Layla - but I'm hell of a grateful too!), CD player (WOOHOO!) and low mileage. I'll tell you what: this whole move has been so, so exciting - and such a pleasure to organise: but really, it's only thanks to the people we've gone out of their way to help us! <a href="http://www.pamgolding.co.za/areas/grahamstown/grahamstown.asp">Adele Barnard</a> must be the world's most thoughtful and kind (and hard-working) estate agent; Stacey (my future boss and first new friend in G-town) who runs <a href="http://www.kipmcgrath.co.za/">Kip McGrath</a> in Grahamstown, and Trygve Roberts from <a href="http://www.autolink.co.za/">Autolink</a>!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.vulkaner.no/n/africa/somalia/somalia2.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 233px; height: 400px;" src="http://www.vulkaner.no/n/africa/somalia/somalia2.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>(Someone once gave me a card in which they scrawled, "travel light, and travel far." And as long as I have Layla, I am <span style="font-style:italic;">home</span>.Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11604061770730118201noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6259755305498559581.post-72791782067497342010-05-04T08:45:00.013+02:002011-06-24T19:37:25.024+02:00Pimp My Ride! (guest blogger)After my dad's 4x4 adventure in and around the Eastern Cape's Baviaanskloof, he wrote this epically hilarious piece I just had to share! Here it is *wink*. Enjoy!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXZ0MtGtRzCVpEVeph8yaEpduM_lUA7v_RagbCDN_nfj_aG_Xoi7dPqZOQjd55c2ah0Ea7TuOeAnC0X60jmQptoi1Yu4A0ANleS-sbEAQ3ThzEtt0Yz13UN94FCQQ7Meb7otdDgak63dI/s1600/Baviaanskloof2.jpg"></a>I have been wanting to experience the Baviaanskloof for many years.Perhaps it was the hint of a sore throat two days before departure that promised all would not be nirvana. Much has been written about the Baviaanskloof so I will pass the superlatives by for this story and focus on the people in our group. To be honest, it was the weirdest collection of bodies and souls I have yet had the pleasure of observing.<br /><br />Our final evening around the campfire is on schedule. The stage is set for some pleasant bonhomie including the inevitable “strafdop” procedure and the burning of an absurd amount of wood. That alone had me wondering – Why do we do that? The outdoor folk, the environmentalists, the protectors of nature, the carbon kids. Why do we build a braai fire so large that bacon and eggs can still be done 10 hours later without adding a single log? Maybe the same reason we drive a 4x4 that consumes fuel at a rate of four and a half kilometers for every one liter of fuel?<br /><br />So we are sitting there, in the African style, intensely focused on the roaring flames as the river rustles softly by in the darkness behind us, with the croaking of frogs and the zapping of bumble-bee sized mosquitoes, helping the Whiskey soak quietly into the primordial, inner mind. A group of strangers who have travelled the glorious Baviaanskloof together for three days, yet we barely know each other names. The weather is kind for late April and the brandewyn and red wine have gone through round three, (or was if four?) as everyone starts to finally relax. We are eight vehicles. I need to explain the group dynamic to help you understand what is coming next. There are three Land Rover Defenders (Allan, Guillermo and Steven) ; one Land Rover Discovery3 (Pietman), one Pajero DiD SWB (Henry) ; One Nissan Patrol LWB bakkie (George) , one Nissan XTrail (Tony) and my solitary Toyota Land Cruiser 105 GX. Names have been changed to protect the victims of what will surely be construed as public slander by the end of this story. Let’s start with the Defenders. I have some questions. Why do the owners like to attach so many items to the outside of their vehicles? There were spades, axes, gas bottles, jerry cans for each type of fuel, more jerry cans for water, roof top tents, gas bottles, ladders, huge spot lamps, Hi-lift jacks, cables to protect the windscreen from flailing branches, a few extra spare wheels, tool boxes, ammo boxes and all manner of quasi-military type kit tied or clamped on in the most ingenious fashion. The latest Defender trend is to cover the HiLift jack, axe, spade and gas bottle with a stout canvas cover. I am puzzled. For vehicles already notoriously heavy on fuel, they reduce the existing brick like (with apologies to Corobrick) aerodynamics of a Defender to a level akin to a camel loaded for a Gobi desert crossing. Why? Then there is the issue of the CG (Centre of Gravity). One only has to look at a Defender from behind to see that this thing will roll easily. But now they add so much k*k on the roof that the CG careers right off the scale. Smart? Mmmmmm.....I think I will let you decide that. Then I figured it all out. There are two types of 4x4 owners. Minimalists and maximalists. The first group take everything that is necessary but pack it in such a way that their vehicles don’t look like they have just emerged from a Sumatran jungle covered with mud and Camel man stickers with a long haired, white bearded driver throwing mosquito nets at the locals. And the last part of that sentence more or less describes what the maximalists like to achieve. A deep seated need to advertise the fact that........ I AM A CAMEL MAN!!!!!!<br /><br />Later during the trip, there were a few muddy puddles by the roadside. I watched in my rear-view mirror and sure enough, all the vehicles studiously avoided driving through the mud, except for the three Defender drivers. Why? Because I want to to be a Camel Man. Bwaaahhhhaaah. I had one of the Defender drivers chat to me on the second day into the trip. He asked me how we managed to get by on so little. Where was my roof rack? And my spare fuel? And my water? And my hi-lift jack? And my spade? ....... “It’s all there”, I reassured him.” If I can’t get it into the Cruiser, it stays at home.” I remove the back seat and am left with a very large self contained packing space. I have no sliding packing systems. Everything I could possibly need fits comfortably inside the Cruiser and there is still enough space left to take almost twice the volume of kit, should I need to. Why take empty jerry cans or even full ones, with you on a trip where one has more than sufficient fuel to last easily for the entire trip? Suddenly this 4x4 owner was confronted with some very basic common sense. He didn’t answer but resorted to some very puzzled frowning and head scratching. The Land Rover Discovery3 as well as the Pajero owner, had (like me) nothing attached to the outside of their 4x4’s. No roof carrier and no roof top tent. That got me onto the second part of my theory which is that not all Land Rover owners are maximalists. It appears to be a Defender thing. Chatting to Pietman (Discovery3) I was astonished to listen to the pretzel logic of his product defence. "The reason the Land Rovers break half shafts so easily is a built in form of self protection so you don't damage the diff" He went on to say: "I have a light in my roof which goes on if I hit a bump too fast. It is the early Land Rover warning system to slow down" I am convinced he was serious. Then there is this brand new, black, Nissan X Trail. The ground clearance when loaded up is about 100mm. On the back window there are stickers of international flags – lots of them – about 60 in total, including the new SA flag, covering about half the rear window. Why? I ended up asking lots of those ‘why?’ questions during the trip. I can’t help it. The owner is 62 and sports a spectacularly low slung pot belly on an otherwise ordinary frame. He is a pleasant, nice person who chain smokes. He has decided, on initial sighting, that I am targeted as his new best friend. Now let me tell you, anyone that knows me understands my abhorrence of cigarette smoke. I was to be subjected to endless tales of self importance for the entire trip at each stop surrounded by clouds of recycled smoke. And then there's that first thing in the morning 'climb out the tent, light a fag, stretch, fart, good morning' routine which makes me want to run for the hills. We will get back to Tony later in this story. He has two kids inside the black X Trail – they are his grand children. He proudly informs me (he is one of those smokers who has acquired the ability to talk, smoke and breathe all at the same time hands free without removing the cigarette from his lips) that he has invented a wonderful device so as to avoid pollution and prevent forest fires. He explains further: “You see – you take an old beer or Coke tin and fill one quarter with water. Then you tie this onto the air vent on the dashboard with a cable tie. Then you can extinguish your stompies safely and without polluting the environment (which he pronounced enviament). “That is very clever” my wife said to him, coupled with a quick glance to me which said “Don’t you dare!” At that point I was about to ask him about his grand children having to endure passive smoking, but I rephrased it as a silent WHY? OK. Where was I? Oh yes, the campfire. Defender #2 driver, Giuseppe, at this point decides he would like to know what occupation each person does. So we go round the group like a bunch of drug rehab patients saying: “My name is Robby. I’m a car dealer” and so on. Each of these profession confessions is in turn interjected by some very witty remarks from Giuseppe. There are 16 of us sitting around the campfire. So we go.....car dealer, fashion designer, tour guide, meteorologist, vintner, bicycle mechanic, bicycle shop owner (which is bicycle mechanic’s wife), wine distributor, marketer, restaurant owner and finally the moment of truth for the XTrail owner. “And what do you do Tony?” asks Giuseppe. “Are you retired?” Laughter... “I am a pimp” “Ja, ja....come on. No seriously, what do you do?” “Seriously. I am a pimp. I own a brothel in the city.” Guiseppe: “Can my wife get a job with you. She is 40” Tony: “Sorry. Seriously. She’s too old” No more laughter. You could have heard a pin drop as the sounds of the fire burning seemed abnormally loud. He went on to explain further.... “I make good money. My new car is paid for in cash. My grand kids go to a private school. “ It was time for a topic change and probably just as well that everyone was inebriated at that stage. Did I forget to mention he was wearing a T shirt made from the old South African flag? There was more but not for telling here......So maybe I will buy a new carbon bicycle from Guiseppe and I might well sample the pasta at Guillermo’s restaurant, but I think the massage parlour will have to be deleted from my contact list. I’ll be buggered if I am going to fund the paint repairs on that black X Trail. The Baviaanskloof? Why? Because it is magnificent and I will be returning on my own or with a few friends. It was dry with a few wettish river crossings but absolutely nothing that could not have been done in a bakkie. We camped at Herons Cliff on the final night – a sort of B grade campsite with fairly basic facilities. Nearby there is an obstacle course which most of us went to play on later on the final day. The Camel men made a big hooh-hah about how effective their traction control systems were as they all successfully, amidst multi attempts, clouds of dust and stones, managed the fairly steep ascent with two nice axle twisters thrown in. I waited till last, then showed them just how capable the Cruiser is as I idled up the obstacle without a single wheel spin. They were subdued after that, but I did get a strafdop later, for being cocky. Defenders indeed. The weather was great. 25 to 31C during the day and -1 to 8 degrees at night. Having a sore throat and head cold made for grumpy nights sleep with SWAMBO wanting to “put me out of my snoring, gasping misery” by smothering me with a pillow. She later confessed that the only thing that kept her from executing (excuse the pun) her plan was the knowledge that I had not yet signed the new will. Now I know why! People are fascinating......Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11604061770730118201noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6259755305498559581.post-44619640971312591692010-04-23T11:43:00.008+02:002010-04-23T12:39:56.910+02:00Adrenaline Addiction?! Not just for Bungee Jumpers!Awhile ago, I wrote a post about the difference in crime between South Africa and the threat of terrorism here in England. The main point I tried to make was that I could, to a degree, rationalise someone who was brought up in such dire poverty that crime was all he knew - as opposed to a terrorist killing on behalf of his chosen ideology. THIS got me into serious hot water with a South African ex-pat who attacked me for my short-sighted view of terrorists, saying: "You cannot understand why someone would make a statement for a political ideology but can understand children being killed for no apparent reason," and saying terrorists are 'freedom fighters'. Admittedly, I rashly used the word 'humanity' to describe the <span style="font-style:italic;">human</span> element in our poverty-related crime such as hunger, fear, the need for shelter etc. and it was this that was misinterpreted by a few readers. Needless to say, I've at least been able to apologise for my thoughtless choice of word, thanks to the wonders of the 'comment' blog function! (Read the blog post and comments <a href="http://www.homecomingrevolution.co.za/blog/?p=486&cpage=1#comment-411">here</a> to add your own *important* opinion.)<br />Today I am going to have to backtrack over my very own words - and if only there was a rewind button or virtual Tipp-Ex in Life - because I don't think I can honestly stand by what I said about our crime in South Africa since accidentally reading two devastating news clips that have left me reeling, and with tears. Normally, I refuse to read the news in a positive boycotting of what I see as the media's unnecessary thirst and glorification of blood - i.e. anything that resembles scandal, murder, assault, corruption, abuse, you name it, and the media relies on our bloodlust to sell advertising and column centiimetres. I prefer, thank you very much, to not ruin my day, so perfect with potential, with the horrors of 'the news'. My husband says I am unrealistic, but I honestly believe there has got to be a more constructive way of presenting what is actually important to us as a nation. I'm going to post the two links here for you to follow if you have a strong stomach - and if you are able to see why I have posted it.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2152/2163094893_1958836dd4.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 362px; height: 500px;" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2152/2163094893_1958836dd4.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />And here's why. An experiment: <span style="font-weight:bold;">mindfully<span style="font-style:italic;"></span></span> read the two articles - paying very close attention to what happens to your heart rate, your breathing, if you begin to sweat, if you have a surge of adrenaline, what your most honest thoughts are, and your emotional state. (If you have the guts, please leave a record of it in the 'comments' section at the end of this post!)<br />Did you notice an initial sharp intake of breath? Perhaps your heart lurched forward as it was flooded with adrenaline? Palms sweaty, maybe? Did you think about how lucky you are to be 'safe', have electric-fencing or how you <span style="font-style:italic;">should</span> get some - as in NOW?! <br />What I am proposing is that with the advent of the media and now its literal explosive presence and seeming inescapability, we have become adrenaline junkies. We live from fix to fix, from one shocking news report to the next. Tough to digest? I just Googled 'adrenaline addictive' and - sjoe! Go on - try it. And maybe, just maybe, you might be able to honest enough with yourself to admit that yes, the news keeps us informed, but I do not need to feast upon the terrors and tragedies of others. I can choose to tune it out. I can choose to not read these articles. And if you're afraid of 'losing touch with the world', ask yourself these two questions: if, <span style="font-style:italic;">after I make sure I and my family are as safe as is <span style="font-weight:bold;">reasonable</span></span>,<br />1. How did people live, say 200 years ago, without the kind of news we crave and are bombarded with on a moment-by-moment basis? <br />2. Why do I feel such a compulsive need to feel in control of 'the world' by knowing what's supposedly 'happening'? <br />The answer lies in a cycle of <a href="http://ezinearticles.com/?Adrenaline-Addiction-Can-Kill-You&id=1342503">addiction to adrenaline</a>. And the hallmark of an addict? Denial. The answer to recovery (and serenity) lies in our ability to be so honest with ourselves that we can come to a point of <span style="font-style:italic;">accepting<span style="font-weight:bold;"></span></span> we are addicted, and then - <span style="font-style:italic;">choosing</span> to help ourselves.<br />Here are the two links: <span style="font-weight:bold;">Parents<a href="http://www.news24.com/SouthAfrica/News/Robbers-kill-couples-last-child-20100423"></a></span> and <span style="font-weight:bold;"><a href="http://www.news24.com/SouthAfrica/News/Baby-fights-for-her-life-after-attack-20100423">Baby</a></span>. (Please, brave souls, leave your observations in the comments box.)<br />PS. <a href="http://www.adrenalineaddicts.org/">Adrenaline Addicts Anonymous</a>.Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11604061770730118201noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6259755305498559581.post-72573957437481849312010-04-18T10:43:00.011+02:002010-04-19T12:15:35.770+02:00Braais, boerewors and beer!Ah! Spring has arrived magnificently early to adorn the memories of our last 9.5 weeks in England with happy nostalgia! Truly - yesterday was absolute English perfection; so much so that I had faintest whisper of regret that we'd be leaving so soon. <br /> After months upon dreary month where the sun rises late and sets chillingly, perversely early, the sudden onset of spring and its 4am sunrise (almost!) dispels any memory of the perpetual winter darkness. And the sunsets... the gloriously late sunsets! It is this that makes the English summer so delicious, where the gentle warmth of the day sidles on late into the night, so that you find yourself sitting outside, blissfully daydreaming your way past your bedtime. But I'm getting stuck in poetic humdrum here - so let me tell you about yesterday and what was so perfectly English about it.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0FR-0oJ4p-Y9zffYKVZkc87zOalhOrEkSu_lun2Dp04xrig0YCMG703qvS-IXRVc0v-Esae8j6VlcTm1V3A13rGtUP-LGMLAgiuVgmNgHN5st8OYQnKE4DoWtSUf9A5xHHghrFmX9IUY/s1600/S6300181.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0FR-0oJ4p-Y9zffYKVZkc87zOalhOrEkSu_lun2Dp04xrig0YCMG703qvS-IXRVc0v-Esae8j6VlcTm1V3A13rGtUP-LGMLAgiuVgmNgHN5st8OYQnKE4DoWtSUf9A5xHHghrFmX9IUY/s200/S6300181.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5461412494816940690" /></a>Layla and I waltzed down the stairs to find a blanket spread out on the grass, lamb chops defrosting on the garden bench (our boerewors supplies depleted) and a visibly ecstatic Craig sunning himself like a literate lizard, Stephen King book in hand. (To my horror and rampant frustration, Craig continues to worship the sun as if there were no such thing as skin cancer. AAARRRGH!!!) Anyway, after a quick rifle through the fridge, I decided a quick trip to the One Stop was in order! But then, relief like the coldest beer on a hot day flooded over me in as I remembered that our village now boasted its very own <a href="http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=4141754&id=266349345162">'country store'</a>. More like a deli with fresh veg, fruit, herbs, spices and racks of the most marvellous breads and fresh rolls, the exuberant and helpful owner, Lee, makes you feel as if you are in Franschoek! It has a certain 'Cape Town' vibe about it in its layout and ambience - so much so that I am blissed out into thinking I am back home already! (Lee's going to be opening out the back and the front of the store into a cafe - so at long <span style="font-style:italic;">blerry</span> last I will have a place to go and <span style="font-style:italic;">boer</span> with a cup of coffee! There are two pubs within walking distance of our front door, but the typical pub atmosphere with its frumpish dourness just wouldn't satisfy that constant craving I have for the kind of coffee culture we are so lucky to have in South Africa. The biggest problem, for me, with English pubs is not so much the <span style="font-style:italic;">olde worlde</span> decor or the beer-guzzling patrons leaning against the bar as if they were holding each other up, but the simple fact that it feels too... exotic. I feel uncomfortably out of sorts in a pub - a 'sore thumb', if you will. Every single time (and perhaps I am overly sensitive) I enter a pub, I feel as if the usually close-knit beer-guzzlers turn around to stare, long and hard, in territorial defence of their turf. I even feel as if I have to <span style="font-style:italic;">talk</span> quietly for fear of being teased out as a usurper! Ja, okay - I admit that's pretty ridiculous...) Ag no - I'm getting sidetracked again into complaining about being in England when, as I wandered along the blossom-strewn road to the shop yesterday, I had wanted to write about how beautiful and peaceful our little village is. And now I've run out of time. (Craig just got back after a trip to Kettering for what looks like twenty packs of boerewors! He saw how warm and sunny today promised to be, and he got a bee in his Eastern Cape bonnet and decided we had to braai --- again!)<br />PS. To make up for the fact that I didn't write about the loveliness of English village life, I've put up some pics of our village as evidence :)<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhToQqQcb7Q9kQRpyAMzlVd9IaVbKi4lYTWYUXfErzpP0jJKwINPcloRN8IrnvfGpTC694dsJswHFlN71MeU8Oo2dcp0spKlN0uNzN9FvxapvnNZ7_0qXo3xBHtyh_pPbAq_N6prAToVQY/s1600/gold+street.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhToQqQcb7Q9kQRpyAMzlVd9IaVbKi4lYTWYUXfErzpP0jJKwINPcloRN8IrnvfGpTC694dsJswHFlN71MeU8Oo2dcp0spKlN0uNzN9FvxapvnNZ7_0qXo3xBHtyh_pPbAq_N6prAToVQY/s200/gold+street.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5461411556779360482" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOkjz6Zo-4R03pqohGXwv-Yunvd0Xr5OafTKE3IrDxaYJPKcyfkHzS6NGnhk0t9m-vtXRPX8pr4qYnRzIDrmTcENqR3QVOWA6LivxsxNlZBK5jC_qgHOuZfdXO-8oAiPz0dvMteh8ok_A/s1600/walgrave1.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOkjz6Zo-4R03pqohGXwv-Yunvd0Xr5OafTKE3IrDxaYJPKcyfkHzS6NGnhk0t9m-vtXRPX8pr4qYnRzIDrmTcENqR3QVOWA6LivxsxNlZBK5jC_qgHOuZfdXO-8oAiPz0dvMteh8ok_A/s400/walgrave1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5461410908434634978" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJdhr3wLETXuU7Gd5qMcT7_4o7kQ8i4I7ZZOpkaz1yhIXZRbuyPgoMph_cBdsVxLFkuxzph2QDM4nF9mu-XNdh12oI8VoLBcn2tDgfs1wu6WePQ9UYLHfoLjFwevO02aKMPwen_TfXO4A/s1600/walgrave+road.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJdhr3wLETXuU7Gd5qMcT7_4o7kQ8i4I7ZZOpkaz1yhIXZRbuyPgoMph_cBdsVxLFkuxzph2QDM4nF9mu-XNdh12oI8VoLBcn2tDgfs1wu6WePQ9UYLHfoLjFwevO02aKMPwen_TfXO4A/s400/walgrave+road.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5461411047903320114" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbDX8GDDwCVJdZ1crsPdpE7ka86qffBl1qShocnbhtTdDi7bwWroCPU1fOD4axFBKuhtb4MXEws31Z0Yydz6ELYXtg2v63CVLoOq1zIJm48F4OPtGdZUlTR27_0iFA4C4JVgbrYXpiIjc/s1600/ours+in+the+middle.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbDX8GDDwCVJdZ1crsPdpE7ka86qffBl1qShocnbhtTdDi7bwWroCPU1fOD4axFBKuhtb4MXEws31Z0Yydz6ELYXtg2v63CVLoOq1zIJm48F4OPtGdZUlTR27_0iFA4C4JVgbrYXpiIjc/s200/ours+in+the+middle.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5461411877348335602" /></a>Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11604061770730118201noreply@blogger.com0