Right, off we go again. I finally have internet at home - Yay!
My three thinks for today are:
WHAM - Not the band. Not the Roy Lichtenstein either. The moment. The one where a wall just hits you out of nowhere and everything just crashes down around you. I've hit a few of these in my life. Usually, I go through certain phases in order to cope with the disaster. First off I find myself to be numb for a few days as the reality of what happened slowly seeps in. Then follows a week of solitude, where I sit. And think. But mostly sit.
After this, I usually seek solace from a friend or two. I cry, they cry, but nothing productive comes from it. About two weeks after the incident I will most likely go through my Angry Phase. This could go on for weeks, even months. Somewhere during my time as Madame Moody, I will start to pick up the pieces again (more out of annoyance than self-motivation). Once the picture starts to clear again, I will be able to move on and see the bright side to whatever happened.
Not this time, though. This time was different. Let me count the ways. To begin with, I saw this coming. There were warning signs all over (of varying intensity). Two days before I even said that I suspected something was up. When the wall finally hit, I was actually relieved that it wasn't something else. It was still ridiculous and completely unfair, but I was prepared. As I drove home that afternoon, I literally laughed all the way. The next day, I got up and DID SOMETHING ABOUT IT. I immediately started to fight back. My husband, my friends and my family are all behind me, and that goes a long way. For the first time in my life, the wall didn't break me. It passed right through me - unpleasant, but not fatal. By grace, I do not have to pick up the pieces of my life all over again - because I never dropped them in the first place.
Gardening - Who knew I'd enjoy this? I have never planted anything, so when my husband suggested redoing our garden, I laughed like he was making a joke and returned to watching the rerun of Two and a Half Men. Realising he was serious, I reluctantly followed him out into the garden and made knowing nods whenever he said something like "compost" or "seasonal growth". The next day, I found myself in a nursery, looking at pebbles and water features and bored koi fish. Somewhere between the lavender and the aloe, I suddenly began enjoying myself. This was fun! We planned (i.e. argued) out the garden and set to work. I was kitted out in gloves and a shovel, and off I went. We dug, we pulled, we watered and we weeded - until we were left with an oddly empty-looking back yard. It took us two days and all we had to show for it were a few tiny trees and a baby lavender bush. Just as I was about to get dismayed, though, I remembered that they would all g-r-o-w. Revelation. I'm proud of our little misshapen garden and I can't wait for it to blossom into its' full chaotic splendor. I found a new hobby, seems like.
African Thunderstorms - I started writing this post bathing in sunshine. The day was clear and stunning. Halfway through, the house turned dark, the birds stopped singing and I could hear the wind sprinting in through the canyon, down the field and toward our tiny helpless home. Thunder clapped, my cat screamed, the garage door flew open, my washing picked up and left for the house next door and our dustbin came rolling by me all nonchalant. I ran from one point to the other, closing windows and trying to coax the stupid cat to let go of my leg. Now, ten minutes later, I'm completely drenched, everything has either fallen over or left the house and the storm has passed. There's nothing like sudden chaos to get you going. African Thunderstorms. Man, I love them.
To end off, I just want to say thank you to everyone who has been sticking by me the last two weeks. Here's to you.
Thursday, 19 April 2012
Wednesday, 4 April 2012
New Look
Right, I added an email button. Type in your email address and submit to receive my posts via email. The picture at the top left will change every now and then, according to my mood for that week. My most popular posts are now also displayed, with little snippets from them. The archive can now be found near the bottom of the page. Let me know what you think of the changes and if you have any suggestions!
Sketching, Being a DJ, Early Mornings
Apparently, the "email this" button isn't working. I'll add a new button which allows you to have my posts sent to your email address. Hopes this helps.. Let me know if there's anything else you'd like me to add by leaving a comment.
Now, with the admin out of the way, my three thinks for today are:
Sketching - What a soothing hobby. I spent the whole day sketching while I was working yesterday, and the day just flew past. I go through phases, artwise. For a few months, I do nothing but sketch. Then I paint for the rest of the year. Painting has a magic of its' own, but for now I seem to be in my sketch phase. Best part is, you don't have to be particularly good at it. You can always erase your mistakes or burn the evidence. Imagine life could be that easy. Without going down that philosophical route, though, I suggest you try it. Your options are wide open, too. If a colleague annoys you, do a Michelangelo and pay tribute to them in form of an unflattering sketch. Michelangelo famously added Biagio da Cesena to the fresco Last Judgement in the Sistine Chapel. Cesena complained that the work was too risqué for the Vatican, so Michelangelo painted him as the Gatekeeper of the Underworld, with ridiculous donkey ears to boot. The Vatican's old Master of Ceremonies is now immortalised as an idiot. Told you it was great to sketch at work.
Being a DJ - I had the privilege to work in the radio industry for close to 5 years. I worked at small community stations, and massive commercial ones, but they are in essence all the same. I ran a local station's breakfast show for over a year, which was the best time of all. There's something loose and crazy about that slot - you can do anything you want (apart from setting the studio on fire and swearing at the government on air, à la Mark Esterhuysen). Some of my best memories include: pulling some guys off the street as they were coming out of the gym, and making them sing after the news bulletin; pranking a local student dormitory and getting them to evacuate for no reason; accidentally singing along to a Mika song when I forgot to put the mic off and having the sms lines flood with sarcastic comments; and going to work in my pj's (that was probably the best). However, I've had some questionable experiences, too. I once walked in on the graveyard DJ as he was passed out on the floor, cradling a bottle of Jack Daniels. He'd left a Placebo song on repeat and listeners were A-N-G-R-Y. There's no beating the thrill, though. Your sole purpose as a DJ is to make people happy. It always amazed me to think that I had the opportunity to add a smile to someone's day, eventhough I'll never meet them and they could be 100km's away. I really, really miss it. But, I believe in seasons. Right now, I'm moving into a new season where I feel I want to, have to, write. I'm enjoying it a lot, but every now and then, I miss the instant satisfaction of having my voice heard exactly when I want. Here's the link to the Mark Esterhuysen clip. Shocking, with a lot of swearing (I did warn you), but don't you envy him just a little?
Angry News Reader
Early Mornings - I've mentioned previously that I need to leave the house at 05:20 every morning to be at work on time. I'm not a morning person. At all. I grumble and moan, squinting at the light. My feet feel like they can't bend when I get up too early and I often find myself wobbling around the house, my hair sticking in all directions. Pretty picture, huh? That said, I must now solemnly admit that I am getting used to this getting-up-in-the-dark thing. I am even beginning to like it. No promises, though, but I'll keep you updated.
Now, with the admin out of the way, my three thinks for today are:
Sketching - What a soothing hobby. I spent the whole day sketching while I was working yesterday, and the day just flew past. I go through phases, artwise. For a few months, I do nothing but sketch. Then I paint for the rest of the year. Painting has a magic of its' own, but for now I seem to be in my sketch phase. Best part is, you don't have to be particularly good at it. You can always erase your mistakes or burn the evidence. Imagine life could be that easy. Without going down that philosophical route, though, I suggest you try it. Your options are wide open, too. If a colleague annoys you, do a Michelangelo and pay tribute to them in form of an unflattering sketch. Michelangelo famously added Biagio da Cesena to the fresco Last Judgement in the Sistine Chapel. Cesena complained that the work was too risqué for the Vatican, so Michelangelo painted him as the Gatekeeper of the Underworld, with ridiculous donkey ears to boot. The Vatican's old Master of Ceremonies is now immortalised as an idiot. Told you it was great to sketch at work.
Being a DJ - I had the privilege to work in the radio industry for close to 5 years. I worked at small community stations, and massive commercial ones, but they are in essence all the same. I ran a local station's breakfast show for over a year, which was the best time of all. There's something loose and crazy about that slot - you can do anything you want (apart from setting the studio on fire and swearing at the government on air, à la Mark Esterhuysen). Some of my best memories include: pulling some guys off the street as they were coming out of the gym, and making them sing after the news bulletin; pranking a local student dormitory and getting them to evacuate for no reason; accidentally singing along to a Mika song when I forgot to put the mic off and having the sms lines flood with sarcastic comments; and going to work in my pj's (that was probably the best). However, I've had some questionable experiences, too. I once walked in on the graveyard DJ as he was passed out on the floor, cradling a bottle of Jack Daniels. He'd left a Placebo song on repeat and listeners were A-N-G-R-Y. There's no beating the thrill, though. Your sole purpose as a DJ is to make people happy. It always amazed me to think that I had the opportunity to add a smile to someone's day, eventhough I'll never meet them and they could be 100km's away. I really, really miss it. But, I believe in seasons. Right now, I'm moving into a new season where I feel I want to, have to, write. I'm enjoying it a lot, but every now and then, I miss the instant satisfaction of having my voice heard exactly when I want. Here's the link to the Mark Esterhuysen clip. Shocking, with a lot of swearing (I did warn you), but don't you envy him just a little?
Angry News Reader
Early Mornings - I've mentioned previously that I need to leave the house at 05:20 every morning to be at work on time. I'm not a morning person. At all. I grumble and moan, squinting at the light. My feet feel like they can't bend when I get up too early and I often find myself wobbling around the house, my hair sticking in all directions. Pretty picture, huh? That said, I must now solemnly admit that I am getting used to this getting-up-in-the-dark thing. I am even beginning to like it. No promises, though, but I'll keep you updated.
Monday, 2 April 2012
Rugby Fans, Rainy Days, Mythical Creatures
And we're right back where we started, at the beginning of another week. At least it's going to be a short one (gotta love public holidays).
With the weekend at my back, my three thinks for today are:
Rugby Fans - I don't get them. Now now, settle down, I didn't insult you, I just mentioned the group as a whole. Not that I don't get the sport, I think it's great and many of my friends are married to players, or players themselves. I think sport in general is a wonderful thing. However, I have a slight problem with it when it becomes a religion. In South Africa, there is a definitive rugby culture, especially under Afrikaans people. Once again, that's fine, but when you see a video of a 4-year old bawling his eyes out and telling his mum he no longer wants to live because his team lost - now that's scary. And it's like they don't grow out of it. Which part of the word 'spectator' do these guys not understand? You have grown men running afield and tackling referees, or throwing players of the opposing team with bottles. It's disgusting and it teaches bad sportmanship. Sport is fun to watch and there is a real sense of camaraderie between fans of the same team, but must you really paint your car in the team colours and name your child after a player? Yes, I know, I don't get it. Yes, I know, wait til you educate me. Yes, I know, I just haven't felt the rush of the game yet. I know. Like I said, I'm not against the sport, but I am against the manic depression that fans go into when their team loses, and the wailing high they get when they win. Isn't it exhausting? Because today the Pink Ladies won, but next week they'll lose against the T-Birds, who in turn will suffer at the hands of the Scorpions in a month's time. One minute you're on top, the next you're left trampled in the mud. And no team ever remains unbeaten. Some or other time, you're going to set yourself up for disappointment. Please enjoy the sport, please get excited - I do too - but unless you are a player, a coach, a sponsor or a commentator, remember that it is not your entire life. Now go blow off some steam.
Rainy Days - Aren't they brilliant? It's the perfect excuse to not do the washing, not go into town and not give a damn. You're free to lounge about in your pj's all day and watch one series after the next on your laptop. Junk food is at the top of the menu, and you don't even feel guilty about it. A rainy morning is like a free pass to be as absolutely useless as you possibly can - no consequence. Except when you're at work. Which I am.
Mythical Creatures - Dragons. Werewolves. Mermaids. Elves. Orcs. Urgals. Trolls. Dwarves. Werecats. Unicorns. Nymphs. Banshees. Centaurs. Fawns. Krakens. Hobbits. Fairies. Minotaurs. Monsters. Giants. Deities. Sirens. Wraiths. Pegasus'. Gargoyles. And Bigfoot. Don't tell me you don't find at least one of them interesting.
Not too much on my mind, seems like. Get swept up (not swept away), live in your imagination every once in a while and enjoy those pyjama days (except at the office - it's frowned upon).
With the weekend at my back, my three thinks for today are:
Rugby Fans - I don't get them. Now now, settle down, I didn't insult you, I just mentioned the group as a whole. Not that I don't get the sport, I think it's great and many of my friends are married to players, or players themselves. I think sport in general is a wonderful thing. However, I have a slight problem with it when it becomes a religion. In South Africa, there is a definitive rugby culture, especially under Afrikaans people. Once again, that's fine, but when you see a video of a 4-year old bawling his eyes out and telling his mum he no longer wants to live because his team lost - now that's scary. And it's like they don't grow out of it. Which part of the word 'spectator' do these guys not understand? You have grown men running afield and tackling referees, or throwing players of the opposing team with bottles. It's disgusting and it teaches bad sportmanship. Sport is fun to watch and there is a real sense of camaraderie between fans of the same team, but must you really paint your car in the team colours and name your child after a player? Yes, I know, I don't get it. Yes, I know, wait til you educate me. Yes, I know, I just haven't felt the rush of the game yet. I know. Like I said, I'm not against the sport, but I am against the manic depression that fans go into when their team loses, and the wailing high they get when they win. Isn't it exhausting? Because today the Pink Ladies won, but next week they'll lose against the T-Birds, who in turn will suffer at the hands of the Scorpions in a month's time. One minute you're on top, the next you're left trampled in the mud. And no team ever remains unbeaten. Some or other time, you're going to set yourself up for disappointment. Please enjoy the sport, please get excited - I do too - but unless you are a player, a coach, a sponsor or a commentator, remember that it is not your entire life. Now go blow off some steam.
Rainy Days - Aren't they brilliant? It's the perfect excuse to not do the washing, not go into town and not give a damn. You're free to lounge about in your pj's all day and watch one series after the next on your laptop. Junk food is at the top of the menu, and you don't even feel guilty about it. A rainy morning is like a free pass to be as absolutely useless as you possibly can - no consequence. Except when you're at work. Which I am.
Mythical Creatures - Dragons. Werewolves. Mermaids. Elves. Orcs. Urgals. Trolls. Dwarves. Werecats. Unicorns. Nymphs. Banshees. Centaurs. Fawns. Krakens. Hobbits. Fairies. Minotaurs. Monsters. Giants. Deities. Sirens. Wraiths. Pegasus'. Gargoyles. And Bigfoot. Don't tell me you don't find at least one of them interesting.
Not too much on my mind, seems like. Get swept up (not swept away), live in your imagination every once in a while and enjoy those pyjama days (except at the office - it's frowned upon).
Friday, 30 March 2012
Man Movies, Mindless Intertainment, That Koppie
It's officially weekend (OK, it's 12:00, but still)!
With that in mind, my three thinks for today are:
Man Movies: OK, I'll admit, I enjoy them. We went to see the new Mark Wahlberg flim, Contraband, last night and I completely loved it. It had suspense and a lolt of twists and the action was great. I'm a sucker for war movies, too. Not the Saving Private Ryan type, but Troy and Gladiator and Braveheart and The Lord of the Rings. I cannot get enough of swordfights and battle tactics. I can watch the scene where Achilles kills Hector over and over again (besides from the Brad Pitt factor). It must be my love of fantasy and history combined, because all my girlfriends yawn and fastforward through those parts. My favourite Man Movie Moments of All Time are:
- Where Danny Archer explains the term TIA (This Is Africa) to the journalist in Blood Diamond
- Where Maximus says "My name is Maximus Decimus Meridius, Commander of the Armies of the North, General of the Felix Legions, loyal servant to the true emperor, Marcus Aurelius. Father to a murdered son, husband to a murdered wife, and I will have my vengeance, in this life or the next" in Gladiator.
- Where Strider jumps off the boat with a smug smile and starts running toward the orcs, a ghost army appearing behind him in The Return of the King.
- The final scene in Ocean's Eleven where they're standing at the fountain as rich men.
I could go on, but I think you get the picture. I'm all for bombs and wars and great kings. I watch them as I paint my toenails.
Mindless Internet Entertainment- Don't act like you've never fallen for it. You start off by looking for a university course you're interested in taking, and you end up watching people falling off swings. There's just too much dumb stuff to keep you busy. And clicking on one thing, leads to clicking on another. While downloading a game, you notice a quiz and after finishing that you post the results on facebook, only to see the link to a video of a duck blowing bubbles. You cannot escape it. So just give in to it and let the hours pass freely. Here's a link to a cute website with mindless games to start you off:
Mindless Intertainment
That Koppie - Firstly, a "koppie" is the Afrikaans word for a small hill that is made up of rocks and boulders. We have many of them in the bushveld and they're great for picnics and watching game. There's one koppie, though, that I cannot get out of my head. My hubby's family has a farm on the border of SA and Zimbabwe. This farm is so close to my heart (for various reasons) and I'm actually getting emotional as I'm writing this, so I'll try to cut it short. Part of the farm crosses over no-man's land into Zim, and just across the border, there's a koppie that looks over the Limpopo river. I remember the first time that I climbed up to it. We arrived late in the afternoon and the sun was just setting. When I got up there, the red African sun was at my back and the shallow river was gleaming orange in the light. The wind died and the smell of dust and roots was rising up from the ground. It was completely silent, except for the sound of a hippo grunting somewhere upriver. There, in that moment, I felt utterly at peace. It's the place I go to in my head whenever things get too hectic for me. My heart calls out for that koppie. The farm is inaccessible to us right now (let's not go into it), but I know I will go back there someday. Someday.
Once again, thanks for reading my blog. I'm getting messages and feedback, and it's great!
Don't be ashamed of watching Man Movies or Chick Flicks, forgive yourself for spending so much time on the internet and regularly escape to your happy place. Life's too short.
With that in mind, my three thinks for today are:
Man Movies: OK, I'll admit, I enjoy them. We went to see the new Mark Wahlberg flim, Contraband, last night and I completely loved it. It had suspense and a lolt of twists and the action was great. I'm a sucker for war movies, too. Not the Saving Private Ryan type, but Troy and Gladiator and Braveheart and The Lord of the Rings. I cannot get enough of swordfights and battle tactics. I can watch the scene where Achilles kills Hector over and over again (besides from the Brad Pitt factor). It must be my love of fantasy and history combined, because all my girlfriends yawn and fastforward through those parts. My favourite Man Movie Moments of All Time are:
- Where Danny Archer explains the term TIA (This Is Africa) to the journalist in Blood Diamond
- Where Maximus says "My name is Maximus Decimus Meridius, Commander of the Armies of the North, General of the Felix Legions, loyal servant to the true emperor, Marcus Aurelius. Father to a murdered son, husband to a murdered wife, and I will have my vengeance, in this life or the next" in Gladiator.
- Where Strider jumps off the boat with a smug smile and starts running toward the orcs, a ghost army appearing behind him in The Return of the King.
- The final scene in Ocean's Eleven where they're standing at the fountain as rich men.
I could go on, but I think you get the picture. I'm all for bombs and wars and great kings. I watch them as I paint my toenails.
Mindless Internet Entertainment- Don't act like you've never fallen for it. You start off by looking for a university course you're interested in taking, and you end up watching people falling off swings. There's just too much dumb stuff to keep you busy. And clicking on one thing, leads to clicking on another. While downloading a game, you notice a quiz and after finishing that you post the results on facebook, only to see the link to a video of a duck blowing bubbles. You cannot escape it. So just give in to it and let the hours pass freely. Here's a link to a cute website with mindless games to start you off:
Mindless Intertainment
That Koppie - Firstly, a "koppie" is the Afrikaans word for a small hill that is made up of rocks and boulders. We have many of them in the bushveld and they're great for picnics and watching game. There's one koppie, though, that I cannot get out of my head. My hubby's family has a farm on the border of SA and Zimbabwe. This farm is so close to my heart (for various reasons) and I'm actually getting emotional as I'm writing this, so I'll try to cut it short. Part of the farm crosses over no-man's land into Zim, and just across the border, there's a koppie that looks over the Limpopo river. I remember the first time that I climbed up to it. We arrived late in the afternoon and the sun was just setting. When I got up there, the red African sun was at my back and the shallow river was gleaming orange in the light. The wind died and the smell of dust and roots was rising up from the ground. It was completely silent, except for the sound of a hippo grunting somewhere upriver. There, in that moment, I felt utterly at peace. It's the place I go to in my head whenever things get too hectic for me. My heart calls out for that koppie. The farm is inaccessible to us right now (let's not go into it), but I know I will go back there someday. Someday.
Once again, thanks for reading my blog. I'm getting messages and feedback, and it's great!
Don't be ashamed of watching Man Movies or Chick Flicks, forgive yourself for spending so much time on the internet and regularly escape to your happy place. Life's too short.
Thursday, 29 March 2012
Tattoos, Moving House, Cat Fights
Firstly, my humblest of apologies for having not posted in a week. I could go into all the chaos that surrounded me, but I'll just apologise and move on.
Let's get right into it, before my brain expands any more from the pent-up thoughts that have set up camp in my head the past week.
My three thinks for today are:
Tattoos - I'm a huge fan. I started off like everyone else, promising myself that I would only get one... Yeah right, what a joke. Once you start, there's no way you'll stop. The thing is, tattoos are no longer reserved for sailors, bikers and miners. The stigma around body art has completely turned around the last decade or so. It's accessible now - you can get one on your lunch-break at the nearest mall. My opinion is, just do it. I'm not saying you should impulsively tattoo a toiletpaper roll on your forehead at 02:00 in the morning when everything is funny, but if you've had the idea for a while and it's something you really want - do it. And yes, I've heard all the arguments: it will go blue when you're old (myth - the inks they use now hold their colour, as opposed to the inks of 30 years ago); it's permanent and what if you don't like it anymore in a few years (that's the difference between a good tattoo and a dumb tattoo - if it means something to you now, it still will in years to come); it won't suit you when you're older (well I don't plan on walking around with my lower back showing at the age of 75); it's hard to remove (why consider one if you're already planning on removing it); and the classic - it hurts (yes, but only for the hour or so that you are sitting for it). I would much rather get tattoos now, while I'm young and can enjoy them, then cover them up as I grow older, than grow old and regret that I never did it while I was young. And here's a cool thought, compliments of a full colour leaf-and-vine-covered friend of mine: it's strange to see an old person with a tattoo now, because it was not the norm in their day, but in 60 years' time, there'll be an entire generation of inked geriatrics! An awesome thought.
Moving house - I've done this A LOT. In my humble 24 years, I have moved house 22 times. And the habit is seemingly sticking. New places, new people, new sights and sounds... It's great and I know we'll keep doing it. The only problem is the process. Looking for a house is a stressful and tedious operation which entails owners who want to rip you off and you having to smile politely when viewing a dirty little hole in someone's backyard. When you find your little dream house, though, you're excited and brimming over with plans for the guest bedroom. Then comes the full realisation of how much crap you've accumulated when you have to start packing. Fights break out over old clothes and whether we really want to keep the yellowing computer screen that is never used. I nag my husband about his collection of rocks (I love them, but there's just too much) and get berated over the space my shoes are taking up (I keep all my shoes in their original boxes with labelling so I can stack them up in the back of my closet). After a week of debates and emotional goodbyes to old items, we finally get everything packed and ready to load.
Now this part holds an entire new set of challenges. Suddenly the massive trailer you booked has shrunk to a puny excuse and you have to make peace with the fact that you'll have to make two or three trips. The more stuff you load, the more stuff there is. The physical loading part also has its own dangers...
The last time we moved, my husband had to carry out an old TV set to the trailer. The cable and plug was trailing on the ground as he walked (see where I'm going with this?). Inevitably, he stepped on the upturned plug with his bare feet (ouch), which caused the cable to pull tight. Long story short, he nearly knocked his teeth out on the very TV he was carrying. I heard the clash and when I got outside, he was weaving across the driveway, still holding the set, with his eyes completely glazed over. Almost lost him there for a moment! Later that same day, he stepped on the heel of one of my shoes (woops), with his other foot. When he arrived at work on Monday, he had a swollen lip and he was limping around the office - without any manly excuses for his injuries!
In the end, though, I love moving around. I cannot imagine living in the same house, much less the same town for all my life. Just not me.
Cat fights - As I just mentioned, we moved recently, and for the first time in his little life, my cat had to learn to share a neighborhood with other felines. At first he was timid and wouldn't leave my side, completely unsure about his peers. Within the first week, though, he won a fight and suddenly his attitude changed. Now, you have to understand, my cat is not normal. He is a cross between a domestic and a wild African cat - he has stripes on his back and spots on the rest of his body and he is notably larger than other housecats. Apparently, he never knew about these advantages, until the other cats in the 'hood started running from him and hiding behind their owners whenever he strutted down the street. So he became a brawler. Night after night he went looking for trouble, stealing the others' food and chasing them down only to cream them under a bush. I tried to discipline him. I talked to him, trying to make him see sense. I warned him and had hubby have a sit-down with him, but to no avail. His ego became too big to fit through the front door, so he started to stay away from home. When he finally did appear, he would walk in with his feet casually dragging behind him, ears thrown back and eyes all squinty. All he needed was sunglasses and a leather jacket and we could have called him "Donny". Until last week.
We came home to find him curled up on the couch - which had become a strange occurrence. He sprang up and greeted us, all purs and smiles, talking loudly about how glad he was to see us. When he looked up, it all made sense. His face was covered in scratches and his ear was standing at an odd angle. His entire right side was full of scabs. He had met his match. I don't know which cat dented his ego, but I'm grateful. I no longer have to apologise to my neighbours and I'm not kept up at night by squeeling cats. The Furry One is his friendly self once more.
Before I end of for the day, I noticed that a big part of my audience is emerging from Turkey...Merhaba! Thanks for reading my blog! Feel free to comment and I'll get back to you.
Now, get that tattoo (the good one, not the dumb one), change your scenery regularly and don't be too hard on the men in your house (doesn't matter which species).
Let's get right into it, before my brain expands any more from the pent-up thoughts that have set up camp in my head the past week.
My three thinks for today are:
Tattoos - I'm a huge fan. I started off like everyone else, promising myself that I would only get one... Yeah right, what a joke. Once you start, there's no way you'll stop. The thing is, tattoos are no longer reserved for sailors, bikers and miners. The stigma around body art has completely turned around the last decade or so. It's accessible now - you can get one on your lunch-break at the nearest mall. My opinion is, just do it. I'm not saying you should impulsively tattoo a toiletpaper roll on your forehead at 02:00 in the morning when everything is funny, but if you've had the idea for a while and it's something you really want - do it. And yes, I've heard all the arguments: it will go blue when you're old (myth - the inks they use now hold their colour, as opposed to the inks of 30 years ago); it's permanent and what if you don't like it anymore in a few years (that's the difference between a good tattoo and a dumb tattoo - if it means something to you now, it still will in years to come); it won't suit you when you're older (well I don't plan on walking around with my lower back showing at the age of 75); it's hard to remove (why consider one if you're already planning on removing it); and the classic - it hurts (yes, but only for the hour or so that you are sitting for it). I would much rather get tattoos now, while I'm young and can enjoy them, then cover them up as I grow older, than grow old and regret that I never did it while I was young. And here's a cool thought, compliments of a full colour leaf-and-vine-covered friend of mine: it's strange to see an old person with a tattoo now, because it was not the norm in their day, but in 60 years' time, there'll be an entire generation of inked geriatrics! An awesome thought.
Moving house - I've done this A LOT. In my humble 24 years, I have moved house 22 times. And the habit is seemingly sticking. New places, new people, new sights and sounds... It's great and I know we'll keep doing it. The only problem is the process. Looking for a house is a stressful and tedious operation which entails owners who want to rip you off and you having to smile politely when viewing a dirty little hole in someone's backyard. When you find your little dream house, though, you're excited and brimming over with plans for the guest bedroom. Then comes the full realisation of how much crap you've accumulated when you have to start packing. Fights break out over old clothes and whether we really want to keep the yellowing computer screen that is never used. I nag my husband about his collection of rocks (I love them, but there's just too much) and get berated over the space my shoes are taking up (I keep all my shoes in their original boxes with labelling so I can stack them up in the back of my closet). After a week of debates and emotional goodbyes to old items, we finally get everything packed and ready to load.
Now this part holds an entire new set of challenges. Suddenly the massive trailer you booked has shrunk to a puny excuse and you have to make peace with the fact that you'll have to make two or three trips. The more stuff you load, the more stuff there is. The physical loading part also has its own dangers...
The last time we moved, my husband had to carry out an old TV set to the trailer. The cable and plug was trailing on the ground as he walked (see where I'm going with this?). Inevitably, he stepped on the upturned plug with his bare feet (ouch), which caused the cable to pull tight. Long story short, he nearly knocked his teeth out on the very TV he was carrying. I heard the clash and when I got outside, he was weaving across the driveway, still holding the set, with his eyes completely glazed over. Almost lost him there for a moment! Later that same day, he stepped on the heel of one of my shoes (woops), with his other foot. When he arrived at work on Monday, he had a swollen lip and he was limping around the office - without any manly excuses for his injuries!
In the end, though, I love moving around. I cannot imagine living in the same house, much less the same town for all my life. Just not me.
Cat fights - As I just mentioned, we moved recently, and for the first time in his little life, my cat had to learn to share a neighborhood with other felines. At first he was timid and wouldn't leave my side, completely unsure about his peers. Within the first week, though, he won a fight and suddenly his attitude changed. Now, you have to understand, my cat is not normal. He is a cross between a domestic and a wild African cat - he has stripes on his back and spots on the rest of his body and he is notably larger than other housecats. Apparently, he never knew about these advantages, until the other cats in the 'hood started running from him and hiding behind their owners whenever he strutted down the street. So he became a brawler. Night after night he went looking for trouble, stealing the others' food and chasing them down only to cream them under a bush. I tried to discipline him. I talked to him, trying to make him see sense. I warned him and had hubby have a sit-down with him, but to no avail. His ego became too big to fit through the front door, so he started to stay away from home. When he finally did appear, he would walk in with his feet casually dragging behind him, ears thrown back and eyes all squinty. All he needed was sunglasses and a leather jacket and we could have called him "Donny". Until last week.
We came home to find him curled up on the couch - which had become a strange occurrence. He sprang up and greeted us, all purs and smiles, talking loudly about how glad he was to see us. When he looked up, it all made sense. His face was covered in scratches and his ear was standing at an odd angle. His entire right side was full of scabs. He had met his match. I don't know which cat dented his ego, but I'm grateful. I no longer have to apologise to my neighbours and I'm not kept up at night by squeeling cats. The Furry One is his friendly self once more.
Before I end of for the day, I noticed that a big part of my audience is emerging from Turkey...Merhaba! Thanks for reading my blog! Feel free to comment and I'll get back to you.
Now, get that tattoo (the good one, not the dumb one), change your scenery regularly and don't be too hard on the men in your house (doesn't matter which species).
Thursday, 22 March 2012
Hairdresser's Basins, Silence, The Washing
Yesterday was a public holiday - man did I need the break. I did my hair and read my book and cleaned the house and went shopping... And now it's back to work.
So, without much ceremony, here are my three thinks for the day:
Hairdresser's Basins - Since I was a child I've dreaded the part where the hairdresser makes you go through to the basin to have your hair washed. More often than not, the seat is way too low or the basin way too high, so you're left either standing on your toes or hanging by your ears. The space where your head should go is always so narrow that you fear death by squashing and the first blast of water ALWAYS GOES IN YOUR EARS. Really not the best part of the experience - until yesterday. I decided to go slightly blonde for a change. Firstly, I was very surprised to find a hairdresser who actually listened to me and was excited by the prospect of giving me exactly what I want - which has not happened often in the past (I'll save those horror stories for another time). When she asked me to step through to the basin, I started to freeze up, but when I turned the corner and actually saw the basins, the world stopped and I could hear angels singing. The chair was slightly lifted and tilted back, in fact turning it into a mini bed. The space in the basin for your head was wide and molded and I sighed in satisfaction as I lay down in it. The lady washing my hair had turned the water on beforehand and the temperature was perfect. She kept the wash short and sweet and I actually managed to relax. What a revelation. Thanks guys, I'm definitely going back to you.
Silence - I love it. Cannot get enough of it. There is something soothing to it for me. I sometimes imagine the silence coming around me and then pressing in on me. I find it thick, heavy, and absolutely blissful. Sometimes, when I wake at night, I'll sit up and listen to it, closing my eyes and smiling like an idiot to the sound of nothingness. It's beautiful. I don't know what I'd do without it - I need it to function properly. I've mentioned before that thoughts and ideas tend to hop and bounce around in my head, all fighting for supremacy. When there's complete and utter silence, these balls of thoughts seem to stop, crouch down and hush up. Suddenly, the world makes sense again.
The Washing - Notice I put a "the" in front, as it's become an entity of its own, like "The Eiffel Tower" or "The Pyramids". Just when I think I've won, when I folded and put away the last clean shirt, I turn around to find a dirty sock peeking out from under the bed, laughing at me like a naughty child because I missed it the first time. I tell myself it's OK, that I will just throw it in the wash basket and see to it on another day - it's only one sock, after all. However, as I bend over to pick it up, my eye catches the other sock in the pair, awkwardly twisted around the foot of the bedside table. I sigh and pick that up too, trying to keep my composure. Walking to the wash basket, I spot a jersey, lying forgotten on the couch. I collect that too, still halfway calm. When I finally reach the basket, though, I find it already brimming with a muddy shirt, a dishcloth I haven't seen for ages and a wet towel. I cannot even begin to fathom where they came from. They were definitely not there two hours ago. It's inexplicable, unthinkable and incredibly demotivating. In frustration, I stuff everything down into the basket, turn and shut the door behind me. I refuse to look at the basket for days, because I'm still angry. Then, round about Day 5 (No More Underwear Day), I find my husband standing in front of his closet, shifting his weight from one foot to another. He looks at me from the corner of his eye, not sure if it would be considered wise to raise the issue. So I sigh and go to face The Washing one more time. Surely I'll beat it today.
So that's what's on my mind today. Here's to never-ending washing, a few moments of silence and covering your ears at the hairdresser's.
PS Am I the only bad housekeeper out there?
So, without much ceremony, here are my three thinks for the day:
Hairdresser's Basins - Since I was a child I've dreaded the part where the hairdresser makes you go through to the basin to have your hair washed. More often than not, the seat is way too low or the basin way too high, so you're left either standing on your toes or hanging by your ears. The space where your head should go is always so narrow that you fear death by squashing and the first blast of water ALWAYS GOES IN YOUR EARS. Really not the best part of the experience - until yesterday. I decided to go slightly blonde for a change. Firstly, I was very surprised to find a hairdresser who actually listened to me and was excited by the prospect of giving me exactly what I want - which has not happened often in the past (I'll save those horror stories for another time). When she asked me to step through to the basin, I started to freeze up, but when I turned the corner and actually saw the basins, the world stopped and I could hear angels singing. The chair was slightly lifted and tilted back, in fact turning it into a mini bed. The space in the basin for your head was wide and molded and I sighed in satisfaction as I lay down in it. The lady washing my hair had turned the water on beforehand and the temperature was perfect. She kept the wash short and sweet and I actually managed to relax. What a revelation. Thanks guys, I'm definitely going back to you.
Silence - I love it. Cannot get enough of it. There is something soothing to it for me. I sometimes imagine the silence coming around me and then pressing in on me. I find it thick, heavy, and absolutely blissful. Sometimes, when I wake at night, I'll sit up and listen to it, closing my eyes and smiling like an idiot to the sound of nothingness. It's beautiful. I don't know what I'd do without it - I need it to function properly. I've mentioned before that thoughts and ideas tend to hop and bounce around in my head, all fighting for supremacy. When there's complete and utter silence, these balls of thoughts seem to stop, crouch down and hush up. Suddenly, the world makes sense again.
The Washing - Notice I put a "the" in front, as it's become an entity of its own, like "The Eiffel Tower" or "The Pyramids". Just when I think I've won, when I folded and put away the last clean shirt, I turn around to find a dirty sock peeking out from under the bed, laughing at me like a naughty child because I missed it the first time. I tell myself it's OK, that I will just throw it in the wash basket and see to it on another day - it's only one sock, after all. However, as I bend over to pick it up, my eye catches the other sock in the pair, awkwardly twisted around the foot of the bedside table. I sigh and pick that up too, trying to keep my composure. Walking to the wash basket, I spot a jersey, lying forgotten on the couch. I collect that too, still halfway calm. When I finally reach the basket, though, I find it already brimming with a muddy shirt, a dishcloth I haven't seen for ages and a wet towel. I cannot even begin to fathom where they came from. They were definitely not there two hours ago. It's inexplicable, unthinkable and incredibly demotivating. In frustration, I stuff everything down into the basket, turn and shut the door behind me. I refuse to look at the basket for days, because I'm still angry. Then, round about Day 5 (No More Underwear Day), I find my husband standing in front of his closet, shifting his weight from one foot to another. He looks at me from the corner of his eye, not sure if it would be considered wise to raise the issue. So I sigh and go to face The Washing one more time. Surely I'll beat it today.
So that's what's on my mind today. Here's to never-ending washing, a few moments of silence and covering your ears at the hairdresser's.
PS Am I the only bad housekeeper out there?
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