Kissing with none clothes on!

William (7), Joseph (5) sitting in the back of the car.

We’re all sunburned and restful.

On our way home from a wonderful day of windsurfing at the dam.

Daniela (2) lies sleeping, her face angelic, in my lap.

“Mommie?”, from Joseph wondering if I’d dropped off.

“Mmmm?”, I reply drowsily.

“Those boys by da water say dat some people day kiss”.

“Mmmmm really Joe, that’s nice, people do kiss, yes”, I reply.

“Ja, that’s what they were talking about”, emphatically from William.

“Mommie?”, from Joe.

“Mmmmm?”

“Mommie, but day say da’ve got none clothes on”, trying to get my attention,which it did, “really Joe, which boys were these?”

“Those big boys at the dam”, confirms William quietly.

“Oh Ja?”, not knowing where they wanted to go with this.

“Mommie?”, persists Joe.

“Mmmm?”

“Mommie, but day dat da girl she taked off her bwa!”, he says dramatically.

“No clothes mom, they were bare!”, adds William ,triumphant.

“Ok, I think then maybe it was a mommie and a daddy Joe?”, I reassure him.

“NO”, states William categorically “They were big kids”, nodding his head.

OK, I think, here we go!

“Mommie?” Joe asks softly, “Mommie?”, coming close to my face with his.

“Yes Joe Joe”, I ask.

I’m now wide awake and ready, “What is it my love?”

“Mommie, Whats a bwa?”

Bird Cage

I wake up early and pop my washing into the washing machine.
My little garden has a big tree in the middle and on the far side is my single garage.
Hanging the washing on the drying rack in the garage, I'm deep in thought.
The security gate has automatically locked behind me as I come in.
A half an hour later I'm ready to go to work but can’t place my house keys.
Looking around with a frown I remember that I’d been outside.
Of course when I look through the leaves of my big tree I see the bunch of keys hanging innocently from the garage door.
You know that sinking feeling.
I can somehow understand someone locking themselves out, but locking yourself in?, seems impossible.
I peer outside my kitchen window and and see my neighbor in his boxers and call “helllooooo, excuse me, hellloooooo.”
All this does is send him scuttling back into the cover of his flat!
My shoulders slump with a disappointed “Aarg”.
I try again, this time aiming at a fully clothed man on his way to work.
He looks around to see my arms reaching through the little kitchen window and comes closer, slowly.
I smile widely but not too widely, I don't want to scare him away.
“and No, I don’t want to arrest you, accost you, or marry you!”
(I don’t say this, I only think this)All I’m asking him to do, is walk around to my back gate, jump over the wall, and hand me a bunch of keys.
I explain the reason for the early morning gymnastics to a very dubious frown and he agrees to do my bidding.
He hands me the bunch of keys through the security gate, and as I reach out and clutch at them, the story of Hansel and Grettel comes to mind.

I watch to make sure that he hops straight back over that wall.

You can never be too sure, you know.
There are some strange people around.

Geriatric Joyride

I’m just finishing off with a client in my studio and a loud “MWHAAAAAAAAAAAAaeeee”, sounds outside and trails away down the road.

I see my client out and a white honda passes with another “MWHAAAAAAAAAAAdyyyyyyyyyyy” trailing away again.

I recognise my name in there somewhere so I crane my neck and catch a glimpse of the back of the car with someone hanging out of the window and step closer to see what the dickens is going on!

Here it comes again, and yes, I’m sure that looks like my parents’ car? I recognise my mom hanging out of the window, arms flailing! “MAANdyyyyyyyyyy”.

She’s seen me and I wait as they come around the block for the fourth round, this time
shouting “MAANdy open the gaaaaaate”.

Well, obviously I do as I’m told, as quickly as possible, AND clear the area!

They have entry! They make a decisive detour and come to a neat stop in the driveway!

The look on my face? “The aliens have landed!”

My windswept mom steps out with a big smile, “is it ok if we stop for tea?”

“Of course, but are you ok? Is there a problem?”, I ask with wide disbelieving eyes and a mouth that doesn’t want to listen when I say “close”.

“No problem, the car keeps cutting out every time we stop, so we thought we’d just HAVE to stop INSIDE.”

Melt-Down

In London for the reunion with my beloved Aunty G.
We’re staying at the home of the unfortunate Aunty D, of Hammersmith Halo fame.

On the first night of the long chats with Aunty G her face melts in front of my eyes!
Her mouth droops, her eyes close and I hear a mumble that sounds a bit like “sfgleedkfpvkjfinghv tablet” and she reaches for a contraption that makes me think she’s going snorkeling.
Protruding from the nose-piece is a tube that looks very disturbingly like a large dildo.

Our conversation ends, just like that….. with me in mid-sentence and her in mid-meltdown.
So I go to my room and have disturbing dreams of Darth Vader.
The only signs at breakfast are the indentations from the mask on the sides of a smiling face. I marvel.

We head off for Bath where we find a wonderful youth hostel . A few days of sightseeing and relaxed banter sounds glorious.

“You know of course we’ll have to move on tomorrow don’t you?” says Aunty G.
“No why, aren’t we here for a few days?” I reply.
“We’re in Bath for a few days, yes, but in a different hostel every night” she says pulling her face.
“whaaat, no ways we can just stay here”, it’s just not debatable.

So we snuggle in for the night, exhausted from the days roaming and chat away until melt-down.

Ten minutes into my drifting into a blissful sleep I’m on high alert.

A helicopter takes off right above me crashes into a roaring lion!
For a second there I listen in disbelief. Again it spins up, up, up with a whining desperate sound, holds for a breathtaking three seconds and then comes at the roaring lion with aggressive fury.

The same helicopter takes off and crashes into the same roaring lion all night long, over and over again.
Coughs and sighs and exasperated noises come from six sleepless beds.
It spins up, up, up with a whining desperate sound, holds for a breathtaking three seconds and then comes at the roaring lion with aggressive fury.

I lie dead still, rigid, wide awake.
It spins up, up, up with a whining desperate sound, holds for a breathtaking three seconds and then comes at the roaring lion with aggressive fury.

I’m tempted to shake her awake to make sure she’s ok, but as I listen I realize there’s a pattern, a rhythm. She’s alive and well, fast asleep and blissfully unaware.
It spins up, up, up with a whining desperate sound, holds for a breathtaking three seconds and then comes at the roaring lion with aggressive fury.

Eight hours of pillow bashing and animal slaughter later, she wakes refreshed and beaming.
A room full of travelers glare and growl and Aunty G cheerfully says “Oh my, did I snore? So sorry it happens sometimes, but not to worry we’re leaving today”.

“Oh and we must go and get my tabs cause if I don’t take them, my snoring will keep me awake!”


I love my Aunty G
Bath, London 2004

Wicked Cake!

Janine is serving the most delectable cakes at the stork tea.
There is a large group of women and plates are coming and going fast.
Daniela and I decide to share a slice.
I look around for my plate but can’t find it.
There is a relatively clean plate in the kitchen which I decide to use.
We spoon soft sponge and caramel, with white icing into our mouths with moans of delight.
We savour each heavenly smooth treat.
Daniela spots a creamy lump on the side of the plate and sweeps her finger through it saying “mmmm, and whats this?”
I watch her, and wait until her finger is in her mouth and say.”I dunno, it’s not our plate!”

A wicked grin from Mom and wide-eyed disgust from Daniela did bring on an attack of protracted hysterical laughter and clinging together. :-)

Duvet in a Bag

So Gentle - so Powerful

So I made a duvet-in-a-bag for Lyndsay’s Stork tea

It’s a boy! - Mathew

As I closed the bag it caught my eye – I opened the bag to look again - in disbelief !

My legs went weak and I had to sit on the bed and marvel

Daniela - from the Hebrew for "God is my Judge". She is as free as the air and will not be held down.....A beautiful Butterfly.

Mandy - From the Latin meaning "Worthy of Love"Gentle and kind, beautiful and caring, she loves unselfishly.
She values her family above all else.

These pieces of material had been cut and sewn into Strips long before
- probably 2 years ago (before I left for Pretoria)

see blog – And the Butterfly follows me

Full deck of cards

We all get a full deck of cards.
If there are a few extra jokers in yours, count yourself lucky.
You have more options.
You can have fun all on your own.
You have an excuse, if you're prepared to use one.
You can bend the rules.
If used wisely this card can carry more weight than a queen
and can be more valuable than a king.

I may be in Trouble

If Sugar does to my Mind
What Alcohol does to an empty stomach
Does that mean my mind is empty?


this is just a thought and does not require anyone to comment!

Five Star Fun

I take my video back to laser video vending machine and wonder at what the world coming to. No personal touch, no human interaction.
A machine that spits out a dvd and even says “thankyou”. (with an American accent)
I am tempted and some days do reply, “it’s a pleasure”.

I know that Craig manages the operation and hear him shuffling around in the backroom from time to time.
He emerges from the poster of Grand Torino and I decide to have some fun.

I stop dead and stare at him aghast.
“I KNEW there had to be someone in there!”
He starts to explain “No…..”,
I override with “How often do you get out?”,
“Your voice sounds amazing through the slot!” and
“Do you ever get any sun?”

We both start to laugh as I assure him that I’m only joking.

He seems a bit dubious though and I’m aware of his little frown and his concern for my mental state.

He’s still watching me as I leave and I spot the ATM.

Naughty I know, but I lean close to the money dispenser and try and engage the person in the ATM in conversation………………when I don’t get an answer, I tip my head in disappointment and turn to wave goodbye to a VERY flabbergasted young man.

What's on my mind

“What’s on your mind?” makes me think.
Do you really want to know what’s on my mind?
How nervous am I to express exactly what’s on my mind?
Are you brave enough to truthfully express what’s on your mind?

I think if we did, the world would explode with possibilities and amazing ideas.
I think if we did, we would do more, try more, experience more and learn more.

If a certain percentage, lets use 50%, of people aren’t going to like what you have to say,does it matter which 50% it is.
Either way you’re working with the same odds .

How many times a day do you get a thought and close it down?
How many times a day do you get an idea and negate the possibility?
How often do you want to do something and worry about the fallout?
Worry about what people think, how you’ll come across or who will reject you?
Are labels like crazy and alternative, just ways to curb lateral thinking?

Therefore if 50% will disagree and 50% will agree
then you have nothing at all to lose.

and if "All things are possible....."
Then have no fear and freely express
someone has gotta love it!


Mandy said...
note to self - thanx for giving us all permission smartarse!
reply to self - it's a pleasure dol!

Ode to Myself

Be still and know that I am ok
Allow my friends to love me
We all have our chinks and don’t want them to show
But it’s human and pleasing to know
That I can relax and let life flow
Not everyones out to hurt me
Be open and free, like a bird in a tree
My friends allow me to be
Cause I learn and I grow
And in time life unfolds
there're so many things I don’t know
And everyone has wisdom to offer

to open my ears, my eyes and my heart

and receive what I'm given today

be grateful for changes that crack my facade

these changes bring change of heart

Hammersmith Halo

So, after the Harrow Humdinger I felt like I needed to give my parents some space.

My Aunt had immigrated to New Zealand and we decided to meet up in Hammersmith.

Her family had kindly agreed to accommodate me for our reunion.
D, our host was a sweet and welcoming hostess and our room was comfy and warm.
She showed us around her beautiful home, lovingly showing off her prized antiques and cherished collections. Her knowledge grown over years, their value - priceless.
We were left to catch up on ten years of news.
We chatted till the early hours and woke to snow and a steaming pot of tea.
I groggily donned a thick white gown and headed for the little room.

It was a very little room.

It was only big enough to walk in, shut the door, turn and sit.

As I closed the door and turned, I brought my arm up to my head.

The porcelain toilet roll holder came loose and described an arc above my head.

I looked up in horror, turning and reaching up desperately at the same time.

I watched it’s decent, hands fluttering.

The sharp splintering sound as it landed in the antique toilet bowl, brought D running.

I slid down to the floor with my head in my hands.

I prayed that this time I WAS dreaming.


London 2004

Harrowing Humdinger

My parents had been in London for over a year and I was dying to see them.

My mom , teaching for Capita in a public school had had a particularly grueling start.My dad at 68 was the caretaker of a block of flats, where he took out all the rubbish bags and cleaned the pool and locker rooms. He also delivered newspapers, pulling a laden trolley at 5.30am every morning.

Arriving in Harrow, seeing my dad waiting on the corner, after negotiating plane, train and bus was
marvelous. After dumping my bags we walked over to mom’s school and there were whoops of delight as she came out of the gate. A wonderful reunion as they showed me around their world. They were living in a room above the newsagent in Harrow and had been offered a room for me to stay for the duration of my visit. I was up the first flight of stairs and they were a floor above me. Dad worked for the newsagent and warned me not to be concerned if there was a lot of banging at 5am. This would be the newspapers being dumped just inside the door below me, ready for delivery. Mom and I tube to Piccadilly Circus like two excited teenagers. We eat and shop and chat and walk until the last tube runs and head off back home.I was exhausted. The flight, what with too little leg room, excitement and whatever disturbances go with sitting on the aisle, was sleepless.

Mom sets the alarm, locks the door and I frown as I notice about 5 latches attached to the door. Coming from South Africa I wonder if we’re safe? I head up the stairs and fall into a dead blissful sleep.

Somewhere very far away I hear calling, calling, calling. There’s been a lovers tiff and she’s locked him out – He calls for her over and over again. He’s desperate, he’s devastated. He calls and calls and calls.

She’s not listening and he decides to entice her with a fireworks display – the blue lights revolve around and around and around and stills she ignores him. I wake up so frustrated and think “What a pain woman, I’m trying to sleep here, just let the guy in!” after which he starts to get violent.

He hacks down the door in fury and I realize that I’m dreaming.
The dream turns into a nightmare as the noise gets louder and there’s lots of shouting and the lover is coming to get ME.
I wake with a start and sick feeling in my gut and there’s a policeman in my room!
A nude man appears on the stairway!
I don’t recognize either.
I recognize my moms frantic voice when she shouts from the top “Darling for heavens sake put some clothe’s on!”

The newspaper delivery couldn’t get in using their key, so the police had been called to break the door down. On returning late last night I did us all a favour and latched the door. Five times.


London 2004

Persian Panic

I look at my toenails before going out.

The ruby nail polish is half chipped away and looks awful. I consider redoing them.

Naa, I’m wearing closed shoes anyway so this can wait until tomorrow.

We arrive in Camps Bay at the solid stainless steel gate and press for entry.
A discreet bleep allows us onto the winding concrete path lined with tropical palms.
We reach the top where water trembles in the rim pool.
I look toward the bay where wet mist is gathering over the water.

The huge windows of glass give us a glimpse of the inner sanctuary of flocati rugs, flames whispering from the fireplace, a huge ottoman and luxurious throws, comfortable and chic.

Hello Daaaahlings, limp wrists and cheeck kisses all around as we step onto the Persian rug.
“Dooo come in”, “We follow the British model so please leave your shoes at the door”
As everyone calmly complies I have a strange sensation in my gut and as I too take off my shoes, I look up and make a ridiculous joke hoping that everyone will be fixated on my face and not, please no, NOT look down at my feet!

"I think I’ll head for the powder room?”, and off I go keeping my toes away from the crowd.
Safely inside I rummage furiously in my bag – I KNOW I had it somewhere.
Think. Think. Think.
I swan out with a huge smile and sparkling eyes (keep looking at my face!) and ask my friend for the car keys.
He shakes his head frowns and his hands flurry around.
“Left something in the car”, I say
“Your shoes!, it’s freezing out”, he says
but I’m gone.

Fast mini steps down the tropical pathway and straight to the boot of the car – GOT IT!
I pop myself into the front seat and paint my toe nails……Aaaaaah Bliss
I feel a deep sense of relief.
I’m saved.
Order has been restored.

Getting back was a slow process with toes spread wide. I must have looked like a bird on lily pads as I carefully made my way back toward the pool area. I made a point of examining every palm and bush to disguise my affliction.

My friend did have a little frown on his face when I got back, but I just smiled as I lit a cigarette, sat on the little wall and crossed my legs.

This side and then that, I fanned my widespread toes.

Kenyan Coolerbag

Long Long Ago

My cousin owns a house in Pretoria and I’m a guest .

I’m sleeping in his guest room with the key to an outside toilet.

I’ve just got in, I’m exhausted it’s 10pm and I’m ready for bed.

He shouts “cheers see you in the morning! The alarm is set”, as he heads out to party.

I lay my head down and realize I need to wee.
It dawns on me that he used the key earlier and I didn’t get it back! I sit up with a start and see the red light of the alarm detector flash in the corner of the room. I slam my body back onto the bed. I have set the alarm off twice already with mayday reacting quickly and forcefully. I’m not popular at the moment and would hate to set it off again.I’ve never used an alarm system and know that I have to stay still and below the beam, that’s what I’ve heard!

I stay very low down but manage to turn around so that I’m facing the windows – I’m sure I saw something move! I stretch across the bed and reach down to my bag where I find the gun. Now I’m safe, but I still need to wee.

Ok, think.

I can’t get to the window – the alarm will go off when I stick my bum outside.
Anyway I wouldn’t stick my bum out the window to wee cause I’m sure I saw something move!If I jump up and go through the house, the alarm will go off, mayday will arrive…..NO not again.
Maybe he’ll have a horrible time at the party and be home any minute.
Relax and have some coffee out of the flask………..can’t cause I’m now bursting to wee.
Just the thought of it makes my bladder ache.

The coolerbag!
If I leopard crawl across the bed and plop onto the floor, keeping a close eye on the alarm detector, I can reach it. I slowly pull the cooler bag towards me, tip it on it’s side and slip the flask, cups and container out. Luckily it’s one of the soft coolers. The Kenyans gave it to us as a gift, but it’ll do the trick.There’s definitely something moving outside!

So I keep one eye on the alarm detector and one eye on the window, as I roll onto my side, then onto my back, keeping my hands low and under the “beam”. I undo my zip and pull my pants down to my knees. I lie back and kick, little freestyle kicks , until the pants are off my feet. I lift myself up just enough to squash the cooler under my butt. I bring my upper body around, staying low, so that my chest is eventually on the bed and I bring my feet around so that I’m at least on my knees, with the cooler in place. I take one last look at the detector, relax my face into the duvet, exhausted, I relieve myself.

I feel faint and realize that although my bladder has held up very well, the coolerbag hasn’t. As I shudder with long anticipated relief the bed becomes warm around me.

“You will not panic!” I tell myself, “you’re a mother with three children, you’ve been in a few predicaments in your life, make a plan”, “think”.Ok, so I don’t panic, I think.I do check the alarm detector though and then the window and remember to stay down.
I lay my hand on the gun and check the window again.
The smell of urine fills the room, it’s midnight.
I’m thrilled that I have been able to stay under the beam.

Coffee!..that’s it…..If I can get to the flask………and I leopard crawl, ignoring the now wet and cold bed.I focus, I slowly draw the flask to me and undo the cap.
If I can pour the coffee over the wet bed then it’ll hide the smell of the urine!
One problem at a time.I roll onto my side and then onto my back. I lie back and take long sniffs of the air.He may not smell this you know, the coffee was black and strong.
I lay my hand on the gun and check the window again.

I lie watching the alarm detector, checking the window, sniffing the air until 3am when I see the lights of his car coming into the driveway.
I let out a strange noise of relief and wait for him to deactivate the alarm.

I jump right up drawing the wet duvet around myself.
I knock on his door “Cousy let me in, I need to wee!”


Arcadia 1998

Home Affairs

I’m a fan of Centurion Home Affairs.

I phone before going to renew my passport.

An extremely helpful and confident lady gives me instructions and directions to get there.
I’m impressed.

“Take the Botha Rd offramp - left into Armscor rd - right into Toupe - right into River rd. - right into Coeger str.”
Got it!

But Armscor happens to be Amcor
Toupe happens to be Topaz
River Rd. happens to be Reefer Rd.
And its not Coeger str. but Kruger str.


…….and on a sign at the counter “Please do not use a cocky pen”

Willy Warmers

Winter Wool

It’s wonderful to walk into a well stocked woolshop. The shelves bursting with bales of soft, colourful, textured wool. It’s enough to get me feeling very creative and encourages me to make something – anything.

All I want to do is look, feel, think, look some more, imagine the jersey and visualize the blanket.

The sales lady keeps drawing me away from the luscious balls of fluffiness to a sample chart lined with an inch per sample of every wool available.

I don’t want to choose wool from the sample book – I LOVE wool and I want to feel the wool, I want to see 50 balls of the same wool huddled together, I want the wool to speak to me.
How do you explain to the sales lady that this is an experience, and to get her off your back?

But how MUCH will you need?
mind bubble…………….AS MUCH AS I CAN AFFORD TODAY

What is it that you’re using it for?
mind bubble…………….ANYTHING AND EVERYTHING

But surely you know the size per item?
mind bubble…………….WE DON’T KNOW WHAT THE ITEM IS
Her heavily made-up eyes looking down her nose through her designer spectacles.
“Die wol is tog so duur, jy moet jou mates ken!”
(“The wool is so expensive these days – you should know your measurements!”)

Why does she have to know WHAT you’re crocheting or how much wool you need?

After her inquisitive prodding and poking around to find the reason for my wool choice, loudly encouraging all the women in the shop to “participate” in the purchase – I told her, “Actually mevrou , my daughter and I want to make a very large consignment of Willy warmers for the winter, and NO we don’t know how much wool we’ll be needing, but it must be soft and definately stretchy”

And the Butterfly follows Me

Dear Karen,
http://butterflyandbarnacle.wordpress.com/

My mom always encouraged women at church meetings by using her “Butterfly in a teacup” talk…..how to spread your wings in a trapped situation and still fly and be beautiful. A motivation for woman to cope in awful circumstances………….I decided to fly out of the cup and left my husband after 26 years.

At a fortieth Birthday, I met Janine – founder of the Charity Woman against Rape – WAR – her website needs revamping and I get the job – her logo is a butterfly – she is now one of my close friends. http://www.womanagainstrape.com/

Writing e-mails to my mom about my progress helped me make sense of the drama unfolding.
I got a reply one day to say “I am not your mom, but your story sounds amazing………..tell me more” Maureen’s e-mail address butterfly@...... my moms freebutterfly@...... so close had brought to me a wonderful friend.
Maureen and I communicated for a while and when we decided to arrange a meet realized that we lived less than 5kms apart!

I got a job in Johannesburg as a junior web developer (probably the oldest Junior web developer in the country… at 47). I had never worked away from home, my husband a doctor and avid polo player more than adequately provided. I am a qualified Pilates Mat Instructor.

My anthem in those days on my way to Jhb was Michael Bouble’s “Birds flying high………you know what I mean” and in one verse “Dragonfly out in the sun, Butterflies all having fun”
I sang the song over and over as I drove until I had it embedded in my heart…..It’s a new dawn, It’s a new day, a new life…for me.

I joined the Masters swimming club, Coelocanths, and met Henk – we trained in the Virgin active pool together and one day he was discussing the possibilities of a persons dreams coming true – I said to him that I had just got into the philosophy of the secret and would be living in the Bahamas one day.

I went to visit my sister in Cape Town and while waiting for the late one-time return flight sat next to a quiet man and find out we too live around the corner from each other in Pretoria and plan to meet up for coffee – he had just been to Simonstown where he anchors his yacht. We developed a close friendship. He needed to get the Yacht out of the water and into dry docks in Hout Bay for a clean up – I decided to take a weeks leave and involve myself in the project.
The week was amazing . I love water. My family – living in Harrismith, ten minutes from Sterkfontein Dam, went skiing every weekend in the summer………I had never sailed but I had a book and learned some important knots and I loved the boat and everthing that went with it.


The porta Loo didn’t phase me after years of Polo Tournaments where you’d see a line of women – some even with wide brimmed hats waiting in a line outside these temporary igloos – the fact that I had to climb down the 40 rung ladder in the beginning did make my legs weak but by the end of the week was up and down that ladder balancing coffee tea and food on one hand while holding with the other and only using every fourth rung.

I moved scaffolding and leaned over backward at 3 meters high to scrape off barnacles. I helped to paint on the toxic anti-fowling. A beautiful blue keel resulted – the rudder was removed and the prop was sanded gently – shiney smooth copper was replaced lovingly. Stop-cocks were cleaned, sanded, greased and replaced.
I learned so much, stretching myself – I was used to the soft comforts of luxury but never as happy as in that sweating, hard working, grimy-nailed, rough hands week in the Hout Bay Dry Docks.

At the end of June I was retrenched from the Web Job in Johannesburg.
The day after that I lost my Pilates venue and so my Pilates income.

I was determined not to feel low and started to crochet a bag for my daughter at varsity and the WAR charity ladies were interested to learn. I taught them to crochet and the excitement of a possible new project bouyed me for a while – When my daughter came to me to show me what she’d picked up and put on her ankle, I wondered if the vision of 200 ladies making bags was going to become a reality? A beautiful beaded ankle bracelet with a butterfly on it!

My divorce is dragging and I sank into a dark hole.
I took out so many videos from the local video store that Kenny, the owner and I became friends – The blue Butterfly – was in my bag and I made my way home.

Adrian, a concerned friend skyped and I told him that at least I was about to watch a movie about a miracle! His reply “Oh, but your miracle has been on back order – it will be arriving soon!” sent cold shivers throughout my body and after the movie felt a little in a trance-like state – oh my word….something is happening here.

I dreamed that I woke up with a heavy wooden door lying on top of me – all I could do was move my finger and pushed open the copper letter flap. I saw bright light and in breaststroke mode swam through the letter flap and out into the sun with outstretched arms on a green grass verge looking at a blue butterfly flying away.

“Mom go to gran” from my daughter and “go to your mom and come and visit me” from Margie a good friend – only problem being that my mom stays in Harrismith and I was nervous to return. The fact that my husband is in New Zealand on holiday with my son made it possible and I got in my car for the journey south.

This felt like David and Goliath.

Coming back to a place that I’d fled from. Everyone saw me as a deserter.
It was cathartic.
I was led to a friend in Pietermaritzberg, Cheryl had said – “get on a cruise ship as a Pilates instructor- and work while you sail around the Islands until court date – that way Bahamas can be a reality” – My court date is Feb 2010 - I think it’s a brilliant idea – so my cv is on the cruise ship job sites.

I remembered old friends Cliff and Penny Freeman and decided to look them up. We had a tea and I updated Penny with the strange way my life was unfolding. My mind is open to all possibilities, my spirit is lifted, all things are possible – I won’t try and work out the details or try and make sense with my head – I have to follow with my heart.
Penny sent me an sms this morning about your blog – Karen and Dick “Butterfly and Barnacle” – I was blown away – in the Bahamas !

I’m not sure how you fit into my story but now you’re part of my miracle and my new life and this excites me – maybe I’ll meet you on a stop-over while working on a cruise ship –
Somewhere in the future I’ll join the dots and then will see the whole picture and who knows maybe it’s a butterfly……but I’ll keep you posted.

I joined the Brooklyn library and was keen to catch up on my old time favourite Roald Dahl and also found – Emotional Alchemy – the blue butterfly on the cover drew me and the book was life changing!

My fortune cookie reads…………Love is like a butterfly…..it flies where it pleases and pleases where it flies.
A friend reminded me the other day to always remember that a butterfly goes through a metamorphosis. Not always comfortable and that I am in the throes of change.

I have been inspired to create my own blog and can't tell you the release it has brought me to get the stories out in the open. One day we'll know.

Until then, best regards
Mandy

Rhapsody's

So where do I go in Pretoria to meet people, to dance, laugh, chat, flirt, stand in a thick crowd of people, smiling with a drink in my hand ?

Rhapsody’s.

The name in itself conjures visions of rapture, delight, ecstasy and makes one hopeful.

Rhapsody’s.

The place where all the over forty singles go to look cool, be seen, hang out .(No. they don’t give you a T-Shirt!)

Rhapsody’s.

I look at anyone who’s been and know they have a social life, they have friends, lots of friends.
These people always seem taller than me, larger than life, popular and with it.
So this is my mission, my goal, to be able to say that I’ve been.
I swish into the parking lot as if I’ve been here plenty and saunter in straight up to the bar counter.

A young man approaches, a sweet smile, his head tilted – condescending.
I ask him if I can order a drink – he says yes of course – he looks confused – he ask where I’m sitting.Nowhere, I’ll be at the pub if that’s ok?

When I dig out my purse and press toward the counter he gets the message and pulls his head in a strange way that makes me think he must have hurt his neck, but he’s smirking, so it can’t be painful.

I boldly order a tonic and soda and the guy grabs two glasses with ice – no, no, mix the tonic and soda in one glass – oh, he says, with eyebrows raised and then a little frown ?

I feel like buying cigarettes to give myself something cool to do, but decide rather to jab my straw into the ice and fiddle around in my glass for a while –

Then I turn my back and lean against the counter , smiling to myself as I send a few sms’s (as if I have a very busy and interesting life)

I smile at Owen’s one word answer as if he’s told me very long and interesting story and reply with a very long and interesting story.

Then I sms Henk and make plans for a Pilates lesson with a look on my face that says I am loved, I have a lover, and I’m getting very sexy messages.

Anyway after arranging my life via sms and exhausting all facial expressions on my list that belie the fact that I feel like a total idiot, I waft out, head held high.

At home I console myself with marie biscuit sarmies slathered together with smooth butter.

Good Weekend?

It’s all I have to mutter nonchalantly,
“Rhapsody’s”

And I too have friends, a rocking social life and don’t I seem just a little taller ?

Whiskers

I don’t know anyone who wakes up stressing about her friends top lip!

I had a vision.
You rushing out this morning, buying that epilator I advised and going overseas with ingrown hairs and a spotty, pimply mouth - heaven forbid! Your friends exclaiming in horror “Who on earth told you to do THAT!” and you point at me - I shudder.
I actually did shudder and that’s what got me up.
– so maybe don’t go that route.

Some people bleach the hair – but then you have to have hair before you bleach it – so for me that defeats the purpose.
And, what if you did it yourself and ended up walking around Earls court looking like you have milk on your top lip? No-never home bleach!
I once used Nair (the hair remover) – but left it on too long and when I rubbed hard with the wet cloth (as they tell you to do in the instructions) my top lip came with it! –
You don’t want to know what it’s like walking around with scabs on your lip!

My daughter buys “Mandy’s Wax Strips” I shake my head when I think my name is on a product that probably waxes a million fannies and who knows how many top lips!
So, keep tweezing or ask a professional…

I feel better.

I think your top lip is safe.

….and so is your overseas trip.

You know the story of women who do daft things to try and “be better, look younger, feel better” and ruin the honeymoon.

Ok I’m going back to bed .

I can’t sleep…maybe having so much experience does make me sort of a professional?
We could discuss that another day

Room 113

I’m already in my red plastic seat, an old couple walk in. “Haai Pappa maar daar’s baie meer “ligtes” hierdie maand”, says the woman as she seats herself next to me.

On my other side a well dressed man, Levi labels from top-to-toe, smells strongly of faeces.

I stare straight ahead tears welling, and remind myself that I am no better or any worse, than these 60 people here for the same reason, and try and breathe subtly through my mouth.

A friendly, him-and-her couple sit and chatter together merrily. They help confused newcomers, indicating the end of the queue with bright eyes. Their matted filthy hair plugged under grimy peaks, their fingernails black and bitten, their clothes threadbare, their faces unashamed.

Sixty people rise and shuffle two or three seats along as applicants are helped. I sit directly behind a woman with long dark hair. She is alone and she is static. Twenty five long thin black hairs reach up desperately, suspended in mid air! Her black sunglasses perch on top of her head and she is blissfully unaware. At each side, long, long, thin strands of black hair attach themselves to the shoulder of each of her neighbors. Reaching towards me straight from the back of her head are thirty horizontal wires of thin black. I get the feeling that they’d be ecstatic if they could reach me – but I pull back (just a little) smiling weakly.

Sixty people rise and shuffle, and I see a twin-set. They look like mother and daughter. They keep to themselves, looking straight ahead. They’re wearing identical jackets and bags and similarly earthy colored cotton clothing. They’re sensible people, they have water bottles, they are well prepared, they’ve been here before. They keep their arms neatly close to their bodies and their lips tightly closed. As “Next!” is called they go up together. I watch as they leave in power walk mode, visibly relieved to be heading OUT.

I close my eyes and try and relax and remind myself that I’m no better, and no worse, than any of these unemployed people.

Skinner str., Pretoria Central, Labour Department – Room 113 – UIF
27 August 2009 – 10am – 12.30pm

I left with a wad of papers to fill out and a list of instructions.

Meeting a friend for a pizza, covered in artichokes and deli delights, in the designer court in Brooklyn square released the floodgates. As my shoulders shook and she uncurled my clenched hand to massage my palm, a picture came to mind. Pinnochio the wooden puppet transforming into his fathers dream – a real person. I laughed at the thought of me shouting out in Cappuccinos “I’m a REAL girl!”