Fiftyodd

Diffraction Grating

2012-02-13T14:55:00.000+02:00

Sometimes I think my brother and his sons speak a foreign language - that concerned either with Physics or computer programming. Today, during gift-giving for my nephew's 18th birthday - which featured the grand prize of a 750 gig hard drive with a 5-year guarantee - I gave him a humble keyring (apart from a cash donation) - cute, because it features an LED light feature which had my brother saying he would like to '...run it through a diffraction grating to see the rainbow'. Suitably awed, until I was told that any 17-year old physics student would know what he was talking about, I reflected that to some of us it is given to have given up science in favour of languages at age 13. Thank goodness there are 'others' though. It is half term week here in the UK for both my nephews. The elder has been closeted in his room all morning - no longer playing computer games - no indeed: he has a 250-page project to complete for his computer-programming course. Whew! NB - The younger one has been packed off to school for a day-long 'French refresher' pre-exam course - much to his disgust. Predictably, although he is the best student in the class regarding the grammar side of the language, he finds it incredibly difficult to think up essays, and mostly just refuses to answer those questions. His A-level subjects are to be Maths, Higher Maths, Computer Science & Science. Maybe he would have been more motivated if his school had offered Chinese - an increasingly popular option these days.

Passport Paranoia

2012-02-08T20:45:00.000+02:00

Off to the UK again tomorrow - early flight. Nice. But the bad part is - although I've checked my passport, money, ticket a thousand times, I seem to have an Obsessive/Compulsive disorder in this respect. I know that tomorrow morning I shall be driven to the airport by my husband and in my hands will be clutched the above-mentioned documents, so that they cannot possibly escape. I also know that my dreams tonight will be filled with missed flights, lost documents, me being lost in strange towns etc. etc. When I am successfully checked in I shall look amazed at the lady behind the desk - can there really be no hitch? Does anyone travel in carefree fashion? Can anyone supply any tips or is it just that I am getting old? My dad has now been in the rehab hospital since New Year and I hear that he wants to come home - but keeps picking up hospital infections. My sister-in-law, who visits him every day, says the worst thing for him is that he cannot (being blind) imagine his surroundings. That's why he wants to come home, to a place which he can picture in his mind. Sorry for not blogging lately - heatwave here for three weeks - 100 degrees plus. Also had visitors for the last week... we are all getting old - one came for a colonoscopy and another sister-in-law to have her stents checked. Thankfully, both are so far OK. Visitors left this morning. More from the UK... very cold there, I believe....

Say what you mean or mean what you say?

2012-01-30T15:36:00.001+02:00

In most situations I try to measure my words because I wouldn't like to say anything for which I would have to apologise later. I also try my best not to hurt with words. In particular, one has to make allowances for people who seem to misunderstand and derive insult or hurt where none was intended. I have to be particularly careful with one friend for whom I have to spell things out or I know she will take my words up the wrong way. I have to try to anticipate the way she will react. Which is often difficult - but not impossible. The other day, I was asked by someone else to investigate the costs of a medical procedure for her as she does not have medical aid and has to come from out of town for it to be done. After several phone calls I had gathered the information and phoned her back. After some minutes of hedging, I finally discovered that actually cost is not the main criterion here, rather it is that she wants the procedure to be done in theatre under full anaesthetic and not in the specialist's rooms with just painkillers and a light sedative. She already had an appointment and a quote for the theatre option.

As the procedure is quite a simple one and the price either very costly or much less, I was somewhat perplexed. There was a hiatus in the conversation after which she suddenly said, "There's an Afrikaans or an English way of doing these things..", after which she thanked me and said she would call back if she wanted me to make the appointment. She hasn't. I was left wondering what she meant? It could be that the English doctors are thought to be cheapskate or not thorough enough or is it that the Afrikaans ones are topnotch and not shy to charge. Or is it that all her friends advise her to choose the first option? I suppose I could have asked, but I couldn't think how to phrase the question at the time. Luckily, for me, being English, I wouldn't take offence either way. Oops - now someone will take exception to that !

Sudden Death

2012-01-27T08:42:00.000+02:00

Although my title reminds me vaguely of some game show, I'm talking about reality here. How do you 'bear' bad news? My husband phoned me from work yesterday and simply said that a good friend of ours had died from a stroke in the night. She was only 63 and as far as we all knew, in the best of health. Ironically, all our concerns had been with her husband who had his second quadruple by-pass a few months ago. He is now in good health... It's the next day, and I am in denial. One thinks, "only two days ago, she was cooking the evening meal, doing her favourite crossword" etc.etc. Is it better to go this way? Maybe for her: if she had fleeting last seconds I know she would have thought to herself that at least her house and affairs were in apple-pie order. Did she have that chance? What if it were me? My cupboards and paper-work are chaotic. I feel obliged to tackle everything now to minimise problems for those left behind for when it's me. Yet I drag my feet: I want to put my head in the sand. We have of course made our will and the children know where it is but that's not enough. One of my husband's staff had to attend his dad's funeral last week (sudden death) and was amazed to find that he had siblings he didn't know about and a plethora of documents to find for the funeral directors and other authorities. My husband brought home a copy: there are 31 pieces of information and/or documents required. I'll look at it later. A lingering death must be easier for those left behind, at least there's time to prepare and you are not in shock at the end; but is that kind of death (possibly painful) better for the sufferer? I'm going to England next month to see my dad: he's 94 and been in hospital since New Year with various ailments. Now he has a bladder infection (hospital-induced) and was at first refusing medicine, saying that 94 is old enough especially as he is blind and deaf. My brother says, he initially enjoyed the attention and change of scene. Now he wants to come home. He's really tough though, so I think he will last until my visit. After all, he's been predicting his own imminent demise since he was 45. A true hypochondriac. They usually outlast the rest of us don't they. Still, with a lot of deaths around me lately and more to come, it may be time for me to 'get religion'. That must be a kind of comfort.

1,2,3.....

2012-01-20T07:45:00.000+02:00

By chance, I listened to a fascinating weekly programme about mathematics last week. It was about the statistics of chance and lottery draws. Apparently, if numbers 1,2,3,4,5, & 6 were to come up - it would be no less a series of random numbers than any other between 1 and 49 (the parameters of our national lottery.) If I picture the little balls rolling around in the transparent drum, I have to reluctantly admit I can almost understand this, but if it did happen, I would instantly react with shock and 3/4 of my brain would decide that the result had been fixed. Similarly, we have friends who regularly win when they buy raffle tickets. Hell, they even won a car once! We have been to functions with them, and even swapped our tickets with theirs: you've guessed it - they still won the bottles of wine or whatever else was on offer. How does this happen? Is there such a thing as just being 'lucky'?

Life's Little Ironies

2012-01-18T20:05:00.000+02:00

With our summer heatwave running at a relentless 100 degrees F. there was nothing for it but to retreat to the movies. To get my own back on our new bus company which has now substituted expensive plastic bank cards for our initial paper tickets, I decided to do back-to-back two films as I was by myself - both of my movie buddies being unavailable this week. The first was the Woody Allen, "Midnight in Paris" which sounded wonderful from the reviews but in fact reminded me why I am not a Woody Allen fan. Owen Wilson was so irritating I wanted to hit him and in general, I don't like whimsical, fantasy romcoms. This one is marketed as "light as a souffle" and so it was: therefore not my type. As a terrific antidote I then watched "Margin Call" - brilliant actors, huge suspense, great stuff. A couple of things of note: I look forward to morning shows as I usually sit in an empty movie house with my choice of seats: this time I chose a seat in the middle and got out my sandwich. I couldn't believe it when an elderly gent walked into my row and even right up to the seat next to me! "Is this seat number 7?" he asked. I pointed out that the movie house was empty and he could sit where he chose. Surely he was not going to invade my space? Mercifully, he decided to leave one seat between us (its armrest was broken), but I was still fuming wondering if the ticket guy had deliberately put us together? To my relief, another five people wandered in before the film began and sat at respectful distances away from each other. In the end, my whole plan backfired, as I lost my favourite pashmina, which I take to combat the icy air inside the movie house, somewhere between the mall and the bus stop, so I saved no money after all.

The Collector

2012-01-11T08:33:00.000+02:00

Just started - four boxes to go

Primary school - we used to Maypole dance at local fetes

Is there a difference between a hoarder and a collector? I am not sure but I certainly have a lot of letters. I've started 'sorting them out', I hesitate to say 'catalogueing' as I am not yet that organised but it seems as I go through the boxes, that I've never thrown away even one letter from a family member or personal friend or boyfriend. Why am I doing this? Chatting to one recent acquaintance last night, she thinks I am mad; she has saved no letters ever but there again she can't bear to part with a piece of old furniture.
I've only glanced at the contents of some of the letters and am ashamed to say I can't even recall the faces or names of a few of the writers with whom it seems I had quite a lengthy correspondence.
(Re pics - my mother used to send me all my old school stuff when she was clearing out in order to move house. She wrote to me every week for 30 years ).

Endeavour Prize and winning a cruise in a national essay competition.

This seems to me reason enough to have kept the documents. Memories fade. At least they can be revived this way. I also find that I have over time misinterpreted some people's characters and motives and built pictures in my mind of events or feelings that on confronting the written word, have proved to be totally erroneous. My second reason for doing this exercise right now, is having to downsize with a view to my husband's retiring in two years time. We have suddenly realised that our home at the coast has almost no cupboards and hubby is having to accept that as time races on ...especially as 2012 has dawned (what happened to 2011?), he just doesn't have time to do everything.

Me pinning a leek on the Mayor on St. David's Day.

We have to get a move on. My third reason is that I am going to re-read everything with a view to collating facts and information relating to the five decades from the sixties to the present day, with the further view of writing a book.

I've now thrown away the envelopes !

I am hoping to distil the essentials of everyone's characters and lives so that they can be thinly disguised in a work of 'faction'. Well, we all need a long term project for retirement and as it has been said "different strokes for different folks". My new friend still thinks I am mad. One further satisfaction - I plan to e-mail everyone I can still find and tell them how many letters of theirs I have kept. Hope they will be impressed. E-mail's just not the same. No-one keeps those.

Requiem for a Trailer

2012-01-09T17:05:00.000+02:00

One thing guaranteed when my brother-in-law visits: the talk will be exclusively of vehicles. This might have saved our bacon however in the form of preventing us being left at the side of the road witnessing the death of our beloved trailer. Launching into one of his stories, M told us of a friend who owned a trailer of the same vintage as ours - about 30 years old - and he happened to look underneath it one day. To his horror he saw that rust had advanced to the point that the chassis was about to part company from both axles. Alarm bells ringing, my husband inspected his own trailer's nether regions. We must have been one trip away from disaster. Our trailer is in almost constant use; in its long life it has carted loads for us over bumpy ground roads in the Karoo, it's been on holiday with us to the Kruger Park and on camping trips in Botswana. Perhaps its most arduous tasks have been helping us move house on several occasions. Finally, living at the coast has taken its toll. After spending some hours steeped in gloom (our house also urgently needs painting and the well-point needs repair), husband rallied briefly and decided that he could make a temporary fix which should last about 4 months during which time we can save up for a new one. He has cut out the offending rusted parts and screwed in long pieces of square steel tubing down both sides of the chassis to which he has reattached the axles. Now the trailer is back on its feet and we can breathe again. Fingers crossed.

Space Saver - Costume Jewellery

2012-01-06T08:39:00.000+02:00

Like most paranoid people, I keep my valuable jewellery in the safe, but what to do with the increasing number of cute necklaces that I can't resist? Either they get all tangled up in a box or on a stand or... Now I keep them on the same hangers in my wardrobe, as the outfits they match - with some latitude for mix 'n match according to the mood or projected image for the day. A further tip - when I hang up my clothes after laundering, I always choose the same end of the wardrobe - so that if I bump in to anyone who knows me (I don't care really, but it's fun) - I won't be wearing the same thing 3 days in a row. I am one of those people who would have loved to wear a uniform to work so that I didn't have to make a time-consuming choice every day. This one's for you, Sextant - if you have managed to read thus far - I place my husband's clean underpants at the bottom of the pile in his cupboard to ensure that they all get rotated and wear at the same rate. There! I bet you can't think of something intelligent to say about this post? These are not topics that occupy the minds of men.

Where did my Husband go Shopping?

2012-01-04T09:29:00.001+02:00

I did a bit of a double take when reconciling our credit card slips/invoices this month: one day my husband went shopping by himself and these are some of the items on his invoice...

Catch and Toggle, small

Butt Hinge

Nylon nipple

Insert nylon Male Adaptor ????

Yes, you guessed it: a visit to the Hardware store partly to purchase bits and pieces to try to fix our garden's irrigation system and the hinge and toggle was for my puzzle box. Why - what were you thinking? (Giggle).

In a State of Demented Joy

2012-01-02T13:39:00.000+02:00

Although my husband knows full-well that my addiction to Jigsaw Puzzles will mean months of desertion of housewifely duties, he is still willing to service my annual addiction - and I have once again received my heart's desire for Christmas - this time a whopper of 5,000 pieces, picture all carefully covered up to make it that bit more challenging. He hadn't quite anticipated how big it would be however, so has had to spend all day yesterday in his garage, making boards and a huge child-proof box for me to blissfully waste away a few hours every day, yet able to whisk everything away the minute the doorbell rings and I hear the patter of tiny feet.

The logistics (1.65 m. x 1.2 m ) means that the finished product will be exactly as wide as I am tall, but there will be an empty wall preserved for it in our retirement home. After this, though and after framing last year's two (both 2,500 pieces) I shall unfortunately have to take up another hobby. No more space. NB. This is me during the preliminary sorting progress - the big board and box are in our outside playroom. Below is hubby on Boxing Day - welding and fixing parts of our new gates, inexpertly put in by the contractor, who left sharp edges for our guests to wreck their tyres on.

Glazed look in the Eyes

2011-12-23T09:08:00.000+02:00

Here comes Some-one I don't know

Here are examples of the perfect 'glazed look'

That was SO..... Good !

or 'how comforting a thumb can be in the presence of strangers'. My granddaughter of 9 months absolutely won't touch a dummy. Is there really any cause to be worried about deforming her teeth? She has 8. Maybe if she gives up the thumb-sucking young enough, all will be well. ??

Oh, oh, someone else I don't know

Happy Christening !

2011-12-22T13:51:00.000+02:00

"Ah, finally in something more comfortable"

Nothing much new to blog about - we all know about hectic preparations for Christmas. Our baby was christened last Sunday though - an eye-opener for me, as the ministers these days seem to store up all the littlies and do them on the same day. There were 11 babies baptised in the understandably crowded church. Afterwards, a roast lunch at my daughter's house, where my husband snapped this adorable pic (above). She is quintessentially herself in this one - much though she loves sucking her thumb (under). They are just born with their characters, aren't they.

"I don't like this starchy dress"

Mirror, mirror, on the Wall....

2011-12-19T20:12:00.000+02:00

This mirror very nearly remained off the wall, as we had to agree on its new position. We are redesigning our 'central area' downstairs in our retirement house. Until now, it has served as a general dormitory for small son and his friends from about the age of 16, when we had to ferry them to and fro to their small-town night club, taking turns to set the alarm to 2.00 a.m. (going to bed fully clothed - the things we do for our kids!). Now that they are all aged circa 22, they do their own driving and have their own vehicles of variously aged vintages in most cases. Small son drives my old, sturdy Honda Ballade whose birthday is 1996 and still going strong. I digress. The mirror, which used to take pride of place in the centre of one wall, has lately become obscured by the increased number of bunk beds. It has to move to a position near to our front door. The point of this post is to demonstrate that although we nearly came to blows about the minute positioning of the mirror at the bottom of the staircase - mostly because it weighs about 40 lbs and required considerable effort for my husband to lift it up only to hear that it needed to go 2 cms more to the right/left/up/down - we were both thinking about the possibility of make-up sex (no, I'm kidding - that was just in our imaginations), I was thinking that if our children were present they would think we were fighting. Not true. However, my husband did turn stubborn and refused to give in to my preference. At this point - he had a light bulb moment! "How about if we turn it round?" Problem solved. We turned the oblong mirror around longways and it was a perfect fit. Grinning companionably at each other, we went off to pour ourselves a whiskey. NB. He also made the banister, tiled the stairs and made the wooden steps. This is why we could afford to build a second home.

Waiting for Babe to Wake up,,,,,

2011-12-15T12:04:00.000+02:00

My daughter asked me to fetch her baby this morning and take her to my house as the maid wants to leave early. Daughter had to go out somewhere. So here I am in this big modern house, waiting for babe to wake up - she's having a really long sleep this morning as she's had a cold, but now that her nose is clear she seems to be catching up on lost sleep. I glance around but there is not a single book or magazine in this house - apart from in my grandson's bedroom (thanks to his two grannies!) to help me pass the time. There is the TV but the maid is still here listening to her Xhoza radio programme (very loudly) so I can't do that. Their new leather L-shaped couch is so uncomfortable I can't sit on that for a nap either. There are no 'comfy' chairs..... I remembered that their old (comfy) couch has been relegated to the landing upstairs, so I've had a nap on that after attempting an to complete an old Sudoku which I found in my handbag. Now I've found my daughter's computer so I'm posting a blog. After this, I'm going to wake the baby.... the African language on the radio is driving me nuts. How can there be a house with no books? And her mother an English teacher!!

Love Is....

2011-12-14T18:34:00.000+02:00

Couldn't resist this one. Hubbie just returned from his 12-hour working day. I let him therefore have the pick of the early evening TV shows but sometimes this is the result. I should add that later that evening he sanded and painted small son's bedroom and also moved the built-in cupboards to the other side of the room, while I finished a cryptic crossword.

How Weird am I ?

2011-12-08T08:31:00.000+02:00

Sextant - not so lucky today . I downloaded four pics and got the code mixed up - deleted half my text! Stuck with one pic today. Thanks to the person who put this on the Net .

As Christmas approaches and I am getting older, I have found it necessary to be surrounded by memories. My Christmas tree is loaded with decorations, each loaded with memory, quite different from my daughter's rather minimal 'themed' one: I actually asked her if she had only half-finished it. It looks like one in a shopping mall. Christmas cards, I lament to say, are in short supply. Gone are the days of snail-mail thirty years ago, when the postman made three deliveries a day, and cards flooded through our front door and thumped onto the mat. Only the old people do cards now: last year I think I got a total of six and only sent as many. That's largely because a lot of people on my old list have died and also because postal rates overseas have rocketed, for obvious reasons. I don't like text messages on Christmas day, nor do I appreciate digital cards arriving in my e-mail - to print out at my own cost. However, incorrigible hoarder that I am, there are about fifty of the nicest cards that I've kept over the last twenty years that I put up again each December. They are mostly from dearly-beloved relatives who have passed on and I always re-read every message before putting up a display. In this way I feel surrounded by love and am comforted by memories. It's specially meaningful this year as I have one acquaintance facing terminal cancer and a dear friend battling with ill-health.

Moslem Wedding

2011-12-07T09:29:00.000+02:00

(Thank you Sextant ! See the second pic is in the text !! So simple when you know how!)

I was privileged to attend a Moslem wedding on Sunday as the bride's father is one of my husband's staff. What an amazing experience. Firstly, the 500 guests - with spare tables in the back in case more pitched up. The dad told us he sent out 200 formal invitations but family are simply told the date and expected to come. The venue was stunning and the food excellent: apparently, many family members contribute quite large cash gifts to help with the wedding and the young couple are also helped with a house or flat. There were loads of gifts on display. I had worried about what to wear so settled for trousers, a long top and scarf. Other women, especially some of the younger ones, hadn't worried to dress conservatively, but they were few amongst the traditional scarves and saris, some of which were quite magnificent. It was an absolute delight to have no alcohol - copious jugs of juice and water were constantly brought to our table, which was just as well as it was a hot day, and it took two hours for all the guests to arrive before the proceedings started. There were a lot of bridesmaids and groomsmen and the whole entourage sat on the platform, although without any parents. There were no speeches just what I presume was a blessing - sung in Arabic (ten minutes long) and then the MC called up a dignitary he called the "Chef" to the microphone and he intoned something for a similar length of time.

Then it was the 3-course meal, which had been preceded by fresh fruits at the table, then photographs on the stage and then the best part - three Hajis (older women who have done the Haj) - came to take the bride away to her new home where traditionally they would instruct her what to expect and how to behave on her wedding night. First, they placed a dark fur cape around her shoulders and then, the Hajis all dressed in immaculate white saris (the bride in a traditional European gown) they walked slowly through the centre of the guests, who kissed the bride who was accompanied by a beautiful song sung by all the women guests, haunting, soft and almost sad. That was the end and people started to leave. The bridegroom would be waiting for her at the new house - and we were home by 8.00 p.m. Such an eye-opener, a glimpse into another culture and traditions.

Small Son - Job Search

2011-12-05T18:36:00.000+02:00

We have come to the end of small son's third year of study: "International Import/Export" Diploma. Sounds good, but small son seems blissfully unaware of the small field of jobs available for the 600,000 currently unemployed graduates in SA. Partly the fault of students studying the wrong things: of course, we need scientists, engineers etc. but few wish to pursue those courses - they are just too darned hard and not glamorous. Small son also has always been more interested in his surfboard than his books. He also seem convinced that there is a way to earn easy money, or at least believes that he can find a job related to his field of study. NB. This is his first foray into the world of proper employment, his CV thus far consisting of a few modelling jobs in London and two years of delivering pizzas at night, plus a brief stint as a barman. He went for an interview last Friday, but although it went well, he is not impressed with the conditions of employment: a four-year contract, R10,000 per month in the first year, working in the store stacking shelves for five months, six days a week, working on all Public Holidays... So he is not thrilled. He will refuse this offer and believes he will find something better. We'll see. I ought to reserve judgment: I think he forgets he has the wrong skin color to get any kind of job in SA. I might be wrong. He has one month before all parental support ceases - except that my husband won't let me eject him from our home. Then there's the other matter of him reversing into our electric gate last month, being too impatient to wait for it to open properly - the second time he's done this. The first quote is R20,000 - much to small son's amazement. We are still waiting for him to get another quote: luckily, I remembered not to transfer his monthly allowance (one month to go!) as this is the only way to galvanize him into action. More anon....

The Dog Whisperer and Girls of the Playboy Mansion

2011-11-30T18:52:00.000+02:00

I am trying to analyse my fascination with these two shows (include "Dr 90210") since I do not watch 'soapies' (or perhaps these qualify?). I have two university degrees (thus hopefully a reasonable brain) and the two shows don't appear at first glance to have anything in common - apart from being undemanding viewing. Well, I guess that's one reason: I don't have to concentrate. The common factor seems to be my fascination with psychology, whether human or animal. And I absolutely love dogs, although we haven't had one for many years: they die too young and lately we need to be able to lock up and go. However, I have told my husband, that should he kick the bucket before me, I shall immediately purchase a dog to love, cuddle and have sleep in my bed. My husband was not impressed. Should I follow this course of action though, I foresee that I should rapidly be in need of the services of Cesar Millano as I should be a useless pack leader. I don't like having to be in a position of authority so really I should never own a dog. Heigh-ho! I'll probably get a budgie. Of course,I might die first.... That doesn't bear thinking about because, being a man, my husband would have to find another wife. Maybe not straight away because he does not need 'looking after', being a perfectly accomplished chef, handyman, housekeeper, car mechanic, gardener, etc. He is also a dab hand with my sewing machine: he can also knit. As far as the other show goes, I am lost in admiration that these girls are clever enough to carve lucrative careers for themselves by exploiting men (I don't see it as the other way round), getting themselves boob jobs and adopting dumb blonde attitudes. Way to go! I can't however understand how they can stomach going to bed with a man they haven't grown old with and I'll never understand how their lives are just one big party. Boring! I'm fascinated nonetheless! Obviously, I all the photos of Hef and his girls are copyright-protected.

Housewife's Horror of Aprons ... and a word on Sex

2011-11-24T17:03:00.001+02:00

The Stepford Wives

My reluctance to wear an apron when cooking no doubt stems from not wishing to behave in any way like the robot wives in the film "The Stepford Wives" : (if you know what an apron is you will remember the film). I like to think of myself as liberated and hence most of my clothes bear witness to this (tomato stains mostly). There was also an iconic TV cooking show at the time, mid-sixties, starring Fannie and Johnnie Cradock, who were frightfully aristocratic and cooked in evening clothes: a lackey would appear in the background, handing them the prepared ingredients. Also, even today, any advert referring to a fifties female, depicts her in an apron. Nevertheless, I do think there is something to be said for Jerry Hall's mother's advice: " you must be a maid in the living room, a cook in the kitchen and a whore in the bedroom." NB Jerry said she would hire the other two and take care of the bedroom bit. Well, that's an idea - if you can afford it. Most of us have to struggle on, trying to be Superwoman with a full-time job to boot. Now that I am 'retired' and theoretically, have the time, there is the dire problem of receding hormones re "it-that-shall-not-be-named". (Sorry, always been a Harry Potter fan). In the first twenty-eight years of my marriage I always showed willing in the bedroom unless "sick or (very) pregnant" (a quote from Jilly Cooper, now married for fifty years to Leo). This line of action I think has resulted in a very contented husband and has contributed in no small way to our long marriage. NB Please don't think I was ever frigid. I definitely enjoyed myself. On the few occasions when I have tried to explain more recently, my diminishing libido - I have been met with hurt looks and a conviction that I don't love him any more. He takes it very personally. Which is quite exasperating for me and means that I have to go back to faking it for his sake. Make no mistake: of course, I still love the physical closeness and am still nuts about my husband; it's just that my body lets me down: most of the time. There I've done it! Mentioned the unmentionable. My latest worry is that my doctor wants me to give up my HRT after 10 years and I am dead against it. I look younger than my age and don't need lubricants. I'd rather take my chances for a while longer.

Fight at the LIbrary

2011-11-23T17:35:00.000+02:00

National Library of Finland

Things are likely to be 'sensitive' in South Africa for many years to come as a result of our government's "B.E.E." (Black Economic Empowerment) programme. One example of what happens is that our librarian confided to me one frustrated Monday morning that of the 'new' staff - one of the women does not pull her weight, is on the same salary scale as my colleague and yet the latter has to do most of her work as well as her own. Why? Because no-one dares criticise anyone with a black skin - least of all the Chief Librarian. Any comment, no matter how innocuous, well-meaning or helpful is interpreted as 'racist'. So in most firms, 'new' appointments are given a company car, a nice office and a title - while someone else does their work. This usually works out cheaper for companies than having to pay the fine for not having their BEE ratios correct. Things came to a head last week though: the other 'new' staff member is a conscientious worker and had obviously been observing the scene for a while. Suddenly, she lost her temper and gave the lazy one a right verbal bollocking during which the remaining staff made themselves scarce. A week later, nothing is said, the two ladies concerned don't speak to each other but the lazy one seems to be making an effort.

One of Life's Little Ironies

2011-11-22T19:39:00.001+02:00

My big son is becoming notorious for his tendency to be reluctant to make any kind of decision (outside his work). At the last minute, he decided to use up some leave and go and visit family in the Karoo for a brief 5 days - a 500-mile journey away from Cape Town. Even more last minute, he decided to send his car in for a service the day before they were due to leave with an early start. Unsurprisingly, the car wasn't ready in time, but worse, he was told over the phone that the cost of the service would be a devastating R7800. Way over budget. So he cancelled his trip, his wife went back to work and he spent the week-end with us. Ironically, when he went to collect his car, he was informed that there had been a mistake and he had been quoted someone else's bill. His own charge was a mere R750. But all's well that ends well: more sensibly, they will take a longer leave next year and go for two weeks so that they can visit everyone and not rush. However, I wonder the reaction of the owner who might have been told that his bill was R750 but it turned out to be R7800. Sometimes you must just count yourself lucky.

Catching the Cape Town Bus

2011-11-22T07:02:00.000+02:00

We've never had a really decent public transport system in Cape Town (nay, the whole of South Africa) until the thought of hosting the World Cup Football last year galvanized the powers that be. Unfortunately, the first route only opened six months ago, luckily from my suburb into central Cape Town. This has been a boon as I can pop into town to see the "Cinema Nouveau" movies at the Waterfront - read: "right next to the famous Table Mountain recently voted one of the Seven Wonders of the Natural World" - without being stuck in horrendous traffic or having to face huge parking fees. Funny thing: although people of every color and creed use the bus, if you get onto an empty one at the terminal, the black people gravitate to the back and the whites to the front. (??) This is nastily reminiscent to me of the old apartheid days but is it really so in the SA of 2011? Maybe the black people would rather converse with the stranger sitting next to them in their own language. Maybe there is nothing sinister at all: no matter how the social engineers try to mix us up, it's just that "soort soek soort" (like attracts like) as they say in Afrikaans. After all, I avoid children and youngsters with noisy I-Pods: also anyone with BO. I look for the person who gets out their book or Kindle as my ideal travelling companion.

How to Look Well-Groomed

2011-11-21T07:10:00.000+02:00

When you live in a small town and attend church - you have to look well-groomed or people will whisper. Consequently, I have three very smart sisters-in-law who always look immaculate when they go out, even if its just to buy the paper. On the other hand, I live pretty anonymously in a big city and I struggle to get it right. My hair just never looks perfect - not helped by strong summer South-Easter, and I never seem to manage to keep my clothes clean. I thought I'd aced it last week but found a mark on the lapel of my cotton jacket as I was leaving home so I rushed back and addressed it with dishwashing liquid which then left a faint green residue as well as a wet mark. Too bad - it was getting late. I thought my make-up was OK - it was - but as I got in my car my other lapel managed to brush against my fresh lipstick and when I arrived at my destination I found an old coffee stain on the pocket. Anyone any tips? I have a small suspicion that it's something to do with personality type? (Actually, Diane usually looks good in her films - just doesn't cut it off duty).

Unfortunate Economy

2011-11-20T17:49:00.000+02:00

I've often thought marketing and advertising must be interesting fields in which to work because of the need to understand buyers' psychology. Now when it comes to soap, shower gel and bubble bath - I'm afraid I will buy any which match exactly the colours in my bathroom - this is my most important criterion, as the products stand on show as opposed to being hidden in a cupboard. I admit I did foolishly stray from my rule last month when I was tempted by a large, bargain buy in the form of a good shower gel. The container was opaque and did not reveal the colour of the liquid which was transparent. I was puzzled that this big tub - which should have lasted three months - was finished in less than one and remarked on it to my husband. "Oh, that was probably me," he said. "Without my glasses, I can't see how much I'm getting out." (Back to blue).

Halloween or Ku-Klux Clan?

2011-11-18T07:31:00.000+02:00

My husband is starting to stress a great deal about his looming retirement in less than three years. His main worry is that he won't be able to fit all his power tools into the garage space in our retirement home. To this end, we have extended the house so that it now looks huge on the outside: there is a workroom behind the garage and a great 'hobbies' room above the double garage which we plan to share for our indoor hobbies, sewing, jigsaw, computer, model boat building etc..) and there is the bonus of a secluded open area on the top floor behind the hobbies room at the back of the house - actually a suntrap, where I can hang washing, skinny sunbathe etc. G is slowly moving the contents of his garage at home to his new workroom to avoid a major effort when we finally move. The latest addition to his collection of what I regard as 'toys' is this scary-looking machine with big pointed sack which gathers all the sawdust as he works at his lathe. I am assured that this (expensive) piece of equipment is essential in terms of his health and it will ensure that the area remains immaculate. I buy this on both counts as I have experienced many a day when our garage here looks as if a dust storm has hit, with my husband emerging with only his eyes visible and my own car cloaked in what looks like a downy blanket. Of more concern, was the strange dizziness that afflicted my husband for some months and which puzzled doctors. Light dawned one day when he read in Handyman Magazine that certain woods give off vapours which can definitely cause this side effect. Meantime, I don't venture into the garage without putting the light on - this new machine just takes me right back to the sixties and the Ku Klux Clan - and it's been Halloween recently. Sometimes it's not nice to have an active imagination. Silly, aren't I? After all I'm not 3. Got out a scary dinosaur pop-up book from the library which I've been reading with great sound effects "Boom, Boom !!" for my grandson - "Again, again, granny!" However, my daughter brought it back three days later - although he loves it in daylight, it's been giving him nightmares.(Sorry - bottom pic was correct when I selected it - can't seem to turn it. Pics do not load properly on my Mac)

Moral Quandary

2011-11-17T13:34:00.000+02:00

Like all parents, I've done my best to instil good values and discipline into my children. I understand that the pace of modern life is hectic especially when you have a very active toddler and a seven-month old to get to the shops. However, I have asked my daughter to give me at least a day's notice if she needs help as I do sometimes have my own commitments. I know she thinks I don't have a life these days since I stopped working but I feel she shouldn't assume I am at her beck and call at the drop of a hat, unless the children are suddenly sick. So I got a message this morning: she needs my help if at all possible today to take them into town for their passport photos and documents. As it happens, I arranged yesterday afternoon to go to movies this morning with two friends. We had been trying to find a date to suit everyone for a few days before that. It would not be a house on fire, if I pulled out, which of course, I would do in an emergency, but I still feel bad saying no to my daughter and I now worry that it will be my fault if my mischievous grandson runs away into the traffic and gets lost or run over while she is organising the baby into her pram. In my own mind I have no choice though: I always stick to a prior commitment. My daughter says she forgot to phone me yesterday. Maybe the inconvenience of this expedition will jog her memory next time. (This is them)

Must-Have !!

2011-11-16T18:47:00.000+02:00

There are few times in one's life I think, that one sees something for sale that one simply falls in love with. I can remember a few - the pair of china frogs in my bathroom, the paintings of Venice that my husband and I fell in love with - well, really, I just felt sorry for the pavement artist in St Mark's square and wanted to help him - for rather a large amount. And then I saw these - in the car park of our loca supermarket. As Christmas is coming - I've put them on my wish list. My husband thinks I have taken leave of my senses, but how can I help myself? I just fell in love - of course, it rather depends how you attach them to your car: this one has a sort of faintly "dumb blonde" look - don't you think? I want mine to look "coy". Can't wait for Santa!

The Language of Love

2011-11-14T19:12:00.000+02:00

We had a great week-end at our holiday house: visitors were my son, his wife and my granddaughter and my daughter's mother-in-law. She and I get on like a house on fire as we were both teachers in a former life. We had a good old chinwag down at the coffee shop at the beach over a couple of very decent cappucinos while my husband got on with jobs at the house and my son and his family were out shopping. Having covered a broad spectrum of subjects I was astonished to hear my friend suddenly say that she notices my husband is always 'getting at' me. I honestly had no idea what she was talking about and said so: she equally surprised that I did not notice the so-called 'critical remarks'. We glossed over this and talked of other things but I've been thinking about what on earth can she mean? I can only surmise that after 34 years of happy marriage, there is a coded language that exists between loving couples to which outsiders are oblivious. I know that my husband is a very private man and does not wear his heart on his sleeve: when we are alone he is absolutely the most verbally loving and considerate mate anyone could want. He demonstrates this in a thousand ways: he loves to bring me a tray of tea in bed every morning, although he is up very early to get himself off to work, he kisses me tenderly before he leaves and again when he comes home. These are not empty gestures. They mean "Even though we have many daily frustrations in life - eg. you still haven't ironed my favourite shirt even though it's been in the wash for a week , I love you always and absolutely". If he says in company, "Oh, A's dropped the iron again and I have to fix it" - I know he means "But she's the best ironer in the world and I love her to bits". I finally remembered that M was only married for 10 years before getting divorced. So it's just that she hasn't learned the private language of love.

Hope for the Future

2011-11-13T18:40:00.000+02:00

Stefano Boeri's Bosco Verticale in Milan

A Patrick Leblanc in France

Our newspaper featured an article this week on all the 'greening' of skyscrapers that is going on around the world in the form of 'vertical gardens', particularly in some very ungreen city centres. I am so uplifted to think of all that carbon monoxide being removed from the atmosphere and all the oxygen being put back into these concrete jungles that it has put quite a spring in my step today. Thanks goodness there are such clever and ingenious human beings on the planet. It gives one hope for the future after all.

Reformed Party Pooper

2011-11-09T10:11:00.001+02:00

So how went the dreaded party last Saturday? A lot better than I had expected. First of all, we eventually quite enjoyed dressing up in Gatsby stuff - luckily that involved no expense - husband borrowed small son's newly-purchased suspenders, black with white stars on. By dint of expanding them to their fullest we just got them to fit. He then donned cream chinos and white shirt and I found him a type of Panama hat the bank had supplied once for a golf day, white straw with a navy-blue band. However he refused to wear this until he had obliterated the bank's logo with an indelible pen. My cupboard yielded long beads which I had worn for a similar theme 15 years ago and I found a feathery thing with little pearls that I'd made for my head for my daughter's wedding instead of a hat. There was also a black sweat band I used for gym to which I could attach it. I wore a knee-length back linen shift and silver shoes and bag. At the venue, everyone had played the game and the room looked like a Godfathers' convention - LOL . Chatting was great, food was great, speeches were good - then came the bit I dread - the music and 'dancing'. I should have remembered though that these were mostly Afrikaans-speaking people and the music was 'sakkie-sakkie' (I'm sorry but this defies description in English - perhaps you can google?) - supplied by an impressive-looking modern juke-box. This essentially means that you can do waltz and quick-step or your-own-thing and also everyone knows the words. Unfortunately, my husband and I can't dance together - I insist that he has two flat feet and no rhythm: I feel justified in this judgment as I still have a Silver Medal for Ballroom Dance in my jewelry box from when I was 16. He claims to be equally proficient, having been taught by the English master at Boarding School. Our pride prevents us from disgracing ourselves together on the floor, so we just sit at the table and watch. I no longer mind: I pick out the best dancers (usually a couple over 65) and imagine myself in their shoes. These days I have a new diversion - I listened to the drums and tried to imitate the beats on the table top and on my knees; at least until my husband informed me that I was attracting attention. There is one last option - tried and tested. You can imagine the men stripped of all but their socks.

Facing Life Alone

2011-11-08T17:30:00.000+02:00

It's tough getting older and facing life alone. This month, I've been in contact with people I know in this position and learned how they've coped. Twenty-three years ago, a friend and colleague lost her young husband to a heart attack and was left with a baby boy of four months and a daughter of five. The surviving child died of an asthma attack three years later. My friend found some comfort in her religion and threw herself into work. We lost touch after I moved to Cape Town and then - wham! Yesterday, I got an e-mail - she'd been thinking of me. I wrote back and found that her son is grown up and married and she started up her own interior decorating business some years ago and now travels all over Africa in the course of her work. Some affairs along the way, but no-one lasting. She is philosophical. Another dear friend (last in contact 37 years ago), found me on Facebook! Her husband died 15 years ago. She had to work very hard to bring up her two children alone and there was no-one in her life for a long time. Now she loves a man twenty years older than herself - they've been together for seven years and he treats her well - except that he likes to have other girlfriends as well. She puts up with it, glad to have him some of the time. Then at the party last Saturday night, the MC made a lovely speech about the 21-year-old girl and gave her some good advice - I remember he stressed that above all she should learn the art of forgiveness. He mentioned his 'late' son. We afterwards found out that his 19-year-old son had been stabbed and was killed when he tried to prevent a fight in his first year at 'varsity. His mother committed suicide a few months later. The father soldiers on and finds solace in helping others. My bank manager retired at the end of June - I was feeling sorry for him as he is 'bookish and owlish' and somewhat eccentric. He has a retarded son and has been divorced for 8 years. As I shook his hand on his last day, his face lit up - "I am getting married next year', he beamed! He never thought he would have another chance. I am so happy for him.

Hard-of-Hearing Husband

2011-11-06T13:14:00.000+02:00

My husband has worn hearing aids and glasses for the last ten years and our life together is pretty harmonious except for sometimes daily tiffs about his hearing. I try hard to be patient but many times I have to repeat myself to the point that I am told "There's no need to shout", in aggrieved tones. But yes there is! If I don't first get his attention there is no way he hears me first time: of course, it's the high tones he has problems with i.e. women or more specifically - me. The thing is the aids themselves are so damned expensive I can't believe they do not make for super-hearing: I get it (intellectually) that surrounding background noise of any description is amplified as well whereas the brains of undeaf people know how to screen these out.... but still! The thing is I find it impossible to raise my voice without it sounding cross! If I endeavour to make it sweet and sympathetic then he still can't hear me. Catch 22. Any suggestions? I might have another 30 years of this - if we are lucky. Of course, by then I'll be deaf as well so there won't be a problem - we'll probably write notes to each other - if we can still see.

Anti-Social Me

2011-11-04T08:43:00.003+02:00

If there is one thing I really don't like in life it's a party. I am just not a fun person. There are some we have to attend - weddings for example - those I enjoy to a point i.e. when the food has been consumed and the speeches done. I love the speeches. But when the awful ear-splitting music begins I long to sign out. What is the purpose of the rest of the evening when you can no longer hold a conversation? There is no 'real' dancing any more, just bopping about. I have often made excuses and escaped to the garden of the venue where I study the plants by moonlight and keep looking at my watch. My husband retreats to the bar where he seems to enjoy himself. This week-end we have to attend a 21st. No getting out of it, although we will know hardly anyone, least of all the girl herself. Well, we knew her as a little girl.... but her parents have attended our children's birthdays and weddings so we have to go. NB - even these personal occasions were boring for me after an hour or two. Now we have to dress up: Gatsby. We both dislike this but we must make an effort - perhaps a few minimal accessories will do. And maybe we can come home early. I shall plead ill-health. Are we boring? I don't think so - I thoroughly enjoyed an evening of 'Trivial Pursuit' recently, and once we stayed at a dinner party until 2.00 a.m. - the company was so interesting, I didn't even realise it was so late! Next month it's my Book Club's annual Christmas dinner: I don't want to go but I it's my duty. We are a central core of regulars and all the other ladies seem to enjoy the night out. We don't even mention books and you can only talk to the people on either side of your seat. The noise level can be loud as a party. Sigh! .... Oh dear, what a whinger I am! Still I feel better for seeking cyber sympathy.

My Dad - 94

2011-11-02T17:13:00.000+02:00

Having cut his own hair - yes he still has some. Not a bad job considering he is blind!

End of an Era

2011-11-01T13:14:00.000+02:00

It is totally wrong of me to regret the passing of my piano, as I have not touched it except to dust it in ten years and nor has anyone else. My grandchildren seem only to be interested in things which 'plug in'. Nevertheless, I did shed a tear when someone unexpectedly answered my advert - which had been occasioned by my husband's logic "a piece of furniture for which we shall soon no longer have room" - and so I was caught off guard and heard myself agreeing to the sale. Call me a sucker, but I fell for the lady's circumstances - six musical children and herself having saved up for ages for a reasonably cheap piano. Amazingly, she did not even come and see it herself but sent a piano tuner/enthusiast recommended by a friend. She even put the money into my account five days before the piano was collected. When the chap did fetch it this morning, he confided that he would have sold it himself for about double what I had asked, but then money's not always everything. I am happy that it went to a good, musical home and will get played every day. I shall still have my memories of my young husband fixing people's cars in our garage on week-ends in order to gather the deposit. I still have the original invoice - I had forgotten that we had to pay off the rest over 12 months. And now I have these photos.... and enough to buy myself an electronic drum kit which won't disturb the household - you hear it over headphones. My husband thinks I'm having a mid-life crisis.

A Typical Monday

2011-10-31T19:17:00.000+02:00

Typically, on Monday mornings, I hang out the washing, don my gym clothes, go to help shelve books at the library until 9.30 a.m., then on to my gym class. I have asked my daughter not to ask me to babysit at the last minute. She tries to respect this but this morning my phone rang while I was finishing up at the library. Could I please babysit - now - as she has a dentist appointment but the agency has phoned to say her maid can't pitch up today as her house burnt down last week. This news does not even raise an eyebrow in Cape Town as our home helps live for the most part in shanty towns where their two-room dwellings are constructed from corrugated iron and cardboard. They cook for the most part on parafin stoves and when our south-easter blows (October - March), there are frequent fires in these poor areas and often several hundred shacks burn down, sometimes with unsupervised children inside. Usually, the community rallies round and we turn out our cupboards for blankets, kitchen utensils, clothes etc. to help where we can. This year, my cupboards seem to be finally bare. Meanwhile, the 7 billionth baby has been born on the planet! Apparently, there have been 'celebrations' around the world. Huh? A professor interviewed on our radio today said that trying to limit families to two babies only would not be the answer as it is the developed nations who drain the planet's resources not the poor. It is us who use the electricity, the water, the fuel and who create the carbon emissions- not them. There's food for thought.

Carrot and Stick - " Warrior"

2011-10-27T17:33:00.000+02:00

It worked again! I cleaned all the windows this morning, and mopped 'urgent' floors, also checked on the swimming pool as I had invited visitors from the UK to bring their small sons over to swim. However, we had a cloudy and rainy day, only 18 degrees (we should be having 26 by now!) so they didn't come. I rewarded myself by going to see the only grown-up movie on at our cinemas - "Warrior". I wasn't keen on a 'boxing' movie but Nick Nolte will always get my vote, so although I closed my eyes in most of the fight bits, I thought it was a great movie in every respect. Nick Nolte has a marvellous face - a great argument against plastic surgery. If only I could paint I would do his face. The two actors who played his sons were absolutely marvellous too. Great eye candy - both of them. Actually, a sensitively directed father/sons relationship theme.

Nature

2011-10-24T18:55:00.000+02:00

There are days when one feels less motivated and less energetic than on others. Today was such a day until I noticed this tiny flower bursting out between the paving stones in my back garden. I was so impressed by its grit and determination to preserve itself even in an environment with scarcely a grain of soil and no water - that I squared my shoulders and faced up to my day with renewed resolution. Here's to a wonderful day!

To Give or Not to Give?

2011-10-23T18:24:00.000+02:00

Beggars are a fact of life world-wide but more so in developing countries like South Africa. Of course, not much has changed here since 1994, we have just swopped one bunch of fat-cats for another and the gap between rich and poor has got wider. As a result, we barricade ourselves into our homes to escape the poor who roam our streets often looking for a chance to rob us or at least hoping to find something life-sustaining in our dustbins. One can't blame them: often their desperation is related to drug addiction - the narcotics are so cheap and freely available on our streets. Charity organisations abound and they tell us not to give cash to individuals but to make our donations directly to them. Sometimes though one's conscience pricks when there is yet another ring at the bell and we listen to another heart-breaking sob story. I find that I give according to my mood, whether I am in a hurry and whether I have any cash on me. Sometimes, I have believed the request for food and made a sandwich for the suppliant. Sometimes, I have seen this thrown into the nearest bush. What to do? The thing is if we could contain the problem one might feel more optimistic, but as things are we have refugees from the rest of Africa pouring over our borders every day. So we just save for electric gates around our retirement home.

"The Help" in South Africa

2011-10-21T08:36:00.000+02:00

Our book club has the read the book and we all loved it - so brilliantly written, but apparently, the film has not been a box office success in South Africa in its first week. I've seen it twice and could easily go again. The story could just as well have been set in the South Africa of the sixties, where every average household had a pool and a live-in maid. Those whose maid didn't live in, closed their eyes and pretended ignorance about what went on in the townships, they ignored the shocking laws of Apartheid, the Pass Laws, and the law that said that blacks had to be back in their townships by sundown. Yet, women have been reluctant to attend the movie which our favourite critic says will sweep the acting awards at the next Oscars. I can understand it. Any female here over 60 who grew up in South Africa, had a black nanny and a maid in those days, does not wish to have her conscience pricked over the way she treated her own Help. Our young generation of housewives however, pay their maids generously, provide them with smart accommodation and the young professionals even buy houses for their Help and pay for their children to attend expensive private schools. They are expiating the conscience of their mothers and the film would not resonate with them. My friends and I grew up maidless in the UK - so we don't have a conscience and these days, we all do our own housework (as maids are expensive!) Thus we thoroughly enjoyed the film - and the revelation about the "Terrible Awful" brought the house (8 customers that morning) down.

Writer's Cramp

2011-10-14T07:40:00.000+02:00

Although it has always been my life's ambition to write a book, the more I read, the less I feel that I could produce anything of value or of literary merit. There have been trillions of good writers out there who by now have said everything that could possibly be said or that could make a difference. The only thing that still resonates is that every single person in the world has a unique life story. Isn't that amazing? Of course, whether it is of interest to anyone else is another question. I have noticed however, that blogs with the most followers tend to be those which have more of a diary approach - particularly amongst the young. I've dipped into such blogs just to see; maybe it's because when you are young there is such a desperate need to relate to a peer group whose lives may be just as fearfully 'average' as one's own. With age, this need recedes somewhat and we gain a little self-confidence but we still want to relate to those in our own age group or with the same interests. Does anyone read any blogs outside of these categories? Meanwhile, I have dug up a short story I started 35 years ago. Amazingly, the guy who broke my heart then found me on Facebook recently and we have been through a healing dialogue of e-mails which would now enable me to finish the tale. The thing is, like studying for an exam - open the book/computer file and just start!

Sacrificial Anode Rod

2011-10-11T11:38:00.000+02:00

A bunch of hot water geyser anode rods

Sometimes I find that the most mundane of objects have the most critical purpose as well as a very evocative name; one such is the emotionally titled - Sacrificial Anode Rod. To the uninitiated, this object performs a vital function for your hot water geyser, amongst other things -

A sacrificial anode is one of those little things that mean a lot. They keep steel boats, marine engines, water heaters, bridge pilings and many other wet metal objects from rusting into dust prematurely. Because, by using an anode made of a metal like zinc, the anode will decompose before the steel will rust, so the steel is protected. (Website: Howstuffworks )

In other words, this noble piece of metal gives up its life for the benefit of its host and if you want your geyser to live long - you must find its Sacrifical Anode and change it every two years. I have taken note as we have had no less that FOUR new geysers in the last 20 years in the same house. Doubtless our Sacrificial Anode had never been changed, judging by the blank look on my husband's face.

Soaps - the TV kind

2011-10-07T17:21:00.000+02:00

What is the fascination of soapies? In the Uk, there is one which has been running since my teenage years at least - "Coronation Street" - the lives and loves of those living in one street in a northern England poorish area. In South Africa we have some local ones such as the very popular "7th Avenue" (Siewende Laan) which is in Afrikaans with English sub-titles (also a street name) and we have the inevitable "Days of our LIves" and others from America. My mother always despised this kind of show - until she got old and didn't get out much. I was astonished to see her and my dad, both glued to the screen with their headphones on (they were both very deaf by their late 80s), enjoying the thrice-weekly show together. I was really grateful as this was the only thing they seemed to have in common by that time. I am always put off by the obvious low-budget aspects of these offerings e.g. fake sets, lack of extras, over-acting, unbelievably incestuous plots etc. I'd rather watch Oprah any day.

Self-Examination

2011-10-06T09:30:00.000+02:00

Whew! A month of visitors which resulted in min blogging activites. Sorry about that. Now it's school holidays - half term - so I have to rush off to fetch my grandson soon. Luckily, I need to go to the plant nursery where there is a large play area for the little ones and hopefully there will be other desperate mommies and grannies there too. My last visitor and her husband were with me for a week for her convalescence after her 'stent' procedure. I am glad to report she is doing very well, although I sense her depression at the thought of going back to their rather isolated home in the country. It's not at all that she fears the 500 mile drive home: she has had to do all the driving since her husband had a bad stroke 10 years ago. No, it's the thought of a myriad other private problems that face her back there. Apart from these, her husband is no longer the companion he once was and she has to look after him. He had extensive right parietal lobe damage at the time of the stroke and the after effects are profound. (You can google them). Although he has made a remarkable recovery over the years thanks to his wife's energy and determination, he can now read again and his speech and memory are not affected, there are many things he cannot manage. I had some experience of these during their visit, and I wonder very much how I would cope if I were her. After a week, my patience with him was almost exhausted. So I admire her very much: the problem is that she still strives to change the permanent damage that remains and I see that it frequently drives her to an unhealthy pitch of frustration. What if it were me?

Carrot or Stick?

2011-09-29T14:12:00.000+02:00

I am again expecting visitors for a few days, hard on the heels of the last lot, so although I have changed all the sheets, I have not cleaned the house since the New Zealand guys were here. Still there's nothing like a bit of pressure to galvanize me into action (and it takes a lot of pressure to get me to do housework!) There are always much nicer and more rewarding things to do. However, this particular sister-in-law has an immaculate house and I would hate it to travel around the grapevine that I am a lazy slut. So that's a bit of a stick. The carrot side is that I have promised myself that if I race around like a mad thing I can get it all done in an hour (at least to pass cursory inspection) and if I achieve that I have time to go to a morning movie! I have found throughout my life that this is the best way to discipline myself, having seen that it worked with my kids. When I was teaching, I used to sit at night with a pile of essays to mark and a packet of cigarettes next to my coffee. I was allowed one cigarette for every 10 essays (there would be about 40 - essays I mean.) How awful is that? Well, it was the seventies and everyone smoked. The staffroom was thick with it by second break and most of us felt it was the only way to survive the overcrowded classrooms and the disruptive pupils - there always had to be some in each class. No-one I know would be seen dead with a cigarette now. Thus have we moved on. Housework remains but it can be managed by a blend of carrot and stick. Funny that most of the Google Images I searched showed images of housewives from the fifties!

Facebook - A Blessing for Oldies

2011-09-28T08:22:00.000+02:00

Whatever the dangers of the Internet for the very young, I shall be forever grateful to Facebook for enabling really old friends to look each other up and connect again. I'm talking 36 years here. I lived in Israel for two years, 1973 - 1975 (incidentally, through the Yom Kippur war), and some Israeli girls became very dear to me. I corresponded for a while with one or two but inevitably lost touch over the years. Yesterday, I was reunited with the dearest of those and we spoke over Skype (thank you Skype!). Her beloved voice is just the same but we didn't have our cameras on. Today we are about to have a long and satisfying chinwag, having given ourselves time to get dressed and put our make-up on! I hope she recognises me and that I don't look too old! Our Facebook photos don't really do us justice, do they? We have so much in common and so many memories.... I just hope it doesn't plunge us into unwise nostalgia for our lost youth. I think sometimes, that is exactly why we want to look up old friends. Fate plays a hand - she still works full-time, but today is a holiday in Israel, Rosh Hashana, so maybe this connection was meant to be for a reason.

Punished for Reading - A Cape Town Tale

2011-09-26T18:14:00.000+02:00

I was working at our library this week when the librarian confided the following story to me.....A young coloured boy, aged 12, who loves reading, failed his recent Afrikaans exam and his mother had forbidden him to take out any books from the library: he must 'study' instead. The librarians had been informed to this effect, so when he arrived one afternoon and tried to bribe one of them with chocolate, he was sympathetically refused. One of his domestic chores is to babysit his sister's child so that she can study (she is 17), and he was seen on several occasions outside the library, carrying the child and looking longingly in. On another occasion, he managed to smuggle books out of the library but they were discovered at his home and he was punished with a sandwich, while the rest of the family went out to Macdonalds. Finally, he was inspired to catch the local bus in the afternoon after school to another library within our circuit, where he could legally take out books and where the librarians don't know him. He was found out eventually. How sad is this? A youngster who loves books and his parents forbid him to read !! Surely the mother could compromise and let him take out one English book and one Afrikaans. I'll follow up and let you know the outcome...

Health - Choose your parents well!

2011-09-20T12:49:00.000+02:00

There's some tension in my husband's family this week, as one sister (72) has just had stents put into two almost-closed cardiac arteries (I saw the photo!). She has had angina for some time. This galvanized the other siblings into action - another sister (70) flew into Cape Town yesterday and is having an angiogram today, after tests at her country GP showed her blood pressure to be 220/120. She has also had pains in her back. We await her results today. My husband went off for a check this morning but didn't fast, so he'll have to have blood tests for his (forgotten) annual check-up tomorrow. He did have an ECG though on the bicycle - that was fine (he is 62), but his knees collapsed when he got off! All this after his older brother had a quadruple by-pass in January - his wife went therefore for a check-up and also went in for stents the same day! Gosh! Would they all have been dead and gone from heart attacks 30 years ago? I like to think I am safe as I have no history of heart problems in any of my close relatives. Nevertheless, the doc made me do the bicycle thing before he consented to renew my chronic meds last month. Thankfully, my heart appears to be fine - although I did have to ask the nurse to help me get the pedals going - they were so stiff and my thighs appear to be somewhat weak! The thing is - should we go for all these check-ups? One is inclined to put one's head in the sand and hope for the best, but does this add up to peace of mind or merely increase subconscious worries? I guess we have to ask ourselves, "Do I want to live in good health as long as possible or not?" One thing about a stent - it is a clever but simple procedure, done under local anaesthetic, through an artery in the groin.

Letters

2011-09-19T12:37:00.000+02:00

There was a nostalgic program on the radio today mourning the loss of the art of letter-writing. E-mail and tweets and Facebook are all very well but how can you compare the pleasure of opening an old stamped and franked envelope and re-reading a handwritten letter from a dear friend or lover? I have all the letters anyone precious has ever sent me since the 1960s. Recently, I decided to re-read them all and discard the bulk once I had committed their contents to memory. Guess what? Correct - I can't bear to throw any away, largely because I had forgotten so many critical details and I see no chance of remembering them in the future.... when I write my book. Thus, I poured over the accounts of my New Zealand friend's first adventure into the world of work, when she left our parochial town and went off to share a flat in London with strangers in order to join the national airline - then BOAC, as a ground hostess. I was then off to Scotland to Aberdeen University - also alone and in need of contact. We have shared most of our subsequent lives, our loves, successes and failures as we separately travelled the world - on closely written airmail letters or on paper-thin airmail paper. In latter years, of course, e-mail has taken over, and although I do print these out - it's not the same. I ponder the wisdom of keeping the personal letters forever though: my children might be a little shocked by the contents of some. When a great aunt died, I recall with some shame how we, the female members of the family, read her wartime love letters with giggling and voyeuristic eyes. In our defence, I might add that she had led a selfish life, never married because she swore she would never wash a man's socks and she was very wealthy, leaving all her money to cats, dogs and donkeys. We really weren't disappointed that there was no inheritance for us as she had always said this was her intention and we believed her. The point is - should I destroy my letters now or 'later'? Perhaps I'll copy them post haste to encrypted discs! Then all I need to do is forget the password.

Passwords!

2011-09-16T16:49:00.000+02:00

Most of us will relate to the honeymoon period of owning a PC when we used to think ourselves clever by inventing a different password for all our applications. In latter years, we have become cleverer, realising that we can use the same password for everything! This is great because we can actually commit it to memory without having to write it down and "keep it in a safe place", many of which have been so safe I've never found them again. The fundis though, frown at this practice as being very risky now that there are hackers and thieves who are so computer savvy. Certain sites have also become more pernickety lately: I messed up my login 3 times to my Internet Banking page and so I had to reconfigure it. Hopefully, I keyed in my old password - not a chance. I tried again with something else: too short - must be at least 8 digits. OK. Tried again - this time I was given almost the full requirement - at least one capital, lower case and upper case letters and also numbers must be included. Thought I had it that time, but no - there must now be the inclusion of a character key e.g. @ or % or &. With my fourth attempt I was convinced I was done - but not yet! - You are not allowed to have to consecutive letters the same! My fifth attempt was a success but now there is a new problem! I can't possibly remember this strange mixture of letters, numbers and funny keys! I'll have to write it down. Where to find a safe place? I have an awful sense of foreboding!

Having a Black Eye

2011-09-15T09:07:00.000+02:00

It's an interesting fact of human nature that if you are sporting a black eye, people believe firmly that your husband/boyfriend has hit you. I've got one at the moment - the first in my life actually - which resulted from an unprecedented impulse to be thorough with my housework and clean on my hands and knees up the corners, instead of my usual, hasty flick-through with a mop. This unwise action caused me to bang my eyebrow painfully on the corner of the telephone table and made me resolve to resort back to my usual housekeeping habits in future. I applied ice straight away and close inspection didn't reveal anything other than a bump. When I rushed out to the shops the next day however, I hadn't noticed the blue/black bruise that had developed and became aware of sympathetic looks from shoppers. Today I've put concealer on and lots of make-up, so it's alright. I also have a hand-sized bruise on my upper leg, where I fell off a rock last week and couldn't save myself as I had my camera in one hand and was protecting my new watch with my other. This only hurt a bit at the time and seemed to be just a scratch so I was amazed at the huge black bruise that resulted. I seem to bruise more easily as I age but I remember that when I had rare bumps in the past, my young daughter was always worried that her daddy had hit me. I only found out later that her best friend's father was assaulting her mother. So I surmise that when one sees a bruise on someone's face, one jumps to conclusions based on the age/sex/general appearance of the person and your own experience. (Can anyone tell me how to get my pics into the text? They won't go at the cursor position - all go to the top!)

Read the Manual!

2011-09-14T08:57:00.000+02:00

My last new car is not actually new, but near enough and the manuals are in the cubby hole. Thinking all cars to be more or less the same I didn't bother to have a look, as starting the engine and putting petrol in seemed to be easy enough. And so it has proved to be until it our first rains of the season. Even then, I found the wiper switch without difficulty and cruised off to the shops. When I got back in the car and set off, it was no longer raining and I noticed the wiper on the back window was going at full speed. I didn't have one of these on my last car and so I was favourably impressed except that I couldn't find the Off switch. This becomes embarrassing in the bright sunshine but I still couldn't locate the right lever/switch/button. In the end, I had almost sunk to the shameful depths of dropping in at my local garage and asking them to do it, when I suddenly remembered the manuals. Piece of cake in the end: in my defence the small lever was partially concealed behind the steering wheel and the one I had been convinced must be it, bearing the mysterious legend "LIM" which I vaguely thought must have something to do with LED lights and having up and down arrows, proved to be the Speed Control (which my husband had previously once pointed out - as it wasn't in the manual at all). There was a side effect to the manual consultation - I learned there is a fire extinguisher under the driver's seat, and a first aid kit in a compartment in the trunk, next to the jack. My husband did once make me learn to operate a jack and change a wheel on my own, but that was years ago and my current jack is a different design and gets put in a different place, so what good is that? Usually, if I have a problem, I just take out my mobile phone. There is only one emergency my husband has refused ever to help me with: I must not say I have run out of petrol. There is no excuse for that.

Visitors from New Zealand

2011-09-12T18:02:00.002+02:00

Well, we had a wonderful week with our two visitors - my best and oldest school friend and her husband (whom I had not met before). The weather was clement, the West Coast wild flowers, famous world-wide, were outstanding (the photo is taken next to our house) and I re-discovered Cape Town with them on the new Rapid Transport Bus. My husband took two days leave and we toured the winelands, imbibing some excellent wines on the way: we all got on famously. My friend renewed her acquaintance with my eldest son, now 32, whom she had last seen as a babe in arms and our two husbands clicked, sharing interests in sport, Popular Mechanics magazine and woodwork. My husband was deeply impressed to be beaten at darts and when we did the washing - we found they wear the same size and shape of underpants and ! The only small difference was that this couple are ardent bridge players and we have never learned: they also love board games - which my husband doesn't. Then fate played a hand - hubby had to be away one night on business, so I invited my best friend and her husband and my neighbour to make up a game of "30 Seconds" (a bit like trivial pursuit, but in teams with an egg-timer involved) with many hilarious results. A great time was had by all. Sadly, their visit came to an end and we found ourselves putting them on the plane. It was a very emotional goodbye for my friend and I as we are not really sure that we will ever see each other again. This was too much for me and I cried myself to sleep that night (much to the mystification of my husband). Well, it's not everyone who pooled their pocket money when they were 16 to buy a black, padded half-cup bra which we shared for important dates. We even shared the same boyfriend: she went out with him on Fridays and me on Saturdays. We used to compare notes. You had to be there.

Toddler Humour

2011-09-01T08:02:00.000+02:00

Yesterday I had to babysit my little granddaughter, aged two today actually, and I managed to get some ironing done as she plays nicely by herself for a good hour when she first arrives (unlike the boys - you have to play with them). Finally bored, she came to see what I was doing and I playfully sprayed her face with the water I use for the ironing. To my surprise, she thought this was hugely funny and wanted me to do it again...and again...and again. I got tired of this and put the bottle down. She picked it up, climbed on the bed, turned the business end towards herself and squirted herself in the face. Again - hugely funny. This continued for about twenty minutes. Of course by the time I thought of my camera, she had stopped. It reminds me of the summer of the flies, two years ago when my grandson was 18 months. He thought the action of the fly swatter the funniest thing on earth. But then he has always had a great sense of humour: little M though, is very selective, you struggle to get her to laugh- she is a very self-contained child, serious and thoughtful. So the spray bottle was a great discovery - it might not work next week though. This is M in the photo. Grandson is the one throwing himself into the deep end of our pool (on my sidebar).

Too Paranoid?

2011-08-29T12:46:00.001+02:00

With all the notices prominently displayed as we go through Customs back here in SA about not bringing in any foreign flora or fauna, I spent half an hour scrubbing the underneath of my trainers before I left my brother's house for the airport as I discovered the indentations in their soles had trapped a fair amount of pony pooh when we were out walking the dogs. I should explain that this would not normally have happened, but I had a very excited black and white collie on a lead next to me who is not used to walks and every now and again she would pull me off the path at a tangent so determined was she to examine a new smell. Similarly, when I was ironing my clothes this morning, I found the tiny, round, hard seed of a particularly nasty weed that I recognised from my mother's garden as having accompanied me on the plane. I haven't seen that plant in Johannesburg or Cape Town, so I am going to annihilate it on a tiny bonfire in my back yard and then pulverize it in case it survives the fire. I don't want to be responsible for bringing invasive foreign weeds into this country. Should I pat myself on the back or I am being paranoid?

Going Home, Local Dialects

2011-08-27T08:50:00.000+02:00

Sunny day today - although one can't count on that: England is the land of 'showers & sunny periods' say the weather men. My brother had at least half his holiday wet, but they don't mind, nor does the dog: they all go on long walks regardless. I remember being at a guest house in the Lake District one summer, where Wellington boots were lined up at the front door for use of guests. I am excited to go home: I've missed everyone. My dad will probably forget I was here at all but that's all right, my brother and his family have had a short break. I am making a lunch dish for them with pasta and tuna but can't find a can opener! Have to borrow from dad again... One of the intriguing things about this part of the world has been the local dialect. Odd that very often verbs and pronouns get mixed up around here. My great uncle used to say, "Us'll go to the shops now, " and "Give it we". One chap calling for his wife upstairs in their house yelled "Where am ya?" and a local Mancunian (from Manchester) friend of my sister-in-law's asked me "'Av ya gorrit?" when determining whether I had written down a phone number correctly. It must be a fascinating study to find out how local dialects have evolved. I would love to know if any of you have any favourite or grammatically weird pieces of language in your area?

Dilemma

2011-08-25T09:57:00.000+02:00

It will remain one day when dad has gone, to empty their house. Of course every child has to face this. I look around at the display cabinet with all my mother's beautiful china tea sets, cut glass trifle bowls and whiskey glasses; I see her bookcase full to bursting - some lovely books - and then looking around the house, all her ornaments full of memories, some hers, some mine. There are all the birthday gifts, the token gifts I brought back for her from school holidays abroad, the cockerel from Portugal, the cuckoo clock from Switzerland. When mom died, I took comfort from her sister, my dear aunt and my cousin - we all took home something to remember her by. My dad's bedroom bears witness to his interests in life, his photography equipment, hammers and nails and boxes of tools and bits of wood. Perhaps my brother will want a few things but most have been replaced by modern technology. Maybe close family will want a few things, although I know my own children don't. They don't like clutter or ornaments, they drink out of mugs. Why do I want none of these things and yet I can't bear the thought of donating everything to strangers. Would I prefer therefore to burn everything? Why do I feel this way? I can imagine I would want to take home the framed photographs we've given them over the years of our children but nothing else. What have any of you done with your parents' things? Does there come a time when they again become inanimate objects and cease to embody the person? How long does this take?

Mementoes of Mom

2011-08-23T20:28:00.000+02:00

Funny word. I had to look it up to make sure of the spelling. This week I decided to make my dad an apple and blackberry pie, as the garden is full of these fruits and my mom used to make it a lot. With custard, dad just loves it. It will make a change from the frozen dinners he has every day, in order to fit in with my brother's household. They are very good, by the way, much better than Meals on Wheels, especially when your wife has been an exceptionally good cook as my mom was. But there's nothing like home-baked. I am staying in my brother's house (next door to my dad) and my sister-in-law has been making great crumbles every day as the plums have been in season too. She doesn't do pastry, however, and when it came to rolling it out, I had to go over to dad's house to get my mother's rolling pin and pastry brush - and also the dish that she always used to bake the pie in. It's always an emotional thing to open up her kitchen drawers and find everything just the way she left it. There is even a carving knife that I remember my dad sharpening every Sunday for our roast. It's very narrow now. But still there. Fifty years later. I haven't been into her bedroom: I know her dressing table still displays the Mother's Day cards, given the week that she died - and her bottles of Chanel No.5, still in their wrapping. My sister-in-law has asked if she may now dispose of my mother's clothes. It's two and half years now, so I said yes, grateful that I am not asked to do this myself. When I go back home to Cape Town, I want to take the pastry brush and the rolling pin. Such small things but they mean so much.

Spelling Joke

2011-08-22T17:53:00.000+02:00

There are always a lot of complaints from second language learners that English has the most difficult grammar and spelling. I can't argue: I am just grateful to be born British and to have had a good education. Even so I have had to admit that spelling is in a state of flux and rightly so, otherwise we would be stuck with Mediaeval English and that wouldn't do. And then there is my Spell Check which assures me that alternative American spellings are just as good. Perhaps we can still agree on the following and thus share a joke: the playwright Alan Bennett - this is he - (remember The HIstory Boys?) was heard this week in a recording of a programme from the 1960s, trying to send a telegram over the phone.

"..... And I want it to end with the word NORWICH", he told the operator. When she questioned the spelling he explained it was a code word for his wife, each letter standing for the words: "Nickers On Ready When I Come Home."

A pause: then his voice - "Yes, I know knickers begins with a K!" (Giggle)

British Humour

2011-08-21T17:54:00.000+02:00

I have had my ear glued to the radio during my brief stay back in the UK - some of my favourite programmes are still broadcast, some of which have been going since the sixties viz the quick-witted "Just a Minute" in which panel members must speak for 60 seconds on random topics of which they have no prior knowledge. They can be interrupted and lose points for hesitation, repetition etc. and the next person takes over. There has been much debate on the radio about university entrance as A level results came out recently. There is now so much competition for places that universities do not interview any more, and in addition to good marks, prospective students now have to submit a 500 -word "Personal Statement". Naturally, many are tempted to cheat with this and stealthily search the net for help - which naturally abounds. One company offers to "help" construct the document to the tune of £96 although the student must of course 'write the final draft himself'. Academics are not fools and quickly sift through the submissions to sort the wheat from the chaff and the plagiarisms. One famous institution "The London Oratory School' encourages its students to spend a whole term refining their efforts, the teachers limiting their help to grammar and sentence construction. Their efforts are not always foolproof: one boy, explaining his love of playing the harp had written, "I have always enjoyed pleasuring myself with the harp.." His teacher somewhat ruefully commented "this portrayed a certain level of dexterity with the instrument that we wouldn't expect him to have." LOL !

Performance Anxiety

2011-08-20T12:10:00.000+02:00

Not the obvious - I am talking about that sort of paralysing anxiety of the muscles that occurs when you sit down at a piano that is not your own and confront the poker-faced examiners who will assess your performance and pass or fail your efforts. I remember only too well the uncontrollable shaking of my hands through ten years of piano grade exams and the ensuing shame that I could never perform well under these conditions. I always hated being asked to play by relatives and mostly point-blank refused. What is the point, people say, if you can't play for anyone? I sometimes enjoyed those few occasions when I almost played something without mistakes (in strict privacy) but I was always aware of how excruciating it is for members of one's family to have to suffer the long hours of practice. I was always assured that the nervousness would abate over the years. It never did. However, while visiting this musical family of my brother's, I have realised that my sister-in-law, who plays the violin, suffers pretty much to the same degree. She confessed that she used to enjoy when she was young, being accompanied by her father who played the piano and concertina so I found some simple-looking music in her collection for violin and piano so I suggested we have a go together. I was met with smiles but many delaying tactics over the week, so I have been practising on my own - whistling the violin line. The family goes on their holiday today and will take me to the airport the day they get back, so I suppose I've lost my chance of the less nerve-wracking chance of making music with someone else, whose own mistakes might disguise mine. Never mind: I'm practising my drums (practise kit yet to be designed from kitchen utensils) this week in an empty house, with my deaf dad next door and an acre of garden around me. The whistling works well too: I'll be making music with myself.

Open-Air Theatre

2011-08-19T10:49:00.000+02:00

My sister-in-law took me last night to an open-air theatre production of "Much Ado About Nothing" in the grounds of Birmingham's Botanical Gardens. Everyone took camp chairs, picnics and umbrellas (British summer time) and we were early enough to get a good position in front of the tiny stage. It was a lovely production with 8 talented actors taking several parts each although we did get rained on for half an hour at the beginning (everyone had raincoats and umbrellas, but the cast looked frozen - the temperature was 12.5 degrees C). The audience had to be the 'arbor' into which two of the actors had to hide at one stage - really good fun, gave one an idea of how audiences would have participated in the comedies in Shakespeare's time. The direction was so good that we easily understood the language (with one or two naughty comtemporary references thrown in and a few modern ad libs). And it wasn't just pensioners present - quite a few youngsters there too. It's great to know that Shakespeare is alive and well and living in the British countryside. The Rain or Shine Theatre company is non-profit-making and aims to educate and entertain for an affordable ticket price. They tour throughout the summer, one night in each place, and all they ask is for it not to rain. We had the added joy of a rainbow last night.

Health Warning

2011-08-17T11:45:00.000+02:00

While looking after my dad, I pursue a daily habit I had when mum was alive: we used to walk up the road to her friend, Heather, for morning coffee. Heather is a salt of the earth type, who believes that man/woman cannot live without a permanently full tummy. To this end, she cooks daily, huge meals for her adult children, who understandably have been in a hurry neither to marry nor to leave home, two of them still not having fled the nest, although pushing forty. The trouble is this family is very largely overweight, I hesitate to say obese, but that is the truth, and it is impossible for any visitor to leave the house without some or other delicious comestible to take home, usually in quantities that could fill one's freezer for months. I made the mistake of casually mentioning that I would be in my brother's house by myself next week which instantly caused Heather to go on the alert and cross-question me deeply as to how I would be able to sustain myself in a house in which she suspects there will be marginal levels of food. In vain do I assert that I have mountains of stuff in the freezer and shall be far from starving. This is met with snorts of disbelief and I see I shall have to come up with a plan to avoid being force-fed by Heather in the near future. Heather herself, lives on a liquid diet and cigarettes, having Crohn's disease and various other nasty digestive ailments. She is also on morphine for chronic pain in her knees. She is 78 - but soldiers on regardless fortified by her need to care for others.

Precise Use of Words

2011-08-16T00:23:00.000+02:00

I am not very good at this. Even as an English teacher I was more interested in the feelings expressed than in a pupil's grammar, although I was a stickler for spelling. My brother however, is fanatical and pedantic, pouncing on his two sons, should they ever utter a word that is not carefully chosen, exact and precise in its meaning. Now teenagers, these boys are actually a bit of a pain to be around as they have taken their parents' lessons to heart (yes, my sister-in-law is the same) and they are highly disdainful of anyone who does not live up to their own high standards. Both boys are highly gifted in Maths, Science and Computer Science and in no little measure I have to admit that their success in these exacting fields is due to a great extent to their early training, plus a pretty big dose of genetic inheritance. This family is actually so collectively brainy, I find visiting them is something of a nerve-wracking experience as I try (feebly) to keep up my own end. No-one relaxes in this house. It reminds me of a heated discussion we had at Book Club last month when we read: Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother, by Harvard Law Professor, Amy Chua. I was simply awed by the level of dedication of Chinese parents and children to their studies. Perhaps they take things to extremes, but in contrast to some parts of the world where our youth seem to have lost their way - e.g. in the UK, having the example now of two generations of parents who see no need to include a work ethic in their lives, I began to think it wouldn't be a bad thing if the Chinese took over the world.

Are you a Leftie?

2011-08-14T15:25:00.000+02:00

I have noted that there are several lefties amongst the more creative members of my family, but the other day my elder son mentioned that only 10% of the Caucasian population is left-handed. Why should that be so when the skeleton is designed symetrically in most respects that involve two of anything? I brought this up while travelling in the car with my brother, his wife and 17-year old son. My sister-in-law had just been relating a story of how she had once recognised the left hand of a long-lost school friend on a television programme. She had duly e-mailed the BBC who had obligingly put her in touch with said friend, who was a left-handed artist. My sister-in-law, who is a classicist and Latin teacher, said that you had to be right-handed in order to be a foot soldier in the Roman army or you couldn't operate in tight formation with your shield and spear and my nephew, who has an encyclopaedic knowledge of most things put in that to be left-handed or on the 'sinister' (Latin) side, meant that you would be strongly suspected of witchcraft and therefore highly likely to lose your life in the Middle Ages. Hence the process (almost) of Natural Selection. So there you are then. Another mystery solved - though does it explain why so many left-handed people are creative?

First Impressions - Rickmansworth, London

2011-08-12T10:28:00.000+02:00

No problems for me so far in riot-torn UK. This quiet corner of north west London is as sleepy and refined as ever. My brother rents a room in a two-bedroomed flat, four nights a week and then returns to his spacious abode south of Birmingham on Friday afternoons. Typical of most British homes, there is beige-coloured carpet throughout, looking as if it is brand new - this is because anyone entering the house is required to remove their shoes, even the young policeman who once had reason to visit my cousin's pad to take a statement, willingly removed his size 12s at the door. It reminded me of an article in our local paper this week about a young ballet dancer who has just returned to her native Cape Town after 10 years in Japan. The Japanese remove their shoes as well, even in restaurants, she reported. In contrast to SA though, where crime and unemployment are astronomical, no-one in Japan would dream of swopping their high-street cheapies for your Jimmy Choos. Two other things: my brother pointed out a stretch of motorway leading to Heathrow Airport which sometimes has a stationary back-up of 8 miles - beyond belief! And I have learned of a new profession - my brother's attractive young landlady is a credit controller by day (which she hates) and by night writes bespoke speeches which she delivers at funerals for those who do not want a religious ceremony and do not wish to speak themselves. She is currently studying to qualify as a person who can conduct civil weddings. Life is full of surprises - and new careers.

Off to the UK

2011-08-10T15:08:00.000+02:00

Thought you might like to see my 'practice drum kit', (steel tray on floor to hit with heel tip = Bass drum. Not sure why pic is blurred) Had my second lesson now - awesome! Got to go to the UK tomorrow to look after my dad (94), while my brother and his wife take a well-earned holiday with their two sons. So I'll be offline for a bit - have to see if my brother leaves me a usable computer set-up while they are away. Spoke to dad today on the phone - he is remarkable for his age - his brain is 100% - so tragic for a practical man that he is bent over and almost completely deaf and blind and now restricted to sitting in a chair all day. I'll perhaps re-publish some blogs while I am away - about him when he was still mobile and all the odd things he used to get up to. There is still a forlorn row of sticks in the garden, which used faithfully to hold up the runner beans he planted from seed each year for my mother to pick. Now there are just weeds. I don't know what keeps him going (she died two years ago), but I suspect there is still one goalpost achievable for him - a telegram from the Queen when he reaches 100!

Hostile Paintball - Team-building

2011-08-09T17:32:00.000+02:00

It's 'Women's Day' here in South Africa and a Public Holiday. I've not done anything very feminine to observe this holiday - au contraire - I've been with my husband and 40 of his staff to a morning of Hostile Paintball (i.e. for grown-ups). I took my knitting though as I was a spectator. What fun! Nearly all of his mechanics and apprentices and some of the older guys turned up, got kitted out with their 'guns and ammo', were divided into four teams, so that they had two games each and off they went to entertain us with the echoes of guffaws, curses and 'gun shots' as they pelted each other with paint in a wilderness of trees, gullies and bushes. There was much good-natured teasing and a great deal of cheating by the time they had finished, but the feeling of general well-being, exhaustion and being covered in mud and paint appeared to constitute a very satisfying morning. (Rather similar to when I used to take my grandson to an hour of Messy Play at Moms & Tots). Actually, I would have loved to join in -were it not for a dodgy hip, sore knee etc. like most of the over-sixties on the sidelines. The morning ended off with a great sausage braai ( 'Bar B Q') and cool drinks and we still had the afternoon to do other things. Good stuff. Nice when you can shoot your boss/employee in public instead of cursing him at the workplace. A relief of tensions all round. Not so the small group of afficionados who followed us, complete with fabulous expensive personal gear, serious faces, camouflage outfits and who moved with quiet stealth. It makes me shiver to think that anyone could take this game to such lengths. I guess there are always those that dream of being a soldier, despite the horrors of war.

Eight is Enough

2011-08-05T13:42:00.000+02:00

Who remembers that TV series? We actually named our eldest son after that cute little boy in a houseful of girls (eldest son now being 31!) Actually, eight is proving to be too much for me. I have been looking forward for the last twelve months to the visit of my best and oldest school friend and her husband who are coming all the way from New Zealand to visit us for a week before heading further north. I haven't seen her for 30 years, although we've never lost touch: I've never met him. Ta-dah! Out of the blue, despite all my news broadcasts, I am now expecting a deluge of visitors all at the same time. My sister-in-law and another couple have chosen almost these dates to visit us in order to go to our dentist. (We have, reputably, the best dentists in the country here in Cape Town). They are coming while I am in England looking after my dad. Then while we were away last week, small son had to play host to a sudden flying visit from one of his cousins and two of her friends. This wasn't altogether a bad thing from my point of view as small son was galvanized into action, had to clean up the house and his room, find clean sheets, make beds, organise towels, transport and entertainment for four days. In the process, he almost lost his delivery job as he could not make his Saturday shift and couldn't find anyone to take his place. He received a warning. Over that week-end he took the girls to our holiday house (more bedding) and thence at the crack of dawn to the airport on the Monday morning. Scarcely a week later - the girls have phoned - they want to come again in three weeks time - when they are on study leave - such a good time did they have. I put my foot down - I can't offer *5 treatment to so many people at once. I really wanted to roll out the red carpet for my friend and her husband, make sure they have their own bathroom etc, nice food, etc. etc. So small son has organised for the girls to bunk at my daughter's for the week. She offered. Am I being unreasonable? My husband won't understand (he grew up with 6 siblings and his mother often had boarders). I come from a small nuclear family where visitors were treated like royalty and visits were scheduled months before. Is it just different strokes for different folks?

Learning to play the Drums

2011-08-03T17:25:00.000+02:00

Mindful of the theory that to short-circuit Altzheimer's, you need to learn NEW skills as you age, I asked for Drumming lessons for my 61st birthday (sorry, my blog name stays the same). I have had a secret yen to let it all hang out all my life and suddenly, a modern music school materialised just up the road from my house. I had my first lesson yesterday - in a sound-proof room with a teacher young enough to be my grandson, and in front of a magical full set of sparkling drums and cymbals. I had a ball! I am fascinated by my homework - learning to 'read' the music, which means unlearning my 15 years of sight-reading regular notes and adjusting to the same notes which are now attached to the drums. I've got a book from the library, as I have one lesson a week, and how rigged up a 'practice kit' in my study, consisting of tupperware boxes, stainless steel flasks and saucepan lids. I have my own sticks and am very excited about this new challenge. I'll keep you posted! Hope it keeps me young. My children think I'm slightly touched but hey, who cares?

How often should you....?

2011-07-20T18:06:00.001+02:00

Woman’s Hour on BBC Radio 4 initiated a deluge of e-mails and messages recently when someone mentioned that she only changes her family’s bedding once in two weeks. Thence began the great debate – how often should you change your sheets? There were all sorts of theories and opinions and lots of shock/horror at people whose regime was considered insanitary by others. One interviewee, said she was really annoyed when a fastidious friend (who showers night and morning) arrived in her kitchen after her one-night visit, bearing her sheets for the wash. (The hostess had planned to make them last one more time). I suddenly remembered when I was teaching a biology practical class – about 35 years ago – and being awed by our lab assistant, who confided during tea-break that she washes her family’s towels every day. I thought everyone did them once a week? But then again, that was in the time of Jackie Kennedy. It’s funny what things stick in your mind. I wish more important things had the same effect. It just goes to show how deeply our mother’s brainwashed us concerning rules on the home front By the way, I couldn't hang my sheets like this: they would have to be stretched out straight. Do Americans hang out the sheets? From watching too many sitcoms, we think that you all eat pizza and send everything to the laundry.

Shouldn't we let it go?

2011-07-19T19:27:00.000+02:00

A Jewish friend has told me of his ambition to visit Auschwitz at the end of October with the Zenpeacemakers (see link). Apparently, this annual event draws people of all religions who have many different reasons for wanting to 'bear witness' or expiate demons of their own by visiting this austere and tragic venue where they will sit beside the railway line for 5 days, in silence in the cold, or meditating the Zen way, chanting names of those who were sent to the gas chambers. Strange things happen to those who lose themselves in this way. Some have had visions of the departed and imagine themselves as one particular person: they see themselves arriving on the train. One person, disturbingly for him, saw himself as a guard - shooting at some poor victim. Although I can understand what might motivate anyone to make this pilgrimage, shouldn't we let it go and concentrate on present ills?

http://www.zenpeacemakers.org/

Fun at a Garage

2011-07-17T13:24:00.000+02:00

I was at a garage with my daughter in her car, grandchildren in the back and we were waiting for the credit card to be processed. Up came a smiling young man, smartly dressed in black and white striped shirt, black pants: at first he intrigued us by simply saying that he felt we should be on the cover of You Magazine (local rag) as we depicted such a happy picture. Laughing, we asked what he was selling but we first had to listen to his sales pitch, which was to ask us whether we were day or night people, and he either case he had just the thing for us both. This turned out to be a 'leather' wallet with different eye shadow palettes, not for sale yet in South Africa, but we could find the product in shops from next year. Unfortunately, he asked us to guess the price: I am totally the wrong person to try to sell cosmetics to - I just take the cheapest off the shelf at the supermarket, usually No Name. So I said I thought 40 dollars (R300) would be about the right price. His face was a picture - he briefly lost his composure, then recovered himself enough to tell us that the retail price would be 255 dollars but we would be able to obtain a special half-price offer through him. I'm afraid we fell about laughing - enough to cause him to give up his quest and return good-naturedly to his station in front of the doors of the garage Quickshop. Before he was out of earshot, I shouted after him that he was wasted in his current career and should be on the stage. He had spent 15 minutes on us with undiminished efforts despite our reactions. I wanted to tell him that people who drive expensive-looking cars, don't spend money on things like make-up. I don't think he'd believe me though.

Over the Top?

2011-07-12T18:32:00.000+02:00

I've been watching an old episode of Oprah from the final season, (it's about six months before we get them here in SA), and one of her producers said that her best moment was meeting Colin Firth, her idol. She had seen Pride and Prejudice 150 times and was over the moon when he autographed her copy of 'the Book'. I don't know why I was surprised when she held up the box of DVDs to show us and not an actual book. However, this gives me the courage to admit that I am thinking of going to "Bridesmaids" for the 3rd time in two weeks: you see, I still have one friend who hasn't seen it and I want to watch her reactions.

Early Sunday Morning

2011-07-10T14:33:00.001+02:00

8.30 on Sunday morning and the phone rings - we are luxuriating in bed after a very late night baby-sitting at my daughter's house after which we drove home. It sounds like my friend, L, so "Good morning, L !" say I in the same cheery voice. Silence. No, it's Thembi, from a marketing company. She wants "two minutes of your time" to answer a questionnaire about foodstuffs. ? On a Sunday morning ?? I am momentarily lost for words which has allowed her the time to launch into her speech. When I get a gap to interrupt (she sounds so nice), I politely tell her that the last time I fell for this line of talk, I was kept on the phone for half and hour and I had a cake in the oven! Never again, I said, because at the end of the interminable questions there is always a sales pitch for something. And on a Sunday? Doesn't she know that this is the only day most human beings on the planet have in the week in which to try to make love to their partner - before the phone rings! (To my regret, I did not actually say this last bit, though I would have loved to!) But it would have been a lie at the moment as for the last two weeks, since my husband put his back out, we have spent this precious time doing pilates both for his back and my hip and knee. You just have to keep your sense of the humour as you age.

Waiting.....

2011-07-07T18:22:00.000+02:00

I am getting a little tired of salesmen who appear to enthusiastically want one's business - and then never arrive with the actual quote. We have been trying to get someone to change our old wooden front door over to a glass one, with a sand-blasted design. We've made two attempts so far: at first I asked the people who put in our aluminium windows - I heard nothing for three weeks, then on following up, I found out that the guy who had to quote them for the sand-blasting had been ill. No-one thought to let me know. So I googled another company near to where we live: the young salesman arrived promptly and professionally with photos of jobs done and an impressive book of designs to choose from. Since then, I have waited... and waited - either for the e-mailed quote or for him to phone me. Eventually, I phoned his office to complain and he arrived post haste, full of excuses and cross with people who 'had not passed on messages'. Now I wait again: having phoned his office today (four days after the appointed time) I know he is not ill, he is out 'on the road' and will phone me immediately he gets back. I'm still waiting. When I asked for someone to quote I was specific: they knew it was a small job, but yes they were interested. I surmise that bigger jobs have taken preference. Why don't they just say? It's the lack of communication that frustrates so much. Therefore, on principal, as it is now after work hours and I have not been contacted - the deal is off. I'll try elsewhere. In these difficult economic times, why is it that people are so casual about their possible customers? After all, I could have given them a good reference for a job well done. Stuff it.

Bridesmaids - The Movie

2011-07-01T08:56:00.000+02:00

What are movie producers thinking of to send out such an awful trailer for this film? My friends are I made a note to avoid it like the plague - until our favourite reviewer gave it the thumbs up. We went reluctantly to see it and - surprise! What a delightful, sensitive, brilliantly witty, even delicate expose of the intricacies of female friendships. There are moments of comedy that are simply inspired, and we can all envy Kristen Wiig's gorgeous legs - which are shown to advantage in every shot. I really recommend this lovely, original film, although at two hours it is a bit long. Can't think which bits I would cut though: everything was relevant - even the awful scene in the bridal shop is not so bad when seen in context. Give the movie a go!

Happy Ending

2011-06-30T13:22:00.000+02:00

Our bank manager has looked after us for the last twenty years and is retiring today after 40 years' service. He is a delightful, religious man, with old-worldly good manners and has seen to all our needs, despite our small account, as if we were royalty. Over the years he has let drop that he has a son with special needs and he has now been divorced for six years. His son and ex-wife live abroad. He has made arrangements to support his son until he dies as he will be unable to look after himself. Feeling a little sorry for him (the dad), I decided to pop in today with a small gift and a note of appreciation. I found him, business as usual, with work still arriving on his desk. He has mixed feelings, he says, about his last day - but then suddenly, his face bursts into a huge grin and he tells me that he is getting married next year! You could have knocked me over with a feather, but then he is a lovely man and he has found a wonderful woman, divorced for many years herself, who has brought up alone two lovely and intelligent daughters, one of whom shares our man's love of literature and history. He it thrilled with his future wife and new daughters and can't wait to embark in his 'second chance.' How great is that!

Family Politics

2011-06-29T09:08:00.000+02:00

It's nearly time for our annual trip to visit family: as usual there are some difficulties to sort out as we are only going for a week this time - not enough opportunity to visit everyone in the area and therefore much opportunity to offend. As my husband has 6 brothers and sisters and countless grown-up married nephews, this dilemma expands exponentially. The younger generation are inclined to be tolerant but there is a certain amount of sibling rivalry among my husband's nearest and dearest. The nice thing is: they all clamour for us to come. The bad thing is: most homes we love visiting but there is one in which the husband/wife tension is so great is makes visiting unpleasant. We go dutifully for one night and then scurry away as fast as we can as the tensions mount up and guests feel uncomfortable. These people are often hurt that visits to them are brief but seem not to understand the reason. After the passing of many years in this fashion (there is no question of divorce) - its just how they are since the husband had a debilitating illness which has left him not quite himself, I sometimes challenge myself to say something. But should I? There are quick tempers in this house and I am really afraid of causing huge ructions in the family. So I keep quiet, allowing that my husband's maxim of walking away from any possible fight in this large family, is arguably the best way. Am I a coward? Similarly, my relationship with my best friend is perhaps somewhat similar - although we love each other have a lot in common, we often seem to say things that irritate or are misinterpreted and to keep the peace, we just make efforts to change the subject. After all, like family, we've been friends for twenty years or more. Perhaps we'd all better go on as we are.

White Lie

2011-06-23T07:46:00.000+02:00

I have tried never to lie since I was a teenager and fibbed to my parents. Now that I am adult, I reasoned, I do not have to apologise for my actions and I am a responsible person. I have mostly stuck to this, especially with my husband, except when it was unavoidable so as not to hurt someone’s feelings, “Yes, I love your new hairstyle/dress/colour scheme/curry etc. When I acquired our 24/7 Internet access, my husband had misgivings as he is not fond of computering at home, his typing still being of the ‘hunt and peck’ variety and he has minimal interest in the Internet. However, In the past week, I have twice left empty frying pans on the electric stove on plates that were on ‘high’. I was only alerted only by the smell and of smoke and the haze drifting into my study where I was, need I say, ‘quickly looking something up on the Internet.’ I gazed in disbelief (twice!) at the ruined messes - not a bit of non-stick left, and today I had to go and buy new ones. The thing is not that I bought new pans, but that my husband is going to be cross that I again bought cheap ones. I can hardly tell him that it’s because I can’t afford to (keep) replacing expensive ones. No good to suggest that that expensive ones wouldn’t have burnt - they certainly would if they were left on the stove for an hour! I shall have to invent a fib. Luckily, my friend M, has had the same problem - veges for the evening meal boiling dry. Her advice is to take a timer to the study.

Reflections - The Med. Cruise...

2011-06-21T11:40:00.000+02:00

One ballroom dance couple on every cruise boat

St Mark's square - Sat. 4th June 2011

Inside a 'vaporetto' - water bus

With the advent of the Internet, its hardly necessary to post touristy photos from our trip, so I'll just make a few observations overall. May is a great month to go to the Med, its not yet hot or crowded. We arrived in Venice on 23rd and it was very pleasant: when we returned on 3rd June - the 'season' was in full swing and the streets and tourists were like sardines everywhere and rushing from place to place like on the London Underground. In Ephesus, we struggled to find our tour bus in the parking area - our guide commented that there were only 70 buses on that day - in July or August we would be faced with 350 at any one time. We loved Turkey - relatively new to tourism, everywhere is neat and tidy - there is a large fine and jail sentence of two months if anyone litters! On the island of Santorini, we loved the amazing white buildings and were told that the Greek government gives all the villagers free paint every season to do up their homes for the tourists. It makes the island seem like paradise against the blue sea and sky. We loved meeting with our dinner companions on the ship every night: there was a mother and daughter from Wales, an elderly couple from Toronto and two American ladies, one about 48 and the other 73, (widowed) who were golfing partners and had decided to holiday together. We loved our waiters, the younger from Mauritius and the other from Argentina. And of course, we loved the ship! I was interested to see that the library was always full of bridge players and Chinese girls, playing Mahjong. We watched the theatre show each night, luxuriating in the armchair-like seats. I began to get sad when the boat turned around and started to head home. The only way to cheer oneself up is to look forward to distributing gifts on one's return home and to start saving up for the next trip!

Expensively Learnt Lesson

2011-06-16T16:02:00.000+02:00

Before I mention the highlights of our trip, I have to share the following... We never buy ourselves souvenirs but always get something for the family - safely stowed in our hand luggage. This time we fell in love with two water-colour paintings of Venice sold by a street vendor in St Mark's Square. We duly bought them as a one-time extravagance and the artist packed them for us in nice hard, grey cardboard. Incredibly, we left this discreet-looking flat parcel behind the TV in our hotel room, unaccustomed as we were to carrying it. I even remember casting a look around the room and being satisfied that we had left nothing behind, checking that I had my rucksack on my back, my suitcase in one hand and my handbag on the other shoulder. Husband made the same kind of check. We then walked the few streets to the water bus, waited two hours in Venice airport, travelled six hours to Dubai - and then in the middle of the long 8-hour long stopover, my husband said to me - "Where are our paintings?" We just looked at each other. This time no-one attached blame. What to do? Then I saw on the plane from Dubai to Cape Town that we could send e-mails and text messages from our seat - so I sent a desperate e-mail to the hotel. Some nail-biting days later, they finally e-mailed me back to say that they had found the pictures but regretfully could not post them to us themselves. We must send a courier. So we have embarked on the biggest extravagance of our lives ! The courier cost equals what we spent on the night in the hotel. I am looking forward to e-mailing the artist and telling him that his paintings doubled their value in one week. Some lessons are expensive to learn. But fate was involved: the amount just about equalled the unspent cash we had brought home. We should get it back tomorrow...

Hotel Belle Epoque - Canareggio, Venice

2011-06-15T15:32:00.000+02:00

Hubbie got a hold of my Kindle!

I knew there wouldn't be a 'view' at this one Same rooftop set-up.

Italian glass is so over the top!

Room measured 2.5 x 4 metres

I chose this hotel for its location near to the cruise port on the other side of Venice island and because I thought we should be able to drag our suitcases through the nearby streets to the vaporetto stop to pick up the water bus back to the airport after our cruise. Luckily, we had been able to do a 'recce' on foot the day before the ship departed for our cruise and we discovered that there was even a new form of transport a "People Mover" - an overhead monorail, from the ferry boat terminal near to the cruise ship dock, which was not mentioned yet on the websites: it would take us to within a 5-minute walk of our hotel. Helpfully, the cruise ships provide shuttles where they can to get you out of the harbour and a bus dropped us at the entrance to the People Mover. This hotel actually had its name emblazoned above the doorway, so was easy to find and although it was quite a bit cheaper than the first, it was beautifully decorated (see our room and the breakfast room) and we had a superb breakfast with beautiful china and excellent cappucinos. There was no view though (see pic). The only puzzling thing for me was that I couldn't get the electricity to work in the room (I rarely get to stay in hotels) and had to be shown that you insert a card attached to the door key into a slot and voila! - on go the lights. A good way to save electricity. Still, most of you will be familiar with this. Unlike our first hotel, which I had also booked online in January, this one allowed for no cancellations and no refunds, so it was good that we were able to turn up! So regarding Venice hotels, I suggest don't go lower than 3 star. I saw two dismayed tourists one day, having found their hotel, confronting a flight of about 25 steps up which to get their suitcases before they could reach Reception. This one of ours was again lift up three, walk up one.

Views from our balcony..... (continues previous post)

2011-06-14T15:57:00.000+02:00

From our balcony

Looking the other way

Two rooms in the roof!

Through our bathroom window

Across the bay from our window

Hotels in Venice - 3 star - A Tribute to the Music Residenza

2011-06-14T14:06:00.000+02:00

Marble steps to our room

Me lying in bed - lovely old furniture

We could make tea/coffee

Cruise boats went by in front

Basket of rolls/croissants as well!

I chose this hotel on an Internet search through the excellent website www.hotel.com. The site is great as you get access to candid comments from visitors which is very helpful. I thought that as we only had one night in Venice either end of our cruise, we would spend a bit and so this one was about $350 per night for the room, including all charges and breakfast. In South Africa, this would get you a pretty large, fancy room. It was facing out to the main lagoon, about 10 minutes walk from St Mark's Square and we had a stunning view from our little loft apartment, whose bedroom was tiny, but whose bathroom was modern and well-equipped, except that Italians are small people and Venice hotels have a bit of a 'squashed' feel especially for my husband who is largish and found himself wedged into the tiny bath with his shoulders almost meeting across his chest. No shower. (I took a photo of him in the bath but he made me delete it!) A big problem with a lot of hotels is that they have no name visible above the entrance so how to find them? There was a row of busy stalls in front of ours and we only found it by chance - dragging our suitcases along the front edge of the buildings about where we guessed it should be from the map, and luckily, I spied a small brass plaque on the wall. Luckily, the vaporetto stop was only a few yards away. Hotels are so small, they seem of exist mostly of a front door, leading onto a reception area and then there are three floors of rooms with two more squeezed into the roof space. You get a lift up the first three floors then you have to drag your suitcases up the last flight of stairs. There is no tipping in Italy: I can see why - no-one helps you with your luggage. There is a breakfast room (which we didn't see) on the first floor, but we were so enchanted with our view we had it on our balcony. They supplied enough food for six people! There was a Norwegian couple in identical accommodation behind us. Views from the balcony on next post.......not downloaded yet!

Report Back - Mediterranean Cruise

2011-06-10T08:11:00.000+02:00

Great to be home safe and sound: we had a wonderful time with great weather and minimal crowds - May is definitely the best month to go to the Mediterranean re climate, costs and crowds. Our cruise started in Venice, then on to Serbia/Montenegro, Athens, Ephesus and Bodrum in Turkey, Santorini and Mykonos, then back up to Croatia and a trip to its National Park and then back to Venice for one more night before the long trek back to Cape Town, via Dubai (an 8-hour stopover in the middle of the night.) Without boring you with detail the two things which struck me the most and that have changed in the last 30 years are that there is wheelchair access even at cable cars (viz even at the tiny and magical island of Santorini) and even over some of the bridges in Venice, so you see disabled people everywhere, from quadraplegics to people determinedly pushing zimmer frames negotiating the 200 steps up to the Parthenon. Although this was described as 'strenuous' by the cruise people, it really wasn't difficult as each stretch is taken slowly and then the guide stops to speak every 30 steps or so. Of course, wheelchair access is made easy on the ship too. The other thing is that everywhere the toilet facilities were clean and always equipped with plenty of paper, soap and towels. This was a pleasant surprise. As always there were ingenious new taps to negotiate, mainly at airports - the one above defeated at least 10 women in the queue I was in until someone took pity on us and showed us that you have to place your hand in front of the two black eyes! More anon....

The Power of Powder Blue

2011-05-20T07:02:00.000+02:00

My husband came home last week, bearing new long-sleeved work shirts of a pale blue colour. Considering that he works in the environment of an oily truck workshop – admittedly in the Admin offices, I find it a strange choice of colour. The last ones they were given (it’s nice at least that they are provided free of charge), were a practical navy blue check, a nice ‘power’ colour to boot. What has occasioned this new change to a namby pamby, wishy-washy appearance? Surely just the need to keep someone employed, whose function is ‘change for the sake of change’. I can see this all-male environment having sheepish expressions on their faces, as they desperately try not to spill their lunch down their shirts or get pen marks on them before the day is half through. They are also quite thick (nice for Joburg but too much for Cape Town’s mild winter) and take longer to iron. And as for that annoying pleat down the back....! Probably someone has imparted some psychological claptrap about the need to have a ‘calming’ effect in the workplace – whether this is aimed at the customers or the staff is point to ponder.

The effect of colour generally though is well known. What impresses me the most is that fast food outlets have deliberately loud, clashing colours, which are designed initially to attract you in, and then to make you so uncomfortable that you leave in a hurry. That’s clever.

Quirky Preparation for Trip

2011-05-19T18:52:00.000+02:00

I knew there had to be a good reason for hubby to be buying "Handyman" magazine every month. Sure enough, when we bought two expensive pairs of trainers for me to walk miles on our holiday, up the mountains in Greece to the Acropolis - "fairly strenuous" says the guidebook - it "Handyman" came in useful . After one hour of walking around the house, I found both pairs hurt my right foot, where it seems I have of late developed a bunion. According to the magazine, the answer is to fill a small bag with water, insert it into the tight part of the shoe and place in the deep freeze. As the water freezes, it will expand, thus stretching the shoe in the strategic place. So tonight, as I am putting out my clothes to start packing, I am looking at two forlorn-looking left trainers, their partners residing in between joints of venison in my deep freeze. Hope it works - otherwise I'll just have to take my old, falling-to-pieces-but-very-comfortable Nikes. At least I won't look like a rookie traveller! NB Book Nut - images won't insert at Cursor.

Teenage Boy's Bedroom

2011-05-19T10:15:00.000+02:00

Thinking small son might be lonely during his ‘gap few months’ in London, we phoned to find him in a bit of a hurry – off to show Oxford Circus to his friend from Switzerland, who has popped over to keep him company this week. Most of small sons’ friends are also having a ‘gap’ year while they ‘find themselves’. Worried that he might not be eating, we find that actually he has just cooked a nice roast - big son having delivered a severe lecture on the dangers of a junk food diet and obligingly leaving his brother a fully stocked fridge after a few cooking lessons. I feel I must add that I have made similar efforts in the past when we were away from home – but have returned to find the fridge still full and the house scattered with junk food wrappers. Clearly, small son is somewhat in awe of his big brother. Meanwhile, I must tackle his bedroom at home, spurred on by having just watched an old episode of ‘My Family’ on BBC Prime, in which Nic, the eldest son, has left home for the first time and installed himself into a flat. In one scene, his dejected mother enters his still cluttered bedroom and sits sadly on the bed. After a few moments, she rises, leaves the room and returns with an air freshener which she liberally sprays about, then hastily leaving and firmly closing the door. LOL NB Google pic does not show the empty wardrobe and dirty/clean clothes strewn over every available square inch of floor.

Away for a Bit

2011-05-17T12:38:00.001+02:00

Splendour of the Seas - our boat!

Voyager of the Seas - first trip

I have hesitated to mention that we shall be away for the next two weeks – no blogging from me as we do not go on holiday with our computers, although I am considering taking my Kindle. I haven’t wanted to make anyone jealous, but have decided that all my blog friends will wish us well on only the second ‘real’ holiday of our 34 years of married life, nearly all the others having been spent visiting family. Yes, we are going on a Mediterranean cruise with Royal Caribbean! I confess we have been once before to celebrate our 30^th wedding anniversary and we were so impressed we decided to go once more before we retire. So this is it! This time we are ‘doing’ the Eastern side of the Med, starting and finishing in Venice, and calling at Serbia, Croatis, Greece, Turkey, Mykonos and Santorini islands before returning to Venice. We leave on Saturday with Emirates airline (presumably no terrorists onboard) up to Dubai and then direct to Venice with them. There have been months of enjoyable preparation and fun on the Internet (e.g. hubbie has downloaded six pages no less of directions and photos how to get from the luggage carousel at Venice airport down to the water-stop for the vaporetto which will take us across the sea to the island!) I find irony in the fact that as a student I used to fly quite often to work in various parts of the world and never gave a thought to any kind of Travel Insurance! Now, at 60, our hand luggage seems to consists mostly of all our chronic medicines, plasters, ointments and broad-spectrum anti-biotic and I am quite paranoid about the idea of perhaps getting sick or having an accident. My husband is excited about the idea of hiring a scooter for a few hours in one or two of the resorts. As one-time bikers in our youth, we also cherish a dream of visiting the US one day and doing Route 66. Is it still good? I’ll let you know how it goes. These pics are of our last experience. NB. Book Nut - I've tried to insert at the cursor point - but all pics inserted at the top together. I've had a bit more success dragging them about the text. But not much. Maybe because I type my post first in Word, then copy and paste, then try to put the pics in ? When I pressed "Publish" - all the pics have put themselves at the top of the post again ??????

Planning a Family Reunion

2011-05-16T12:28:00.000+02:00

It has been decided that it would be a great idea to have a reunion of all of my husband’s siblings (and spouses) before one of us ‘dops om’ (dies). This plan has come to the fore since one of my sisters-in-law hosted a grand gathering of her husband’s clan – some 250 people – on their farm. The logistics of that week-end were complex to say the least and it could not have taken place without the help of several neighbours offering accommodation. Happily, this group will only number 14 but I am beginning to wonder if it would not be better to limit the number to the 7 actual siblings as the debate re venue rages on. Geographically, we are spread all around the country. Everyone has their own individual preference as to venue and no two are the same. Some people are retired and their time is their own, others work full-time and have limited leave opportunities; some people are pretty wealthy, others just make ends meet. Suggestions range from a week in Zanzibar to a week-end at a campsite to a few days on a nephew’s game farm up near Zimbabwe where at least there would be free accommodation and enough room for all. This last met with general approval – we would be the furthest but are quite happy to fly up and hire a car from Joburg, picking up the Joburg people on the way. By the end of the evening this idea had found general consensus.

On the drive home however, my husband’s phone rang – objections to the last plan had surfaced from those who would have to host the event – on the grounds of too much work for too few. Well, I can’t say I blame them – we did have quite a big meet there last year – 30 odd people, including quite a lot of children. They say how about hiring chalets at a venue half-way for everyone?

So it’s back to square one. I am now no longer very keen on the whole idea. After all, we are a pretty close family and see quite a lot of each other anyway during the course of a year.

Retirement House - update

2011-05-15T17:59:00.000+02:00

Add caption

Hi everyone! Just trying to upload more than one photo - as so many of you manage to do in your posts without apparently any bother. Rosaria asks how our 'holiday' house is progressing, so I am going to try to post some of our own photos. We still have far to go: we now feel we need to invest in big, motorised gates across the front of the property so that our small grandchildren can safely ride their bikes in the yard. We've just finished adding on an extension above the garage - for our 'indoor hobbies', sewing, computering and model-boat building when we retire there in three years time and there is now an additional work room for my husband's power tools downstairs behind the garages. I also have a laundry there. The garden remains a non-starter for the moment, although we have managed to get lawn to grow in the front - taking shoots every week-end from our own garden at home, but generally the snails have a field day and devour everything else that we put in - especially my husband's efforts at a grenadilla vine, lemon and persimmon trees in the back yard. Even building a wall around the lot has not kept out the small antelope (duikers) that stroll around our paving and eat the choicest of the new leaves. Ah well.... How do you put the photos in between the text?

Bank Joke

2011-05-15T17:40:00.001+02:00

........rewind to 10th June, 2008

Well, today, my small son gets on the plane to London to stay with his brother and sister-in-law for nearly five months. To this end, I had warned him to deliver lots of pizzas in this last month and save as much as he could because of the horrendous exchange rate and because his dad and I had agreed to treble whatever he gathered. None of this sank in too well considering the amount of

partying he has done in the last few weeks since finishing his re-sits and when we went to the bank yesterday he had exactly R550 in his account. He’s jolly lucky he has a British passport. When challenged, he said he could have saved R900 but felt sorry for his dad and me as he knows we are also saving for our own holiday. I was somewhat sceptical of this spurious logic, knowing full well that he simply plans to borrow from his brother, again ignoring all parental advice over the years re “neither a borrower nor a lender be”. He’ll just have to learn the hard way. In the end, I had privately decided we could stretch to R2,500 whatever as we can hardly let him go with nothing. I also remembered that he has a speeding fine of R800 pending. Leave that money in your account, I said, towards the fine. So we gave him R2000. It’s also for his birthday.

When we told the nice young man at the bank that we had come in for pounds sterling, he got a worried look and said they didn’t have a large amount in stock. Not to worry, said I, I think you’ll have this much.

After the form-filling, when he handed over the princely sum of £125, he dutifully delivered his normal speech, “......and if you have any pounds left over when you come back, you must cash them in within two weeks of your return.”

Very funny. NB. About R10 to the dollar at that time and R12 to the pound.

Local Ballet Schools' Coppelia

2011-05-15T10:27:00.000+02:00

I went to see the first matinee performance of this production of the famous ballet on Friday because our neighbour’s 16-year-old daughter was dancing in it. I always enjoy such shows because in an effort is made to get all the pupils in the school onstage in one form or another and you get to see all the adorable little ones from 3 years-old and up. I was not disappointed to see in the programme after the names of the principal dancers, that there would be 12 mice, 15 sheep and 35 vegetables! What a joy. Congratulations to Elkanah High School, Table View, Cape Town. Thank you for a lovely afternoon - and well done, Vasti! You danced beautifully.

Thoughts on Cut Fingers inter alia

2011-05-14T19:27:00.000+02:00

Whenever my husband announces that he is going to do some woodwork in his garage, my alarm bells ring, I go into high alert and assemble the disinfectant and various sizes of plasters. This time we had to rush to the doctor – after hours, whie she was out jogging, as passing his hand carelessly across his radial arm saw while it was spinning had resulted in a deeper cut than usual. She rushed back.

Although my husband did cut a large piece of flesh out of one finger (stitched back on nicely), the index finger looks worse because it couldn’t be stitched as the cut was too ragged. This is his trigger finger. Typically, this accident happened two days before we went on our annual visit to the Karoo, which includes shooting our venison for the next year. So for me, it’s back to helping him shower, washing his hair, spreading his toast, cutting his meat, doing his typing, putting his socks on etc. Etc. I’m not doing his shooting though. When we came back from a few days rowing on the Orange River once, I suddenly found that I could not use my thumb and index finger of my right hand. Among the many many things that I couldn’t do for two months, the things I remember most were: I couldn’t – squeeze a peg to hang washing, operate a can opener, spread butter, do up a zip, blow my nose, open a jam jar or turn the ignition key to start my car !!! I defy any female to lean across and manage this. Meanwhile, my husband’s wounds keep leaking through his bandage and giving me lots of washing. I do admire the way salt takes out blood though. There’s not a residual mark on anything.

So we finally sat down on the day of the accident to watch the rugby and I was asked to cut the biltong (or beef jerky), I thought to myself: “Mind your fingers!”

Garden Hippo

2011-05-11T18:19:00.000+02:00

I’ve lately fallen in love with a garden hippo (think - erstwhile garden gnome) after seeing one floating around in a lily pond at our local nursery It’s just the fibreglass head, you understand. It was immediately a must-have for me. It looked so real and reminded me of that true story about a hippo, named Huberta, who stirred up a lot of interest some decades ago, by strolling by herself, through some of the towns and gardens of the Natal coastline, apparently on some sort of personal mission. So I got myself one and put it in our swimming pool . Huberta was sometimes found swimming in people’s pools. Unfortunately, my hippo tends to interfere with the Kreepy-Krauly (Pool cleaner) and in this foreign environment, from the view point of my sitting room window, looks rather like a large elephant turd when it does float into view. It also gave our neighbour a fright: he popped in to check on the house one day while we were away and thought it was a dead cat.

I must really build it a lilly pond. Meanwhile, she obliges as a swimming aid for my grandchildren.

Ungrateful and Perverse

2011-05-10T07:57:00.000+02:00

For some time now – about 10 months – I’ve been unable to lower the roller blind in our kitchen. The mechanism seems to have lost its ‘oomph’ and the sprockets don’t hold. I have to ever so gently support the bottom part, then slowly pull it up and, holding my breath, release it and pray that it will stay up. Sometimes it does and sometimes it doesn’t, in which case I am plunged in darkness or artificial light for most of the day. I’ve mentioned this to hubby about six times over this time period and have met with disinterestd grunts – until the day came when I was away and he needed some light in the kitchen himself. Hey Presto! When I came home – it was fixed. Nothing to it, I was told! Grrrrr! The funny thing is that when I now come to pull up the blind every morning, it works perfectly and I am suffused with annoyance at my husband on a daily basis. I suppose I should be grateful?

Shopping for Hubbie

2011-05-06T13:50:00.000+02:00

My husband announced he would like to go to shop for “a couple of chinos”. My heart sank. Much though I adore the shops if I go by myself, it is awful shopping for clothes for one who is no longer a 38 but won’t admit he’s a 40. Last time we came home with absolutely nothing but a foul mood. This time he is again fired with enthusiasm because he believes he must have some new clothes for our holiday and besides the last time he went to a business meeting, his casual trousers seemed to sport some oily marks which he notices have come through the washing machine for some months now. I ignore this. He also fancies a light leather jacket of the ilk worn by his younger brother. My heart sank at this additional plan because my young brother-in-law is in a better financial position than us and I think hubbie would pass out if he knew what that jacket cost! Anyway, you get those days when the sun shines on any shopper and fate is kind. We picked up two pairs of fitting chinos at the ‘end of range’ rail - in size 38! On to the leather jacket. We almost succeeded at one smart store – I would have opened an account for this garment, albeit expensive, for it was as soft as a kitten, light as a feather and turned my husband into a slightly more mature version of Brad Pitt. Unfortunately, the XL was a tad too small and in spite of an extensive computer search there was no XXL available at any store in Cape Town. Bye bye Brad Pitt! At another store where we have an account, we found a lovely jacket, well-cut, soft and light in the right size: he liked it, I liked it. Even better, it was on sale – R899 reduced from R1100. At the till, the price came up as reduced even more to R599!!! Some days, a plan comes together. Brad Pitt is back!